Page 100 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
The request for alliance should formally come from Lydia, but every instinct told Killian it couldn’t wait. “Anukastre has committed to an alliance. But I don’t think it will be enough. I need you to journey to Eoten Island and convince the Council of Twelve to commit Eoten’s army to the fight.”
“The Council of Eleven, you mean.” Her lip curled. “All decisions require unanimous support, and one of Gespurn’s marked has long been absent. We’d hoped he’d died, but given that Gespurn has not seen fit to choose another summoner, the traitorous prick must still live.”
Killian winced. “About that…”
“Hello, my love.”
Bercola’s eyes widened, then her face turned red with fury. “You fucking bastard!” she screamed, then flung herself at Baird.
Killian cursed even as he caught hold of her arm, Bercola easily dragging him across the cabin. “Don’t kill him!”
“How could you!” she shrieked. “How could you abandon our people!”
“Because you left me!” Baird scrambled backward. “I couldn’t bear to watch you live life apart from me, so I left.”
“Coward!”
“I’m sorry!” Baird pleaded. “Betraying you was the worst mistake of my life!”
Killian managed to get between them, though the thought that he could restrain two angry giants was laughable. “Bercola, you don’t have to forgive him but you can’t kill him. He’s a friend and he’s had my back through more than a few dark hours. What’s more, he’s fighting on our side.”
He tensed, waiting for Bercola to attack, then realized she was crying. Great heaving sobs, and it struck Killian then that this wasn’t a conversation he needed to be part of. “I’m going to go,” he said. “But I need you to convince the giants to fight, Bercola. We need Eoten Isle’s strength.”
Stepping away from them, he called Socks’s name and then started the walk back to Teradale. The dog scampered ahead of him and then slid to a stop. Hackles rising, Socks growled at a dark patch of woods.
Killian’s skin began to crawl, and he drew his sword. Staring into the shadows, he prowled closer. Only for a cottonmouth to lunge at the dog. Killian reacted on instinct and cut off the deadly snake’s head, his heart pounding as the serpent fell still.
Socks continued to growl at the shadows.
“Get back to the house,” he said to the dog. “Bercola’s right that this is no place for you.”
The dog barked, then bolted toward the manor. Killian gave the shadows one last look, then followed him.
Kitaryia had a breakfast to attend, and the queen needed her bodyguard.
“She doesn’t play with her spectacles like that,” Killian muttered. “Even when they slide down her nose, she doesn’t notice.”
“No one besides you will know that,” Dareena answered under her breath.
“And perhaps give me some credit: wearing these things is giving me a bloody headache, I’ve nearly fallen down the stairs twice in this dress, and these damnable heels have resulted in me cracking my head twice in doorways. You haven’t had to do anything. ”
Which was entirely the problem. Lydia and his friends were risking their lives, and he was guarding the one woman in the nation who needed protection the least.
Which would have been hard enough, except every god-marked instinct in Killian’s body was screaming that Lydia was in danger. And he was powerless to help her.
“I feel it, too.” Dareena tightened her grip on his arm as they walked down the path running alongside the horse pasture, Lena and Gwen following behind.
“We’re running out of time, and instead of being north on the front lines fighting blighters, I’m attending a picnic.
” She shook her head. “It feels as though we are in some strange bubble, horror all around us, and that at any moment, the bubble will pop.”
As Dareena spoke, a strong northerly wind blew over them, bitterly cold, and carrying with it the faint stench of rot that briefly overwhelmed the scent of flowers.
“Do you believe they’ll find the information they seek?” Dareena asked, looking northward. It occurred to him that this was the first time the woman who’d mentored him had ever shown doubt. Had ever looked to him for answers.
“If there’s a way, Lydia and Malahi will find it.
” He fell silent as they approached the pavilions set up in the middle of the garden to block the heat of the sun.
Beneath stood an array of colorfully dressed nobles, all drinking and laughing as though they’d no care in the world.
His mother wore a gown of midnight blue against the sea of pastels; Adra and Seldrid were also dressed in grim colors.
A speck of grim reality in this farce, and Killian steered Dareena toward them, all the nobility dropping into low bows and curtsies as Her Royal Majesty, Queen Kitaryia Falorn was announced.
Dareena gave small nods as she passed them, sweat beading on the heavy paint she wore on her face.
Northerners rarely tolerated the heat of Serlania well, though it hadn’t seemed to trouble Lydia much.
Killian’s jaw tightened when he noticed a tiny smear in the healer tattoo painted on Dareena’s forehead.
This act wouldn’t work much longer, but Lydia was already on the Kairense and on her way across the strait.
His mother curtsied as they stopped before her. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Anne,” Dareena said in a soft voice. “Your gardens are lovely.”
“I confess, it feels bittersweet to stand in the beauty of nature when so much of Mudamora has fallen to blight,” his mother replied. “I pray to the Six that Mudamora will soon be restored through Lady Malahi’s efforts.”
“I pray for this as well.”
Hacken approached, Ria again on his arm.
Yet it was not his brother whom Killian found his attention drawn to, but the High Lady Rowenes.
Her typically sand-hued complexion was blanched of color, almost waxy in texture, and sweat dampened her blond hair.
She wore a high-necked and long-sleeved red brocade gown, and her underarms were also darkened with sweat.
As she curtsied, Ria swayed, appearing ready to topple over at any moment.
Her voice was tight as she murmured, “Your Grace.”
Dareena’s eyes narrowed behind Lydia’s spectacles. “Are you well, Ria?”
“Too much wine last night, I’m afraid.” Ria gave a tight smile, her knuckles white where she clutched Hacken’s elbow. “I now pay for the indulgence.”
The musicians under one of the pavilions began to play and the servants to circulate with trays of chilled lemonade. Killian took one for Dareena, who sipped at it while beads of sweat cut marks through her face paint. Ria also took one, though she gulped it down.
“I received word that Malahi successfully boarded a ship and is journeying across the strait to Revat.” Hacken extracted his arm from Ria’s grip, smoothing the damp and crumpled fabric.
“My messenger will arrive in advance of her,” Adra said. “My uncle will ensure that she receives the full support of the library guild. If there is an answer to be had, they will find it.”
Killian barely heard him. Ria had started to tremble, and his mark was screaming warning. “Ria, have you—”
Ria abruptly groaned, then doubled over, vomiting up the contents of her stomach onto the green grass.
“My gods!” Hacken leapt back, scowling at the splatters on his shoes.
Killian ignored the mess, catching hold of Ria as she started to sway and lowering her to the ground.
“I don’t feel well.” Tears ran down her face. “What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s blight poisoning.”
Killian turned his head to see Lena staring at the High Lady with a grim expression that confirmed his fears.
“No,” Ria moaned, the musicians falling silent.
“Check for the black marks,” Gwen said. “Lena was covered with them.”
Ria was clawing at the neck of her dress, and Dareena dropped to her knees and sliced a knife down the row of buttons on the back. Ria ripped down the high neckline, and a hiss escaped Killian’s lips at the black veins of blight running up her chest toward her neck.
Helene Torrington had stepped closer, and her scream was loud and shrill. “It’s the lemonade!”
Glass shattered all around as those holding glasses of lemonade cast them aside in alarm. Killian snatched a glass off a tray and held it to the light, seeing none of the telltale black in the pale yellow.
“She was ill before she drank the lemonade!” Seldrid shouted. “Calm yourselves!”
His brother might as well have spit into the wind for all the good it did. Several of the women had fainted, and many of the men were forcing themselves to vomit, the stench ripe on the air as Ria clawed at her skin.
“Help me!” she moaned. “Kitaryia, help me!”
“You must help her!” Hacken shouted at Dareena. “You’ve done it before. You must save my betrothed’s life!”
Dareena blew out a slow breath, then removed Lydia’s spectacles and wiped her sleeve over the healer tattoo, smearing black across her forehead. “I can’t help you, Ria. No one here can.”
Ria let out a shrill scream, then curled up on the grass in a shaking ball even as the veins of black crept up her neck.
“Where is she?” Hacken reached over as though to shake Dareena, then seemed to think better of it. “Where is Kitaryia?”
“On her way to Revat,” Killian answered. “She’s hunting for a way to save us all.”
Hacken’s eyes widened in shock, but he swiftly recovered. “The queen should be in Mudamora. Her mark is needed here, and Ria’s life is forfeit because you supported Kitaryia running off on a fool’s errand.”
His brother’s words were impassioned and angry, but Killian’s skin was crawling with the sense that all was not as it seemed.
Then Ria started screaming.
She clawed at her skin, vomit running down her chin.
Killian grabbed hold of her, his mother stroking the High Lady’s hair and whispering soothing words that he doubted Ria could hear.
The veins of blight had reached her face, and sickness pooled in Killian’s stomach as it started to streak across Ria’s bloodshot eyes.