“Nasty business,” her father said. “Have the perpetrators been caught?”
“Not yet. Though I do intend to have strong words with the legatus of the Twenty-Seventh. The policing of our fair city is a position of privilege, but his men appear to be treating it as an opportunity for leisure.”
Her father gave a slow nod. “Policing Celendrial requires a certain temperament of men. A legion that has seen combat, but not endured the trauma of heavy casualties. A legion with experience dealing with the peregrini. And one with an appropriate reputation. The Twenty-Seventh is a good fit.”
Unlike the other two legions currently camped outside the city, Lydia thought, though it would explain the as yet unexplained presence of the Thirty-Seventh and Forty-First.
“As always, Valerius, your counsel is good,” Lucius answered. “Perhaps I let my emotions get in the way of my good sense. In my heart, I know that it was the peregrini’s relentless abuse of my character that drove my late wife to her grave, so the sight of these baseless criticisms sparks anger in my blood. Makes me desire to take action.”
He pumped his fist in the air as though he might personally hunt down the perpetrators, and Lydia had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing at the very idea of it.
Then a shout cut the air, driving away her amusement.
“Thieves!” A tall man raced across the Forum in their direction. His pale freckled complexion and the cut of his red hair suggested he was from Sibern Province, though he wore Cel garments.
“You give me back my son, you Cel vermin!” He jerked the knife belted at his waist free, lifting the blade. “You give him back or I’ll kill you both!”
“Take cover, Domina!” Spurius pushed Lydia into the litter with such force that she rolled out the other side, landing on her knees in a soapy puddle.
Heart in her throat, she peered through the curtains, seeing both her father and Cassius had their backs against the litter, while Spurius had his weapon out, moving to intercept the attacker.
At the sight of the retired legionnaire, the Sibernese man slid to a halt, his eyes wild.
“Put the knife down.” Spurius’s voice was calm, and he cautiously set his own weapon on the ground. “We can all still part ways peacefully.”
“Peace?” The Sibernese man screamed the word, sweat and tears rolling down his freckled cheeks. “You golden-skinned demons don’t know the meaning of the word! You stole my boy away! Stole his freedom and his life!”
His speach was garbled with grief, but Lydia understood—as would anyone in the Empire. His child had been taken as part of the child tithes to the legions. Gone to Campus Lescendor where he’d be forged into a weapon and then used to enforce the Senate’s authority.
“It is not theft.” Lucius’s voice was frigid. “It is the law. All must abide. I myself gave up my second son and I bore my grief with honor, not by groveling like a woman in the middle of the Forum.”
Spurius’s jaw tightened, and he held back a hand, trying to silence Lucius.
But the damage was done.
“You stole him!” The grieving father lifted his knife. “And once you demons have beaten all that he is out of his veins, you will send him to slaughter his own people!”
The legionnaires guarding the Forum sprinted their direction, gladius blades gleaming in the sun, their expressions grim. Lydia clenched her teeth, not wanting to watch but unable to look away.
“Calm yourself, man,” Spurius said, and Lydia knew he saw the other soldiers coming. Knew that he had only moments to diffuse the situation. “That is not the way of it. You may yet see him again, but not if you carry forward with this ill-thought plan.”
“He will no longer be my son!” The man lunged, his eyes bright and fixed on Lucius and her father, and Lydia screamed.
And then a blade sliced through the air.
Lydia clapped a hand over her mouth, watching the Sibernese man’s head roll across the stones, coming to rest against the steps to the Curia. The legionnaire who’d decapitated him frowned, then bent to wipe his weapon on the dead man’s tunic.
“Blasted fools!” Cassius shouted at them. “While you sat on your laurels, we were nearly killed!”
“Apologies, Senator,” one of them—a centurion, judging from his armor—said. “We came as soon as we saw his weapon.”
“Spare me your excuses! The Twenty-Seventh is done in Celendrial—time you were sent somewhere that will sharpen you back into the weapons we trained you to be!”
Spittle flew from Lucius’s mouth, but Lydia’s father placed a calming hand on his shoulder before addressing the soldier who’d murdered the poor man. “You need not have killed him. It was poorly done.”
“Apologies, Senator,” the man answered, but to Lydia, he didn’t seem at all repentant. Likely because he knew the punishment for allowing harm to befall two senators would have been far worse than harsh words.
Rising on weak knees, Lydia held on to the side of the litter for balance, then circled around to the front. Blood pooled around the dead man, lines of it trailing away, following the straight lines between paving stones. One of the legionnaires picked up the dead man’s feet, dragging him across the Forum, leaving red streaks across the stone, while another caught hold of the head by the hair, tossing it after his comrade. “You forgot a part!”
“Show some decency!” The words tore from her lips, and the legionnaires turned to regard her with cold eyes.
“Apologies, Domina,” the centurion finally said. “I’ll have him whipped as punishment for adding to your distress.”
Lydia’s eyes widened and she opened to mouth to argue, but her father caught hold of her shoulders, gently pushing her into the litter. “Today is not a good day for the markets, my dear. Spurius will escort you home and then rejoin me.”
“Peregrini violence grows worse by the day.” Lucius gave a grim shake of his head. “What state our fair city that law abiding citizens and those of the gentler persuasion cannot go out for fear of being accosted? It is unconscionable. We must show a firmer hand.”
“A matter for discussion,” her father answered, but then the litter rose, carrying Lydia away from the conversation.
“An unnecessary tragedy,” she said, looking up at Spurius where he walked within arm’s reach, his steady presence a comfort. “You did well in your attempts to avert it.”
“Not well enough.”
“Is the Twenty-Seventh to blame for the violence?” Spurius had been a centurion prior to his retirement; of a surety, he’d have his own opinions on the matter. “Is Lucius right to want to replace them?”
“They are not the cause, Domina. Only a consequence,” he replied, face revealing nothing. “But the Senate knows better what Celendrial’s future holds and what sort of legion it will need to keep its peace.”
Something was happening, Lydia thought; then her eyes landed on the graffiti of Lucius throwing babies onto spears.
Or perhaps it already had.
Chapter 3
Killian
The wall dividing Mudamora from Derin was sixty feet high, but it wasn’t the drop that concerned Killian. It was the bloody cold.
The wind buffeted him from side to side, ripping at his cloak as he descended, his gloved fingers growing number with each passing second. Gods, he wished he were back in the South. Or even on the coast, where at least he was in no danger of actually freezing his balls off. Anywhere but here.
“It’s still not moving,” Bercola shouted from above. “We’ll set you down now.”
Killian’s boots sank into the snow, no longer in Mudamora, but in the enemy kingdom of Derin. Forbidden ground, and yet here he was.
He pulled the snowshoes off his back, donned them, and then started toward the dark shape in the red-stained snow.
They are coming.
She wasn’t moving. Which was no damned surprise given that six arrows were embedded in her chest and her back was riddled with at least that many, but
Killian still hesitated several paces back from her corpse, drawing his sword. Watching for any sign of movement.
Nothing. And yet he didn’t move.
There was rumor that those marked by the god of war felt no fear. That Killian felt no fear. But the dull throb of blood in his ears and the thundering beat of his heart belied that rumor. Killian knew fear. He just didn’t run from it.
The wind caught in the corrupted’s blond hair, strands of it whipping this way and that, her skin nearly as pale as the snow she rested upon. Her cheek had been scored by an arrow, a long bloody wound across an otherwise lovely face. A lovely face marked by the Seventh god. Marked to take lives. Marked for evil.
And yet she’d said that she was here to warn them.
Feeling the eyes of his men watching him from atop the wall and through the twin portcullises, Killian took a step closer, watching the corrupted for any sign of life.
Not listening to her was a mistake.
Shoving aside the thought, he took another step closer, about to nudge her with his blade when the wound on her cheek caught his attention.
Killian froze.
The deep cut had started bleeding again and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the edges were closing. Healing.
“Shit,” Killian muttered, and the corrupted’s eyes snapped open.
What she said stopped his blade a hairsbreadth from her neck.
“They’re coming,” she whispered. “From behind.”
“Rufina?” His voice was hoarse. “Who is she?”
“She’s queen. She’s one of his.”
“His?”
“The Corrupter.” The wound on her face had faded to a thin line. “I don’t want to be like this. I try to fight it, but it’s so hard. He stole me and now he won’t let me go.”
“Such is the downside of making a pact with a god.” There was no reneging. No changing your mind. Killian knew that better than most.
“You think I agreed to be like this?” Her laugh was pained and bitter. “He’s far more insidious than that.”
The arrows embedded in her body were rising, her healing flesh forcing them out of her body. She whispered, “His eye is on me. I can feel it.”
Killian lifted his head, giving his surroundings a quick scan, but there was only snow and rock. The whistle of wind.
A guttural growl.
His attention snapped down to see that the corrupted’s eyes had pooled black, bloody flames circling the irises. Then she attacked.
A blur of motion. Reaching white hands.
Killian was faster.
His blade sang through the air, slicing through flesh and bone, and the corrupted’s head landed with a soft thud in the blood-soaked snow. As the body toppled to join it, Killian turned and strode toward the gate.
“Send three riders on our fastest horses to the garrisons at Blackbriar, Harid, and Tarn,” he ordered. “Inform them the wall is in need of reinforcements, no delays. Tell them to bring their healers.”
“Reinforcements against what, sir? She’s dead.”
Killian turned back to the mountain range, the fiery orb of the setting sun casting long shadows through the empty pass. Nothing moved, but his skin crawled as though he were being watched. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Excerpt from advance uncorrected proof.
To continue Lydia & Killian’s adventure, purchase your copy of DARK SKIES: https://amazon.com/gp/product/B07WZ7TF8B/
or
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* * *
Are you a fan of adult romantic fantasy? Dive into Danielle L. Jensen’s THE BRIDGE KINGDOM.
Start Lara & Aren’s adventure by purchasing your copy of THE BRIDGE KINGDOM today: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07WZ7TF8B/
What if you fell in love with the one person you'd sworn to destroy?
Lara has only one thought for her husband on their wedding day: I will bring your kingdom to its knees. A princess trained from childhood to be a lethal spy, Lara knows that the Bridge Kingdom represents both legendary evil - and legendary promise. The only route through a storm-ravaged world, the Bridge Kingdom controls all trade and travel between lands, allowing its ruler to enrich himself and deprive his enemies, including Lara's homeland. So when she is sent as a bride under the guise of fulfilling a treaty of peace, Lara is prepared to do whatever it takes to fracture the defenses of the impenetrable Bridge Kingdom.
But as she infiltrates her new home - a lush paradise surrounded by tempest seas - and comes to know her new husband, Aren, Lara begins to question where the true evil resides. Around her, she sees a kingdom fighting for survival, and in Aren, a man fiercely protective of his people. As her mission drives her to deeper understanding of the fight to possess the bridge, Lara finds the simmering attraction between her and Aren impossible to ignore.
Her goal nearly within reach, Lara will have to decide her own fate: Will she be the destroyer of a king or the savior of her people?
*** The Bridge Kingdom contains explicit content, violence, and profanity that may not be suitable for all readers.
Acknowledgments
I can say without a shadow of a doubt that this novel would never have come into existence without the love and support of my family. Thanks Dad, for reading fantasy novels to me before I was old enough to write a sentence, and then for editing those sentences when I was finally wise enough to write them. Thanks Mom, for being supportive when I made the unexpected and inexplicable decision to become a writer – you’ve been my #1 cheerleader. And thanks Nick, for keeping my ego in check—no one makes fun of my characters quite as well as you.
A very special thanks must go to my tireless agent, Tamar Rydzinski, who plucked me from obscurity based on a logline and two hundred and fifty words. You helped make my dream a reality, and for that I will be eternally grateful.
To my editor Amanda Rutter, thank you for falling in love with my trolls and giving me the amazing experience of seeing my book on the shelves. I’m looking forward to working with you and the rest of the Angry Robot / Strange Chemistry team over the coming years.
My endless gratitude goes to those who have stuck by me during my journey to publication. To Donna, for buying me countless lunches at Earl’s and always listening to my drama; to Lindsay, for your ceaseless enthusiasm and salesmanship; to Carleen and Joel, for kindly feeding and employing the hermit who lived in your basement for five months; and to all my friends who kept dragging me out of my writing cave so that I could still claim to have a life.
And last but by no means least: Spencer, thanks for discovering – much to your own surprise – that you’ve a penchant for somewhat crazy writers who can’t cook. My heart and my stomach would be in a much worse state without you.
About the Author
Danielle L. Jensen is the USA Today bestselling author of The Malediction Novels, the Dark Shores series, and The Bridge Kingdom series. She lives in Calgary, Alberta with her family and guinea pigs.
Find her at www.danielleljensen.com
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