Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  And there were no better guards in the city to be had. Every man capable of wielding a blade either had fled south or north beyond the King’s reach or was already fighting with the Royal Army. Killian covered his anger at the situation with a smirk. “Bercola, I don’t need other guards—I have you.”

  “Reluctantly.” Bercola ducked her head under the frame of the newly installed oak door protecting the wing that contained Malahi’s suite. “I spent over a decade ensuring you didn’t get yourself killed, Killian, and I spent most of it alternating between wanting to drink myself to the bottom of a wine cask and wanting to fall on my own sword. You are overestimating my desire for this role.”

  “How much more gold will it take to compensate for that lack of desire?”

  “I’ve no need of gold. And I’m not interested in spending day and night guarding a Rowenes princess. Make it worth my while, or I’m going home to Eoten Isle.”

  That stopped Killian in his tracks. His father had saved Bercola’s life during the Giant Wars, earning a life debt from her. High Lord Calorian had spent that debt ensuring his god-marked son’s recklessness didn’t overwhelm the gifts the god of war had bestowed upon him—or, in Bercola’s words, protecting Killian from his own stupidity—but his father was dead. Bercola owed Killian nothing. Yet it had never occurred to him that his friend might leave once her debt was paid. Convincing Bercola to stay would be much easier if he could tell her the truth about Malahi’s mark and her plans and the threat to her life, but the Princess had sworn him to secrecy. And Killian was not one to give his word lightly.

  Stopping outside the door to Malahi’s sitting room, the faint sound of ladies laughing filtering through the stone walls, Killian rested his head against the wood. “I’m not suited for this.” Not suited to following after a princess while she secretly played at politics. He was a warrior, not a gods-damned courtier.

  Bercola exhaled a long breath. “When was the last time you slept?”

  Killian couldn’t remember, which meant it had been too long. His mark gifted him greater endurance, but there were limits. Limits that were being tested as he trailed after Malahi all day, then stood guard in her room through the night, but despite Serrick being leagues away and all the guards he’d left behind now without employment, Killian still couldn’t stand down. Couldn’t relax. Couldn’t shake the feeling that danger crept in the Princess’s direction.

  Bercola shook her head when he didn’t answer. “No one man can do this job alone, Killian. Not even you. Hire new men. Pull from the city guard.”

  “None of them are suitable. They aren’t…” He struggled to find an explanation for why, but that was the trouble with being ruled by instinct, by a mark bestowed on him by a god. Some things he just knew.

  A grimace stretched across Bercola’s large face, her colorless eyes casting upward. “You’re intolerable when you’re tired. Worse when you’re being a defeatist. Go and get some sleep. I’ll watch over Her Highness until morning.”

  Tension flowed out of Killian’s shoulders, and he gave his friend a wink. “She likes you better than me anyway.”

  “Only because I don’t cheat at cards.” She shoved him between the shoulder blades hard enough that he staggered. “Go. Sleep.”

  He had rooms at the palace, but rather than retreating to them, Killian made his way into the city. The skies of Mudaire were dark with cloud cover, and he pulled his hood up so that his face was mostly concealed. Partially to protect himself from the heavy wet snow falling from the sky and partially to avoid recognition among the throngs of civilians filling the streets of Mudamora’s capital.

  Men, women, and children of every race, from nearly every nation. Mudaire was a port city eclipsed in status only by Serlania on the southern shores of the kingdom and Revat, the mighty capital of Gamdesh on the Southern Continent. Killian wove his way through them, heading in the direction of his family’s manor house in the gated quarter of the city. His brother’s manor, given that Hacken was now High Lord Calorian. Hacken had fled for Serlania by ship, and other than Garrem and a handful of caretakers, the residence was likely to be empty. Peaceful. Quiet.

  Killian avoided the god circle at the center of the city, the distinct towers dedicated to each of the seven rising several stories higher than any other structure in Mudaire. The towers seemed to shift and move, the carved reliefs of the gods’ faces watching him no matter how he kept to the shadows. It was always the way, even with the rough shrines found in smaller villages. Bercola told him it was his imagination, but when one had stood face-to-face with a god—as Killian had—one never forgot what it felt like to be subjected to their scrutiny.

  Killian started down the central boulevard leading to the south gate, which was lined with taverns, inns, and brothels, when a loud crash split the air. The man he’d just fired toppled out the door of a tavern, rolling backward down the steps to land with a splash in a puddle. The spectacle, Killian decided, was made far more entertaining by the fact that the idiot’s trousers were around his knees. The man struggled to his feet, trying to hitch the sodden fabric back over his bare ass. “She wasn’t worth it anyway!” he shouted, shaking his free hand at the door.

  A blond blur shot down the steps, tackling the man back into the mud. “If you ever hurt one of my friends again,” she shouted, “I’ll break your bloody neck.”

  Killian’s skin prickled, a familiar awareness that what he was seeing was important drawing his attention to the girl’s face.

  She continued to shout threats, emphasizing every other word with a punch, and Killian watched with interest as she broke the man’s nose. Split his lip. Cracked his cheekbone. But it wasn’t until she flipped the man facedown in the puddle with the apparent intent of drowning him that Killian intervened. Reaching down, he caught the girl by the belt and heaved her off, dodging as she swung her fists in his direction.

  “Admirable bit of work,” he said, sidestepping another swing of her fists. “But you’ll be of no use to me if you’re in prison for murder.”

  “I’m of no use to you at all.” The girl cast a dark glare at the man she’d been pummeling as he scuttled bare-assed down the street. “If you’re wanting to spend your last bit of coin before you’re conscripted by the King, head inside. You cause trouble, I’ll be the one to toss you out.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Killian pushed back the hood of his cloak, the sleet melting as it touched his forehead, running in cold dribbles down his cheeks.

  The girl’s eyes widened with recognition. “You’re the Dark Horse!” she blurted out, then blanched and executed an awkward combination of curtsy and bow. “I’m sorry, my lord. Didn’t realize it was you. It’s my job, you see, to—”

  “I know what your job is,” Killian interrupted, ignoring his recently earned moniker. “And you clearly have a passion for it. I hope you’re well paid.”

  Snorting loudly, the girl spit into the puddle. “Hardly.”

  “You come work for me and I’ll double whatever it is this place pays.”

  “Work for you?” Her eyes widened.

  Killian nodded. “What’s your name?”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Think about it, Gwendolyn. I’m sure you know where to find me.” Pulling his hood back into place, Killian started down the street. He barely managed a half-dozen strides when the girl’s voice stopped him. “I’ll take the job.”

  Killian smiled.

  “I’ll take the job,” she repeated. “But only if you get my friend out of prison.”

  Exhaling a breath of annoyance, he asked, “What’s his name? And what did he do?”

  “Her name. It’s Lena.”

  Another wave of prickles passed over his skin.

  “She … She’s been charged with assault. But it was self-defense, my lord. Truly, it was.”

  The prickles intensified, as though fire ants marched across his skin. The sensation faded the moment Killian made his decision.

  “I’ll see you tom
orrow morning, Gwendolyn,” he said, reversing his path back to the palace. “Don’t be late.”

  14

  LYDIA

  The air was heady with the scent of flowers, the drone of insects and the tinkle of fountains loud as Lydia crept out onto the library balcony and down the iron stairs under the cover of darkness. A faint breeze blew in off the blackness of the sea, whispering through the trees and catching at a lock of her hair. But it wasn’t toward the sea that she ventured, but toward the senatorial homes overlooking the sprawl of the city.

  Through the trees, Lydia could make out the gleaming lights filling Celendrial, the echoes of drums and shouts reaching the heights. Supporters of Lucius celebrating a great victory, while those who favored other candidates drowned their sorrows in cheap liquor. Fights would break out soon enough, if they hadn’t already, and the Twenty-Seventh Legion would be kept busy through the night maintaining the peace. The senatorial homes would be filled with a similar behavior, albeit with expensive wine and brawls fought with words.

  Lydia made her way down the narrow paths between homes, her sandaled feet silent on the paving stones, though her breath was deafening in her ears. She knew these pathways well, but tonight they felt strange and unfamiliar. Dangerous.

  But there was no helping it. Lucius and the legatus were up to something, and if there was a chance it could discredit Lucius, perhaps even disqualify his victory in the elections, then she needed to discover their plans.

  She had very nearly reached the entrance to Lucius’s property when the sound of hooves caught her attention. Scuttling into the shadows next to the towering walls Lucius had built along the front of his property, Lydia caught sight of the white coat of a horse and the glint of light on armor as the legatus passed through the gate. The metal clanged shut behind him, and a tall, slender servant padlocked the gate.

  Pulse racing, Lydia retreated up the path, pulling her skirts to her waist to climb the wall of the neighboring villa—a wall that was thankfully more for show than security. Trotting through the pathways of the garden, she heaved herself over the similarly ancient wall dividing the two properties, landing in a fountain with a splash.

  Lydia held her breath, sitting motionless in the water until she was certain no one intended to investigate, and then she approached Lucius’s home, her sandals squelching with each step. All the villas were laid out in a similar fashion, and Lydia made a swift guess as to where Lucius might be entertaining the soldier. Making her way along the foundation of the villa, she was soon rewarded by the sound of Lucius’s voice.

  “What would you say if I offered you the opportunity to lead an army on the most ambitious mission undertaken in the history of the Celendor Empire?”

  “I’m listening,” the legatus responded, and then there was a pause before he asked, “How did you come by this? Any Maarin captain would rather lose a hand than give up a map.”

  “Let’s just say the captain in question lost more than his hand.”

  The blood drained from Lydia’s face, as much from the vicious delight in Lucius’s voice as the words themselves. A dull fear pulsed through her veins as he added, “Legatus, it is long past time the Maarin were brought to heel.”

  Lydia’s hands turned to ice, her breath catching in her throat. Teriana, her mother, and the rest of the crew of the Quincense were in danger, and they needed to be warned.

  Then the rustle of paper caught her attention, and Lucius said loudly, “Behold, the Dark Shores of Reath.”

  No. Impossible.

  Lydia inched slowly upward until she was peering over the lip of the window frame. The two men had their backs to her, slightly obscured by the gauzy curtain. Carefully, she eased the curtain open a crack, her stomach plummeting as she took in the expansive map laid out on the table in front of them. The eastern half containing the Empire was deeply familiar, but the other half … the other half was entirely new to her. Yet there was no denying what it represented. Lucius had found proof of the Dark Shores’ existence. The Maarin were not his primary target: they were merely the means to a far greater end.

  Dropping back to her hands and knees, Lydia listened to the two men speculate as to how, precisely, the Maarin traversed the seas, bile rising in her throat as Lucius chuckled about information that had allowed him to charge the Maarin with paganism, which had enabled him to search their ships. Which had allowed him to detain them. And to torture them.

  “Even as we speak,” Lucius said, “our navy is moving to intercept several influential Maarin ships. They have the information we need; it’s merely a matter of extracting it.”

  The Quincense was an influential ship.

  Panic snapped at Lydia’s heels like a whip, and she crawled toward the wall, barely feeling the bits of rock that dug into her palms and knees. Clambering over the wall, she sprinted through the neighboring property, past caring about stealth. She needed to get home. Needed to tell her father what she’d learned, because he’d have the power to stop this.

  Her dress was glued to her back with sweat as she shoved through the front doors to the Valerius villa. “Father!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

  There was a flurry of steps; then her father appeared, his eyes widening at the sight of her, sweaty and scratched, her dress torn and soaked, her hair disheveled. “What’s happened?” he demanded. “Who’s done this to you?”

  “Nothing’s happened to me.” Grasping his arms, she said, “It’s Teriana. The Quincense. They’re in danger. Lucius has sent the navy to capture Maarin ships because he thinks they have information he wants.”

  Her father stared at her, silent, then finally asked, “How is it that you came in possession of this information?”

  “I went to Lucius’s home,” she said. “I overheard a conversation between him and the Thirty-Seventh Legion’s legatus. He’s bribed them. That’s why they voted for him.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Lydia? You trespassed on Cassius’s property? Eavesdropped on a private conversation? What if you’d been caught?”

  It was her turn to gape. “How is that your concern? He bribed nearly five thousand men for their votes! Surely that invalidates his victory?”

  “It’s not that simple,” her father said slowly. “It would need to be proven in the courts, and it would be your word against theirs—”

  “There’s no time for that,” she snapped. “Teriana’s in danger. He’s already captured other Maarin crews. Tortured them for information.”

  “He’s done what?” Her father turned away from her, wiping sweat from his brow. “The Maarin have an agreement with the Senate, and such behavior is in flagrant violation of the terms. For him to do this, he’d need the Senate vote, and I can’t imagine a circumstance where such a thing would be forthcoming. He’s broken the law.”

  Vibius’s voice cut across the room. “No, he hasn’t. But the Maarin certainly have.”

  Lydia whirled, watching as her father’s nephew sauntered toward them, his arms crossed behind his back. “The Empire’s agreement with the Maarin specifically states that if a Maarin ship is found in violation of the Empire’s laws they forfeit the autonomy and protections ceded to them by the agreement.”

  “One ship’s misstep does not invalidate the agreement with the entire Maarin nation,” her father responded, his tone icy. “And from your words, Vibius, it would appear that you are complicit in Lucius’s crimes.”

  “If I’m complicit in anything it is in the protection and enforcement of the Empire’s laws.” The smile on Vibius’s face grew, revealing teeth stained by wine. “This crime was not perpetrated by a singular individual. Or even a singular ship. It is a crime perpetrated by the Maarin people.”

  “And what crime would that be?”

  Uncrossing his arms from behind his back, Vibius tossed a book on the table. “Paganism.”

  Lydia stared down at the book, a sour taste filling her mouth as she recognized the cover: Treatise of the Seven. A slow horror took hold of her,
the memory of Vibius catching her sneaking back into the library after her meeting with Teriana on the beach. Of her inadvertently tossing it at his feet. Of her hiding it on the shelves in her library, foolishly certain that no one would have cause to look for it.

  “Recognize this, Lydia?” Vibius’s expression was feral. “I brought it to Cassius’s attention, feeling that he should be aware of your entanglements. Imagine my shock when he was able to translate enough of it to reveal that your possession of this book was more than just a social infraction.”

  “Lydia?” Her father turned toward her. “Who gave you this?”

  Her throat tightened. There was no explanation that would win her free of this.

  “Cassius was willing to forgive Lydia’s eccentricities,” Vibius said. “But I suspect his forgiveness might disappear should you choose to interfere with his plans, Uncle.” He shook his head, tsking softly. “Please consider Lydia’s future before you make any … rash decisions.”

  The spark disappeared from her father’s eyes, his shoulders slumping. As fond as he was of Teriana, as much as he admired the Maarin, Lydia knew he’d do nothing that would jeopardize her safety.

  Which meant it was up to her.

  Snatching up the book, Lydia slammed into Vibius hard enough that he staggered, and then bolted to the back of the house. She needed to reach the ocean so that she could contact Magnius. He’d be able to warn Teriana and her mother—warn them to sail as far away from Empire waters as they possibly could.

  Her feet slapped against the tiles, as did those of the men her father ordered after her. Shouldering open a door, she ran into the dark gardens, focused on reaching the gate leading to the path down to the beach.