Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “Don’t suppose you’ve any interest in a job?”

  Lydia lifted her head, the bread souring in her mouth. There was only one job left in the city, and she’d be lying to say that she hadn’t considered it. However, the current supply far outweighed the demand, and she wasn’t quite hungry enough to give up so much for a day’s worth of food. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  “Do I look like a cathouse madam to you?” He grinned. “Captain of Princess Malahi’s bodyguard is looking for a new recruit.”

  “I’m hardly qualified,” she muttered, remembering all too clearly the number of times in the past days when she hadn’t even been able to protect herself.

  He cocked one eyebrow. “Don’t know how to fight?”

  She opened her mouth, then thought better of what she’d intended to say. Admitting she was incapable of defending herself seemed like asking for trouble. “Not well enough to guard a princess.”

  “Well, if you want to get to Serlania, maybe you’ll find a way to fake it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Princess is heading to Serlania after her coming-of-age ball, and where she goes her bodyguard goes.”

  The idea of her as a bodyguard was absolutely ludicrous, yet if it meant making it to Serlania and finding a Maarin ship … “But I’m a girl.”

  “So’s the rest of her guard,” Finn replied. “And besides, I know the captain, and he owes me a favor or two. He’ll owe me three if I deliver a girl he can use.”

  Lydia bit the insides of her cheeks, considering her options. If she refused Finn’s offer, she’d almost certainly starve to death if she wasn’t killed in the Crown shelters. Yet either death seemed merciful compared to being shipped off to a battlefield to age over and over again until she eventually succumbed. By taking a position among the nobility, she’d be hiding in plain sight. “When is the Princess supposed to sail?” she finally asked.

  “The ball is a month from now.”

  A month? Could she fake it that long? Could she elude Killian Calorian and those he’d likely set after her? It was an enormous risk, but the reward was just as great, and already her mind was racing with strategies, with ways to change her appearance. She could do this. For Teriana’s sake, she had to. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Take me to see this captain.”

  Finn’s eyes went over her shoulder, and her stomach dropped as a familiar voice said, “I must say, that was much easier than I expected.”

  Whirling, Lydia found herself face-to-face with the very man she’d been desperate to elude.

  “Hello again,” Killian said.

  The alleyway behind her was a dead end, and he was blocking most of the entrance. But she had to try. Launching herself forward, she was almost in the clear when a hand latched on her arm, jerking her back. She shrieked, fighting and kicking, but his grip was relentless as he dragged her farther into the alley. Desperate, Lydia twisted and bit down hard on his forearm. He yelped and she stumbled free, falling on something that squished, the sound of Finn laughing filling her ears.

  “Gods-damn it!” Killian shook his arm, wincing. “Though I suppose I earned that.”

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Exactly what Finn told you,” he said. “Just hear me out.” Then his eyes flicked to the boy in question. “Finn, go sit your ass on the fountain in the square, and don’t even think about eavesdropping.”

  The news crier grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I’ve had my entertainment for the day.”

  Killian waited until the boy was out of earshot; then he said, “Yesterday, Princess Malahi was attacked by one of the corrupted.”

  Lydia silently listened to the story, half her mind for what he was telling her and the other half trying to come up with a way to get past him.

  “I need someone with Hegeria’s mark who hasn’t been branded by the temple to guard Malahi. Someone who will recognize the corrupted before they get close to her. I think that someone should be you.”

  The very idea of it was terrifying. Not only hiding in plain sight, but guarding against creatures that, if what he’d said was true, could drain the life from a person with a touch.

  “You’ll be fed the best food there is to be had in the city,” he said. “Paid in silver. Malahi’s entourage won’t be subject to Quindor’s scrutiny when they board the ship to Serlania, and once there you’ll be free to track down a Maarin ship and head home.” His head tilted to one side. “You also have my word that I’ll keep your mark a secret.”

  “Unless I don’t agree to your scheme, correct?” she snapped. “Which means it’s no choice at all.”

  Rocking on his heels, he shook his head. “You have my word I’ll keep your secret, regardless of what you choose to do.” Then Killian turned on his heel and walked out of the alley, his voice trailing behind him. “You know where to find me.”

  A way to Serlania, where Lydia was certain she’d be able to find a Maarin ship. Which meant a way back to the Empire. But the Princess wasn’t departing for more than a month. What were the chances of her father surviving Vibius’s poison that long? What were the chances of Teriana and her crew surviving Lucius’s inquisition that long? And there was the added risk of her mark being discovered. She’d be caught, her freedom gone and her life sure to follow.

  But what were the chances of her making it back home any other way?

  “Wait!” Lydia stumbled down the alley, rounding the corner to find Killian waiting, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I’ll do it,” she said.

  “I know.” He gestured for her to follow. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Why are you helping me?” Lydia asked as she followed Killian through the city.

  Reaching into his pocket, he extracted something metallic and handed it over. Lydia’s heart leapt at the sight of her spectacles, which she immediately placed on her face. The world came back into focus.

  “I decided to confirm your story. Found those in the stream. And something else, too.” He gave her an appraising look. “What in the depths of the underworld possessed you to touch a xenthier stem? Don’t you know how dangerous they are? They’re forbidden for a reason.”

  “That’s nonsense. They aren’t dangerous if you know where they go.”

  “Did you know?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Then my point stands.”

  “I would’ve died if I hadn’t taken it.” She blinked away the remembered fear of being underground. “I was trapped in a cave with no other way out.”

  “The old rock and a hard place dilemma.” He stepped over a puddle. “Either way, I believe you. About everything. Your mark. That you’re not from here.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re helping me. You’ll be punished if you’re caught, so what’s in it for you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m oath sworn to protect the princess of the realm. To do that, I need someone who can recognize the corrupted for what they are. I’m not averse to stepping outside the boundaries of the law to make it happen.”

  “I’ve never seen one of them before. How will I—”

  “Quindor said the corrupted have too much life in them; does that mean something to you?”

  Life. With so many crammed into the city, it was everywhere, seeping off of the belabored people like a mystical fog. One glance at an individual told her whether they were long for this world, many of those sitting listlessly against the walls of buildings so faded as to be barely distinguishable from the stone. Killian, by contrast, was vibrant with it. Vital. Strong.

  “Do I look well enough?” he asked, catching her staring.

  Her cheeks warmed. “The theory makes sense to me, though I would have to see one of them to be certain.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  An understatement. “On the assumption you don’t intend to inform the Princess or the rest of her guards of the true nature of my role, I feel it ne
cessary to point out that I’m lacking the skill set required to protect anyone, much less someone of her significance. How do you propose to convince them I’m an appropriate choice?”

  One side of his mouth curled up with a hint of a smile. “By telling them so.”

  “And if they question you?”

  “My gut tells me that won’t be a problem.”

  “Most men use their minds to make decisions, but you follow the advice of your innards?”

  “Daily.” His half smile turned into a grin. “They follow a twisting path, but I find they always deliver. My brain is less reliable.”

  It took her a second, but then she snorted and shook her head, the jest reminding her briefly—painfully—of Teriana. “You’ll be lying to them and, in doing so, putting them at risk.”

  “Telling them the truth makes them complicit, which puts them at equal risk.” He exhaled a long breath. “Two of my guards were killed with their weapons still sheathed. They didn’t see the threat, which meant they didn’t have the chance to defend themselves or Malahi. You can give them that chance.”

  “How do you know I won’t just run at the first sign of danger?”

  “Because I’ve seen you in action. You’re resourceful. You’re not a coward. And you possess a certain quality that I consider integral to join Her Highness’s guard.”

  “Which quality is that?”

  “Selflessness.” His eyes met hers. “It’s the reason why I’m still alive.”

  Lydia tore her gaze away, unwilling to tell him that she’d no intention of risking her life for girls she didn’t even know. Her father needed her. Teriana needed her. Which meant that until Lydia made it back to the Empire, the only life she intended to protect was her own.

  Killian led her to the wall encasing Mudaire and up a narrow set of stairs onto the battlements. Fifty feet above the ground below, the view of the city and surrounding country was incredible.

  Mudaire’s footprint was tiny compared to that of Celendrial, which was to be expected given it was a fortress city. The wall was shaped as a five-pointed star and was thick enough that a pair of horses could’ve drawn a cart along the length of it. There were four gates: three were the end point of highways leading west, north, and south, and the fourth led to the harbor, which lay outside the confines of the wall. The harbor itself was smallish but was the only breach in the towering white cliffs. The palace sat on the edge of the cliffs with a wall of its own separating it from the city. And in the center rose the seven towers of the god circle, the faces carved into them seeming to watch her and Killian as they walked, making her shiver.

  The land surrounding the city was brown and barren, broken up by copses of trees almost large enough to be called forests. In the far distance, mountains loomed, so tall as to be capped with white despite it being summer. Yet it was the veins of black running across the landscape that drew her attention, and she remembered stepping into one not long after she’d crawled out of the stream. How it had been slimy and smelled of rot. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the wind blasted her in the face, carrying that remembered stench with it. “That smell.” She pressed a hand to her nose. “What is wrong with the land?”

  “There’s a blight spreading down from the mountains. It’s rotting the earth, and with the tenders all working to feed the King’s army, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  “What’s causing it?”

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  Killian turned his head to regard the blight. “If you believe the King, it’s a punishment for our lack of faith in the Six. But…” He gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t think it’s that. The gods don’t interfere directly like this; their work is done through those they mark.”

  Like her. And him.

  “We’ve always known about the corrupted, and it’s believed that their powers are the only mark the Seventh bestows. But maybe that’s not the case.”

  Lydia frowned, recalling what she’d read in Treatise of the Seven. “You think the Seventh has different marks? Ones no one has seen before?” Pointing to the blight, she added, “You think a person did that?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “If that’s true, couldn’t someone marked by Yara stop it? Couldn’t they drive back the blight?” The goddess Yara had dominion over the earth and all the things that grew upon it, those she marked able to make plants grow and thrive even where they should not.

  “It’s possible.” His gaze shifted to the palace. “But we’d need one willing to try.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “There used to be close to three hundred in Mudamora.” This time his gaze flicked west to where the war was being fought in the shadow of the mountains. “But not anymore.”

  It wasn’t long before they passed over the south gate, but instead of taking the stairs down into the city, Killian kept going, his eyes on the dozens of miniature palaces in the district below. Like most of the structures in Mudaire, they were built with a dark grey stone, their faces elegant but austere. Compared to the airy and open patrician homes of Celendrial, these structures seemed grim and claustrophobic, entirely closed off from the elements by glass and stone. All the properties were walled and gated, but no smoke rose from chimneys and all, as far as she could see, were devoid of life.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The Calorian manor. My brother is in Serlania, so the place is empty and therefore a good location for us to chat without unwanted listeners.” He leaned over a parapet. “District was under guard until recently, which is why there are no squatters. But it’s only a matter of time.” Then he slung both legs over the edge and dropped out of sight.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Lydia leaned over the edge and saw Killian standing on a rooftop below, hands shoved into his pockets as he tapped one foot impatiently. “Madman,” she muttered, then eased out onto the ledge, lowering herself until she dangled from her fingertips before letting go. She stumbled as she landed and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the elbows.

  “You’d make a poor burglar.”

  “How tragic,” she snapped, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “Is this it, then?”

  “That one.” He pointed across the distant street at a stately structure, galloping horses wrought into the gate barring the entrance. “Follow me.”

  He leapt off the roof onto a balcony and then onto the wall surrounding the home, walking along it as easily as a cat until he reached the end and dropped to the ground. With him pushing on her heels, Lydia managed to scale the wall, which he easily climbed; then they crossed through the neglected gardens toward the main doors.

  Inside, the heavy drapes were drawn, but even in the dim light, it was obvious that whoever had decorated the home had excellent taste. The wooden floors were laid in a complex pattern and polished to a high shine, the walls were adorned with large pieces of art, and the furniture was carved from what looked like fruitwood. The air smelled faintly of varnish but also stale, as though it had not been stirred in some time. There was a large portrait hanging between a twin set of staircases, and Lydia gave a slight smile as she recognized a much younger version of Killian flanked by his older brothers, mother and father standing behind. He looked a great deal like his father, tall, with dark hair and eyes, skin a dusky olive hue. His mother, by contrast, was fair and rosy cheeked, with reddish-blond hair and a kind smile.

  “The artist took license,” Killian said, waving a hand at the painting. “She’s the only person in the world whose temper I won’t tempt.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “You don’t notice that when she’s chasing you down the hall shouting threats.”

  He led Lydia through the corridors and into a large room, where he flung open one of the curtains to give them light. Her eyes immediately went to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, taking in the layer after layer of crystal that must glitter like
stars when it was lit. There was a table at the center, on which rested a large roll of paper. “Why are we here?” she asked.

  “Because if we are to work together, I need the whole truth from you.”

  Reaching for the paper, he unrolled it, resting a pair of knives on the edges to hold it flat. It was a large map, the landmasses detailing those she’d only seen once—when she’d been spying on Marcus and Lucius. Like that map, judging from the symbol in the corner, it was of Maarin make. “We are here,” he said, pointing to a dot labeled Mudaire on the western coast of the large Northern Continent. “Now where is Celendor?”

  The Maarin had kept the East and West secret from each other for all of recorded history, and while it was obvious why they they’d kept the East ignorant, it was unclear to her why they’d kept the West equally so. Had it been to prevent these people from braving the Endless Seas, for if they successfully voyaged east, the Empire would surely learn of their origins? Or had there been a greater reason? Lydia didn’t know, but right now truthfulness seemed in her best interest. “Do you have a pencil?”

  He held one up. “I came prepared.”

  Eyeing the scale on the map of the West, Lydia flipped it over, and she began to draw. An artist she was not, but her father had provided her with an excellent education, which had included geography. The Empire grew beneath her hand, the vast central continent, then the islands. And as she drew, she spoke. “I was adopted at a young age by my foster father, who is head of the patrician family Valerius. His position gives him a seat in the Senate, which is the body that governs Celendor and its provinces. He is the equivalent of one of Mudamora’s High Lords, though there are a little over three hundred senators.”

  “Good gods,” Killian murmured. “And here I thought eleven plus a king was bad enough. The arguing must be endless.”

  “It is nearly all they do, though they prefer the term debate.” She finished her outlines of the landmasses and began shading in the topography. “Only men may inherit in Celendor, and as my father has no son, the Valerius fortune and seat in the Senate must go to his nephew, Vibius, who despises me.” The story poured from her lips and her pencil never stopped moving until she said, “So you see, it was either die in an underground chamber or risk the xenthier path.”