His ankles were free.
“He’ll probably hide her away and then ransom her back to the Rowenes family for twice what Rufina offered him,” Mustache sneered. “So don’t go thinking he’s on your side, Lord Calorian. He’s just using you like he uses everyone else.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Killian said, giving Mustache a smile right before he struck.
One end of the manacle whipped through the air. It passed between the bars, striking Mustache in the face and shattering his nose. The man screamed in pain and fury, fumbling at his side for a weapon, but Killian was already on him.
Reaching between the bars, he pulled loose the knife at the man’s belt and threw it, the blade punching into the other corrupted’s eye just as the man was leaping to his feet. He wavered, then dropped, but Killian’s attention was back on Mustache.
As the man recoiled, one hand clutching at his face, Killian caught hold of the front of his shirt and jerked, slamming the corrupted into the bars, blood splattering him as he looped the manacle around the corrupted’s neck.
And pulled.
Mustache screamed, bracing his arms against the bars and trying to push himself back far enough to get free, but the chain was pressing hard against the base of his skull, crushing his spine.
Grinding his teeth with effort, Killian braced his boots against the bars, pulling until, with a loud crack, Mustache’s neck snapped. The flames illuminating his eyes went dark, and he slumped against the bars.
Drawing in a gasping breath, Killian clambered forward, using the man’s sword to slit his throat just in case before digging around in the black leather of his coat for a key to the cell.
It wasn’t there.
“Shit!” Killian dug through his memories of being locked inside, cursing himself for being so rattled about Lydia’s capture and identity that he hadn’t been paying attention. Who had unlocked the cell?
The woman.
Who was probably lying dead in Rufina’s throne room for delivering bad news.
Falling to his knees, Killian searched for the lock pick he’d dropped, sweat running in rivulets down his forehead.
Hurry. You don’t have much time.
A wave of prickles ran over his skin, and he looked up from his search to find a pair of burning eyes staring at him.
“A good effort, Lord Calorian,” Rufina said, shoving aside the corpses of her men with a booted foot. “But not good enough.”
Rising to his feet, Killian took a wary backward step, knowing she was a far greater threat than either of the two dead men had been. Not just corrupted, but a warrior.
“Where are Agrippa and Baird?”
He huffed out a laugh. “A good question. Wherever they are, I suspect that it’s with a chest not nearly heavy enough to be full of gold. Though knowing Agrippa, he probably stuffed in as many handfuls around Malahi as he could fit.”
“Tell me the route they plan to take to get back to Mudamora. You obviously planned to get out of here alive to rejoin them, so you must know it.”
“Part of the plan was that I didn’t.” He smiled. “Just in case.”
Rufina’s jaw tightened, her eyes flaring. “A plan that didn’t include Kitaryia being my prisoner, is my guess. You aren’t the sort to risk the people you love to achieve your ends, though Malahi should be thankful that Agrippa is more ruthless.”
Fear churned in his stomach, because although he’d known it would come to this, Killian hadn’t realized how swiftly a threat to Lydia would paralyze him. How easily it would make him agree to anything just to ensure her safety.
“How long will you stay silent when I start to cut her apart?” Rufina purred. “How long will you stay true to your kingdom and cause when I take her fingers? Her hands? Her pretty green eyes?” She smiled. “She’ll heal. But they won’t grow back.”
His breath hitched, his stomach twisting in ropes, because he knew he’d crack the moment Rufina put a knife to Lydia’s flesh. “What do you want?”
“Agrippa’s route.”
Malahi might be able to stop the blight.
“Shall I fetch her now? No sense tarrying…”
Malahi might be able to save tens of thousands of lives. Might be the key to winning the war.
“How long do you think it will take for me to make her scream?”
Killian took a deep breath. “They…”
His words were cut off by the rapid thuds of boots against stone, then a blur of dark hair and black leather struck Rufina in the side, sending her toppling down the aisle in front of the neighboring cell, the two figures grappling until one came up on top.
Pale skin splattered with blood, her spectacles gone, and her hair come loose from its braid, Lydia looked up at him.
But instead of the green eyes he loved staring back at him, all he saw was darkness and flame.
Panic surged through his veins, but Killian barely had a heartbeat to come to grips with how far she’d fallen before Rufina threw Lydia off, both of them rolling and coming to their feet.
“Well, well.” Rufina drew her sword. “What would your dear gods-fearing parents say if they could see you now, Kitaryia?”
“Don’t call me that,” Lydia hissed. “It’s not my name.”
“But Kitaryia is the girl Killian is sworn to protect.” Rufina danced forward, swiping playfully at Lydia with her sword. “What do you suppose he thinks of you taking up the Corrupter on his offer for power?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Lydia picked up one of the dead men’s swords, and Killian cringed even as Rufina laughed, the corrupted queen recognizing what he already knew: that Lydia was no warrior. He had to help her.
Falling to his knees in the moldy straw, he searched for the gleam of metal. Rufina was toying with Lydia, like a cat would a mouse, but that wouldn’t last.
Where is it?
“Your father begged
