Mudaire’s harbor. And three, even if the Maarin were taking passengers, Quindor is testing every person who boards a ship to ensure they aren’t marked healers trying to evade conscription.”
Lydia’s stomach soured, and she viciously plucked at a loose thread on the coverlet, fighting back tears. “I’ll go by land to wherever the Maarin are making port then. I don’t care if I have to walk. I need to get home.”
“Do you think this city would be filled to bursting with people if walking south was an option? The deimos aren’t the limit of what crossed the wall. Every town and village between here and Abenharrow has been massacred and anyone caught outside after dark with less than a fully armed escort suffers the same. Only a good rider on a fast horse has even a chance of making it, and given only a dozen—”
Before he could finish, the door to the room swung open and Bercola stepped inside, bending her head low so she wouldn’t hit the frame. “They’ve left. If you’re going to take her to the temple, now’s the time to do it.”
She glanced curiously at Lydia and then tossed a folded dress in her direction. Lydia let it drop to the floor, both hands occupied with keeping the blanket wrapped around her naked body. In the light of day, she was able to get a better look at the woman. A good foot taller than Killian, Bercola’s head was shaved to her ruddy scalp, but her eyebrows suggested her hair would be white if allowed to grow. Her eyes were devoid of color, only black pupils in seas of white, and Lydia found she had a hard time meeting the woman’s gaze.
“Get dressed,” Killian said; then he followed the giantess out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Lydia snatched up the woolen dress and pulled it over her head before tiptoeing across the floor to press an ear against the door.
“… says she’s from some place called Celendor.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Neither have I, but that isn’t the interesting part. She says she was marked last night to save my life.”
The giantess whistled. “She isn’t inked, but that’s still a bold claim. You don’t believe her, do you? She’s too old to receive a mark. Hegeria takes them young.”
“Of course I don’t believe her. She’s desperate to avoid conscription, is all. Healing me was likely an accident—that mark has a mind of its own.”
The giantess was quiet for a minute. “It’s not impossible. You are marked yourself, and the gods do ask favors of each other—”
“Why would Tremon incur a debt on my behalf? He gave me every skill I needed to keep this kingdom safe, and yet here we are.” Killian’s voice was bitter. “The gods don’t give second chances. The girl’s a liar.”
Bercola’s sigh was audible through the door. “Even if she’s telling the truth, we need to turn her over to the temple and Grand Master Quindor. The last thing you need is to be caught harboring a rogue healer.”
The floor creaked, and Lydia could all but see Killian pacing up and down the hall.
“You don’t have a choice,” Bercola said. “The King is desperate for her kind. And you know he’s looking for any excuse to have you executed.”
The wall shook with the sound of a fist slamming against plaster.
“You think I don’t know that?” Killian’s voice was dark. “But turning her in is worse than cutting her throat myself. The healers are all that’s keeping the army on its feet, and they’re dropping like flies. Serrick isn’t even sending their bodies back for proper rites anymore; he’s burning them with the rest of the corpses. Quindor won’t take the time to train her—he’ll send her straightaway, and she won’t last a month.”
Lydia didn’t hear how Bercola responded. Staggering back from the door, she sat on the bed, her body numb.
The moment she’d been trying hardest to forget—when her fingers had touched Killian and all the years of her life had drained away to bolster his. The slow march toward death accelerated. If she was sent to the battlefield, it would be the same thing, but over and over again. She’d rather die permanently than be subjected to that sort of torture, and it seemed no amount of guilt was going to keep Killian from turning her in. She had to escape.
Silently, Lydia propped the chair under the door handle. Going to the window, she unlatched it and swung the glass outwards.