“She was old. Grey haired and hunchbacked. It was dark and the deimos bit half my shoulder off, so I wasn’t focused on getting a good look at her”—Killian drained his glass—“Grand Master.”
His attention shifted as the door opened. A servant girl carrying a tray entered the room, her head lowered as she began gathering empty glasses.
“Why a man in your situation would flaunt a royal decree is beyond my understanding,” Quindor retorted. “You should be hunting her down, not loitering about drinking, gambling, and”—his gaze fixed on Killian’s hand—“eating cake!”
“Hunting down rogue healers isn’t my—” Killian broke off, his skin prickling even as he watched the color drain from Quindor’s face, his attention all for the serving girl only paces away from Malahi.
“Corrupted!” the healer screamed, but Killian was already moving. He threw his heavy glass and it smashed against the girl’s head, but the blow barely stunned her. Turning, she revealed eyes that were pooled black, irises rimmed with fire. “You weren’t supposed to be here!”
Jerking out his sword, Killian lunged toward the assassin, but the women in the room screamed and scattered, colliding with him. One of them flung her arms around his neck. “Help me!”
“Move!” He lifted her out of the way even as Bercola swung her massive blade at the corrupted. The girl ducked under it with blinding speed, whirling to tackle Malahi, scattering coins and sending glassware crashing to the floor.
No.
Dodging courtiers, Killian reached for the corrupted to pull her off, but she skittered sideways, holding the Princess in the path of Killian’s sword like a shield.
“Killian, help me!” Malahi’s voice shook, but her face remained young and unchanged, meaning the corrupted had yet to use her mark. The assassin had come here to kill Malahi but had expected to flee unchallenged. His presence changed that. She needed a hostage.
The rest of the guards poured into the room, several of them carrying bows that they trained in the assassin’s direction.
“Killing Her Highness will do you no good,” he said to the assassin, keeping pace with the pair as they backed against a wall. “Let her go and I’ll show you mercy.”
“I don’t think so.” The corrupted girl was tiny, and Killian only caught glimpses of her livery around Malahi’s gown. One naked hand was pressed against the Princess’s throat. “Clear a path for me and I’ll spare her.”
Killian’s mind raced through his options. If they attacked, she’d drain Malahi’s life before he could kill her, but if they let her go with Malahi as her hostage, the result would be the same. And catching one of the corrupted in the teeming mass of humanity filling the city would be next to impossible.
“Tell them to clear the door!” The assassin’s voice was shrill. Desperate. Young.
“Don’t do it.” The tears streaming down Malahi’s face did nothing to detract from the resolve in her voice. “She came to kill me. There is no chance of her leaving me alive.”
Killian’s heart slowed, each beat loud in his ears. Thump-thump. His eyes went to the girls blocking the door, faces tight and weapons held at the ready. Thump-thump. To Quindor, half-hidden like a child behind a tapestry. Thump-thump. To the mirror in the opposite corner, its reflection revealing the assassin with her ear pressed against Malahi’s shoulder. She was watching him. “Don’t come any closer,” she hissed. “I’ll kill her; I swear it.” Thump-thump.
The sword in his hand gleamed bright, the edge honed razor sharp. Thump-thump. It would slice through cleanly. Death would be quick.
“I’m sorry for this, Malahi,” he said, and then he lunged.
The point of the sword slid through Malahi’s shoulder like it was made from butter. Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could scream he jerked the blade out. “Quindor,” he shouted, catching the Princess as she fell.
The assassin swayed, eyes staring blindly; then she dropped to the floor, blood running from one ear.
Killian shoved Malahi at the Grand Master. “Help her.” Then he whirled back around, blade singing through the air as he brought it down hard, separating the corrupted’s head from her neck.
Thump-thump.
She was only a child. Killian stared at the lifeless face, blood soaking into the carpet beneath her corpse. Only a child. Swallowing the rising contents of his stomach, he turned to Quindor, who was kneeling next to Malahi’s prone form, his face withered and old. And angry. But the Princess’s chest rose and fell evenly, so whatever the Grand Master had to say could