the crown, that every damned person in Mudaire could die around you and you wouldn’t notice.”
“Is that what you think?” Her knuckles turned white from her grip on the granite balustrade.
“It’s what I know.”
She dug into the pocket of her skirts and slammed something against his chest. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
“What is this?”
“This is my excuse for gathering the High Lords in Mudaire.”
Frowning at the invitation, he cracked the red wax sealing it, read, then swore before tossing the heavy paper over the balustrade.
“Have you lost your mind?” he snapped. “You plan to throw a ball in the middle of a city full of starving civilians, on the edge of a war zone, with skies full of beasts hunting anything that moves?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The ball is happening. I sent the invitations weeks ago, which you would know if you didn’t spend your nights wading around in the sewers.”
“You’re plotting to overthrow your father, Malahi. Something a bit more subversive than a gods-damned ball would be ideal. The High Lords will never agree to it.”
Reaching back into her pocket, she extracted a package of letters, handing them over. Killian flipped through them, recognizing the seals of seven houses, including his own: indigo wax stamped neatly with a galloping horse. Opening the folded paper, he read his brother’s elegant script.
I am happy to accept your invitation, and I look forward to discussing your proposition in more intimate circumstances.
Killian made a face and handed the letters back.
“They’re coming,” she said. “And they, unlike you, know that a party is a perfect cover for them to bring soldiers and supplies without raising my father’s suspicions.”
“As soon as the King gets word, he’s going to order you to cancel it.”
“He already knows and has applauded my genius. I’ve promised to conscript the soldiers the High Lords bring and send them to him the day after the party. Never mind that they’ll be riding behind you with the news that I am now queen.”
Killian shook his head. “We haven’t anywhere close to the numbers required to provide adequate security. One corrupted finds its way into the palace and most of the twelve houses, plus countless smaller ones, could be wiped out in the space of the night. It would be far less risky to do it all in Serlania, then for me to return to Mudaire with those same soldiers.”
“With how much time wasted? How many lives lost? This is the best route. And you have my word that I’ll sail south with the High Lords after the party. I’m not staying here without you to watch my back.”
Everything she said was logical, but his gut told him this plan was a mistake. “It’s not the best route if everyone winds up dead.”
“The High Lords will be arriving with a fleet of ships. And since the soldiers they bring with them won’t be returning, I intend for them to load their vessels with as many civilians as can be fit aboard. Now perhaps you might reconsider your comment about me doing nothing for the people of Mudaire, Lord Calorian.”
Killian was spared having to say anything as the doors to the balcony opened and Bercola leaned outside. “Grand Master Quindor to see you, Your Highness.”
Malahi pointed a finger up at Killian, muttering, “This conversation isn’t over,” before gesturing for him to follow her back inside, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. “And please take some time out of your busy schedule to purchase some more fitting attire. You look like you were raised by wolves.”
The Grand Master of Hegeria’s temple was a man of middling years, tall and lean enough that his white robes adorned him about as well as they would a rake. His pale pinkish skin suggested he hailed from the central part of the kingdom, though Killian had no idea where the man had actually been born. A permanent frown marred the inked half circle marking him as a healer, and his overlarge green eyes immediately went to Killian. “Lord Calorian, did you not receive my note?”
“Just now,” Killian said, extracting the crumpled paper from his pocket.
Quindor’s jaw tightened. “A word in private, my lord.”
Sighing, Killian joined the man in the corner of the room, bringing a drink and a tiny tea cake with him in the hope they would improve the conversation.
“You do realize that time is of the essence if we are to find her,” Quindor said. “We’ve received conflicting descriptions of her appearance, which I