Chapter 38
Killian
A full moon hung above the open-air arena, casting murky light across the wooden architecture. Killian stood alone at the railing that edged the arena floor and tried his best to envision their plan. Tried and failed, as he was too distracted by the woman across the stadium.
On the far side of the stands, Elyse wandered through row after row, filing up and down the stairs and slithering her way through aisles.
Sera stayed close behind her, the two of them tackling a tedious but important job.
Elyse could only transport herself to places where she had previously been.
And so, in order to be able to transport anywhere in the arena, she was traversing its various areas.
She’d already ventured through the space beneath the stands—the waiting area where warriors gathered before their games, a few vendor stalls, and a makeshift infirmary where Corin and Nina were currently setting up a triage station.
Then, she’d begun switchbacking her way throughout the stands, strategically maneuvering through the different sections.
When she completed that area, she would move on to the arena floor, where the Games would take place tomorrow.
The dirt floor spanned over a hundred yards, including the hidden circle of salt buried right in the center.
It had been expertly covered up; only a faint change in texture hinted that something lay beneath, and after dozens of boots and hooves trampled over it tomorrow, the circle would be indiscernible from the rest of the floor.
Killian wasn’t sure what explanation King Maelor had given when he’d instructed that two hundred pounds of salt be buried in the center of the arena in an unbroken circle.
Frankly, he didn’t care as long as it worked.
Killian’s attention flickered back to Elyse.
As he watched her wend her way through the empty stadium, he wondered if she was bothered by the full moon.
Did it still symbolize oppression for her?
A lifelong servitude to a monster? Or could she now look up at the full moon and appreciate its brilliance?
If she was affected, she didn’t show it.
Her pace never faltered, even as she mounted another staircase.
In about twelve hours, these stands would be filled with thousands of civilians.
Killian tried to picture it—a throng of innocent people crowding nearly every inch of the stadium.
The image made his stomach turn. They would all be ignorant of the danger they were facing, and they were in danger because of Killian.
Because he had decided the risk was worth the payoff.
He only hoped that turned out to be true.
Killian heard footsteps coming from behind him. He turned, expecting to see Manny or even Zubir, and was surprised to find his king marching up the staircase.
“Mind a bit of company?” Maelor asked him as he reached the top of the stairs. He was in simple clothes—no embroidered jacket or bejeweled crown—but he still carried himself with an air of royalty. He spoke softly, his tone undercut with exhaustion.
“Not at all,” Killian replied, shifting a little further down the railing.
Maelor came up beside him and braced his hands on the ledge. He said nothing for a long moment, and the two men stood together in silence. A king and his disgraced soldier. Unlike Killian, though, Maelor kept his gaze aimed anywhere but at Elyse.
Killian wished he had known Maelor would be there.
He wouldn’t have been able to keep Maelor and Elyse completely apart, but he would have been mentally prepared at least. Perhaps he could have found a way to cut down on some of the tension that lingered between the two of them, even with a hundred yards separating them.
“It’s a good plan,” Maelor said, breaking the strained silence.
He gave Killian a smile, though it appeared more like a grimace.
Maybe that was Killian’s imagination. He wondered if the full moon was hard for Maelor to endure as well, having lost his father on such a night only a few months ago.
Or maybe he hadn’t even noted that detail.
“I’m not sure it will be enough,” Killian bemoaned.
Maelor leaned forward and rested his elbows on the ledge. “It will. It has to be,” he said.
“You don’t have to come tomorrow,” Killian offered. He leaned on his elbows as well, bringing his eyes level with his king’s. “You can wait at the inn. We can say you’re ill, or we can have someone pretend to be you. No one will know—”
Maelor cut him off. “I will know. I will not put my soldiers—my own citizens—in danger while I cower in some inn and let someone else pretend to be me.”
Killian opened his mouth to press the issue.
A decade of training told him that protecting his king was the strictest priority, the man’s pride be damned.
Yet, a burgeoning respect kept him from arguing.
If their roles were reversed, Killian would insist on the same thing.
Besides, Killian was no longer in the Guard.
The king’s safety was not his sole duty.
He settled on saying, “That’s very honorable of you.”
Maelor let out a huff. “More like basic humanity. Something that seems harder to find each day,” he chided. His gaze darted sideways toward Killian. “The Guard needs more men like you, Southwick. Stop this man—this demon—and you’ll have your rank restored.”
Killian lifted his chin. A surge of pride welled in his chest. It had been so long since anyone had said his name with that sort of respect.
“Stopping Lazarus from terrorizing the continent is reward enough,” he replied.
He wasn’t sure how else to respond. Maelor’s offer brought a confidence he had craved for so long, but it also came with a degree of uncertainty that settled like a weight in Killian’s stomach.
Without realizing it, his gaze lifted to Elyse, who was slowly making her way back toward him.
“That’s very honorable of you,” Maelor parroted. “The offer still stands.”
Killian didn’t respond, his thoughts too jumbled to form words. Maelor must have followed his gaze, for he said, “She must have some honor, too, if she’s captured your heart.”
Killian didn’t miss the way his king’s voice had changed, losing some bravado as he spoke of the woman who had murdered his father.
“She does,” Killian agreed. “She’ll do everything in her power to make sure Lazarus is destroyed.”
“Even if that means harming others?” Maelor asked. “Will she take innocent lives if it means achieving her goal?”
Killian twisted to find his king staring at him, awaiting an answer. He thought back to when he’d first met Elyse. He’d found her so despicable then, so selfish and reckless. It was comical, really, how wrong he had been about her.
“No,” he answered easily. “She’ll protect others at any cost.”
Maelor nodded. He said nothing else. After a few moments, he clapped Killian on the back and descended the stairs once again.
Killian returned to watching Elyse. He noted every movement she made—every bounce of her hair, every curve of her body. The way her pale skin shone in the moonlight. He memorized all of it, treasuring it as best he could.
He knew without a shred of doubt that Elyse would save the world tomorrow. His only fear was that she would give up her own life to do so.