Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  There’d been one of the corrupted in the boat. And Lydia was sure everyone was thinking the same thing: that it was only a matter of time until it hunted them down.

  Faint grunts of effort echoed up the tunnel. Thumps and thuds and the loud clang of a sword hitting rock. Bercola fighting off those poor souls who’d been inflected by the blight. But notably absent were screams. As though those she cut down felt no pain at all. Because they aren’t alive, Lydia thought. Merely hosts for the blight to control.

  “For now, we hold our position. Help may well be on its way.” Malahi stepped away from the xenthier. “But if one of the corrupted comes, we use the xenthier. All of us.”

  Hacken huffed out an aggrieved breath. “It might follow. Better for some of your soldiers to try to hold it off. That will give the rest of us a chance to run.”

  Malahi’s eyes flared with disgust. “No. We live together or we die together. That’s an order.”

  “Do not presume to give me orders, girl,” he snarled. “Without me, you’re nothing.”

  All the guardswomen shifted angrily, but Malahi waved a calming hand at them. “Oh, I don’t presume to order you to do anything, High Lord Calorian. By all means, if you wish to stand here, sword in hand, giving us all a fighting chance of survival, I will ensure you are honored for your heroism.”

  Hacken’s gaze was vitriolic, but Malahi only frowned, assessing the group. “You,” she said, pointing at Lydia. “Go inform Bercola of our plan, then stay there. If one of the corrupted comes, you’ll be the only warning we have.”

  Not a random choice. Lydia met Malahi’s cool amber gaze, then nodded.

  “She shouldn’t go alone,” Gwen protested. “Just in case.”

  “It only takes one person to shout a warning.”

  Never mind that the person doing the shouting wasn’t likely to make it back to the xenthier before the corrupted caught up to her. To refuse to go and necessitate someone else doing it would be cowardice, and if it weren’t for the fact that so many other lives depended on her, Lydia wouldn’t have hesitated. But Teriana needed her. Her father needed her. The Maarin needed her.

  Her mark made her stronger and faster, and it allowed her to endure and survive what others couldn’t. Of anyone standing in this room, she was the one most likely to make it back to the xenthier alive. “I’ll go.”

  Before her courage could abandon her entirely, Lydia started up the tunnel, moving by feel as the light behind her faded. It was only when she was in the darkness entirely that Lydia realized the faint sounds of Bercola fighting weren’t growing louder, they’d vanished entirely.

  What if Bercola had been overwhelmed?

  What if the horde of poisoned civilians was silently coming in her direction?

  What if their grey hands were reaching toward her?

  Every step was a force of will, Lydia peering into the blackness even as she listened for the sound of breathing. For the shuffle of bare feet. Then ahead, she made out the flickering glow of a torch. And faintly, almost so imperceptible that she wasn’t certain what she was hearing, came the sound of weeping.

  Sword pointed ahead of her, Lydia crept down the tunnel. As she rounded the last bend, the stink of blood and blight hit her in the face, her eyes landing on Bercola’s broad shadow, and beyond …

  The small chamber was painted with gore, bodies and body parts layered upon the floor. Not soldiers, but Mudamorian refugees. Women and children, all barefoot and clad in ragged clothing, their bodies emaciated from hunger.

  Lydia gagged, turning to press her forehead against the cool wall until she regained control. When she turned, Bercola was scrubbing tears from her cheeks.

  “They wouldn’t stop coming.” The giantess’s voice was hoarse, pleading. “I tried just knocking them back. Knocking them down. But they kept coming.”

  It was then Lydia saw the rips in Bercola’s clothing. The stains of blood. The scratches and bite marks on her enormous hands.

  “I tried.” Bercola’s shoulders bowed, the tip of her sword resting against the ground. “They aren’t the enemy. They are … were, our people.”

  This had broken her. Not physically, for Lydia knew the giantess’s wounds weren’t mortal. But her mind would never be the same. There was no coming back from this.

  Which was exactly what the Corrupter wanted.

  Chaos. Anger. Fear. That was what the god desired. What fueled his power. He’d trapped all these thousands of people in the city they’d once called home. Taught them to fear the dark. Their empty stomachs. And now one another.

  “They weren’t themselves.” She offered the words as sympathy, knowing they’d make little difference. “It was the blight within them, and it knows only one master.”

  The slow clap of hands made Lydia jump and Bercola whirl around, blade rising in defense.

  On the far side of the chamber stood a man dressed in black riding leathers. He was young, his skin the same dusky hue as Killian’s, hair a dark brown, but the eyes regarding them were black voids rimmed with flame. “Poetics in such a dark hour,” he said, nudging one of the corpses with his foot. “Not that this rabble deserves it.”

  “Lydia,” Bercola hissed. “Run!”

  But the corrupted was across the chamber in a blur of speed. He knocked aside Bercola’s sword in its downward stroke, sparks flashing as the blade hit the metal of his wrist guard, then tackled her against the floor with a bone-shattering crunch.

  Lydia opened her mouth to scream a warning; then she heard shouts coming from the tunnel the corrupted had come from. They were calling Malahi’s name. Hacken’s name. Help was here, if only she and Bercola could hold off the corrupted long enough.

  The giantess grappled with the corrupted, but the creature’s strength was more than enough to counter Bercola’s skill. They rolled, slamming into Lydia’s legs as she tried to stab at the thing. He twisted, reaching up to yank the sword from her hands and toss it across the chamber.

  Bercola took the opportunity to punch the corrupted in the face, his jaw cracking, head snapping back. But he only hissed in irritation, catching her arm and slamming it against a ridge in the stone floor, breaking the bone with an audible snap. Bercola screamed and Lydia stabbed with her knife, but the blade only skidded along the corrupted’s ribs.

  Snarling, he rose and, before Lydia could dart backward, backhanded her, shattering her spectacles and snapping her head backward.

  Agony fired across her face and she fell onto her bottom, her neck screaming in pain; blood dripped down her cheeks. Sobbing, she tried to regain her footing, but her vision was doubled, the world spinning.

  Get up. Get up.

  Bercola screamed, and as Lydia’s vision finally cleared, she saw the creature had a naked hand around the giantess’s throat, his teeth bared in a smile.

  Instinct took over.

  Lydia flung herself at the corrupted, grabbing him by the waist. They rolled, slamming into the wall, tiny pieces of rock raining down on them. She smashed her elbow against his nose, blood splattering her face even as his fist took her in the ribs.

  Agony split her torso, every gasping breath sending sharp stabs of pain through her body.

  You’ll heal! Lydia silently screamed the words at herself. Just hold him here until help arrives!

  The corrupted’s fists hammered her body, her wrist snapping as she deflected a blow aimed for her face. It hurt. It hurt with an intensity she’d never experienced. Never dreamed of.

  Hang on.

  Boots pounded down the tunnel, coming closer. The corrupted turned his head, listening, then tried to shove Lydia aside. “I’ve more important targets than you.”

  She lunged, grabbing the corner of his coat and pulling, but he only smacked her arm away with a force that made her cry out. “Bercola, help!”

  But the giantess was on her knees on the floor, too injured to move.

  The corrupted sprinted in the direction of Malahi and the others.

  Go!

/>   Lydia tore after him, running faster than she’d believe herself capable of as she pursued him down the twisting tunnels, following the foul brilliance that illuminated him. Ahead, light bloomed, and with all the strength she possessed she threw herself forward. The corrupted went down but twisted as he fell, and Lydia landed on her back with him on top of her.

  “Fine,” he hissed. “If you must have it this way.”

  His hand slapped against her cheek.

  It felt like her insides were being torn out, her skin burning, her heart hammering, a frantic and primal need to fight rising in her chest.

  “No!” Lydia screamed the word in the corrupted’s face. Ripping free one of her gloves, she grabbed the creature’s bare throat and dug her fingers into his flesh. And she pulled.

  Life surged back into her, what he’d taken from her and more, her injuries melting away as she pulled and pulled even as her mind recoiled from the strange pleasure that came with it. The corrupted’s eyes widened in shock and he reared backward, her fingers slipping loose from his throat a heartbeat before a sword blade sliced his head from his neck.

  Blood gushed from the stump as his body toppled onto her and Lydia screamed as it splattered her face.

  Then hands were under her arms, pulling her free.

  “Are you all right?”

  Killian’s voice. Wiping blood from her eyes revealed his face. His left eye was swollen shut, a deep cut on his temple dripping blood down his cheek. His clothes were torn and covered with gore, but he was here and he was alive.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice rasped, her throat dry as sand.

  “As are the rest of us, thanks to you, Lord Calorian.”

  Twisting, Lydia looked over her shoulder to see the group standing next to the xenthier, all eyes on her. Including Malahi’s.

  Killian let go of her shoulders, stepping past to Malahi’s side, both the Queen and the High Lord immediately demanding answers as to what had happened.

  Had they seen what she’d done?

  Only Lena was watching her now. “Is Bercola…?”

  Injured. And badly. “I’ll go to her now.”

  Lydia took Lena’s torch and ran back into the chamber, hating how alive she felt. How good she felt in the face of what she’d done.

  The giantess lay on the floor, groaning but not fully conscious. Easing the woman onto her side, Lydia grimaced at the sight of the jagged split in her scalp and the fractured bone beneath. A mortal wound.

  Six more soldiers ran into the chamber. “That way.” Lydia gestured down the tunnel. She waited until they were gone, then pressed her hand to Bercola’s head injury, pushing life into it. Bone solidified and the bleeding of the brain ceased, the giantess’s skin knitting beneath Lydia’s hand. She gave Bercola all that she had taken from the corrupted. Only when she felt once again herself did she remove her hand and slump against the wall. There were bodies everywhere. All around her.

  Bercola lifted her head from the floor, eyes searching. “Where is it? The corrupted?”

  “Dead.”

  And Lydia was covered in his blood, her skin coated with it.

  “Malahi?”

  “Killian’s with them.”

  There was blood in her mouth. She could taste it.

  A soldier came back in their direction, his eyes landing on Bercola before moving to Lydia. “The Queen is safe. We’ll secure the passage and get you all out of here.” Then he nodded once. “Well done.”

  It didn’t feel well done.

  A rhythmic rattle caught Lydia’s attention. Her scabbard, tapping the stone floor. Only then did she realize she was shaking. Crying. Her breath came in escalating pants, not enough air reaching her lungs.

  “It’s all right.” Bercola eased upward, wrapping her unbroken arm around Lydia’s shoulders and pulling her close. “It’s over. Deep breaths.”

  It didn’t feel over. Instead, waves of fear and remembered pain washed over Lydia, smothering her. Yet it was nothing compared to the panic that rose up like bile when she thought of what she’d done. The way it had felt. How some part of her, deep, deep down, wanted to feel that way again.

  Sonia appeared from around the corner, quickening her step at the sight of them. Gwen and Lena arrived on her heels. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Lydia said. “Bercola needs to see a healer.”

  Despite Lydia’s protests, Lena hauled her up; both Gwen and Sonia helped Bercola to stand. Two more of the guardswomen appeared, then Killian and Malahi. The Queen’s jaw tightened as she surveyed the dead civilians littering the chamber; then she inclined her head to Bercola. “You saved our lives. Thank you.”

  Without another word, she carried on.

  Hacken raised one eyebrow as he passed, murmuring, “I believe she’s disappointed you survived.”

  There was no answer to that, so Lydia kept silent, watching as the rest of the guardswomen and soldiers made their way through the gory chamber until only she and Lena remained.

  “Come on.” Her friend tugged on her arm. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  “You go. I need a minute.”

  Lena opened her mouth as though to protest and then nodded. “I’ll make sure they don’t lock you down here, but don’t take too long, all right?”

  “I won’t.”

  Picking up the flickering torch, which burned low, Lydia waited for the sound of footsteps to fade, and then she went in the opposite direction.

  The tunnel was a mess of bloody footprints from all who’d passed, the corpse of the corrupted shoved to one side. Lydia avoided looking at the dead man’s face as she skirted around his decapitated head, her boots sticking in the pooled blood.

  The xenthier stem was as thick as her wrist, jutting three feet out of the rocky floor, her face reflecting in its multitude of facets. “Where do you go?” she asked. Picking up a small stone, she tossed it at the stem. It disappeared, already somewhere far away.

  She knew the risks. Knew that reaching out to grasp the xenthier might result in her dying in an instant. In an hour. In a day.

  But it might also deliver her from the horrible trap that was this city. To stay meant death one way or another, and there was no chance Malahi would allow her on any ship she boarded—High Lord Calorian had ensured that.

  Teriana needs me.

  My father needs me.

  And if it came to pass that Lydia was too late to save them, then Lucius Cassius needed to be brought to justice for his crimes.

  There is nothing for you here.

  Her eyes burning, Lydia tightened her grip on her sword. Then she reached out her fingers toward the xenthier stem.

  54

  KILLIAN

  Lunging, Killian caught Lydia’s wrist and hauled her backward with enough force that she crashed into him, the torch in her hand falling to the floor.

  She struggled, then realized it was him, her eyes widening. “What are you doing here?”

  It was more of an accusation than a question. “I’ve got good instincts. Which is fortunate for you.”

  She jerked her wrist out of his grasp, bowing her head even as she balled her hands into fists. “I need to get home, Killian. And that means getting free of this cursed city however I have to.”

  “With this?” He jabbed a finger toward the xenthier, wishing there was a way to smash it. To break it. To eliminate any chance she’d ever go near it. “You have no idea where it goes.”

  “Anywhere is better than here.”

  “You bloody well know that’s not true.”

  “Teriana needs me!” Lydia screamed the words, her whole body shaking. “Everything that happened to her, to her people—it is my fault! There is no risk too great if it means I might have the chance to save her life.” Then she dropped to her knees, sobbing. “It’s been a month. She’s been a prisoner for a month, and all I can imagine is the things that Lucius has done to her. And my father … I’ve nearly lost hope that he’s still alive.” Lifting her fa
ce, she stared up at him, black lashes glistening with tears. “Every choice I’ve made has pulled me farther away from them.”

  He knew she didn’t mean distance.

  Dropping to his knees, Killian gripped her hands, wishing he had a way to stop her shaking. “Every choice you’ve made since I’ve known you has saved lives.”

  Her hands tightened on his, her pale skin sticky with drying blood. Yet despite it, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. Lydia was no fighter, but she was a warrior in her own right. In her own way. Clever. Fierce. Selfless. “Hegeria chose well when she chose you.”

  She gave the faintest shake of her head, fresh tears cutting tracks through the blood on her face.

  “The sun will be up soon,” he said. “We’ll know better then the state of the Gamdeshian fleet. With the vessels that survived, we’ll begin immediate evacuations. The city is lost. Everyone has to leave, one way or another, and there isn’t time for Quindor’s little tests. I’ll get you out of here.”

  “And if the fleet is lost entirely?”

  Killian sucked in a breath, unwilling to consider the magnitude of such a loss. “Then I’ll make sure you’re equipped and supplied, and you can take your chance with the xenthier.”

  “You won’t try to stop me?”

  Every part of him would want to. Not just because of the risk of the xenthier, but the danger he knew Lydia would face once she made it home. Killian knew the sort of man this Lucius Cassius was—not the sort that would take kindly to his power being contested, especially by a young woman. And in trying to save Teriana’s life, Lydia might well lose her own. But keeping her here was no safer. He could not protect her, and even if he could, Killian knew she didn’t want that from him. “It’s your choice, not mine.”

  Though by the gods, he wished it could be different. Except he was sworn to Malahi, was betrothed to Malahi, and he would not dishonor her, never mind that none of this had been his choice. No matter that he could feel Lydia’s breath against his cheek, her full lips so temptingly close. No matter that all he wanted to do was peel away clothes stained with the horror of the night and lose himself in her. Not for a night, but for as long as she’d have him.