Page 238 of Scorched Earth

She twitched, her eyes going to the window.

Tap.

Frowning, she went to the glass and opened it, only her god-marked reflexes preventing her from getting hit in the face by a pebble. In the gardens below stood Killian and Finn, both of them cloaked in black, the lanterns that normally lit the space conspicuously dark.

Pulling back the hood of his cloak, Killian lifted his face to the light from her room and mouthed,Let’s revisit old times.

Understanding flooded her veins, and Lydia clapped a hand overher mouth to silence the giddy laugh that tore from her lips. Turning away from the window, she went to the door and opened it. “I am to bed,” she told the guards. “Please no interruptions. It has been a trying day.”

“Yes, Marked One,” one of them said, and Lydia closed the door and flipped the lock. Turning all the lamps down low, she retrieved a dark cloak from the wardrobe, then went to the window.

Scanning the gardens to ensure no one was watching her darkened window, Lydia sat on the edge and then let herself drop. Killian caught her, then pulled her into the deeper shadows of some hedges. “Finn will distract the guards,” he whispered. “Then we’ll go over the wall. Run straight across the street and into the alley.”

Lydia grinned. “All right. But we can’t get caught.”

His hand skimmed down her back, and her hollow stomach filled with butterflies. “I spent a lot of time in this house as a child, Lydia. Trust me, I know how to sneak out.”

They watched as Finn sauntered over to the nearest guard, showing the disinterested man some treasure he’d no doubt stolen from Seldrid. They watched, waiting for the guard’s attention to perk, and then Killian whispered, “Now.”

He caught her by the hips and lifted her. Lydia rolled over the wall, landing on the far side with far more grace than she had in their days in Mudaire. Killian landed next to her, silent as a cat, and they both sprinted toward the dark alley across the street. Moments later, Finn joined them.

“So this is how it is going to go,” Finn said, and Lydia smiled to see him returning to his usual spirits. “There are quite a few blighters in my kingdom, and I know where they tend to gather. I’ll point them out. Killian will catch them. Lydia, you’ll… do what you do. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lydia dropped into a smooth curtsy. “We are yours to command.”

Though it was too dark to see his face, she sensed the boy roll his eyes. “Enough of that. Follow me and don’t draw attention to yourselves.”

They wove through the alleyways of Serlania, and while Lydia was swiftly turned about, Finn and Killian both seemed to know the city like the backs of their hands. It had a much different feel than Mudaire, the air heady and warm and mercifully smelling of sea rather than blight. The buildings were lower to the ground, walls whitewashed and roofs made of terracotta shingles. The alleys and roads were cobbledbut rough, mortar worn away by the heavy rains mercifully common to the region. On every corner were rain barrels, and fountains sprayed water at the intersections of major streets. Most people were abed and asleep, but voices and music trickled out from establishments where people gathered, Mudamorians clinging to the good things in life despite their circumstances.

Serlania had many parks and gardens, but all were full of the tents of refugees, as were many of the alleys. Finn moved through them with total confidence, and while Lydia spotted more than a few undead among the living, she said nothing, trusting that Finn had a reason for taking them so far afield.

They approached a bridge over a small creek, and Lydia picked out the glowing forms of children on the creek’s banks, all huddled together. But not all of the moving shadows were alive.

“Wait here,” Finn muttered. “I’ll lure one of them out.”

“Won’t they know that you’re not one of them anymore?” Lydia asked softly. “Won’t she have warned them?”

“They’ll know,” he answered. “That’s why this will be so easy.”

Lydia’s pulse thrummed as Finn strolled away from them, heading toward the gathered children and calling out a greeting.

“We have to assume Rufina will know it’s me bringing back her blighters,” she whispered. “She’ll know that means we are not as imprisoned as we are pretending to be. What if she tells Marcus?” Sudden uncertainty of whether this was a good idea filled her. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“Your ability to bring back those who have succumbed to blight makes you valuable,” Killian murmured. “Not just to us, but to the legions when they inevitably face Rufina. Why would she reveal that information to Marcus when she wants you dead?”

“He wants me dead, too, and I don’t think my ability to bring his men back to life will be enough to counter that desire.”

“Maybe.” Killian’s hand rested against her back, his palm warm through the fabric of her clothes. “But is that a risk Rufina is willing to take for the sake of a handful of blighter souls? Or is it better to stay silent over what you can do until he destroys her greatest threat?”

She leaned against him. “Not just a pretty face with a sword, are you?”

Killian huffed out an amused breath, his hand sliding lower over her hip. Then he tensed. “Here they come. He’s got two. Are they both dead?”

“Yes.” A boy and a girl, both several years younger than Finn.

“If I restrain the boy, can you manage the girl?”

Lydia nodded, and they slipped through the shadows toward the trio.