Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  But it wouldn’t be enough to kill her.

  Killian threw himself at the knife, snatching it up and throwing before he’d even regained his feet. It sank deep into her shoulder, but she only pulled it out, her teeth bared.

  Behind her, the drapery was an inferno, the air thick with choking smoke. Killian coughed, his head still spinning and now his lungs burning, but he had to kill her. Had to finish this.

  Picking up the blade of a dead soldier, he stalked toward the corrupted queen, driving her onto the balcony.

  “Nowhere to go, Rufina,” he said, backing her against the balustrade, trying to regain his senses. To regain his breath in the choking haze. “You made a mistake coming here tonight.”

  Her smile chilled him to the core. “Mistakes were made; that much is certain, Lord Calorian,” she said. “But not by me.”

  Lifting her fingers to her lips, she whistled.

  Swearing, Killian lunged, sword tip out, but the Queen of Derin twisted and dived off the balcony. And seconds later reappeared, clinging to the saddled back of a deimos. Righting herself, she called over her shoulder, “You should’ve taken more care with your charge, Killian. This will be the second princess I’ll have killed under your watch.”

  The wind hurled itself at the balcony, driving away the smoke, and as he blinked back stinging tears, Killian’s heart plummeted at the scene on the ocean before him.

  Lifting his sword, he ran back into the inferno.

  51

  LYDIA

  With Lena clutching her arm, Lydia sprinted to where Gwen stood wild-eyed and holding back a curtain covering a hole that had been knocked in the wall. “Hurry!”

  Lydia pushed both girls through the hole first, allowing the curtain to fall behind her as she scrambled through the cabinet hiding the opening on the opposite side. The antechamber contained Malahi, her guardswomen, and one man: High Lord Calorian.

  “My brother?” he demanded.

  “Buying us time.” She could barely get the words out.

  Bercola pulled up the trapdoor in the floor that had been concealed by a heavy carpet while Sonia and Brin worked to barricade the door to the hall. Beyond, screams pierced the air as the civilians sacking the palace encountered fleeing nobility and soldiers, the latter clearly cutting down those who got in their way with no regard for the fact they were countrymen.

  Angry tears streamed down Malahi’s face. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

  “Things very rarely go as planned,” Bercola snapped. “Which is why Killian built you an escape route. Use it. Fight another day.”

  “I can’t leave my people.”

  “You can’t help them if you’re dead.” The giantess loomed over the Queen. “Now climb down that hatch or I will toss you down.”

  Scrubbing tears from her face, Malahi complied, fighting with her voluminous skirts to get through the opening. The group dropped one at a time into the chamber below, Bercola coming last and pulling the trapdoor closed with her.

  They were in the sublevel of the palace, below ground, the air cold and stagnant, for the space was used for little more than storing supplies. Cracking open the door, Bercola peered out into the corridor and then pulled it shut, swearing under her breath. “They’ve made it down here already.”

  “How many?” Sonia whispered.

  “Ten, that I saw. Hopefully the sight of swords will send them running. The room we need is the one two doors down and on the left. Go.”

  The door swung open and the giantess charged out, weapon in hand, Sonia and five others on her heels.

  “Go,” Lena said to Malahi, gently pushing her and the High Lord out into the corridor. She and Gwen flanked them, Lydia and the rest bringing up the rear.

  Lydia’s heart hammered in her chest, the palm of her hand slick with sweat as she gripped her sword, casting backward glances as they moved up the hallway, but it was empty. And ahead, Bercola had chased off the looters and was unlocking the door.

  “In, in, in!” she hissed, piling everyone into the room before shutting the heavy door and latching it. A lone lamp burned in the empty chamber, at the center of which a steel trapdoor was set into the floor. Pulling it up, Bercola took a torch from a stack sitting against the wall, lighting it and handing it to Gwen. “You and Lena go first. Follow the route marked with white chalk. Don’t deviate.”

  “Gods, Bercola.” Lena’s face blanched as she eyed the black opening. “A daylight practice run would’ve been nice. What the hell is this place?”

  “A secret way out, which is why we didn’t tell any of you loose-lipped jabber-mouths. Now go!”

  The tunnels beneath the palace were narrow, the shadows from the torches dancing on the walls. The heavy breathing of the women was loud, the only other noise the scrape of boots against the stone floor. No one spoke, and Lydia wondered if they were thinking the same thoughts as her. That there was no way to know what was happening in the ballroom. Who was alive. Or who wasn’t.

  Down and down they went, following the white chalk on the walls. Several tunnels branched off from the main path, though where they led, Lydia could not have said. Then the silence was chased away by the roar of waves smashing against the cliff. Fresh air hit Lydia in the face, her boots splashing in puddles as she entered a chamber that opened to the sea.

  Two black-painted boats sat on the ground above the waterline, both containing oars, black tarps, and a crate of what Lydia suspected were supplies. Ready and waiting in case the unthinkable happened. Which it had.

  The opening to the sea was secured by a gate of steel bars draped in seaweed, but Bercola was already unlocking the heavy padlock and swinging it open. Waves splashed against a set of stairs that had been cut into the rock, leading down to where the boats could be launched.

  “We get out,” the giantess ordered. “Make our way to one of the ships and set sail immediately.”

  While the others worked to move the boats, Lydia picked her way down the steep steps to where she could see the ocean beyond. What she saw stole the breath from her chest.

  The sea was illuminated, bright as day, by countless floating infernos.

  “No. Gods, no.”

  Lydia turned to discover Malahi at her shoulder, eyes reflecting the flames consuming the Gamdeshian fleet.

  “Shit!” Bercola slammed her fist against the bars. Then she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We row down the coast until we reach Abenharrow. Now get those boats down here!”

  “Wait.” Lydia pointed out across the water. It was too dark to determine what sort of vessel it was, but she could see the life of the people aboard. “Someone’s coming this way.”

  “Probably sailors who escaped the ships. Now quit standing there, Lydia, and help!”

  “In a moment,” Lydia muttered, something catching her eye.

  The vessel came closer, and a figure that burned unnaturally bright stepped out from behind the others. “They aren’t Gamdeshians,” she shouted. “There’s one of the corrupted with them. Look!”

  Even as the words exited her lips, an arrow sliced past her face, embedding in the boat behind her. Lydia grabbed hold of Malahi and shoved the Queen farther back into the chamber, everyone ducking for cover behind the boats.

  “We can’t go out there!” High Lord Calorian was crouched behind the same boat as Lydia and Malahi. “They’ll pick whoever is manning the oars off and we’ll be slammed against the cliffs. It would be suicide.”

  “I’m aware,” Bercola snapped. “We need to get that gate shut.”

  “I’ll do it!” Lena darted out from behind the boat, dodging arrows as she slammed the gate shut.

  “Lena!” Bercola bolted after her, shoving the girl out of the way right as a flurry of arrows shot into the cavern.

  Lena rolled across the ground, the padlock in her hand slipping from her fingers to tumble into the water even as Bercola recoiled, an arrow embedded in her shoulder.

  “Bercola!” Lena screamed, but the giante
ss only growled at her to stay down.

  “We’ll wedge the gate shut with the boats,” Lydia shouted. “Push them closer. Push! Push!”

  Together, they slid the heavy vessels against the gate, wedging it shut while arrows flew through the bars.

  “There’s more of them coming.” The words came out from between Bercola’s teeth, her face lined with pain. “We need to backtrack. Find somewhere to hide in the palace. Sonia, hold them off for as long as you can, then retreat.”

  The Gamdeshian guardswoman’s gaze was fixed on the inferno consuming the fleet of her countrymen, but at Bercola’s order she nodded. “Go.”

  Her bow twanged over and over, providing the rest of them cover as they ran through the chamber and back into the tunnel.

  “The trapdoor leading back into the palace is solid steel set into rock,” Bercola said. “They won’t be able to get through it. We can hide in the storage rooms until the rioters get what they came for. Most of them are unarmed civilians—they won’t trouble us. We’ll wait for help to come.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Hacken demanded.

  “Then we’ll see what daylight brings and go from there.”

  “That’s not much of a plan.”

  Bercola gave the High Lord a dark glare, the torch flames casting shadows on her face. “You come up with a better one, by all means let me know.”

  They were nearly back to the entrance to the palace, all of them breathing hard from the climb, when a shout echoed up from behind. Sonia’s voice.

  “They’re almost through!”

  “Get that trapdoor open!” Bercola bellowed.

  Brin climbed the ladder and shoved a key in the lock, the mechanism releasing with a clunk. Her arms shuddering, she pushed, but the door didn’t budge.

  “There’s something on top,” she muttered. “I can’t lift it.”

  “The gods spare me from you little weaklings,” Bercola growled. “Let me do it.”

  But as Bercola reached for the ladder, the trap snapped open and two arms wearing rags reached down and jerked Brin upward. A piercing shriek filled the air, and blood splattered down on the guardswomen below.

  “Brin!” Bercola started to climb, but more rag-clad arms reached down, faces appearing in the opening as they fought against one another to get through the trapdoor.

  Their faces were an ashen grey, black veins running up the sides of their necks. But it wasn’t until one of them twisted to look at the group with eyes devoid of humanity that Lydia knew what was wrong with them. “They’re infected with blight!”

  “Pull back!” Bercola shouted, and then they were all running.

  Lydia looked over her shoulder as they rounded a bend, terror racing through her veins at the sight of infected civilians with blight toppling down into the tunnel, one after another, only to rise and give chase. “Run!”

  With Bercola in the lead, the group careened downwards, everyone tripping and stumbling. Lydia’s elbow slammed against the wall of the tunnel, but the pain was inconsequential compared to her fear. Sonia appeared ahead, panting and wide-eyed. “They’ll be through by now. We have to go!”

  “Way back to the palace is blocked by the enemy.” Blood streamed down Bercola’s arm from the arrow wound. “We’re trapped.”

  “We go down the other tunnels.” Malahi’s voice cut through the heavy, panicked breathing of the group.

  “I have no idea where they go,” Bercola said. “They could be dead ends.”

  “We have no choice.” The Queen’s face was streaked with dirt, but it did nothing to diminish the authority in her voice. “This way. Now.”

  Torches in hand, Lena and Gwen led the way down a dark branch of tunnel. It bent and wove, narrowing in places only to open up wide, everyone fighting to keep their footing on the slimy rock. Lydia’s pulse raced, her breath coming in fast little pants as the ceiling lowered, forcing them all to duck, Bercola nearly bent double.

  The giantess was struggling, the confined space and her injury slowing her to a crawl. Falling back, Lydia whispered, “Let me help you.”

  But Bercola shook her head. “You get caught, he gets caught. I’ve had worse. Keeping going.”

  Yet even over her roaring pulse and rapid breath, Lydia could hear the sounds of feet racing up behind them. Not the boots of soldiers, but the bare feet of Mudaire’s poor. Women. Children.

  She and Bercola reached a spot where the tunnel widened enough for them to stand straight, and there the giantess stopped, setting her torch against the wall. “I’ll hold them off here. They’ll only be able to come through one or two at a time. Go.”

  Lydia didn’t move, watching the light from the rest of their party diminish. “I can’t leave you alone.”

  “There isn’t room for both of us to fight. You’ll only be in my way. Go! You’ll have your chance to die soon enough.”

  Bercola was right, and Lydia knew it. But at least she could give the giantess a fighting chance. Reaching up, she pushed the arrow the rest of the way through the woman’s enormous shoulder, and before Bercola could react Lydia directed her mark at the wound until the bleeding stopped.

  “You’re an idiot,” Bercola muttered, then shoved Lydia up the tunnel.

  Despite the darkness, Lydia moved swiftly, keeping one hand in front of her and the other against the tunnel wall, following the trails of life the group had left behind them. It wasn’t long until she caught sight of their torchlight.

  The skin on the back of her neck crawled as Lydia approached, meeting Sonia, who was guarding the rear, first.

  “Where is Bercola?” The other young woman’s eyes were wide with alarm.

  “Holding them off. She told me that we should keep going.”

  Several of the other guards turned, their expressions grim.

  “Is it a dead end?” It was a struggle to get the words past her lips, fear strangling her.

  “Not exactly,” Lena replied, stepping aside. “Look for yourself.”

  Stepping into a small chamber, Lydia’s eyes locked on the stem of xenthier glittering at its center.

  And from behind them, Bercola roared a battle cry.

  52

  KILLIAN

  Sprinting across the ruined ballroom littered with bodies, Killian exited the main door. Only to find himself met with a tide of civilians, all coughing and choking even as they ransacked the palace, running with loaded arms out the front entrance and into the night.

  The main staircase bristled with soldiers, their duty to protect the High Lords hidden in the upper level, not to protect the palace. Killian prayed the fire he’d set would remain contained to the ballroom, or the strategy would see half the power of Mudamora dead in one night.

  But he didn’t care about that now.

  He’d seen the smaller vessels bristling with men heading toward the cavern entrance, and his gut told him they weren’t full of Gamdeshians. Malahi was trapped.

  And Lydia was with her.

  Shoving his way clear to the soldiers, he shouted, “Fifteen of you with me. The Queen’s escape has been compromised. We need to get her upstairs.”

  The soldiers the High Lords had brought with them were well trained, following him without argument as they pushed their way down the hall to the narrow stairs leading to the sublevel.

  Screams erupted in front of them, and suddenly people were running and pushing. “Get out, get out!” someone shouted. “They’re inside! They’re in the palace!”

  “Corrupted?” muttered one of the soldiers, but Killian pressed onward, lifting his sword as the hallway cleared.

  There were bodies on the floor, some moaning, some still. But while most had been crushed, several of them were clawed up and scratched, their hands and arms covered with … bite marks?

  Edging down the stairs, Killian picked up the sound of shuffling feet. Of many mouths breathing. And in his nose, the awful stench of blight.

  Steeling himself, he stepped out of the stairwell.

  And f
ound himself behind a horde of civilians, all of them fighting one another in an attempt to get into the room containing the trapdoor leading to the tunnels.

  None of them spoke, only pushed and strained against one another, bare feet crushing those who fell. And those who fell uttered not a sound of pain, only attempted to crawl through the legs of their companions toward the trapdoor.

  “The Six protect us,” one of the soldiers whispered. “Some of them are children.”

  And as one, the horde turned, revealing grey faces lined with blight, eyes reflecting the underworld that had stolen them.

  Killian lifted his sword.

  53

  LYDIA

  Everyone in the group jumped at Bercola’s battle cry, Malahi and Hacken turning from their wary inspection of the xenthier stem.

  “Bercola’s holding them off,” Lydia repeated. “She doesn’t know it’s a dead end.”

  The Queen closed her eyes, grief passing over her face. Then she turned to Hacken. “We don’t know where it goes. It could take us to the bottom of the sea. Or to a chamber a league beneath the ground. Or to a terminus that’s been entombed in rock.”

  Or somewhere far away from here.

  “Gods-damned Falorns,” Hacken muttered, running his hand through his hair in a gesture reminiscent of his brother. “They built this castle. It’s full of their secrets.”

  Malahi turned away from the xenthier. “Sonia, how long can we hold them off?”

  The small woman exhaled a long breath, then shook her head. “Against those things … Hours, I should think. They were unarmed, but if they keep coming…” She trailed off, leaving much unsaid because everyone was thinking it. The guards would fall one by one to the onslaught, and if no help came they might all die before Malahi and Hacken were driven to risk the xenthier. “But,” Sonia added, breaking the silence, “that’s only if one of the corrupted doesn’t arrive. I’m out of arrows, and no one here is fast or strong enough to defeat one of them, especially not in close quarters.”