were free, Killian dropped the reins and reached for a stirrup, his boot heels digging deep into the ground as he hauled the horse free.
The mare collapsed on the bank, sides heaving even as the rest of her trembled.
“Malahi! Ease up!”
He was unbuckling the girth and pulling off the ruined saddle when Malahi slid down the bank. “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know.” Taking the saddle blanket, he used the side that had been pressed against the mare’s back to clean off the sticky mess, feeling her legs for any sign of a break. “Just exhausted, I think.”
In silence, they cleaned up the animal as best they could without water and, when she finally struggled to her feet, led her up the embankment and through the gap in the wall. Only then did Malahi say, “Did you know it was this bad?”
Killian shook his head. “I haven’t ridden out this far in some time.” And with the flow of refugees stopped, the only news came via the Royal Army’s supply caravans. None of them had spoken of this.
“Do you think my father knows?”
Yes. “I don’t know.”
“Can it be stopped?”
His hands paused where they’d been rubbing the mare, trying to scrape the filth from her chestnut coat. “The tenders might be able to do it, but they’re all with the army.” His gaze shifted to Malahi.
“I can’t.” Her voice was wooden. “Even if I am capable of doing something to push the blight back, I can’t do it in the space of an afternoon. I’d have to be out here daily, and everyone would know it was me. I’d have to leave to join the other tenders with the army, and that would be the end of my plans.”
“I could sneak you out. No one has to know.”
“He’d know.”
“Maybe so, but your father can’t do anything about it without risking everyone discovering that he has been lying to the entire kingdom, which we know he won’t do.”
“He can kill me. He will kill me.”
“I won’t let him.”
Malahi shook her head. “I can’t risk it. What was it that your father said? That even the Marked are fallible?”
That Killian was fallible. And yet thousands of people were starving. Were trapped with little chance of rescue. “If this blight reaches the walls, it might eat its way under them. They’ll collapse.” He eyed the slow-flowing ooze. “Perhaps that’s its intended purpose.”
“Maybe it is! But what are we supposed to do about it with my father in power?” Malahi’s hands were balled into fists. “Until he’s removed from the throne, anything we might do is just spitting into the wind. Only a month, Killian. Then I’ll be queen and you’ll be in command of the Royal Army and we can finally fight back against Rufina. We can win. And then we can make Mudamora strong again.”
“And until then, we do nothing?”
“Yes.” The muscles in her jaw stood out against the skin of her face. “Because to do something might get us caught. It’s not worth the risk. And I know this is killing you. That you feel terrible enough about the suffering of our people—that you think it’s your fault. That you’re willing to do anything to try to help those who’ve been hurt most. But I need you to believe in me enough to understand this is the right path.”
Clouds were rolling in overhead, promising rain, if not snow, the wind whistling through the dead grass. The sun descended in the west, illuminating the Liratoras with a red glow, as if the kingdom beyond—Derin—were the underworld itself. The shadows the mountains cast were long and black as the blight, reaching in their direction. They needed to get back to the relative safety of Mudaire. But not yet.
“Try.” Killian jerked his chin at the blight. “Fix some of it. See if you can drive it back. Then at least we’ll know whether it’s even possible.”
She stared at him, silence hanging between them. “That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it? Not to escape for a few hours. Not to—” Malahi broke off, shaking her head, but before Killian could put much thought toward what she’d intended to say, the Princess picked her way back down the bank to the edge of the stinking stream of blackness. Leaving him to lead the two horses, she walked along it, following one of the branches, eyes fixed on the shifting murk as it slowly narrowed until it was little more than a grasping finger of rot. There she