Gilded Serpent, page 26
Run.
Terror galloped through Lydia’s veins as she sprinted up the stairs, the sound of heavy footfalls close behind her. “The temple is under attack!” she screamed, hoping that any alive who heard would have the wherewithal to hide, for there was nothing she could do for them.
Faster.
Except there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide where they wouldn’t eventually find her.
Keep going.
She rose higher and higher in the tower, a cramp pinching her side, but she ignored it.
The library.
She hit the floor the library was on, shoving open the door and then slamming it behind her and twisting the bolt.
Except she knew it wouldn’t hold for long.
She shoved a table up against the door right as the first blighters reached it, the boards shuddering with the impact of their bodies as they threw themselves against the wood.
Sobs of fear tearing from her throat, she dragged over more furniture, piling it high against the door and then knocking the nearest bookshelves against it. The mess of wood continued to shudder, but there were no shouts outside, only eerie silence.
Spinning in a circle, she searched for a way out, but of course, there was none.
She went to the window and looked down, everywhere she looked, the ground was a churning mass of armed men fighting to get inside of the tower.
Screams echoed up from the windows of the lower levels, the other healers falling victim to the horde, some choosing to leap to their deaths rather than face whatever had come for them, but Lydia wasn’t ready to give up.
She circled the library until she reached the window that faced the palace, her chest tightening at the sight of fire breaking out across the city. Of soldiers chasing civilians and cutting them down, screams filling the night. Her worst nightmare come to fruition.
And there was no way out.
Then an arrow shot through the window in front of her, embedding in a bookcase. An arrow with a thin piece of rope attached to it, and terror flooded her veins.
They were coming through the window.
Bracing her foot against the shelf, Lydia jerked the arrow loose and raced to the window, intent on throwing it, but as she looked across at the neighboring tower, her eyes latched on a familiar face.
High Lady Falorn.
Dareena held a finger to her lips, then held up her end of the rope. “Tie it to something.”
And then crawl across.
The drop was sickening. Falling would mean certain death, but with the way the furniture she’d piled against the door was moving inward with each slam, there was no other option.
Going to a pillar, Lydia wrapped the thin cord around it twice and then secured it with several knots of a quality that would’ve made Teriana cringe. But she’d neither the skill nor the time for better.
Going back to the window, she nodded to Dareena, who pulled the rope tight, securing it somewhere within the tower. Then the High Lady motioned for her to cross.
Climbing onto the windowsill, Lydia lay flat across the rope, then took a breath and allowed herself to rotate under it, using her legs to hold her weight as she slowly crept across the gap.
If any of the blighters looked up, she was dead. At this height, she was well within range of a good bowman, and even with her mark, a well-placed arrow was all it would take.
From behind, she heard furniture smashing to the ground, her barricade starting to crumble. Which meant she had only minutes until they were in.
Hurry.
A cold wind whipped at her robes, her hair blowing around her face, but she kept going, moving as fast as she could. And then she felt hands grip her wrists, hauling her across the sill and into the dark tower beyond.
“Someone tampered with the water at the palace,” Dareena said softly, untying the rope and allowing it to drop so as not to leave a clue where Lydia had gone. “The whole Royal Army is turned or dead, as are the High Lords. They took Serrick prisoner.”
Lydia’s stomach dropped. “Lena and Gwen…”
“Safe on a ship. One Serrick doesn’t know about.”
A small relief. “The blighter Quindor kept got loose and poisoned the temple water with blight. They’ve killed all the healers. And … Serrick has been turned. He’s a blighter now.”
“The Six have mercy on us,” Dareena muttered. “Someone coordinated this. Someone is in charge.”
“It was Cyntha. Or Rufina, as she now calls herself.”
The High Lady stopped in her tracks. “That’s … that’s not possible. Cyntha is a healer. I’ve seen her heal people with my own eyes. She can’t be corrupted. That’s blasphemy.”
“It is possible to do both.” Fear slicked her palms with sweat, but this was no time for keeping secrets. “Because I can do it, too.”
Abruptly she was against the wall, the High Lady’s hands pinioning her wrists to the stone. “What are you saying, Lydia? Because if it’s that you’re corrupted, you know I need to kill you, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.”
“I…” Lydia took a deep breath. “Rufina said that Hegeria grants healers our powers but that it is our choice how we use them. And the Corrupter rewards those who use their marks in service of him. And it’s not only healers—it’s the marks of all the gods that can be corrupted.”
It was hard to see in the darkness of the stairwell, but Lydia could hear Dareena’s breath, feel the way her fingers flexed as she considered Lydia’s words. But she wasn’t convinced, so Lydia said, “The tenders in the Royal Army … I don’t think they all died. I think Rufina captured some of them and forced or convinced them to use their mark to create the blight.”
“Corrupted tenders.”
“Yes.” Lydia’s heart was hammering. “That’s why Malahi was taken—if Rufina’s to be believed, she was marked by Yara but kept her gift a secret. Rufina is going to force her to try to expand the reach of the blight.”
“We need to get her back.”
“Yes.” They were running out of time. “But you and I are the only two people alive who know the truth. Which means we really need to get out of here alive. Which means I really need you to trust me.”
Wind howled down the staircase, and Lydia felt Dareena shiver, then mutter under her breath, “Yeah, Tremon. Fine. I hear you.”
She let go of Lydia’s wrists. “Let’s go. We can get into the sewers through the sublevel, but we need to hurry. They’ll be combing the city soon enough.”
They raced down the stairs, finally reaching the ground level in which there was a large statue of a man on a horse, the base covered with dead flowers and other offerings from before the doors were locked. Dareena brought her past it, opening a door to a narrow staircase, which led down to a small cellar. A hole had been knocked in one wall, allowing access to the sewer system, judging from the smell.
Pulling out her sword, Dareena motioned for Lydia to take the waiting lamp. “Let’s go.”
They moved swiftly through the sewers, heading in the direction of the harbor gate. From time to time, they heard the pounding of boots, and the pair of them were forced to hide in side passages with the lamplight hidden behind Lydia’s robes. But she knew eventually they were going to have to climb out into the streets. And when they did, they’d have to fight.
Finally, Dareena stopped. “I have a ship waiting out in deep water. But we’re going to need to get to it ourselves, because I’ve no way to signal them without drawing attention to us. And the harbor is crawling with blighters.”
“What about the boats in the cavern at the base of the cliffs?” Lydia suggested. “Is there a way to reach them?”
Dareena rubbed her chin. “Seas are too rough to try to swim. We’d have to go through the palace and down into the tunnels.”
“It’s not where they’ll expect us to go.”
“Worth a shot.”
They moved closer to the palace, finding a place where they could climb out of the sewers. They hid in an alley as a group of blighter soldiers strode past, none of them speaking a word.
They wove through the dark alleys until they were as close as they could reasonably get to the palace gates, which were open, but guarded by a small force of men.
“Are they alive?” Dareena asked under her breath.
Lydia gave a slight shake of her head.
“I knew them,” Dareena said softly. “In life. Sat around a fire and drank with them.”
“It’s not them anymore.”
“I know you can see that,” she answered. “But I can’t. To me they look very much alive, and I’m going to have to kill them to get through that gate.”
“Is there another way?”
The High Lady shook her head, then unhooked a bow from around her shoulder, drawing three arrows from the quiver strapped to her back. “Stay close, but stay out of my way, understood?”
Without waiting for a response, Dareena moved, the bow twanging three times in what seemed no more than a breath and three of the soldiers dropped to the cobbles. The others were trained—or at least, their bodies were—and they immediately dived behind the barrier, shouting the alarm.
But the High Lady was already halfway across the open space, sword raised. Lydia sprinted after her, watching as the woman leapt over the dead men, her blade colliding with that of one of the soldiers. He managed to parry twice and then fell, screaming, but Dareena had moved on to the next.
Lydia had seen Killian fight, his skill and speed beyond anything she’d ever seen, but whereas he was heavy blows and brute strength, watching the High Lady was like watching a dancer moving between men, her violence visible only in the bodies that fell in her wake.
The blighters retreated back against the gate. “High Lady,” they pleaded. “Stop!”
But she didn’t hesitate, nothing more than a blur of dark leather and steel as she carved into them, parting their heads from their necks one after another until the ground was drenched with blood. Only once they were all truly dead did she stop, and Lydia saw the tears glistening on the woman’s face. “Let’s go!”
Shoving open the gate, they ran through the camp. It was littered with the bodies of those who hadn’t been turned but killed by their comrades, the carnage unlike anything Lydia had ever seen. But there was no time to hesitate, because from behind, shouts filled the air.
“They know we’re here,” Dareena hissed. “We have to hurry.”
Inside the palace, it was dark, blood and bodies littering the floor, but they leapt over them, making their way to the stairs and hurtling downwards, then toward the room containing the hatch that led to the tunnels. Pulling back the thick bolts holding it shut, Dareena heaved it open. “In you go.”
Lydia’s terror ratcheted higher, the memory of her last time in these tunnels layering old fear upon new until it felt she could scarcely breathe. The torchlight flickered off the walls, casting bouncing shadows as they ran, barely having rounded the first switchback when their pursuers entered the hatch.
The roar of the sea grew, soon loud enough to drown out the shouts of the blighters, and she and Dareena burst into the chamber containing the boats. Lydia’s eyes skipped to the opening to the sea beyond. And the gate that barred it.
“Get it open!” Dareena shouted, and Lydia raced forward, shoving the tip of her belt knife into the lock. Her whole body twitched as steel rang against steel behind her, the blighters upon them. Snatching a stone from the damp ground, she slammed it against the hilt of her knife until she broke the lock and the gate swung open.
Only then did she turn, her stomach dropping at the sight.
Dozens of blighters filled the tunnel leading into the cavern, and while Dareena was holding them off, she wouldn’t be able to do so for long.
Running to one of the boats, Lydia dug in her heels and pushed it toward the opening. Waves struck the stairs with enough force that she questioned how they’d avoid being dashed against the cliffs. Balancing the boat on the edge of the stairs, oars inside, she watched the timing of the waves, knowing that she had to be precise.
And that there’d be only one chance to get it right.
Now.
“Dareena!” she shouted, then leapt inside the vessel.
The boat slid down the steps, and she twisted, seeing the High Lady—face splattered with gore—racing toward her, the blighters in pursuit.
Dareena jumped off the top step right as the boat hit the water, landing half on top of Lydia as the retreating wave pulled the boat with them.
“We need to row!” she shouted, disentangling herself and trying to get the heavy oars into their locks.
But the water was reversing, the boat picking up speed as the waves flung themselves toward the cliffs.
“Madoria, you might give us some assistance, you waterlogged sea hag!” Dareena screamed, wrenching an oar from Lydia’s grip and shoving it into a lock.
Lydia got the other one in, but it was too late. They were too close, the waves too strong. She braced herself for the impact.
Then the water abruptly fell still, the waves flattening, foam floating on the glassy surface. The boat slid forward on its own momentum, striking the rocks, but the thick wood held strong.
“Ha ha!” Dareena crowed, flipping her middle finger at the watching blighters. Then she grasped the oars and leaned into them, rowing the boat out to sea.
“What happened?” Lydia demanded, staring at the still water. “How is this possible?”
“The ship that’s waiting for us,” the High Lady said, breathing hard, “is not Mudamorian. It’s Maarin. And one of Madoria’s marked is aboard.”
49
KILLIAN
It was a wild gallop back through the mountains, but Killian was only half-aware of the Anuk pursuing him, his mind all for Lydia. She was in danger, he knew it.
And thanks to Ria’s meddling, he was on the wrong side of the kingdom to help Lydia.
Please keep her safe, he prayed to the Six. I don’t care what you do to me, just don’t let her be harmed.
It was only as he, Sonia, and Finn galloped out the eastern end of the canyon that the pool of dread in his guts abated. Yet as it did, the void it left behind filled with a new fear. What if his mark wasn’t telling him Lydia was safe. What if her life was no longer in danger because she’d lost it?
What if she’s dead?
“Ride hard to camp!” he shouted at Sonia. “Tell them to ready for an imminent attack from the Anuk and tell them why it’s coming.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Rotahn.” Digging his heels into Seahawk’s sides, he drove the exhausted horse in the direction of the Rowenes stronghold.
* * *
“Ria!”
Servants leapt out of his way as he stormed through the palace, hunting for the lady of House Rowenes.
And answers.
“Where is she?” he demanded, catching hold of the arm of one of the Rowenes guards. “Where is Ria?”
“A-abed, my lord,” the man stuttered.
“Take me to her.”
“But—”
“Now!” He shouted the word in the man’s face, not caring that the guard wasn’t the source of his wrath. It was because of Ria that he wasn’t in Mudaire. Which meant anything that had happened to Lydia would be on her hands.
The guard led him through the palace, stopping beside a door. “Her chambers, my lord,” he blurted out, then bolted.
Killian twisted the handle, finding it locked. But rather than demanding she open the door, he stepped back a few paces and then threw his weight against it. Wood splintered, and it exploded inward, slamming against the wall as a scream of surprise filled the air.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, they latched on Ria sitting upright in her bed, silken bedsheets clutched to her chest.
“What is the meaning of this?” she shrieked at him.
He was across the room in four strides, his finger leveled at her. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”
“Nothing that deserves such abuse from you, my lord,” she retorted. “So I’d ask that you remove yourself from my chambers and work on formulating an apology.”
“You deserve this and worse, Ria!” His vision was tinged with red. “You lied to me. Told me that the Anuk were taking advantage of the war with Derin to attack Rowenes lands, but that wasn’t it at all. You provoked them by sending your men to attack their villages in my name. To slaughter children in my name!” He screamed the words, because the alternative was to tear the room apart.
She stared silently at him, then lifted a shoulder. “We’ve always raided one another. It is nothing new or of note.”
“Of note?” He stared at her, feeling a tremor run through him. “You’ve started a gods-damned war when Mudamora can least afford it, Ria. People are going to die because of your actions.”
“I’ve started a war?” One of her eyebrows rose. “More like you’ve started a war, Killian. Everyone knows that you’ve met the Anuk raiders with unprecedented violence. That you’ve shown them none of the mercy my men cautioned you to use.”
“Because I thought—”
She interrupted her with a sharp laugh. “Protest all you like. As far as anyone knows, the only element in Mudamora’s relationship with Anukastre that has changed is you.”
“Bullshit. And when the King hears that you risked his gold and his people…” He trailed off, watching the smile rise to her lips. “He’s behind this.”
Ria clapped her hands together. “Very good. He sent instructions ahead that I was to do whatever it took to keep you in Rotahn. And that if I could discredit you in some capacity, so much the better.”
“Why?” Killian felt sick to his stomach.
“Isn’t it obvious? You sided with Malahi against him. Made him look the fool at Alder’s Ford. And he already hated you. Hated all of your kind.”
“My kind?”
“The Marked.” Rising, she drew on a dressing gown. “My uncle is a man who craves power and control, and if you think that he doesn’t resent the Marked for being raised above him by the Six, then you are truly an idiot. Why do you think he’s worked so tirelessly to reduce you all to little more than slaves to the kingdom?”
