“Felicity and Sara are dead.” Bercola stepped between Killian and Quindor, jerking her chin toward the open door. Two dried-up skeletal forms lay in the hallway like bodies of aged hags long dead, a draft catching at their grey locks.
“How did she get past you?” he snarled at Gwen. “There’s a list of approved people who are allowed past those main doors, and the Seventh knows, she”—he pointed at the dead girl—“wasn’t on it.”
Gwen whispered something that he didn’t catch. “What?” he demanded.
She lifted her chin. “Asha was on the list. She’s the daughter of the head chef—her family has served in the palace for generations.”
“Shocking,” Quindor muttered, going to one of the chairs on the far side of the room and sitting while he recovered.
Killian ignored the healer’s comment and walked over to kneel next to the corrupted’s corpse. He rolled the head faceup, peeling away the strands of bloody hair stuck to her skin. Recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. The darkness and flames had faded to reveal soft brown irises, the slack muscles no longer holding the wild hunger of those bearing the Corrupter’s mark.
“I know you,” he murmured, brushing her lids closed. Except the girl he’d interviewed months ago had been shy, sweet, and popular among the other servants. A faithful follower of the Six. He knew her mother, Esme, well, the cook integral to his attempts to keep Mudaire’s orphans fed, and Killian’s stomach hollowed at the thought of informing her that her daughter was dead. And that he’d been the one to kill her.
Malahi knelt next to him on unsteady legs, the bodice of her gown soaked with blood. “She was only recently marked,” she said, gently touching the girl’s cheek with seemingly no regard for the fact that the child had come to kill her.
“A matter of days, I should think. Even if she was able to hide the changes in her eyes, the corrupted aren’t known for their self-control. There’d be bodies.” Killian sat back on his haunches, a sickening feeling filling him as he considered the deimos. The way they seemed to haunt his steps in particular. “The Seventh has his eyes on us,” he said under his breath. “First the deimos and now the corrupted.”
Malahi nodded slowly. “It makes sense for them to hunt you, but why me? No one—” She broke off, eyes shifting to Quindor uneasily, then in a barely audible whisper said, “No one knows about my mark.”
“If you think the Seventh doesn’t know, you’re a fool. I think he knows precisely what you’re up to, Highness.”
The corpse twitched and both of them jumped, staring at the dead girl for a long moment. Malahi finally said, “He wouldn’t bother trying to stop us if he didn’t believe my plan would work.”
“He wouldn’t care if your plan worked or not if it didn’t serve his purpose to keep your father in power.”
Their eyes met, the gravity of Killian’s statement not lost on either of them.
“My father treats the Marked like slaves and he’s angered the Six. The Marked are meant to lead, not to be led. What greater confirmation of that truth do you need?”
Killian didn’t disagree, but there were less risky ways to achieve the same ends. “Cancel the ball and meet the High Lords in Serlania. Mudaire is too dangerous by far.”
“No. The people of Mudaire need to see that I haven’t abandoned them like everyone else. Besides, I’ll not be ruled by fear.”
“Just idiocy.”
Rising to her feet, she said loudly, “Remove the body. And consider allotting me more of your time, Lord Calorian. I would not like this to happen again.”
Without a backward glance, she strode from the room.
“Go with her,” Killian said to Bercola, and then to Quindor, “A word.”
The Grand Master waited until the room had cleared before snarling, “You mad fool! The King will hear of this.”
Killian toyed with a half-dozen choice remarks but settled on, “She’s alive. I consider that a win.”
“Luck.” Quindor shook his head sharply. “That wound was mortal. A lesser healer would have succumbed, and then you’d have three corpses on your hands.”
“Lesser healers don’t become Grand Masters,” Killian said, fighting the impulse to add, Besides, it’s about time you have a taste of what you expect of the healers you send to the battlefield.
Quindor’s face twisted, and he turned to leave.
“Wait.” Killian stepped into his path. “You knew what she was, that she was corrupted. How?”
The Grand Master hesitated, head turning to the corpse