She heard Teriana inhale as though to speak, but then she seemed to hesitate. And with her hesitation, Lydia felt something she hadn’t expected surge in her chest: hope.
Hope that flared brightly when Teriana finally whispered, “There is.”
Lydia’s heart fluttered, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. “Where?” she finally breathed out.
“Across the Endless Seas.”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing but water.”
“There’s a whole other world.”
Her breath caught in her throat, for what Teriana spoke of was nothing more than myth. “Do you mean the Dark Shores? They exist?”
Lydia felt Teriana press her forehead against hers. Felt her slow nod in the darkness. “If you decide you want to leave or if you’re ever in desperate need to reach me, this is how it’s done.…”
* * *
Teriana left at dawn, leaving Lydia standing alone at the gates to the property, one hand resting against the stone wall to keep her balance. Necessary, because it felt as though the whole world had been tipped on its side.
The existence of the Dark Shores. Immortal guardians of ships. Gods, which the Maarin—and apparently whole other nations of people on the far side of the world—worshipped. All things that would cause serious trouble for the Maarin if they were ever to be discovered by the Empire, but that concerned Lydia far less than the sense that she didn’t know her best friend as well as she’d thought.
Walking slowly down the path past the pool full of koi, Lydia entered the house, accepting a glass of iced lemon water from the waiting servant before climbing the stairs to the library. Her fingers trailed along the spines of the carefully organized volumes as she made her way through the room to her desk.
Sitting down, she worked for a time, but her mind kept drifting. Eyes kept going to the globe of Reath sitting on the corner of her desk. Setting down her pen, Lydia pulled the globe in front of her, watching it rotate.
One half depicted the Empire in blues, greens, golds, and whites, but the other half was lacquered black. The Dark Shores. What would it be like, she wondered, to pull back the shadow and see what lay beneath?
What would it be like to escape?
Then a hand pressed down on the rotating globe, stopping it so that Lydia’s gaze was centered on Celendor itself.
“Lydia, some decisions have been made that you need to be aware of.”
A chill ran down her spine at the tone of her father’s voice, and she couldn’t find the courage to lift her face to meet his gaze. Because she knew.
She knew.
“Who will it be?” Her voice quivered, and she clenched her teeth, furious that she was losing her composure already.
“You know that this is a matter of blood. Of breeding. If you were my child in truth, Domitius himself would have been banging on our door begging for your hand for his son.”
But she wasn’t patrician. Wasn’t Cel at all. “Who?” she repeated.
“I know it’s no love match and never will be, but you’ll have status and wealth and he’ll treat you well. He has children from a prior marriage, so you need not worry yourself with those particular concerns. He’s already said that he’s happy for you to carry on with your studies, which is no small thing. And he’s running for consul; if he is victorious, you’ll be the most influential woman in—”
“Who?” Lydia shrieked, cutting him off. Because she knew.
Silence filled the room. Thick and sticky and choking.
“Lucius Cassius has offered to marry you,” her father finally answered, taking hold of her wrist and sliding a heavy bracelet over her hand. “And I’ve accepted on your behalf. You’ll be wed after the elections.”
7
KILLIAN
Killian galloped through the night and into the morning, switching his stallion for a fresh mount at a farm he passed, a few gold coins and a promise ensuring he’d get his animal back.
It was there he left Bercola behind. To rest. And to deliver warnings.
As such, he was alone when he encountered the first of the Royal Army scouts.
“My lord!” The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of Killian’s injuries. “What’s happened?”
“Derin has invaded.” His borrowed horse bucked, sensing Killian’s agitation at the delay. “Have a pigeon sent to Mudaire warning them. I can’t delay—I need to reach my father.”
“But High Lord Calorian is here.” The scout gestured back in the direction he’d come from. “Resting the men at High Lord Damashere’s castle. He’d intended to travel to the wall to visit you, my lord.”
Killian’s stomach flipped, for while his father being close was a stroke of good fortune that might save the kingdom, Killian had thought he’d have another two days to figure out how he was going to break the news.
But apparently the gods had other plans.
Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Killian dug in his heels, and galloped toward High Lord Damashere’s castle.
* * *
He found his father already in the process of organizing the Royal Army to march.
“We received a bird from Blackbriar less than an hour past,” High Lord Calorian said, not looking up from his map. “But I’d like to hear an explanation from you, Killian.”
Killian swallowed, wishing for a glass of something strong. Perhaps an entire bottle of something strong. As he considered his words, blood from his injuries dripped from his fingers.
Splat.
A droplet struck the floor and, finally, his father looked up. “Gods, Killian,” he snapped. “You could have seen the healers first.”
Striding to the door, he leaned out, muttering to the men standing guard, and a few moments later, two white-robed healers appeared.
“Take care not to overexpend yourselves,” Killian’s father warned. “That he’s standing doesn’t mean he’s not half dead.”
Killian said nothing as the pair struggled to remove his chainmail and the blood-soaked garments beneath, but as they began their work erasing the injuries, he said, “One of the corrupted approached the wall yesterday claiming she desired to assist us.”
High Lord Calorian stood in silence as Killian explained what had happened. Both healers were grey and faded when they finished, departing the room right as Killian completed his description of the enemy forces. “You’ll need to call in reinforcements from the North and South,” he said. “Rufina has at least ten thousand men, and her ranks are peppered with corrupted.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Killian’s teeth clicked shut.
“That wall,” his father growled, “hasn’t been breached since it was built a thousand years ago, and yet within three months of you taking command of the fortress defending it we have a Derin army marching across the kingdom. And not because they laid an impressive siege to it. Not because of their manpower. No, the wall fell because they caught you with your trousers down.”
“The fortress’s wall was well manned,” Killian replied, eyeing his father warily. “I’m not stupid enough to leave my rear undefended.”
“And yet the enemy walked in entirely uncontested.”
“It was a ruse.”
“A ruse that shouldn’t have worked! Not on you!” High Lord Calorian snarled the words in Killian’s face, dusky skin red with anger. “Were you drunk? In bed with some girl?”
“No!” Killian scrambled for words. “I was on the wall when—”
“I don’t need to hear it.” His father turned away, resting his hands on a table covered with maps, the indigo wool of his coat straining over his shoulders. Of all High Lord Calorian’s sons, Killian knew he favored his father the most. A head taller than most men and built for combat, the only differences between them that his father’s dark brown hair was laced with grey and his olive skin creased around his eyes.
“You were marked by Tremon himself, Killian.” His father’s voice was low. “Haven’t you realized by now that such a gift came with obligati
ons? Doubly more so, given that you are my son. The god of war gave you the gifts needed to defend Mudamora, but what have you done but squander them?” He turned around. “Gambling, drinking, and chasing girls—those are the only things you use your talents for. This one time you had a chance to use your mark toward its intended purpose and you failed. And our people are dying as a result.” High Lord Calorian shook his head. “Tremon chose poorly when he chose you.”
The blood drained from Killian’s face, his father’s words cutting deeper than a sword. He’d been reprimanded countless times before, but this … this was different.
And perhaps not undeserved.
“You should’ve stayed on the wall and fought until the end,” his father spit. “You should’ve died defending that wall.”
The room felt cold and still. Killian’s pulse roared in his ears. “I’ll march with you, Father. I’ll fight. We’ll push them back—”
“You’ll go to Mudaire.” High Lord Calorian’s voice was frigid. “The King is there and you will hear his judgment on your actions. And in the meantime, I will march west, and you had best pray to all the gods that I’m able to rectify your mistakes.”
High Lord Calorian strode toward the door.
“Father, please!”
Fingers gripping the handle, his father turned, brown eyes fixing on Killian. “You were meant to be my greatest achievement. Instead, you’ve been my greatest disappointment.”
8
LYDIA
If you’re ever in desperate need to reach me, this is how it’s done.… Teriana’s words echoed in Lydia’s ears as she tore down the narrow path toward the sea, casting backward glances at the villa to see if anyone was in pursuit. Her father believed she was brooding in the library, but it wouldn’t be long before he came knocking and found an empty room.
Brambles caught at the silk of her skirts and tiny pebbles worked their way through the mesh of her sandals, digging into her feet. She tried to check her pace but slid, only a decorative railing keeping her from falling off the path into the bushes below.
Reaching the beach, she kicked off her sandals and sprinted down the sand to the water, the ocean blissfully cool against her feet. Removing her small knife from where it was tucked in the gold mesh of her belt, Lydia unfolded the blade. She stepped deeper into the water and watched as a wave rolled forward to slam against her thighs. As it retreated, she traced a circle in the water with her finger. “Hear me,” she whispered, looking up at the summit of the hill and praying the heat would keep any watching eyes indoors.
The waves surged, and again as they fell back she traced a circle. “Hear me.” She said it a little louder this time.
The water withdrew until only her feet were submerged. Then it gathered strength, froth and foam flying toward her. Squeezing the knife handle, Lydia sliced the blade across her fingertip. The wave retreated, and with the bloody finger she traced a final circle. “Hear me, Magnius, guardian of the deep,” she shouted, the bite of pain making her brave. “Hear my call!”
The blood from her cut dripped into the water, the red droplets staining the foam pink before fading into the vastness of the sea.
Heart thumping wildly, she waited, watching the sea expectantly. And waited. And waited.
But nothing happened.
Anger and frustration rose in her heart and, jerking the betrothal bracelet off her arm, she tried to fling it away. Except the bracelet slipped from her wet fingers, landing only a few paces ahead of her, lapis lazuli bright against the seafloor.
“Drat!” Lydia slapped her hands against the water, her spectacles slipping off with a splash. Vision blurred, she felt around in the sand for them, sighing with relief when her fingers closed over the metal frames.
Her relief didn’t last.
As she straightened, motion caught her eye, whatever it was blurry until she slipped her spectacles back on her face.
Lydia’s blood chilled.
A dark serpentine form slid through the clear water. A row of spikes cut through the waves.
Lydia tried to turn, tried to run, but her feet were anchored to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a faint whisper emerged. A tremble started in her hands, moving to the rest of her body, and she willed herself to move, but her toes only dug deeper into the sand. The sea monster approached, its greenish tail drifting from side to side, propelling it forward.
A wave crashed into the beach, the water rising up to her chin, where it remained, surface smooth as glass. Deep enough that the frills on the creature’s head brushed her arms as it circled. Lydia’s breath came in ragged gasps, her pulse roaring in her ears, and she clutched her tiny knife. For all the good it would do her.
The predator ceased its circling, lying motionless in the water. Lydia struggled against the invisible force holding her still, desperate to reach the safety of the shore, but all her body did was shiver and twitch. “Help,” she tried to scream, but it came out as an exhalation. “Help me.”
The creature lifted its massive reptilian head out of the water, jaws opening to reveal rows of sharp teeth. And it looked at her.
This … this was no mere serpent.
Black eyes stared at her, not with the blank glassiness of a snake, but with the endless depths of something that possessed a mind. A wisdom stretching beyond that of mankind. It had seen a thousand years and would see a thousand more. Its dark gaze swallowed her, and Lydia’s heart slowed, her panic fading.
The logical part of her howled that only a lunatic would converse with something capable of biting her in half. Yet as whatever force binding her voice released, instead of screaming, she whispered, “Are you Magnius?”
The monster dipped its head into the water, then lifted it again. Who summons me?
“I do.” She took a deep breath. “My name is Lydia. Lydia Valerius.”
The guardian hesitated. Why have you called me here?
Lydia opened her mouth, only the words stuck in her throat, her problems seeming small and trivial—unworthy of summoning this creature only to turn him into her errand boy.
The guardian shifted in the still waters. Ask.
Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Will you tell Teriana that I need her help? Tell her … Tell her I need to escape the Empire. Please.”
The guardian stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Then he lowered his head under the water.
The surf rushed out, shoving past until not even Lydia’s feet remained submerged. The strange power binding her released its hold, and she staggered, landing on her bottom in time for the next wave to splash her in the face.
Magnius was gone, and only the sand soaked far beyond the tide line gave her any comfort that it hadn’t been a delusion.
Retreating up the beach, Lydia sat with her violet skirts spread around her to dry, staring blindly at the ocean while she waited. Time passed, though whether it was a matter of minutes or hours Lydia couldn’t have said. It wasn’t until she heard her name coming from the ocean that she snapped out of her reverie.
“Lydia! Lydia!”
A longboat flew toward shore, Teriana standing in the prow with Bait behind her holding the oars.
Once they reached the shallows, Teriana jumped out of the boat, holding a wrapped package high above her head until she was on dry sand. Then she trotted up the beach. Tossing the package on the ground, she turned eyes filled with stormy seas on Lydia. “The only thing it appears you need help with is escaping the sun. You look like a boiled lobster.” Pulling off her battered hat, she plunked it down on Lydia’s head. “There.”
Lydia’s jaw trembled. “You might have mentioned Magnius was a sea monster.”
“He isn’t.” Teriana grinned. “He just looks like one. What did you think he was? Some sort of handsome merman who’d swim up to the beach and give you a kiss?”
The corners of Lydia’s mouth crept up. “I thought he was going to eat me.”
“Why would he do that?” Teriana punched L
ydia gently on the shoulder. “You’ve got less meat on you than the half-eaten wing of a scrawny chicken. Besides…” Teriana hesitated, licking her lips and glancing out to sea. “Magnius is a demigod. A scion of Madoria, Goddess of the Seas. He isn’t ruled by hunger.”
That had been easy to believe last night with the haze of wine and the darkness blanketing their conversation, but now Lydia found her mind recoiling from her friend’s words. Recoiling from the very idea that Teriana and her people put their faith in myths and fables—practices that the Maarin had kept secret from the Celendor Empire. Practices that, until last night, Teriana had kept from her. “There is no such thing as gods,” Lydia muttered. “All can be explained by logic and reason.”
Teriana rolled her eyes. “Well, aren’t we just a good little parrot today. Though if I do say so myself, you’d be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t just confessed to speaking with an overgrown sea snake.”
“True.” Lydia stared at the sea, not sure what she believed anymore.
“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happened to keep you from walking down to the harbor yourself?”
“My father has forbidden me to go to the harbor.”
“That so?” Teriana frowned. “Hate agreeing with a senator, but you were well to stay away today. Whole city’s in an uproar since Lucius Cassius announced he’s running for consul. If he wins, all Maarin ships will be giving harbors under the Empire’s control wide berth.”
“Did you hear as well that Lucius Cassius has decided to take a new wife?”
“Hadn’t.” Teriana huffed out a breath. “Though I pity the poor girl he’s chosen.”
Lydia grabbed fistfuls of sand, squeezing them hard in an attempt to maintain her self-control, but Teriana wasn’t fooled. “No…” her friend whispered.
Lydia nodded slowly. “My father signed the contract. A week after the elections, I will be the property of Lucius Cassius.” Lydia lifted her face, hoping against hope that Teriana would be her salvation. “I need you to take me with you when you set sail.”
Dark Skies Page 5