Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “And you aren’t taking a risk every time you bring food to them?” She sat up straight. “Those deimos are watching for you. They’re hunting you.”

  He shrugged. “The children don’t have anyone looking out for them. What does it matter if I’m risking my life if it will save hundreds? It’s what I’m for.”

  She frowned. “You’re marked to fight. For war.”

  “No, I’m marked to protect. The rest is just a consequence.”

  “To protect Malahi.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “At least, it isn’t for me. It’s like a compulsion.… I can’t not do it.”

  A deep understand of exactly what he meant filled her. The desire to help those suffering around her had been growing and growing, the sick children finally overwhelming her fear of using her mark. The fear of the consequences of using her mark.

  “If you get caught,” Killian said, “you won’t get back to Celendor to set things right. Your father, Teriana, the rest of the Maarin? Is risking them worth saving a handful of lives?”

  It felt like she was being torn in two. Like there was no choice that wouldn’t cost her. “My father … my father is likely already dead.” Saying the words made her chest tight, like she could scarcely breathe. “And Teriana will never forgive me if she learns that I could’ve saved the lives of children but didn’t for fear of risking her.”

  “If it was just her life, I’d agree. But the stakes are much larger than that. You need to get back.”

  He was right. She knew he was right. But she didn’t think she could live with herself if she stood by and did nothing. Nearly all her life she’d hidden alone in the library while the world passed by, doing nothing to right the wrongs she saw but chose to ignore. She refused to go back to being that girl. She refused to go down without a fight. “Why can’t I do both? Why can’t I help those who need it right up until the moment I board the ship to Serlania? It would give them a fighting chance of surviving.”

  “Because you risk being caught. You risk dying if you make a mistake.”

  “I’m not worried about being caught. Or of dying.” She grinned, feeling the rightness of the moment. “Because I’ll have you to watch my back.”

  41

  KILLIAN

  “You can’t wear what you’re wearing,” Killian muttered, rooting through the wardrobe. “The last thing we need is anyone figuring out who you are.”

  Lydia stood a pace behind him, holding up the lamp. “Whose clothes are these?”

  “Adra’s, I think.” He pulled out a bright pink gown trimmed with gold. “Definitely hers. She’s married to my middle brother, Seldrid, but she’s Gamdeshian—niece to the Sultan. Which is why her closet looks like a gods-damned rainbow.”

  Slamming the wardrobe shut, he motioned for Lydia to follow him out of the room, trying not to notice the faint smell of scented soap that hung in the air around her. As he’d been trying to ignore it all evening. How she managed to smell so clean after an entire day of work plus two hours of training was a mystery to him.

  “You didn’t spend much time here growing up, did you?”

  There was something about Lydia’s voice that he liked. A purposefulness that suggested she only spoke when she had something to say. Or, more often, there was something she wanted to know.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t treat it like home.”

  “I don’t really have a home. I’ve never spent more than six months in the same place since I was a child.” Stopping outside a pair of doors, he rested his hands on the knobs, reluctant to open them. “Though I suppose if I had to name a place, it would be Teradale.”

  “Where is that?”

  “On the southern coast, about a dozen leagues north of Serlania.” He scowled at the doors, annoyed at his own reluctance to go inside. “It’s my family’s estate and where our horse-breeding farm is located. My mother lives there, and it’s where I lived until I was seven.”

  Turning the knobs, Killian shoved open the doors and stepped inside.

  The drapes in his parents’ rooms were drawn, Lydia’s lamp casting shadows over the heavy furniture and thick carpets, the air stale after months of being left undisturbed. He’d expected to feel echoes of his father’s presence. But the room only felt empty. Lifeless.

  Going into the adjoining chamber, Killian opened up the long series of doors to reveal his mother’s garments. “After this, I’m hoping that squatters take over this house,” he said, “because otherwise she’ll know I was in her things.” He shook his head. “She’ll know I was in here even if I don’t touch a damn thing.”

  Lydia stepped forward, her elbow brushing against his sleeve as she ran her finger along the hanging dresses. “I don’t remember my mother.” Her hand paused on a velvet gown, rubbing the fabric between her fingers before moving on. “She was murdered. My father found her dead outside the gates to his home with me in her arms.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gave the slightest shake of her head. “I was two, so I have no memory of the event. And who my real father was is of equal mystery.”

  Her fingers paused on a white wool cloak that Killian had never known his mother to wear, she being fond of darker colors. Reaching up, he unhooked it from the hanger, draping it over Lydia’s shoulders. It had a deep hood trimmed with ermine, the buttons running up the chest polished silver disks. It sparked a memory, and he pulled open drawers of accessories until he found what he was looking for.

  Extracting the mask, he held it up. “You won’t be able to wear your spectacles, but this should solve the problem of anyone recognizing you.”

  Lydia’s brow furrowed; then she nodded. “Everything I need to see will be up close, so I should be fine. Will you put it on for me?”

  Pulling off her spectacles, she tucked them in the pocket of the cloak and turned her back to him. With her holding the mask in place, Killian looped the laces behind her head, her hair like silk beneath his fingers. This close, the scent of her was strong in his nose, making him fumble tying the knot. “Please don’t tell me you’re spending coin on special soap.”

  Why in the name of all the gods did you just say that?

  “I haven’t.” Turning her head, she looked up at him, and even with the top half of her face concealed by white satin and sparkling crystals, she was more beautiful than he felt comfortable admitting about a subordinate. “I use the same soap as the other girls.”

  “Oh.” His face felt like it was on fire. “You smell different, is all.”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked down at his boots. “Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to bathe since before dawn.”

  “No, it’s nice. You smell nice.”

  Nice?

  Grinding his teeth, Killian mentally berated himself for saying anything at all. “Most soldiers aren’t particularly fastidious about bathing, is all. Can get hard on the nose. Now let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time raiding my mother’s closet.”

  Outside, the deimos were circling overhead, waiting for them to exit, but he’d brought his bow with him this time, and as he walked out of the shadows the creatures took one look at him and flapped their wings, soaring out of easy range. Arrow nocked, he shadowed Lydia as they walked over to the grate, waiting until she was in the tunnel before jumping down himself.

  “I told Finn to have those who need to see a healer organized beneath one of the shelters,” he said, leading her through the tunnels. “But you need to be cautious. We don’t need to repeat what happened last night.”

  She nodded, the crystals on her mask glittering as they passed beneath a grate. “I wish there was a book I could read on the subject.”

  “You and your books.” He held out his hand, helping her over a pile of debris. “The temple here in Mudaire has a library, so there are undoubtedly books on the subject given it’s where Mudamora’s healers are trained.”

  “I know it’s not possible, b
ut I would love to see it.” Her voice was wistful. “It’s what I miss most about home.”

  Killian was not inclined toward books, primarily because he was not inclined toward sitting still. “How did you meet Teriana if you spent all your time in a library? I can’t say I’ve ever known her to lose herself in the stacks.”

  “You’d be surprised. A good many of my favorite linguistic texts came courtesy of her. She speaks every language on Reath, and her grammar is impeccable.” Lydia hopped over a puddle of filth. “But as to your question, we met when her mother was negotiating the latest iteration of the agreement between the Maarin and the Empire. One of the senators involved overestimated his proficiency with Trader’s Tongue—that’s what Mudamorian is called back east—and Teriana and I bonded over the humor of it all.”

  “You lost me at favorite linguistic texts.”

  She laughed, the sound filling his head and drowning out everything else. You are her senior officer, he reminded himself. You are helping her out of obligation. Your loyalty is to Malahi. But the logic spun away as she stepped into another pool of moonlight, looking for all the world like some mystical princess of the icy north.

  “Sparkly!”

  Killian jumped, sword half-drawn as he whirled around to find Finn standing behind him, hands held up in mock defense.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten the jump on you before, Lord Calorian.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Killian growled, shoving his sword back into its sheath. Finn’s eyes were gleaming with amusement in the light of the candle he held. “What?”

  “Nothing,” the boy said, laughing. “I didn’t say a thing.” Dodging around Killian, he made his way to Lydia, pulling up her hood so that it shadowed her face. “No more use of names, all right? I’ve started a few rumors about who is coming to do the healing tonight, and I’d hate for my hard work to be for nothing.”

  Even with her face concealed, Killian could sense Lydia’s frown as she asked, “Who do they believe is coming?”

  “Hegeria herself.”

  Before Lydia could respond, Finn trotted off. “This way.”

  They followed the boy, Lydia’s unease palpable. “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she murmured. “They’ll know I’m not her.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Killian understood the pressure she was feeling. The pressure to be infallible. To be perfect. “All that matters is that they don’t know it’s you.”

  He could feel that his words had done nothing to ease her concern, so he kept talking. “There will be many of them. More than you can possibly help in one night. How do you want to prioritize them?”

  “I’ll be able to tell who is the worst off,” she answered. “We’ll prioritize those.”

  “There still may be more than you can help in one night. Pulling someone back from death’s door is no small thing. Even for you.”

  Her hooded head turned toward him. “What do you mean, even for me?”

  You’re stronger than most. Exhaling, he considered his words. “I’ve been near death several times in my life. Because I’m marked, it has usually taken two, sometimes three healers to set me to rights. You did it yourself, and I don’t even have a scar to show for it.”

  Ahead, Finn turned his head sideways, clearly listening, but there was no helping it. Not in the tunnels. And as it was, there wasn’t a person in Mudaire other than Bercola whom Killian trusted more than the boy.

  “I’ve seen healers working in army camps more times than I care to count,” Killian continued. “They don’t heal every last scrape and bruise; their efforts are more … targeted.” Frowning, he considered his own experiences. “I couldn’t tell you how they do it, but they can focus their marks on the worst of the injuries. Sometimes they’ll only take the edge off. Stop the bleeding and then stitch and bandage or do whatever needs to be done. It allows them to save more lives.”

  Except he also knew Serrick wasn’t allowing the healers discretion in this. He was forcing them to heal the soldiers enough that they could fight. Healers were burning out and dying in unprecedented numbers, and it wasn’t sustainable.

  “Do they study how to do all this?” she asked. “At the temple?”

  “Yes. It’s a school of sorts, I suppose. There’s a similar institution in Revat, though the healers in Gamdesh have choice in whether or not they wish to attend.”

  Killian didn’t have a chance to say more on the subject. The quiet chatter of children’s voices reached his ears, growing until he and Lydia rounded a bend and encountered the group waiting for them. It was the same spot he’d brought her the prior night, almost beneath one of the shelters, and he didn’t miss the way Lydia cast her gaze upward before focusing on the children.

  Many rested on the sewer floor, coughing or still, brought by their friends and siblings in the hope they might be saved. And there were so many. Dozens and dozens, and it made him feel sick, because he knew their faces. Remembered when they’d been strong and healthy. When they’d had hope.

  She is their hope.

  Lydia stepped away from him, moving among the children, many of them reaching up to touch the hem of her cloak, whispering Hegeria’s name. The handful of candles made the crystals on her mask sparkle, her skin nearly the same shade as the satin, full lips a pale pink. She bent from time to time, touching foreheads and whispering words, every eye fixed upon her. With every moment, Finn’s story that it was Hegeria visiting the tunnels seemed more like the truth.

  Finally, she turned, gesturing to Killian. “This girl first,” she said. “Then this boy.”

  Picking his way through the children, he bent to pick up the girl, his chest tightening at the sight of her familiar face. She was the one he’d given his cuff link to. The one he’d promised to protect.

  One of many people he’d failed.

  Resting her on the floor a short distance from the group, Killian moved back to give Lydia space to work. The girl stirred, her breathing labored, face colorless, and Lydia pulled down the collar of her ratty dress, pressing her palm against the child’s chest.

  Though Killian had seen healers at work hundreds of times, it was as astonishing now as it had been the first time. The girl’s breathing steadied, losing the wet rasp, and her skin lost the waxy tone of near death. Her eyelids fluttered and opened, and she jerked in alarm.

  Killian dropped to his knees next to her, holding the candle up to illuminate his face. “Easy, little lady,” he said. “You’re with friends and you are well now.”

  Her eyes widened with recognition, and then her arms were around his shoulders. The girl clung to him for a minute, then reached into her pocket and extracted his cuff link. The damned thing was made of gold and jet and she could’ve traded it for something to eat. A clean place to stay. “It keeps me safe,” she whispered, and the words carved out his heart.

  Lydia spoke. “Finn, get her something to drink. Something to eat. She’s still weak. And then bring me the boy.”

  She healed the boy, then two more before Killian asked her to stop, sensing she was at her limit. A limit she’d push right through if left to her own devices. “We have time,” he said. “All night, if need be.”

  “What about the Princess?”

  Her voice was changed, raspy with age, and it was a struggle not to push back her hood and take off her mask to see how far gone she was. All he could see were her hands, which bore little resemblance to those of the girl he knew. An old woman’s hands. “Malahi doesn’t need me. Bercola and Sonia, plus eight other guards, are watching over her.”

  “Wouldn’t she prefer it be you?”

  There was curiosity in her voice, the question a larger one than he cared to answer. “Malahi knows I’m in the sewers with the orphans. They’re her people—she understands.”

  Except she didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why Killian needed to be down here himself, why he didn’t delegate the responsibility to the girls in her bodyguard, who were just as capable of
doing what he did. Didn’t understand that half of his motivation for being down in these sewers was selfish—he needed tangible proof that he was doing something. That he needed to atone for bringing this suffering down upon them.

  What about your time spent with Lydia? How do you justify that?

  “I’ve heard them call you her sworn sword. What exactly does that mean?”

  That was the last thing Killian wanted to talk about with her, but if it meant her taking a few more minutes to recover, then talk he would. “It means I’m sworn to stay by her side and protect her for the rest of my life.”

  “Whether you want to or not?”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?” he retorted, then instantly regretted his tone. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have pried.” She rose to her feet, bracing her hand against the wall. “Bring me the next child.”

  She swayed and Killian caught her arm. It felt fragile beneath his grip, his fingers encircling her bicep, but she tugged away with surprising strength. “I’m not stopping until everyone I believe might not make it until tomorrow night has been treated.”

  Phrased like that, it was impossible for him to argue.

  * * *

  It was the darkest hour of the night before Lydia decided they were finished, the children who remained instructed to return to the same place tomorrow night. They slowly filtered away to the narrow side tunnels with their nests of blankets and rags, leaving Killian alone with Lydia and Finn.

  “I’ll stay with her until she’s recovered enough to go back to the barracks,” Finn said, gesturing to Lydia, who’d fallen asleep, her head and shoulder resting against the wall of the sewer. Finn himself looked dead on his feet, the shadows beneath his eyes not entirely from the dying flame of the singular candle.

  Going back to the palace meant a hot bath. Clean clothes. Something to eat and something expensive to drink. It meant the sofa in Malahi’s bedroom, which would be warm and dry and quiet, and he could sleep until late morning. It was where he was supposed to be. Where he was duty bound to be. “It’s fine. I’ll stay until she’s ready. You get some sleep.”