Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  He was right. Yet her arm still trembled as she reached up to cup his cheek, the tips of her fingers touching the injury. Immediately she could feel the pull, the insistent tug against her core, but she bit down on the insides of her cheeks and resisted.

  Except her attention wavered from the injury to Killian’s eyes, which regarded her steadily. The lamplight flickered off them, illuminating the shades of umber and walnut and bronze, like polished tiger’s-eye stone, but warmer. Lydia was quite certain she’d never seen eyes like his, although perhaps it was only that she’d never been this close to someone. Never been so captivated—

  Her mark jerked free of her control, life flowing from her into him, and the cut sealed into a faint white line, the swelling around his other eye fading into nothingness.

  “Perhaps you’re not the best test subject,” she mumbled, embarrassed about losing her concentration.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because…” She trailed off, keenly aware of the warmth of his body over hers. The roughness of his cheek against her palm. The raggedness of her breath, and the way his shirt strained against the muscles of his shoulders.

  He didn’t let her go.

  She didn’t want him to.

  The hand still holding her other wrist loosened, turning to catch hers, their fingers interlocking. Heat flushed through her, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d never been kissed. Never been touched. Had never met anyone she wanted to touch her. Until now.

  He’s sworn to the Princess for life. He belongs to Malahi. The thought slapped her in the face, and she squirmed out from under him. “It’s late.” Late and she needed to sleep and the last thing she should be thinking about was a young nobleman who was far too attractive for his own good. Her mind needed to be focused on getting back to Celendor. On Teriana. On her father. On making Lucius pay for what he’d done. Not on kissing.

  Killian was on his feet with enough speed that she strongly suspected he’d allowed every punch she’d landed. Reaching down, he pulled her up before dropping her hand as though it had burned him. While she donned her spectacles, he circled the room retrieving his coat, gloves, and several of the buttons that had torn from his shirt while they were fighting. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the route back to the barracks.”

  The sun had set hours ago, but even though the shrieks of the deimos echoed through the night sky, Killian showed no concern. Keeping close to the wall of the property, he trotted along, stopping when they reached the corner. “This is the fun part,” he said. “Up and over, then down into the sewer on the other side of the street. Grate’s open.”

  He eyed the starry sky, absently linking his fingers. “Go.”

  Heart hammering, Lydia placed a boot into his hands, and then he was lifting her. Her fingers found the edge of the wall, and she slung her legs over right as the deimos screamed. Fear ricocheted through her body, and she dropped down the other side with no concern for the distance, twisting as her boots hit and then sprinting across the street. The dull metal of the grate beckoned her, and she fell to her bottom, grasping hold of the edge and lowering herself into the darkness.

  She was suspended by her elbows when she heard the thud of Killian landing on the ground, followed immediately by the clatter of hooves. Swiveling her head, she saw the deimos galloping up the street toward them.

  “Move!”

  She leapt into the sewer, stumbling out of the way as something heavy slid across the paving stones. Then Killian dropped into view, landing with both feet on the other side of the sludge running down the middle of the sewer.

  He was laughing.

  The deimos pawed the ground overtop of them, teeth snapping at the opening. “Try again on the other end,” he shouted at the creature, then caught Lydia’s hand, leading her out of the pool of moonlight and into the blackness.

  “The system runs through the entire city and empties into the sea,” he said, stooping to pick up a lamp that inexplicably waited for them. “I can get almost anywhere I wish to go as long as I plan ahead and make sure the grates aren’t rusted shut. It’s a bit on the filthy side of things, but at least the rats are no longer a problem.”

  Her stomach turned at the reason for that, but of more interest was the feel of his hand gripping hers. You’re an idiot, she told herself. He’s only helping you because he thinks you can’t take care of yourself. Yet for all her admonitions, it was still a struggle to pull her fingers from his grasp.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the sewer grate closest to the barracks, Killian pushing it open, then peering at the sky before scrambling out. Sword in hand, he reached down to pull her up, keeping to the shadows of the buildings as he led her to the familiar blue door.

  “Are you going back to the palace?” she asked.

  “Eventually.” He pushed open the door. “Good night, Lydia.” Then without another word, he retreated the way they’d come.

  Eventually? Where could he possibly be going?

  She stood in the front entrance for several long moments, knowing she should go up to bed. Knowing it wasn’t any business of hers what he spent his evenings doing. Knowing it was utter lunacy to tempt the dangers of the night just to satisfy her curiosity.

  And yet she found herself easing open the door just in time to see him dropping into the sewers.

  Where is he going?

  Knowing if she thought about it she’d talk herself out of it, Lydia scampered down the street and eased herself into the hole, dangling from her elbows for a moment before letting herself drop. Her feet landed on either side of a stream of filth, but though she looked both ways, there was no sign of Killian. She allowed her eyes go out of focus so that she could see the drifting streams of life that she usually ignored.

  It seeped off every living creature, and even without light she was able to follow the trail he left in his wake. She meandered through the sewers with no sense of direction, no idea what lay above her or how she’d find her way back. Before long, the sound of voices reached her, bouncing off the slimy walls and beckoning her closer.

  “What’s this?” The voice was familiar, and after a moment she placed it as Finn’s.

  “Pineapple.” Killian’s voice. “No, don’t eat the skin.”

  Curious, Lydia edged around the bend until she saw them. They stood next to a hand-drawn cart full of foods of all sorts. Finn had a piece of yellow fruit in his hand, the juices dribbling down his chin. “That’s good.”

  “Don’t get too attached. I’m not sure another shipment is forthcoming.”

  “Trouble with supply?”

  “That’s my problem, not yours. Let’s go.”

  Lydia trailed after them, and it wasn’t long until more voices filled the tunnels. Children’s voices. Then all of a sudden they were coming from every direction. She ducked into a small side tunnel before dozens of ragged and filthy children passed, some leading younger siblings by the hand. They converged on the cart, and Killian and Finn doled out the food. Fruits and vegetables. Salted meat. Sacks of oats. Sweets. And from Killian’s pockets she heard the clink of coins, bits of copper pressed into grubby hands that tucked it away in pockets and waistbands.

  Then they all disappeared as swiftly as they’d arrived, leaving the two alone with an empty cart. “Can you make the delivery yourself tomorrow?” Killian asked.

  Finn scuffed his worn boots against the stone. “It gets out of hand when you aren’t here. The strongest children take from the weakest without you watching over the process, if you get my meaning.”

  “The Seventh at our doorstep and I’m playing gods-damned nursemaid.” Killian scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fine. Same time tomorrow, then. I need to get back to the palace.”

  Lydia retreated into the tunnels before he could catch sight of her, so focused on finding her route that she didn’t see the children until she was upon them.

  They’d created a nest of ratty blankets and sacking, their eyes gleaming in the light of the sin
gle candle burning in their midst. They scampered away at the sight of her, her age making her a threat in this strange world ruled by orphans.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she called after them, but none stopped.

  Sighing, she started to move on when the sound of coughing caught her attention. Buried in the mess of rotten fabric, she found a little boy, the glow of life about him so faint that she wouldn’t have noticed him but for his cough.

  He was dying.

  Her body moved almost of its own accord. There was no doubt in her mind of what she needed to do. Dropping to her knees, she touched a hand to the boy’s clammy forehead and dragged life out of herself, forcing it into him. Her heart fluttered as she watched the skin on her hand wrinkle and mottle, but the child’s breathing steadied and his cheeks flushed with health.

  A shoe scraped on the stone behind her, and a child’s voice said, “You’re a healer.”

  Lydia stumbled to her feet, jerking her hood forward to obscure her face. “No, I’m…” The children who had fled stood before her, their faces pale, many with crusted eyes and injuries bound with dirty rags. But their expressions were full of hope.

  This was precisely what she’d been hiding from—being forced to heal others over and over, her life stripped away to save the casualties of war. Helping them could kill her. Would kill her if she kept it up. Except if she didn’t, how many would die? And how could she live with the knowledge that she could’ve saved some but had chosen not to? She imagined explaining her choice to Teriana. Imagined her friend’s expression when she heard Lydia had left children to die so as not to jeopardize her own fate. Already she could see the condemnation.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I can’t help everyone tonight. But I’ll help those who need it most.”

  39

  KILLIAN

  He pushed the cart through the darkened sewers, moving between the circles of moonlight shining through the regularly spaced sewer grates. The recent rains had washed away much of the filth, but it had come at a cost. The damp made the place a breeding ground for disease, and he hadn’t missed the endless coughing of the children waiting for their rations.

  Yet another problem in a sea of problems.

  He and Quindor had agreed that the progress of the blight needed to be tracked, for if it reached the city, hunger would rapidly become the least of Mudaire’s concerns. Quindor would undertake the task of warning the people of the dangers of the blight, while Killian would assign some of the few remaining men in the city guard to monitor the spread. What they could do to stop it was another problem. Trenches. Dams. All things that required manpower, which would mean employing civilians to do the labor. And the last thing Killian wanted was them near the foul substance.

  Ideally, he’d track down the source, but even if he wasn’t under strict orders by the King to remain in close proximity to the city, leaving Malahi alone for that length of time wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. It was something the King should’ve had the tenders addressing, but he claimed they were too strapped with the task of growing food to feed the army. Though perhaps he might change his mind on that count once he received Quindor’s and Malahi’s letters on the subject of the horse.

  Reaching the open grate near the palace wall, Killian pushed the cart into a dark side chamber for later use and then went to stand in the pool of moonlight, digging into his coat pocket to retrieve the delicate roll of paper he’d received just prior to departing the palace to meet Lydia.

  Lydia. He stared up at the moon overhead, barely seeing it. Time and again, he’d lost his train of thought when those upturned green eyes fixed upon him, and whenever she spoke the low, lilting tone of her voice drowned out the shrieks of the deimos. Even sweating and red-faced, she was pretty. More than pretty, if he was being honest with himself—

  “You are an idiot, Killian,” he told himself, shoving away those particular thoughts. “A gods-damned idiot. What are you even doing?”

  Because preparing her wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, she needed to be able to protect herself while watching over Malahi. And yes, she needed to be able to hold her own against those who’d wish her harm once she’d returned to Celendor. Not only did Teriana and the rest of the Maarin depend on it; his gut told him the stakes were even higher than that. But he could’ve asked Bercola to teach her—she was a better, more patient instructor than him. Yet the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, not when teaching Lydia to fight would give him the opportunity to spend more time with her himself.

  “Idiot,” he repeated, but the admonition did nothing to temper the sudden wave of bitterness that passed over him. He’d never taken up with a girl—it had never felt like the right thing to do, not when he had so little control over his own future. He’d been deployed throughout the kingdom, never knowing where or when he’d be moved next. His life was spent in army camps or fortresses or sleeping in the dirt, never with any respite. And now … Now he was sworn to Malahi for life. His whole reason for being was to keep her safe, and what girl in her right mind would be content with always playing second fiddle to the Princess?

  “Lydia’s leaving anyway,” he muttered. “So get your head on straight and focus on your damned duties.”

  Lifting the paper he still held in his hand, Killian scanned the note, which was from his mother.

  Killian,

  Seldrid has conveyed to me your deep distress over the plight of the orphans of Mudaire. While your brothers and their fellows seem of the belief that the navy ships sitting in our docks cannot be adequately crewed, Adra and I suffer from no such limited thinking. Three naval vessels will depart for Mudaire, albeit a day after Hacken leaves for Her Highness’s ball. One of them will be under strict instruction to take aboard all of your young charges, and I will personally take control of ensuring their welfare once they arrive.

  Mother

  The image of his mother in one of her fancy gowns waving at Hacken as he sailed north only to turn around, commandeer three royal ships, and crew them with women filled his mind, and Killian smiled. Then he squinted at the note, picking out the hidden message. He’d struggled with learning codes when he was young, and it had been his mother who’d instructed him for hours until he’d grown fluent in their use.

  Watch your rear.

  His first reaction was to flinch at the reference to his defeat at the wall, but that passed as he considered the warning. An attack that she didn’t believe he’d anticipate. Trickery. But too bloody vague for him to do anything about.

  Bad news all around, for though he now had a way to get Finn’s orphans out of Mudaire, he wasn’t certain they’d last that long. Food he might be able to scrounge up, but if plague struck there was nothing he’d be able to do to save them. The ships his mother was sending would sail back next to empty.

  The sound of footfalls echoed through the tunnel, snatching him away from his thoughts. Someone was running this way.

  “Lord Calorian! Lord Calorian! Wait!”

  Finn’s voice.

  The boy careened around the corner, nearly colliding with Killian. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s the girl!” Finn’s eyes were wide with panic. “Your new girl. I think she’s dead!”

  40

  LYDIA

  “You insane, idiot, fool of a girl.” Killian’s voice sounded distant, but fabric pressed against her cheek, her nose full of the familiar scent of soap and steel. She felt strong arms holding her close.

  “Can’t breathe,” she whispered, her chest aching as her heart skipped and faltered.

  “Hold on.” His breath came in fast little pants. He is running, she realized. Carrying me and running.

  And she couldn’t hold on. She was fading, the few remaining wisps of life drifting away no matter how hard she clung to them.

  “Almost there, almost there.” There was desperation in his voice. “Hold on.”

  Everything went black.

  And then she could feel it. Could feel life flowi
ng into her, coating her skin, filling her lungs. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing mist flooding down from above, the air thick with it.

  Her heart steadied, and in the moonlight filtering through the grate she watched a loose lock of her hair change slowly from white to black.

  Killian’s breathing was ragged. He was on his knees, one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders, his grip hard enough to bruise. Slowly turning, she looked up at him. “Where are we?”

  “As close as I could get to one of the shelters.” His face was concealed by shadows. “There are hundreds of people above us.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I can feel them.”

  “On the battlefield,” he said, “when a healer does too much, we drag them out among the healthy and uninjured men and it usually brings them back from the edge.”

  From the edge of death. Lydia pulled her ring out from beneath her shirt, gripping it tight and trying not to think of how close she’d come to losing her everything.

  “Are you feeling stronger?”

  She nodded, then wished she hadn’t when he eased her onto the dry side of the tunnel, the comfort she’d felt in his arms falling away, leaving her cold.

  “What were you doing in the sewers?”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “I followed you, and after … When I was finding my way out, I came across a sick boy and his friends. I … I couldn’t leave them like that.”

  Killian shifted his weight, the moonlight falling across his jaw and cheek, and Lydia felt the urge to reach up and touch him, to feel his skin beneath her fingers. To—

  “You put both of us at risk,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “By now, all the hundreds of children down here will know there was a healer here tonight.” The muscles in his jaw clenched. “You aren’t trained, Lydia. You don’t know how much healing a particular injury will take out of you, and if Finn hadn’t recognized you and run to find me, you might have—”