Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Sitting on the cold stone next to Lydia, Killian pulled off his coat and stuffed it behind his head, eyes on the shadows moving beyond the sewer grate. The deimos were prowling, their wings a steady drumbeat, their shrieks like shattering glass. But he hardly noticed them as Lydia shifted, her head falling against his shoulder. The hood of her cloak concealed her face, the fur trim tickling his neck. But the slender hand resting against his hip was changing, like the slow bloom of a flower, becoming young again.

  Finn flopped down on the floor next to him, and Killian gave him a little shove. “Don’t even think of trying to use me as a pillow.”

  The boy shifted a little farther away, but Killian couldn’t help but notice how skinny his arms were, brown wrists bare beneath a threadbare coat that was already too small for him. There was a hole in the toe of his boot, and his curly brown hair was tangled and matted. Finn curled up in a ball, but as the candle flickered out, Killian saw that he was shivering.

  Sighing, Killian pulled his coat out from behind his head and tossed it at his young friend. “You pick my pockets again, I’m going to hold you upside down by your ankles and shake you until I get all my coin back.”

  “I’ve never picked a pocket in my life,” came the muffled reply, but it was only moments until his breathing took on the rhythm of sleep.

  An hour, Killian told himself. You can stay for another hour; then you need to go back. But the minutes ticked by. Then the hours. And he didn’t stir from where he sat until the glow of dawn filtered into the tunnels.

  42

  KILLIAN

  “Killian, would you please not do that.”

  “Do what?” he asked, leaning farther over the balcony, attempting to determine precisely where the cave opening below was. The damned thing flooded at high tide, but he was relatively certain the Rainbow Ballroom was right above it.

  “Lean over the edge like that,” Malahi said. “You’re going to fall and get yourself killed.”

  He made a face at the ocean below. “I’m not going to fall. And even if I did, it’s not that far.”

  “Far enough!”

  “Let’s find out.” Hopping up onto the balustrade, Killian balanced easily, walking back and forth along it.

  “You wouldn’t.” Malahi sat perched on a delicate metal chair, the hand holding her teacup frozen midair as she watched.

  “Don’t tempt him,” Bercola grumbled. “Teriana, one of the Maarin Triumvir’s heirs, indoctrinated him into the joys of cliff diving when he was twelve. He’ll jump if for no other reason than to prove he can.”

  At the mention of Teriana, Killian’s attention shifted to Lydia to see if she’d heard the reference to her friend, but she was inside the ballroom itself, helping Lena set up for archery practice. As if sensing his scrutiny, she turned, a faint smile rising to her lips.

  A gust of breeze came from nowhere, buffeting him. Killian swayed, nearly losing his balance before jumping onto the balcony to conceal his loss of concentration.

  Bercola was glowering at him and Malahi’s face was blanched, the cup in her hand trembling. “You worry too much,” he said, picking up the pot of tea and filling her cup before flopping down on the chair across from her.

  Taking a sip, Malahi said, “You’re in awfully fine spirits.”

  Killian was in good spirits.

  True to her word, Malahi had slowly given up the horses to be slaughtered, the only two remaining in the stables Killian’s own, which she’d reluctantly spared because he’d need them in the weeks to come. She’d stripped the palace of blankets and excess clothing and had it distributed to those in need, and on top of improving the existing Crown shelters, she’d commandeered a number of empty residences, opening the doors to those who had nowhere to sleep. Circumstances were no less dire, but she was deeply in favor with the people.

  Though if he was being honest with himself, Malahi’s popularity had little to do with his mood.

  For nearly three weeks, he’d been meeting Lydia each night for a training session before they moved into the sewers, he and Finn handing out rations while Lydia, her face always carefully concealed, healed the children who required it. Finn’s kingdom of orphans wasn’t exactly thriving, but they were surviving. Not one had died since Lydia began her rounds, and if things continued this way the ship his mother was sending would be full to the brim with children when it departed for the safety of Serlania.

  Sensing that Malahi was waiting for an answer, he shrugged. “It’s a beautiful day.” And because he knew it would annoy her, he added, “And I’ve just had breakfast with a beautiful girl.” Never mind that his stomach still growled, less than satisfied with his rations.

  Malahi rolled her eyes, but he was spared the sharp side of her tongue when Lena called, “We’re ready, Captain.”

  Offering Malahi his arm, Killian led her inside the ballroom, where she ensconced herself at a table filled with her writing materials, content to address her correspondence while he saw to the training of her bodyguard.

  He’d had neither the time nor the resources to ensure the young women he’d hired were trained prior to beginning their duties, which had necessitated much of it happening on the job. Every one of them except Lydia was adept in a fistfight and handy with a knife, but for most, that was where their martial skill sets ended. Bercola handled much of their training, her ability to explain technique infinitely superior to his own, but he also relied a great deal on their ability to teach one another. Sonia, in particular, had a great deal of knowledge to share. She was currently leading the lesson.

  “Surprised your northern girl isn’t better with a bow,” Malahi remarked, watching as Sonia showed Lydia how to hold her weapon. The young Gamdeshian woman’s brow creased as Lydia peppered her with endless questions, and Killian struggled not to smile. “She’s a brawler. And she’ll bite if pressed, so I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Doesn’t look like a brawler. She has all of her teeth.”

  “So do I.” He grinned at her, hoping to deflect her interest from Lydia. Because Malahi wasn’t wrong: nothing about Lydia suggested a street fighter from Axbridge. Her posture was as perfect as any courtier’s, her teeth were intact, her nose was too straight to have ever been broken, and her skin was devoid of the inevitable scars that came from combat. And those damnable spectacles didn’t help. “She’s good in a fight; trust me.”

  Lydia chose that moment to send an arrow sailing sideways into one of the curtains. Malahi arched one eyebrow, then shook her head and went back to her writing.

  Leaving the guardswomen to Sonia’s instruction, Killian prowled around the ballroom, his mind on other things. In a matter of days, this room would be full to the brim with nobility and Malahi would be at risk for every second of it. For the next hour, he scoured the room until he knew every inch, coming up with plans for fortification and escape routes, one of which he was going to have to build himself. He was assessing the glass doors to the balcony when an exclamation of surprise caught his attention, something clattering to the floor near his feet.

  Lydia’s spectacles. Reaching down, he plucked them up and turned. Lydia was staring at him with dismay. “Are they cracked? The string caught the frame, and—” She broke off, color rising to her cheeks.

  Polishing a fingerprint off one of the lenses with his sleeve, Killian said, “No damage.” He handed them back to her, feeling the smooth brush of her fingers against his as she took them, her hand warm from exertion.

  “Thank you.”

  They stood staring at each other; then Sonia appeared at his arm, causing him to jump. “It’s your elbow, Lydia,” she said, then to Killian, “She needs to see. She learns by watching. You, Captain. You show her. Your form is satisfactory.”

  “Satisfactory?” He looked at Sonia, thinking it was a joke, but there was no humor in her hazel eyes.

  “Exemplary aim, of course. But form”—she shook her head—“satisfactory.”

  From across the room, he could hear Berc
ola howling with laughter. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Killian took the bow and arrow from Lydia. Drawing it, he aimed at the target, which was laughably close.

  “Hold there please, Captain.”

  Killian dutifully stood still while Sonia’s small hands poked him in various places as she explained form and stance, Lydia asking the occasional question. But when Sonia adjusted his elbow, Killian gave her a dark glare. “I don’t think so.”

  “Even you can stand to improve, Captain.”

  He allowed the string to slip from his fingers, and a heartbeat later there was a loud thunk as the arrow hit the target. He knew without looking it would be at the center of the bull’s-eye.

  Several of the girls whistled with appreciation, but Sonia only lifted one eyebrow and tucked a lock of her short hair behind her ear. Taking the bow from him, she retrieved an arrow and in a blur of motion let it loose, splitting his arrow shaft in two.

  “I fought for General Kaira,” she said, naming the marked Princess of Gamdesh. “In comparison to her, you are just a boy playing with toys. Now if you’ll excuse us, Captain, you’re interrupting my lesson.”

  Shaking his head, Killian started toward Malahi, who was watching him, her expression unreadable. Before he could reach her, Gwen stepped inside the doors to the ballroom and cleared her throat. “High Lord Hacken Calorian is here to see you, Your Highness.”

  Then the doors swung the rest of the way open, and Killian’s older brother stepped inside.

  43

  LYDIA

  Everyone stopped what they were doing as a man of perhaps twenty-five years of age came into the room. Even without having seen his likeness on several paintings in the Calorian home, Lydia would have known the man was Killian’s eldest brother. They had the same dark hair and eyes, sculpted features, and darker skin, both of them possessing slightly fuller bottom lips that would make anyone with eyes look twice.

  It was there the similarities ended.

  Where Killian was broad shouldered and muscled, High Lord Calorian seemed almost slight in comparison. Lydia put him at around her height at six feet, but that still made him half a head shorter than his younger brother. And where Killian was covered with tiny scars from a lifetime of combat, his nose crooked from being broken, Hacken was … flawless. Beautiful.

  But there was something in his eyes that made Lydia want to step back. To look away. To avoid his attention landing on her at all.

  Bercola bowed deeply as the High Lord approached, Malahi rising from her chair and dropping into a curtsy. “High Lord Calorian. We were not expecting you so soon.”

  He took Malahi’s hand, raising her up before kissing her knuckles. “I found after your last letter that I could no longer sit idle, Your Highness. You painted a heartbreaking picture of the plight of our capital, though I must say, the reality is far worse.”

  “It is dire.” Malahi didn’t pull her hand from his grip. “But the people know that without your continued generosity, it would be far worse.”

  Hacken inclined his head, then led her back to her seat. Setting the small box he carried on the table, he said, “A little thing to brighten your day.”

  All of the women in the guard collectively leaned forward as Malahi opened the box, a small smile growing on her face. Extracting what looked like some sort of sweet, she popped it in her mouth, sighing deeply as she chewed. “Thank you.”

  Hacken Calorian lifted his shoulder in a graceful shrug. “I know you’re fond of them and they took up little space on the ship.”

  Malahi straightened. “You brought supplies?”

  Hacken sat in the chair Bercola had brought over. “A full ship. My soldiers are already in the process of distributing it throughout the city to those who need it most.”

  “Thank you.” Malahi seemed to almost breathe the word, her eyes fixed on the High Lord. “You and your continued generosity are all that’s stood between Mudaire’s people and starvation. But I can hardly bear to think of the cost—”

  “What is wealth compared to lives? We have plenty. It is the least I could do.” Then his eyes shifted Killian’s direction. “Brother.”

  Having heard there was little love lost between the two, Lydia fully expected a snide comment, but the younger Calorian only bowed. “Your Grace.”

  “I set aside some provisions for the orphans you’ve taken such an interest in. I understand many of them are too fearful to venture out of the sewers?”

  “They’ve reason to be afraid.”

  “Even with you watching over them?” Hacken’s voice was light, but there was a hint of mockery in his eyes that set Lydia’s teeth on edge. He reminded her of the senators who ruled the Empire. And though they looked nothing alike, there was a cunning in his gaze that reminded her of Lucius.

  “I do what I can for them, but my duty is to Malahi.”

  “Of course. Even in Serlania, we hear that you never leave her side. As always, Killian, your dedication to your duties is admirable.”

  There was nothing but sincerity in Hacken’s tone, but next to him Malahi’s brow furrowed.

  “As it is,” Hacken continued, “I’ve brought enough that they should be well fed for a few days.”

  Killian inclined his head. “Thank you for thinking of them.”

  Hacken waved a hand as though it were nothing; then his gaze moved past his brother to Lydia and the other guards. “So these are the women you entrust your life to, Malahi?”

  “Some of them,” she answered, but Hacken was already crossing the room. He stopped in front of Brin, whose cheeks colored as she executed a strange combination of bow and curtsy, everything she’d learned in her months of service apparently forgotten.

  “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Brin, Your Grace. Brin Hammel.”

  “And where are you from, Brin?”

  “Blackbriar, Your Grace. Though me and my mum have been in Mudaire since—” Her gaze flicked to Killian, then back to High Lord Calorian. “My pa was with the Blackbriar garrison. Was him who taught me about fighting with a sword and such.”

  “My condolences on your loss.”

  Blackbriar, Lydia had heard, was one of the town garrisons that had been decimated on the wall.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “And how did you come to be part of Her Highness’s guard?”

  “The captain—he knew my pa. We got to talking when he came to see after my mum and saw me swinging a stick in the yard. Offered me a job.”

  “From swinging a stick in the yard to protecting a princess,” Hacken murmured. “What a story.”

  Then he moved on to the next girl and then the next, asking their names and where they were from. Lena flirted outrageously with him. Gwen gave him one-word answers. Sonia spoke to him in Gamdeshian, in which he proved to be fluent. Lydia he approached last, her skin turning clammy as she dipped her head.

  “Last, but not least,” he said. “And what is your name?”

  “It’s Lydia, Your Grace. From Axbridge.”

  “Lydia from Axbridge.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a younger version of High Lady Falorn?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s striking.” Reaching up, he removed her spectacles, then used them to lift her chin so they were staring into each other’s eyes. “More so without these concealing those beautiful eyes of yours.”

  “What you consider concealing I find quite revealing, Your Grace.” Lydia extracted her spectacles from his grip, feeling his index finger slide along her palm, his skin as free from callus as her own. It was a struggle not to cringe, and she hid her discomfort by polishing the lenses on her uniform before replacing them on her face.

  Hacken chuckled softly. “And how long have you been in service to Her Highness?”

  A variation upon the question he’d asked everyone else. “Three weeks.”

  “Not long at all.” He gestured to the bow. “Why don’t you g
ive a demonstration.”

  “Oh.” She looked wildly to Sonia, searching for reprieve, but the young woman only shrugged, leaving Lydia to mutter, “I’m afraid I’m not much of an archer.”

  Hacken leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Neither am I.”

  Lifting the bow, Lydia shrugged her shoulders to release some tension. Her hair had fallen over her right shoulder and her skin crawled as Killian’s brother ran his hand along the nape of her neck to draw her braid back to center, his fingers brushing the chain holding her ring between her breasts. “That’s better,” he said.

  “His Grace makes an excellent point,” Sonia said loudly. “Those of you with long hair should not leave it hanging. It catching in your bow is the least of your worries. Here, Lydia, let me help you.” The shorter woman edged between Lydia and Hacken, reaching up to twist her braid into a knot at the nape of her neck. “Now try.”

  Lydia aimed, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room upon her as she released the string. The arrow sailed past the target to clatter against the stone wall. Cheeks burning, she turned, expecting to see dismay in High Lord Calorian’s eyes, but they were shining with delight.

  “Keep practicing.” As he walked past a glowering Killian, he added, “I look forward to seeing more of you, Lydia of Axbridge.”

  * * *

  “I’m quite certain I’ve never seen a prettier man in the whole of my life,” Lena declared, putting her bare feet up on the arm of the sofa.

  “So you’ve mentioned,” Gwen replied, shoving Lena’s feet away from her face. “Three times. A point you already made clear with the outrageous way you flirted with him.”

  “I wasn’t flirting.” Lena moved to sit in front of Lydia, which was a silent cue for her to braid the other girl’s hair. “I was being polite. He’s a gods-damned High Lord—to be otherwise would border on stupidity.” She gave Gwen a pointed look.