Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Killian glowered at the slight against Malahi’s guard, but there was no sense interrupting. Not when Hacken’s goals ultimately aligned with his own.

  “But Serrick is the King.” Hacken paused, surveying the group. “And we have not the power to overturn his decisions. We have not the power to send my brother or the High Lady Falorn to take command. And in fairness, it should be said that the High Lady’s absence today demonstrates that she’s washed her hands of responsibility.”

  Next to him, Malahi shifted in her chair, but when Killian glanced down, her face was smooth. Serene. Seemingly as entranced in his brother’s performance as the others.

  “The only power we have, gentlemen, is to decide whether to keep Mudamora’s crown on Serrick Rowenes’s head or whether we tear it from his brow! And yet…,”—Hacken lowered his voice, scanning the table with widened eyes—“we do nothing. Mudamora falls beneath the hand of the Seventh, and yet we do nothing. Why?”

  All the High Lords shifted in their seats, Torrington drinking deeply from his wineglass, though the rest left theirs untouched. And even he glared at the contents, then set his glass aside.

  “Why?” Hacken pushed his chair back and circled the table. “You know the reason as well as I—it’s because even in these desperate times, we cannot put aside the enmities between our houses long enough to choose a king from among ourselves. Despite Mudamora being united for centuries, we still behave as though we’re twelve separate kingdoms squabbling over a garden plot of land! And since we cannot fight together, it seems we are all destined to die together!”

  Killian had known his brother was the consummate politician, but it was another thing to see him in action. And even knowing Hacken as well as he did, Killian found himself caught up in the rise and fall of his brother’s voice. Felt his blood boil with the need to take action.

  “Thank the gods there is one among us who had the wisdom to see a better path.” Hacken had circled around to Malahi’s chair. Reaching down, he took her hand, helping her stand. Though this was the moment she’d fought for these long months, the moment of reckoning, Killian had to curb the urge to shove his brother away from the Princess.

  “A girl of only just eighteen,” Hacken said. “Yet it was she, not any of us, who found a way to spare my brother from Serrick’s blasphemy. It was she who remained in Mudaire, despite the dangers, in order to care for its civilians. It was she who saw how Mudamora might be spared despite all of our pettiness and infighting. And I say we make her our figurehead in our fight against the Seventh and his sorceress. I say we make Malahi Rowenes our queen!”

  The High Lords roared their approval, and as one they stood, bowing low to Malahi.

  Hacken turned on Killian. “What say you, Marked One?”

  It was a struggle not to grimace at that blasted title, though Killian had known coming into this meeting what role he was to play. “In the names of the Six, I swear that this vote has been conducted lawfully, and that all have acted of their own accord and without compulsion.”

  “Then it is done.” Hacken reached into his coat, extracting a sparkling tiara, which he placed on Malahi’s head. “May the Six guide and protect Her Royal Majesty, Queen Malahi Rowenes!”

  Everyone in the room bowed low; then Hacken took Malahi by the elbow. “Let’s go make the announcement to your guests, shall we?”

  The group rose, the other High Lords going first. Outside the council chambers, a young boy stood with the guards. He pushed through toward Hacken, handing him a note, a slow smile rising to Hacken’s face as he read the contents.

  Casting a backward glance at Killian, he said, “Looks like we won’t be needing Mother’s ships after all.”

  Killian’s heart skipped.

  Watch your rear.

  47

  LYDIA

  Lydia rested her shoulders against the wall outside the council chambers, wishing she could shut her eyes for a moment without fear of a reprimand from Bercola. Last night had been sleepless with its mad dash to attempt to warn the civilians of the tainted water with the deimos flying overhead, and then much of the day spent assisting with the evacuation. The well at the barracks was foul, so all of Malahi’s guards had moved to the palace.

  Not that it mattered much given that every one of them was on duty tonight.

  And given that Malahi intended to set sail at dawn.

  They’d be undertaking the journey on High Lord Calorian’s ship. The Princess had limited her ladies to two chests of belongings each, and other than Helene, none of them had argued. They’d wanted to be gone weeks ago, and Lydia was certain that if they’d been told they could bring nothing more than the clothes on their back, none of them would’ve cared. With the city losing wells to the blight by the hour, even the most privileged were starting to feel the walls closing in.

  Tonight would be her last night in Mudaire. And the beginning of the end of her time in the West.

  This is what you’ve been working toward, she reminded herself. Going home to help Teriana. To, hope against hope, save your father.

  And even if the worst happened and she failed in both of these things, to have her revenge on Lucius.

  What she should be feeling was anticipation. Eagerness. Even a bit of fear.

  Yet all she felt was hollow as she surveyed the young women she’d befriended over the past month, her mind going to all that she’d be leaving behind the moment she boarded a Maarin ship. The life that she’d made for herself. That she’d chosen for herself.

  How can I go back to life in Celendor?

  At the thought, she viciously bit at the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood. How selfish can you be, she silently screamed at herself. All of what has happened to the Maarin is the result of your carelessness. Even if you can free them, things will never be the same. You’ll need to spend the rest of your life atoning.

  “What is that noise?”

  She jumped at Gwen’s voice, but now that she was pulled from her thoughts, she heard exactly what the other girl was speaking about. A growing roar. The sound of hundreds, possibly thousands, of angry voices.

  Bercola jerked her chin at Lydia and Gwen. “Go see what that is.”

  Elbow to elbow, they hurried down the hallway together toward the main door of the palace. The large foyer had a scattering of party guests, women in elaborate gowns and men dressed in embroidered coats, boots polished to a high shine. All were turned toward the open doors of the palace, silently watching what lay beyond.

  Following Gwen, Lydia stepped closer to the door and looked outside, her eyes immediately going to the crowds of civilians beyond the palace gates.

  “The Six help us,” Gwen whispered, and Lydia felt her stomach drop.

  There were thousands of them, the square and the streets beyond full of faces marked with anger and desperation and fear.

  And hunger.

  The walls were lined with the soldiers the High Lords had brought with them. Hundreds of trained and hardened men. But they seemed a pittance compared to the crowd, who, despite the sun being only a faint glow in the west, showed no signs of dissipating.

  A soldier in a dark uniform with the Calorian horse embroidered on the chest appeared in front of them. “Where is Lord Calorian?”

  “In council with the High Lords and the Princess,” Lydia answered.

  “Inform him his presence is required,” the soldier said. “We need his order to use force against the mob.”

  Which wasn’t an order Killian would ever give. “They’ll go home once the sun sets for fear of the deimos.”

  As if on command, there was the flap of wings overhead and a shriek pierced the night. There were shouts of fear from the crowd, people casting their eyes skyward, but instead of being driven to safety they only pressed against the gates, the metal groaning.

  The soldier’s jaw tightened. “Fetch Lord Calorian, girl. Now.”

  Gwen hauled on her arm, and they hurried through the anxious guests in the direction
of the council chambers.

  “What in the name of the Six are they talking about in there that’s more important than this?” Gwen asked.

  The door to the council chambers opened and the High Lords exited, looking pleased as cats with cream. Behind them, Hacken appeared, Malahi on his arm. And Lydia’s eyes went straight to the tiara on her brow.

  The one that hadn’t been there when she’d entered the room.

  “They made her queen,” she murmured, but Gwen didn’t hear, too busy weaving her way toward Killian, who was watching his brother with a furrowed brow. But his attention snapped immediately to Gwen when she spoke, listening carefully, then shaking his head.

  High Lord Calorian and Malahi set off down the hallway, Killian shadowing their steps as they made their way toward the main staircase.

  With Sonia and three other guards in the lead, they started down the wide hallway leading to the ballroom. Glowing lamps hung from the paneled walls, illuminating their progress, the soft laughter and conversation coming through the twin doors at the end in sharp contrast to the sounds coming from outside.

  Then High Lord Calorian ground to a halt. “Before we go in, Your Majesty, might I have a word?” His eyes shifted to his younger brother. “Alone.”

  “Not a chance,” Killian growled. “We are going to make this announcement, and then this party is over.”

  “It won’t take but a moment.”

  “No.”

  Hacken grimaced. “Do not presume to order your betters about, little brother. The Queen chooses where she goes and with whom, not you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Malahi stiffen.

  “What is it that you want, Hacken?” Malahi asked. “Killian is correct that our time is short.”

  “I would speak of it in private, only, my lady.”

  “Why?” Killian demanded, and Lydia’s eyes flicked to his gloved hand, which kept twitching toward the hilt of his sword. “What is it that you wish to say that you don’t want me to hear?”

  “Nothing!” Hacken practically spit the words, but Lydia had spent her life surrounded by politicians—his anger was false. “It’s only that I wish for her to be the one to respond to my words, not you. And with you present, Killian, that seems an impossibility.”

  “We’ve a mob of starving civilians outside the palace gates.” Killian’s hand was on his sword now. “There’s not a chance that I’m letting her out of my sight. Say what you need to say, and be done with it.”

  “For the love of the Six!” Malahi flung open the door to a side chamber. “Killian, you wait here while I talk to the High Lord. I’ll be in plain sight the entire time.”

  Hacken inclined his head and started into the room, but Killian caught the Queen’s arm as she went to follow. “Malahi, no.”

  Malahi hesitated.

  “You are Queen of Mudamora, my lady.” Hacken’s voice held a bite that it had not before. “Yet why should the realm follow a woman who allows herself to be bullied about by her own watchdog?”

  Malahi’s face hardened. “Stay here, Killian.”

  “I don’t want you alone with—”

  “She need not be alone, you imbecile. You.” Hacken snapped his fingers at Lydia. “You seem like a girl who knows her place. Get in here and watch over your mistress.”

  Lydia froze. Why had he chosen her? Out of all the guardswomen standing in the corridor, why did it have to be her? From the tightening of Killian’s jaw, he was thinking the same thing.

  “Surely a woman you handpicked to guard Her Majesty will be more than capable of forestalling any untoward behavior on my part, Brother.” The corner of Hacken’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “The gods may have gifted our family a great deal of brawn, but as everyone knows, every last bit of it went to you.”

  “Get in here, Lydia,” Malahi hissed. “And be quick about it.”

  Lydia’s feet felt like lead blocks as she walked past Killian, his expression full of warning. As if she didn’t know she was walking into the lion’s den.

  Malahi slammed the door behind them. “I know you’re up to something, Hacken, so why don’t you spit it out.”

  “That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, Malahi,” High Lord Calorian answered, taking a seat on one of the sofas. “After all, it is your plotting that has brought us all together this fine night.”

  “You’re in the middle of a starving city, so I fail to see how the night is fine.”

  “Fine in that tonight will be the beginning of the end of Mudaire’s plight. And fine in that you’ll be choosing yourself a husband.”

  Lydia trailed after them, stopping a few paces back from the chair on which Malahi sat. There was only one entrance to the room and no windows. No closets in which attackers could be hidden, no shadows of feet behind the heavy drapery. Hacken Calorian was the only potential threat to the Queen, and it wouldn’t be a physical attack—it would be with words.

  “Yes, Hacken. After the war is won.”

  Hacken exhaled a long breath. “No, Malahi. You will announce your betrothal tonight or I will withdraw my support. And without it, you will cease to be queen and all of this will have been for naught.”

  “And am I to assume that the betrothal I’m announcing is to you?” Malahi’s voice dripped with venom. “Let me remind you that if the other High Lords were interested in you as king they would’ve skipped my little scheme and bent the knee to House Calorian.”

  “And yet you’ve shown my house such favoritism.” Hacken rubbed his chin. “Why do so if you didn’t intend to choose me when all was said and done?”

  The Queen went still, not even seeming to breathe.

  “You never intended it to be me you wed nor, I think, any of the other High Lords you enticed to your party.” He cocked his head. “It was a fine little ruse. You quite nearly had me convinced you were true to your word with the obvious measures you were taking to bolster my name with the people, making it seem as though I were singlehandedly holding the kingdom together with my wealth and resources and connections. With my … charitable nature. I confess, I’ve never felt quite so popular.”

  “How sad for you.” Malahi’s voice was stiff.

  Instead of acknowledging her retort, Hacken’s eyes flicked to Lydia. “Lydia, is it? A strange name for a northern girl, but what does a name matter with a face like yours?”

  She didn’t answer, his scrutiny drawing a cold sweat to her skin.

  He gestured for her to approach. “Sit, dear. I don’t want you to miss anything when you report back to your captain, who I’m sure is about ready to break that door down.”

  The last thing Lydia wanted to do was go any closer. “I’m accustomed to standing, my lord.”

  “And I’m accustomed to being obeyed.”

  “Do it, Lydia.” Malahi’s amber eyes went to hers. “Just sit down so we can get this over with.”

  Rounding the table, Lydia perched gingerly on the sofa next to Killian’s brother, cringing as he played with hairs that had come loose from the knot at the base of her neck. “Do you suppose he chooses pretty ones on purpose?”

  “They aren’t all pretty.” Malahi’s voice was frigid. “Get on with it.”

  Hacken continued playing with Lydia’s hair. “As I toyed with what your end game might be, Majesty, the question arose in my thoughts: Why go through all that effort to bolster my name if you had no intention to wed me? And it dawned on me that perhaps it was not my name you were bolstering, but my family’s name. A name which I am not the only man to hold.”

  Killian.

  “A vision of your intentions rose in my mind: We would replace your father, whom everyone despises, with you. You’d then dispatch my dear younger brother to win this war against Derin, which would of course make him a hero to the people, for there is nothing anyone likes better than a tale of redemption. Just as there is nothing the people would love better than for you to take the handsome, marked, hero of the realm and put a crown on his
head. More perfect still, for Killian has no taste for rule, and therefore would be quite content to be relegated to the role of consort, leaving Rowenes as the ruling house and you an autonomous woman. There’s just one problem.”

  “And what is that, Hacken? That you’ll no longer support my rule if it means your younger brother having power over you?”

  “Oh, I’ve no fear of that, Malahi.” He chuckled. “You thought it would be easy, didn’t you? Winning Killian over? Except, as I’m sure you’ve come to discover, my brother’s reputation as a womanizer is … grossly overstated. If you’d come to me, I might have told you the truth: Killian would fall on his own sword before bedding a girl he isn’t in love with. And he’s not in love with you.”

  Malahi didn’t react. Didn’t seem to even breathe. “What makes you so sure about that?”

  Hacken’s fingers twisted into the collar of Lydia’s coat, and with a sharp jerk he snapped the chain. Examining her ring, he then dropped it on the table before Malahi with a loud clatter. “Seldrid nearly fell off his chair when he learned our little brother had spent two thousand gold coins on a trinket, but what I found most interesting is that Killian didn’t give it to you.”

  Malahi’s eyes were fixed on the ring, her face filled with naked hurt.

  “I can explain,” Lydia blurted out. “It was mine. I sold it to Lady Helene because I was desperate, and Lord Calorian only bought it back because he knew how much it meant to me.”

  Yet even in her own ears, the words sounded hollow. Most everyone in the city had lost everything they valued. Most of the girls in Malahi’s guard had lost everything. That Killian had done this for her was damning enough, but the sheer amount of the expense …

  “Makes you wonder where he goes every night, doesn’t it?” Hacken leaned back on the sofa, resting one polished boot on his knee.

  “The children in the sewers.” Malahi’s voice was shaking. “He feeds them. Cares for them.”

  “All night?” His eyes slid to Lydia. “And this one, from what I hear from Brin, is also notably absent in the midnight hours.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of buttons, along with a cuff link shaped like a black horse. “I went to my own residence today to ensure anything of material value was removed to my ship, and it was clear it had seen some visitors.”