The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2)

by Becky Wallace

  I’m supposed to be the most powerful person in the world, and there is nothing I can do against all of this.

  “Check the field,” the Performer advised. “Maybe she was among the inj—”

  “Rafi?” A voice cut over all the others. It was shaky and weak, but he’d recognize it with or without the tang of power it carried.

  He spun toward the sound and saw Johanna’s silhouette weaving toward the mine’s mouth. Scrambling over the boulders, he met her before she came too close to the edge.

  There was blood on her forehead and down the side of her face, and she limped as she approached, but otherwise she was whole and alive.

  Before he could put his relief into words, she was in his arms. Her cheek pressed against his chest, her arms tight around his waist.

  “You have to help them. The tunnels. Some of them are trapped.” She took his hand, trying to tow him back into the mine. “We have to get them out.”

  Chapter 81

  * * *

  Johanna

  Tears were clogging her throat and making it hard to talk, but Johanna hurried on. “Please.” She climbed down into the hole, frantic to get her friends out. “James was behind me.”

  Johanna pushed against a boulder that was three feet tall and partially buried, and was surprised that it wouldn’t move. She was a Performer. She was part Keeper. Shouldn’t she be able to do something? The tunnel was at least fifteen feet farther down. If Rafi could move all this stone . . .

  She turned, expecting him to be hard at work, but instead he was standing a few feet behind her with his head down and his hands on his hips.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled, grabbing a stone that was about the size of her head and trying to roll it aside. “They could be suffocating. We need to . . . we need to save them.”

  “Jo.” There was a plea in his voice, but she ignored it. Pushing on. Digging at the stone. Bloodying her fingers.

  “Someone get shovels and—”

  “Jo.” He touched her arm lightly.

  She swatted him away. “Help me!”

  “Stop.”

  “No. Not till they’re out.”

  Rafi’s arms wrapped around her, gently pinning hers down. “We already found James.”

  Found. Found, not saved. Her breath came in jagged gasps, tearing at her lungs, but she couldn’t seem to slow it down. “I sent them to their deaths. The mines were my idea. I should have done something different. I should have . . .”

  The world swirled inside her skull, and her legs turned to jelly. Rafi kept her from falling against the stones, but he sat down hard, jarring her back, and her thoughts.

  She could feel his heart racing against her spine. The tendons in his hands stood out in sharp relief. He had already tried to save them, she realized, and was so weak from the attempt that he couldn’t hold her up.

  Joshua, Thomas, Mama, Captain Alouette, Snout, Pira, Leão, Elma, Didsbury, Sergio, Olivia, Julia, James . . .

  All dead. All killed before their time.

  He squeezed her hard, as if he could force the remorse out of her. “You did what any good leader should do. You gave your people a chance at survival. You strategized to protect as many as possible. You put yourself in danger to protect them. No one would ever ask more.”

  “No one would ask for more, but you expect more.” She felt his breath catch and knew that she’d surprised him. “You expect to live your life like this, constantly putting lives of individuals aside for the greater good. Even if that means sacrificing them—or sacrificing yourself.”

  The pause in their conversation was long, long enough for her breathing to calm and her head to stop spinning.

  “I have no intentions of dying this week or this year,” he said, guessing at the deeper meaning of her words. “Have a little faith, Johanna. We survived this battle when no one thought it was possible. I think chances are good we can survive anything else.”

  It wasn’t the promise she wanted to hear. She wanted him to say, Since I have you to live for, then I simply won’t die. But she knew the truth. Rafi, the honorable lordling, would be a martyr for his people. He’d be venerated in song and story. His face would be painted on city walls. People would leave flowers at the feet of his statues. He’d be the hero every child looked up to and pretended to be.

  But he’d never be hers.

  A voice rose from across the smoking field. “Lord Rafi! Johanna! People are coming!”

  They broke apart, struggling to their feet, preparing for another wave of attacks. Johanna fumbled for the dagger at her belt but found her sheath empty.

  “It’s okay, Jo. Look.” Rafi pointed, and a small breeze blew the smoke away. Three familiar shapes were limping toward them. Two supporting a taller one in the middle. “They’ll be our allies,” he said with more optimism than she felt. “If anyone can help us figure out what needs to be done now, it’s those three.”

  Rafi gave her hand a gentle squeeze, ratcheting the vice around her heart a little tighter.

  Following Jacaré, Leão, and Pira were a straggling bunch of people. The haze of the battlefield hid their faces, but every now and then a beam of sunlight would catch the metal around their necks.

  “Help us get these damn collars off!” Pira shouted.

  Dom’s troops rushed forward, offering supporting hands. The former slaves fell to their knees, begging to have the collars removed. The DeSilva soldiers hurried, fingers fumbling against the smooth metal, seeking out the clasps. One by one the bands fell free, dropping from scarred throats.

  “Thank you.” The words were repeated as embraces were exchanged between strangers.

  “Thank you for saving us.”

  Chapter 82

  * * *

  Dom

  Dom sat on the ground with his back against one of the poles that supported the Performers’ tent. The peaked roof had a small hole that let the smoke from the fire escape without letting the rain in. It was comfortable, as tents went, and the heat from the fire, combined with his sore muscles, made him drowsy.

  A sad bit of music rose from outside—nearly drowning out Rafi and Johanna’s argument at the tent’s far side. Drinks were being passed around; soldiers and Performers huddled together, remembering their dead.

  It was a victory, but for Dom it felt hollow. He wouldn’t be returning to his normal life no matter how things worked out. He could accept the responsibility of being duke, but facing it alone was something else. Brynn was lost to him, and soon Rafi would be as well.

  His brother had given him the barest details, fantastical as they were, about Keepers and magical barriers. They’d had an ugly quarrel over true honor, duty, and sheer stupidity, but nothing Dom said could sway Rafi. Johanna was taking another shot, but Rafi kept changing the subject.

  Time for some of that alcohol the Performers are sharing.

  He rose slowly, favoring the hip that had been grazed by the crossbow bolt, but his movement caught Rafi’s attention.

  “Don’t leave,” Rafi said, cutting off whatever Johanna had been saying. “Jacaré’s gathering the Performers’ representatives. We’ve got important things to address.”

  Dom did as his brother asked, and lowered himself to the ground with a groan. He didn’t want to listen to any more of Rafi and Jo’s fight or watch the way they revolved around each other, finding excuses to touch. Her words were angry, but her eyes betrayed her sadness. Rafi responded with sharpness that was at counterpoint to his desperate need to be close to her.

  Knowing that the connection between Rafi and Jo could be severed in the next few days made Dom hurt for things that were gone and things that would never be. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he rested his head back against the tent pole to keep them from falling.

  Don’t be ridiculous. DeSilvas don’t cry, he reminded himself, but this short period of rest, these few moments of calm, gave him too much time to really examine the last few weeks at length. Brynn’s betrayal, Belem’s attack, and th
e miracle that had saved Santiago.

  He knew better than to call it a miracle. Their safety hadn’t been assured by some benevolent god; it was all Maribelle’s doing.

  Fernando’s arrival and cannon barrage had forced Belem’s troops against Santiago’s walls. The enemy rushed the main gates, hurriedly laying planks across the palisade.

  It was a close thing, the gate buckling under their harried attempts, but with continued cannon fire and heavy losses—especially in the upper echelons of their command—Belem’s troops surrendered.

  Dom’s hair was still wet with well water when his enemy raised a white flag.

  Fernando confirmed Dom’s guess once he made it into the estate. “That ‘package’ Lady Maribelle requested I transport from the Wisp Islands? Three dozen of the finest cannons I’ve ever seen.” He called one of the artillery crews forward. “Brand new, freshly cast from lightweight metal, and all of them marked with Inimigo’s clenched fist.”

  Lady DeSilva was equally amazed. “How did she manage something like this? Without telling anyone?”

  The duke shook his head. “Is that girl promised to anyone?”

  “No,” Dom said too quickly. His uncle noticed, raising eyebrows at Dom’s reaction. “I mean, why? Are you in the market for a new wife?”

  Fernando’s eyes shifted to his sister and back, and he smiled in a way that made Dom feel exposed. “If you don’t take her hand, someone with close ties to you should. A woman that crafty is better as a friend than an enemy.”

  Dom doubted, even now, that Maribelle would give her loyalty to someone simply because they shared a name.

  She hadn’t woken before Dom rode north, and thoughts of her courage plagued him. She’d done so much for Santiago, for the freedom of his people, and he’d repaid her only with suspicion and unkindness. When he returned to Santiago, Dom swore, he’d find a way to make it up to her.

  DeSilvas don’t break their promises.

  Jacaré swept open the tent doors, and the stiff breeze that followed him shifted Dom’s attention to the present.

  Two Performers entered in quick succession, and Johanna stepped away from the table to greet them.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked quickly as they ringed the small table.

  Rafi signaled Dom over, and he joined them at the far end.

  “Inimigo’s troops are well on their way to Maringa. A few bands of stragglers have been dealt with,” the older man said. “We’ll keep watching for more. The freed slaves are resting. One of them keeps asking for you, Johanna, but she’s exhausted and difficult to understand.”

  “All right,” Jo said with a nod. “I’ll try to see her when we’re finished here.”

  “She’d appreciate that, my lady.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” she said, her bearing stiff.

  Rafi pressed a hand to her lower back and whispered a few words into her ear, and Dom saw it again—the intensity, the focus, the affection.

  “Let’s discuss the future of Santarem,” Rafi said, taking control. He faced Dom, something deceitful in his smile. “You’re going to want to pay attention.”

  Chapter 83

  * * *

  Leão

  The Performers had circled their wagons in the meadow east of the battlefield. Tents had been pitched inside the ring, with small fires burning within the perimeter.

  Leão sat on a log near the fire with a blanket draped around him. He felt the cold all the way to his bones, like a flu he couldn’t shake and that no one could heal. Pira sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed when she stirred her bowlful of feijoada.

  She’d positioned herself in front of the tent’s door, turning away anyone who came close with nothing more than a scowl. In the morning they would pool their power to destroy the collars, because none of them had recovered enough energy to do it now.

  The sound of someone sobbing softly reached Leão’s sensitive ears, and Pira’s as well. She shifted, checking behind her every few minutes, conflict clear on her face. He knew Pira well enough to know that the former slave’s crying penetrated the armor she wore around her heart. Leão hoped that it wasn’t the only thing to get through to her tonight.

  “Tell me again,” he said, feeling parched though he’d drunk all the water his stomach could handle. “How many soldiers did you have to get through to free me?”

  There was a hint of a dimple in her cheek that appeared only when she was trying not to smile, but she didn’t respond to his query.

  “Was it six? Seven?” He placed a hand on her knee. “Don’t be humble.”

  “It was eleven, if you’re counting the one that I forced to take off your collar,” she said, brushing his hand away.

  Leão forced a small laugh, though the truth terrified him. “Eleven. The mighty Pira. I should never underestimate you.”

  “A lesson you should have learned much earlier.”

  “That is the truth.”

  They exchanged a look, holding gazes for a moment too long for friendly conversation. She broke it by returning her attention to her food.

  “Even with all that bravery you’re still afraid of your feelings for me,” Leão said as he studied her profile.

  The spoon fell out of her hand. “What?”

  Leão took her bowl and set it on the ground. “You fought through a camp full of armed soldiers to get to me. You found a way to save me when no one else could have done it. And please don’t say that night at Performers’ Camp meant nothing to you, because I’ve relived that kiss a hundred times, praying—”

  “No, Leão. No.” She stood, moving a step away. “That night was a mistake. I’m your superior officer. I could be stripped of my rank. I could be forced out of the Elite Guard.”

  “That’s not going to happen. If we succeed and the barrier is restored, we will be honored,” he said, looking up at her, wishing she were still sitting beside him. Her proximity had made him feel daring. “You may even be advanced in rank.”

  “You may be. You’re a full Mage and the grandson of the head of the Mage Council. You have hundreds of options, but I am not one of them.”

  He stood slowly, letting the blanket tumble down behind him. “Why not? Because you’re afraid of what other people would think of us being together?” Grabbing her arms, he jerked her closer with all the strength he had. Her hands shot up between them, palms resting on his chest. “Are you afraid of what people would think?”

  Her lips fell open in a little O of surprise; she blinked rapidly as she tried to formulate a response. Leão didn’t give her the option, covering her mouth with his.

  She melted against him for a few of Leão’s too-fast heartbeats, and then just as quickly she wrenched away. He took a stumbling step backward at the sudden loss of connection.

  “I made a decision long ago that I was an Elite Guard,” Pira said. “I don’t want to be another soldier. I want to be High Captain, and that will never happen if I let myself be distracted by a pretty boy who is fun to kiss.” She stepped into the space she’d forced between them, and looked directly into his eyes, driving her point home. “And that is all you’ll ever be to me, Leão. A pretty boy who is fun to kiss.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.” He swallowed, nervous, doubting himself for a moment. Then he remembered the gentle brush of her fingers on his face when he nearly died in the alley. “You feel guilty for what Vibora made you do, but that wasn’t your fault.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, I do. Don’t you think I’ve put the pieces together, Pira? You’re following in your brother’s footsteps too closely. You can’t push away everyone you love simply because you’re afraid to get hurt.”

  She spun away, heading toward the perimeter.

  “Go ahead and run,” he said with certainty. “I’ll be right here waiting when you get back.”

  Chapter 84

  * * *

  Pira


  “You’re relieved of duty.”

  The sentry jumped to his feet, looking at Pira with nervous eyes. “I sat down for just a minute, and the view from the top of the boulder is really good,” he said as he rubbed the sleep from his face.

  “You’re not in trouble.” If he were one of her men, she’d have him lashed, but he was a Performer—not even a Firesword—and he was exhausted. “Go back to camp.”

  He edged around her, as if trying to keep a wild animal at bay.

  Pira didn’t care what he thought, so long as he went. Emotion boiled in her chest; hurt, sadness, loss, filled her to bursting, and she didn’t want anyone to see it spill over. She dropped onto the boulder, clenching her arms tightly around the dreadful roiling in her middle, and tried to contain the tears.

  The pain was real, as bright and wicked as an unexpected punch to the stomach, but it was something she wanted to feel. It was something she’d earned.

  “He’s not wrong, you know,” Jacaré said, startling a half sob out of her.

  She wiped away the evidence on her forearm before she spoke. “How did the meeting go with Rafi and Jo? Are we leaving for the wall tom—”

  “There were a lot of lessons I intended you to learn.” He climbed onto the boulder and sat down beside her. “You excel at weapons. You’re a good leader, and make careful decisions when the consequences affect others.”

  He paused, and she felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t meet them. Instead she focused on the darkness, staring at the scrub forest and boulder-littered hills that stretched to the south.

  “But I failed to teach you your own worth.”

  She did turn then, seeking his gaze under the night sky. “What are you talking about? I know what I’m worth.”

  “You might know your worth as a soldier, your worth in a fight, but I doubt you know your worth as a person.” Jacaré touched her shoulder, giving it a brotherly shake. “You don’t recognize that you are worthy of another person’s affection. You blame yourself for what happened to Leão, what happened with the slaves, but none of it was your fault. You didn’t choose to hurt those people, and in the end you saved them.”