“The Corrupter know such things?” Quindor interrupted. “Because he is a god.”
“But she’s nothing like those monsters that attacked the night of Malahi’s ball. Those were violent and mindless and terrifying. Emmy…” She broke off at the expression on the Grand Master’s face.
“Is dead.” He caught her elbow, leading her around the hallway. “And what we are seeing is nothing more than a shift in the Corrupter’s strategy to win this war. Before, those infected with blight served to terrify and kill, but now they serve a more insidious purpose: to destroy faith in the Six from the inside by undermining the Marked. By making the living followers of the Six believe the Marked have failed them.”
The sound of Killian’s cuff link falling to the floor echoed through her head, and Lydia’s skin chilled.
“Yes, the cuff link.” Quindor rose the stairs, his boots making soft pats against the stone. “She said much the same to me when first we brought her here. Truth twisted to a poison in the ears of all who’d listen. How many did she tell it to before we caught her? How many now see Lord Calorian as having failed in his duty to protect the kingdom and its people? How many have lost faith in Tremon as a result?”
A terrifying question, but all Lydia could think of was how much it would hurt Killian to hear it. How he’d blame himself as much and more than anyone else who heard it.
“The blight itself has ceased its spread, but we have no notion of how many of the infected were able to flee during the evacuation. Even now, dozens, perhaps more, of them could be spreading their poisonous words throughout the kingdom—throughout all of Reath!—with no one the wiser. They must be stopped, and Hegeria’s Marked are the only ones capable of doing so.”
There was logic in his words, but each time Lydia blinked, she remembered Emmy in the sewer tunnels the first night she and Killian had started healing the orphans. How the girl had rallied from her illness beneath Lydia’s hands. How the first thing she’d done when she’d recovered was fling her arms around Killian’s neck, her faith in him absolute. It was hard to believe that girl was gone, but Lydia’s mark didn’t lie.
“If the blighters are so dangerous, why are you keeping Emmy alive? Why not just”—she remembered his words from before—“put her down?”
“Because it will allow us to see if the blight continues to evolve,” the Grand Master replied as they reached the top of the stairs, the main level full of soldiers, as well as dozens of young healers in white robes and cloaks. “And because she reminds me both of the evil we face and of the goodness we have lost. Something you should keep in mind, because tomorrow morning, it’s time you joined the hunt.”
7KILLIAN
“You look like shit.”
Killian didn’t answer, only poked at the fire with a stick as High Lady Dareena Falorn sat on the ground next to him. Since the battle had ended, they’d both been charged with chasing down what remained of the Derin army, but he’d had little chance to talk to the woman who’d been responsible for most of his training. Who, more than any other, had stood as his mentor. And who had saved his ass, arriving at Alder’s Ford with her army right as his lines were being overrun by Rufina’s forces.
“Sonia tells me you aren’t sleeping.”
“Didn’t realize you two had met.” His voice was raspy, and he coughed to clear it, melted snowflakes dripping down the sides of his face.
“I hired all of Malahi’s former guards, since you seem content to abandon them,” Dareena answered. “But Sonia has chosen to remain as your lieutenant.”
“If she wants to keep the job, she needs to mind her own business.”
“She’s worried about you, so perhaps don’t be an ass.” Dareena held her hands over the fire. “She thought I might be able to talk you into seeing sense. I told her that would be hard given that you’re devoid of the quality, but she’s a persistent one. Am I to assume this is about the girl?”
“Which one?” He gave a violent poke at the fire, sending sparks flying and thinking of Bercola. “I seem to be in the habit of getting the girls I’m supposed to protect killed.”
“Lydia,” Dareena said, “isn’t dead.”
“It’s a matter of time.” Killian flung the stick aside, wishing he had something to drink, but supplies in the Royal Army camp were lacking. “There are fewer than a hundred healers left in all of Mudamora, and you know as well as I do that Serrick has no compunction against using them hard.”
“Then why didn’t you stop them from taking her?”
The smoke shifted to blow into his eyes, and he closed them against the sting. As he did, a vision of Lydia on horseback filled them. Of her mouth forming the words I choose this, then of her turning her back and riding away. “She asked me not to.”
“Then she has chosen her fate.”
“She didn’t have a choice,” he snapped. “She knew what it would mean for me to fight her free, and she sacrificed herself to keep me from doing it. To protect me.”
“You always did have a way with the ladies.”
Anger flushed through him, and he rounded on her. “You think this is something to jest about, Dareena? Something to make light of? I—” He broke off, but he couldn’t silence the words within his own head. I love her.
The High Lady of House Falorn regarded him with steady green eyes, strands of midnight hair framing her pale face. She wore her armor, snow piling in little peaks on her silvered shoulders, sword resting across her lap. Marked by Tremon as surely as he was himself. The one person who should understand.
“Do you truly believe that the only reason Lydia went with Quindor was to protect you?” she asked. “Hegeria chose
