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all mangrove swamps, so they can’t march up the coast. They’d have to cross between the swamps and the Uncharted Lands.”

“And then they’d need to get across the Orinok,” the captain said, naming the massive river that formed Gamdesh’s southern border. “It isn’t bridged, which means they’d have to ferry all their soldiers and supplies across. Seems to me their commander picked a poor location to set down roots.”

Unlikely, Lydia thought, shivering at the reference to the man who’d tried to murder her. “He’ll probably build a bridge.”

Dareena made a noncommittal noise, her brow furrowed, and Lydia quickly said, “Don’t discount the young man in command of the legions. He’s tremendously clever, known to win as often with guile as with force. He’s as great a threat as Rufina, of that you can be sure. And…” She swallowed.

“And…,” Dareena pressed.

“Ten legions is only the beginning of what they could rally, if they thought the prize worth the risks,” Lydia said. “They could send another hundred thousand men.”

Dareena’s eyes flicked to the captain. “Is this so?”

The man nodded, his black braids swaying around his face. “Why do you suppose we went to such lengths to keep the West secret from them?”

“But a secret no longer,” Dareena said. “And unless we unite to fight back, the heart of the West will soon be pinned between an army of the godless”—her eyes flicked to Lydia—“and an army of the undead.”

Using a xenthier path located at sea, the Maarin ship had delivered Lydia to a small port town on the southern coast of Mudamora only days after leaving Mudaire. “I’ll carry on to Serlania to rally the High Lords,” Dareena had said. “You ride fast to Rotahn and track down Killian—it’s a well-traveled road, so you’ll be safe enough. If your theory about tenders and the blight is correct, we need Malahi. And he’s best equipped to get her back.”

Now Lydia stood outside the fortress city of Rotahn as black storm clouds raced west toward the distant mountains, the smell of coming rain heavy in the air.

Stone walls encircled the fortress city, with soldiers in red uniforms patrolling the parapets, their eyes watchful. A steady stream of traffic flowed through the central gate, the soldiers inspecting both people and their carts.

Is he here?

Lydia’s heart skipped, then her pulse sped at the thought Killian might be on the other side of those walls, and she wasn’t certain whether she was excited or terrified. Possibly both.

You’re here to tell him about Malahi, she silently reminded herself. You’re here because you need him to help you rescue her.

But the reminder couldn’t erase the countless hours of daydreams she’d had where their reunion had an entirely different focus. Daydreams where she’d felt his lips on hers, desire curling hot in her belly as she imagined his hands on her body, what it would be like to have him peel the clothes from her skin. What it would be like to have him.

“He is not yours!” she snarled under her breath. “And falling into a bed with Killian isn’t why you’re here.”

Digging her heels into her horse’s sides, she cantered toward the line of traffic, falling in with the people who’d come to market.

As she reached the guards at the gate, she pulled back the white hood of her robes, watching as they inclined their heads.

“Marked One,” the taller man said, “you need not have waited with the common folk.”

“It was no trouble,” she answered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the way everyone was eyeing her with reverence. “I need to speak with Lord Calorian. Can you direct me to him?”

The man’s face shadowed, and unease filled Lydia’s chest. His reaction reminded her of how people had reacted to Killian before he’d won at Alder’s Ford. Back when they blamed him for the invasion. “General Calorian is in his camp north of here,” he answered. “But you’ll need an escort to make the journey.”

“I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”

He shook his head. “The conflict with the Anuk is worse than it has been in a generation,” he said. “They’ve been attacking Mudamorians near the border, and while they wouldn’t hurt a healer, they’d take you. You need an escort, which I’m certain Lady Ria would be glad to arrange.”

Lady Ria was King Serrick’s niece and Malahi’s cousin, and Lydia had little interest in speaking to her. But if what this man said were true, perhaps it was the prudent path. “Very well.”

The soldier assigned an escort to take her to the palace, which was a monstrous building that would have fit in well in Celendrial. A liveried stableboy hurried out to take her horse as another servant came swiftly down the steps, crimson towel across her arms, a golden basin held in one hand. “Marked One,” the woman said as the first drops of rain fell from the sky, splatting against the ground, swiftly turning to a downpour as they moved inside.

“My name is…” Lydia hesitated, because the last thing she needed was word of her presence making it back to Rufina. “Gwen. I seek Lady Ria, as I need an escort to General Calorian’s camp.”

“I will take you to her ladyship directly, Marked One,” the servant answered, leading her through the hallways, which were rich with the smell of scented oils. Her boots thudded on the tiles, which were a gold-veined marble, the endless alcoves filled with artwork in golden frames.

The woman took her to a courtyard garden filled with fountains and flowers, though the sound of them was drowned out by the roar of falling rain. And standing out in the middle of it, her hair plastered to her face and her gown soaked, was a woman.

“My lady?” the servant asked hesitantly, this behavior clearly unexpected. “One of the Marked is here to see you. Healer Gwen.”

The woman lowered her face from the storm, a smile moving to her lips. “Welcome, Marked One. What a glorious moment for you to have arrived. Gespurn has blessed us

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