Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  16

  LYDIA

  Rolling over in her bed for the hundredth time, Lydia ground her teeth in frustration, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. Nights of fitful rest plagued by dreams and equally fitful days spent trying to escape to warn Teriana had left her exhausted, but with each day seeing a new Maarin ship hauled into Celendrial’s harbor, her fear and guilt would give her no respite.

  Climbing to her feet, Lydia donned her spectacles and, turning up her lamp, she ventured down the hallway toward the library. A faint glow was visible beneath the door, which made her pause. No one spent much time in the room but her, and it was highly unlikely that one of the servants was cleaning in the wee hours of the morning. Cracking the door, she peered inside, a frown creasing her brow at the sight of her father bent over her desk, stacks of books sitting next to him. “Father?”

  He turned, and at the sight of his drawn face, a dull ache of sorrow filled her core. “What are you doing?” she asked. “You should be resting.”

  “I find myself not wishing to waste time abed,” he said, turning back to the open book before him.

  As Lydia approached, she saw it was a law text from the extensive collection on the library shelves. Her eyes skipped across the lines. He was referencing the law against pagan worship, along with its punishments. To his right were several sheets of paper—the agreement between the Maarin people and the Empire. “What are you doing?” she repeated.

  “Trying to find a loophole.” Reaching for a glass of water, he drank deeply and then shook his head. “There’s nothing. Of course there’s nothing, or he would’ve seen it closed before beginning this fell quest of his.”

  He. Lucius.

  Every day, Lucius had been convicting Maarin sailors in the Forum, all of them charged with the same crime, his supporters screaming their support even as they demanded more blood. And her father had done nothing, said nothing, unwilling to do anything that he perceived might risk Lydia’s future. “Why now?”

  The glass in his hand trembled. “The Quincense has been taken. She suffered damage, but wasn’t sunk, which is more than I can say for some. She’s being towed into the harbor—should be here this morning.”

  “No.” Lydia sank to the floor, her skin growing cold. “You should’ve let me go. Should’ve let me warn them. He’s going to kill them because of—” A sob choked off the last word. Me. It was her fault.

  “Cassius is after information. If they give it to him, it’s possible he’ll be lenient.”

  “Like he’s been lenient with the rest?” she whispered.

  “None of them have given him what he wants.”

  Which meant none of them would. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

  “He wishes to see you.”

  It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Pardon?”

  “Cassius pulled me aside after we adjourned tonight, and he asked that you attend him first thing this morning at the baths.”

  The library was sweltering, but Lydia pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders, hugging herself. “Did he say why?”

  “The usual reasons, I suspect.” Her father’s tone was flat. “You need not go. I can tell him that you wish to wait until after the wedding.”

  Lydia closed her eyes, focusing inward in an attempt to steady her breathing. It was so tempting to say yes, to spare herself—even if it was only for a few days. But if she went through with it, gave Lucius what he wanted, perhaps she might be able to sway him to be lenient toward Teriana and her crew. If it meant saving them from the noose, she’d sacrifice herself a thousand times over. “I’ll go.”

  “Lydia—”

  “It’s fine.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going to dress.”

  * * *

  Stepping out of the litter, Lydia climbed the white steps of the baths. The frescoed portico was all yellows and blues and pinks, and she stared at it for a heartbeat before pushing in the golden doors to the women’s entrance. The halls were quiet at such an early hour, the patricians of Celendrial preferring to gather late in the evening in the lounges and lecture halls, then sleep late, so the faint click of her heels against the tile and the splash of fountains were the only sounds as she made her way into the dressing room.

  There was a single servant present, a tall girl with the fair skin and reddish hair of those from Sibern Province, her nose lightly dusted with freckles. She silently took Lydia’s garments, supplying her with a blue silken robe that belted with a woven cord. The servant gestured for Lydia’s spectacles, but she felt unnerved enough as it was without wandering about half-blind and waved the girl off.

  Steeling herself, Lydia abandoned the room and walked barefoot down the hall to the first pool. It was open to the sky above but shaded by the tall walls surrounding it.

  It was empty.

  Lydia’s skin crawled with apprehension, the sensation intensifying as she skirted the pool and went inside, the high vaulted ceiling supported with columns, the floor covered with tiny red and white tiles. The still pools she passed reflected her face like glass, and no sounds emanated from the gymnasiums to either side. Entirely empty. Entirely devoid of life. And not even the early hour could account for that. No, this was a display of Lucius’s power that he was able to commandeer a facility used by all the patricians for his own personal use.

  Do what he wants, she told herself, ignoring the sour burn in her throat. Apologize for your behavior. Do whatever it takes to learn where Teriana is being kept. Then do whatever it takes to get her free.

  Heart pounding, Lydia eyed the long hallway leading to the golden doors of the last pool. The room itself was built into the side of the hill, entirely subterranean, and the thought of going in there made her suddenly claustrophobic. But she had no choice. It was in there, a room testament to the Empire’s wealth, where she knew she would find him.

  The heavy doors swung easily on greased hinges, and a great cloud of steam rushed over Lydia as she stepped inside, causing her robe to cling to her skin and her spectacles to fog. Pulling them off, she walked several paces before her nearsighted eyes adjusted to the dim light, leaving the doors open though she knew she wasn’t supposed to let out the heat.

  The room was vast and circular, the tiles beneath her feet like polished onyx and the walls made of the same. In the center was a rectangular pool formed of tiny golden tiles that reflected the flames of the oil burning in the dozens of dragon sconces on the walls, making the water appear molten.

  The pool itself was fed by a natural hot spring. It flowed from the mouth of an enormous golden dragon at one end of the room, running like a river through the pool to drain out the large tunnel at the opposite end. The tunnel was usually covered by metal mesh to prevent anyone from inadvertently exploring where the underground stream went, yet it was currently unbarred.

  Next to the pool was a small table, on which was set a tray of gold holding two glasses and a dripping decanter of yellow wine.

  Every instinct told her to run. To retreat from this situation. To hide back in her library.

  But her carelessness was what had gotten Teriana and the rest of the Maarin into this situation, and Lydia refused to allow her cowardice to be the reason they remained imprisoned.

  Crossing the room, she filled both glasses. She took one, though she didn’t drink from it, only set her spectacles next to the decanter, suspecting her poor eyesight might be an advantage when Lucius arrived.

  The doors thudded shut behind her. Taking a large mouthful of wine, Lydia steeled herself and turned.

  “Good morning, Lydia. Enjoying the wine? It’s a bottle of the vintage I purchased to celebrate my victory.” It was Lucius who spoke, but it wasn’t to him her eyes went. It was to the young man standing at his right. He wore the garments of a bathhouse servant, but even without her glasses, Lydia recognized him.

  Legatus Marcus of the Thirty-Seventh Legion.

  His face was emotionless, eyes fixed on the tiles between them. He wore no weapons that she
could see, but then again, a man trained at Lescendor was a weapon himself.

  Hugging the flimsy robe tighter around her body, Lydia asked, “What’s going on, Lucius?”

  An unnecessary question. There was only one reason Lucius would bring one of the Empire’s killers here with him, and it wasn’t one she would walk away from. Lydia’s heart thundered against her chest wall, her hands turning to ice despite the intense heat.

  Lucius chuckled. “Oh, I suspect you know very well what’s going on, darling. You have many, many failings, but stupidity isn’t one of them.”

  “You give me too much credit.” It was a struggle to keep the tremble from her voice. “I was foolish enough to believe you had the honor to at least follow through on your agreement with my father.”

  “Interestingly enough, I had intended to. Even after your father succumbs to the poison his nephew is slowly dosing him with, it would be good for appearances’ sake to keep you on as a wife for a time. Unfortunately, your behavior of late has rendered that an impossibility.” Lucius’s expression darkened. “You would have been better served to stay hidden in that library of yours.”

  The legatus lifted his face at the last, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. Then he shook his head and returned to gazing at the tile.

  “Then don’t marry me at all,” Lydia whispered, searching for a way out. But beyond the doors behind them, there was none. “You’ve won the consulship—you don’t need my father anymore. Let me go. I won’t say anything.”

  Lucius tilted his head from side to side as though considering her words. “An interesting idea, but as my friend here knows”—he gestured to the legatus—“secrets have a way of coming out. Better that you disappear, leaving me to comfort your father in his grief with all my heartfelt sympathies.”

  “My father’s no fool. He’ll suspect you. He knows I was supposed to meet you here.”

  “That might’ve been the case if you hadn’t paved the path to your own murder with such smooth stones.”

  Murder. Lydia’s heart hitched, and it was all she could do not to fall to her knees to beg for her life.

  “You’ve made it so easy.” Lucius clapped his hands like a child. “Almost since the moment we were betrothed, you’ve been maligning me.” His smile fell away. “I’ve heard the words you use to describe me, darling. Reprehensible. Loathsome. Disgusting.”

  The seething burn of hate filled his eyes, and Lydia took an involuntary step back toward the pool.

  “Very shortly, I shall send word of concern to your father explaining that you never arrived for the little romantic interlude I had planned.”

  “He knows that I did.” Lydia shook her head violently. “His own personal guard escorted me. The servant girl in the dressing room saw me…” She trailed off as a smirk grew on his face.

  “Ah yes. The servant girl who is even now leaving through the side gate wearing your dress and a long dark wig. At least a half dozen of the staff working in the gardens will attest to having seen her—to having seen you—sneaking away from our meeting. And just as many will attest to having seen you board a ship leaving for Sibern.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a soft whine of fear. Lucius’s confidence was deserved. He’d used her own actions against her. Everyone would believe she’d fled.

  “The shame alone might be enough to kill your father,” Lucius said. “However, Vibius is eager to claim his birthright, and his hand isn’t particularly steady when he’s in his cups. A bit too much poison and a weak heart flutters its last. I will, of course, ensure Senator Valerius is granted a funeral befitting a prior consul and a man of his station.”

  Something in Lydia snapped. She flung herself at Lucius, clawing at him. “You will not hurt my father, you disgusting wretch! I will not let you!”

  But Lucius moved with surprising speed, the back of his hand connecting with Lydia’s cheek.

  Stars burst in her eyes; then she found herself staring at the black tile of the floor, her mouth full of blood. A blow from Lucius’s foot struck her in the side, flipping her onto her back. Then another as he screamed, “You think you have a say, you little bitch? You are worth nothing! What you think is worth nothing! What you say is worth nothing!”

  Abruptly the legatus dragged him off, slamming him against the golden doors. “This wasn’t what we agreed to, Cassius. You had your moment to gloat. Now get out.”

  Curled around herself and barely able to breathe against the pain, Lydia watched as Lucius glared at the soldier before straightening his toga. “I’ll avail myself of the baths. Be quick about it, Marcus, and mind you don’t make a mess. I wouldn’t want anything to take away from the enjoyment of my soak.”

  His cruel laugh echoed even after the golden doors thudded shut behind him, leaving Lydia alone with the legatus.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching down to help her up, but Lydia recoiled from his hand, scrambling backward.

  “What difference does it make if I’m all right given that you intend to kill me?”

  The legatus didn’t answer, only scanned the room, the flickering flames in the sconces casting shadows across his face. Then he shook his head. “It seems he has us both trapped.”

  Pressing a hand to her battered ribs, Lydia climbed to her feet. “I struggle to understand how you equate our circumstances, Legatus.” Maybe if she could keep him talking long enough, someone, anyone, could come. “You will walk out of here. I won’t.”

  “Only if I do what Cassius wants, which is something I’d hoped to avoid. But it seems Cassius’s choice of location was not merely theatrical.” His voice was as steady as though they were discussing a change in dinner plans, not her murder. Which made a certain sort of sense. His whole life was dedicated to killing. He was a murderer of the first order.

  But that didn’t mean he was infallible.

  “Why are you helping him? Why are you doing this?” Lydia demanded, mind racing as she tried to think of a way around him. A way out. But without a weapon, she had no chance. “Do you desire conquest so badly that this is what you’ll do to have him send you to the Dark Shores?”

  “Conquest?” The legatus’s voice was incredulous. “Conquest is the last thing I want. What I need is escape, and the Dark Shores is that.”

  “Escape from what?” Lydia retreated, step by step, toward the pool. And the table with the decanter sitting on it.

  “Everyone has secrets. Cassius has a talent for collecting them. And an even greater talent for using them to his advantage.”

  Her elbow rapped against the table, and Lydia stopped. “He’s blackmailing you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Keep him talking.

  “My father,” she said, reaching up to take hold of her spectacles, which she placed on her face. “He’s a powerful man. He can help you. He can make Lucius pay for what he’s done.”

  The legatus shook his head. “No one has the power to make Cassius pay. Not me. Not you. Not even your father.” His voice was bitter. “We are all his little puppets, made to play the role he chooses for us.”

  The decanter was inches from her hand, but she’d have to be fast. He was only a few paces away. There would be only one chance.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way.” Her voice was pleading, and she hated it. “You have a choice.”

  “I know I have a choice. There is always a choice. But if protecting those I care about means sacrificing your life—” He broke off with a cough, then gave a quick shake of his head. “I’m sorry, because—”

  Lydia moved. Her fingers closed around the neck of the decanter, arm moving in a wide arc as she swung it toward his head.

  But the legatus was faster. He caught her wrist, twisting it. Pain lanced up her arm, her fingers opening, and the decanter fell to the tile with a crash, bits of glass slicing her feet.

  “He’ll kill my family if I don’t do this and I have to protect them.”

  Lydia sc
reamed, the sound piercing and shrill, primal terror racing through her veins. She fought him, twisting this way and that, but he was stronger. More skilled.

  He pinned her arms. But as his ankle hooked hers, pulling her weight out from underneath her, Lydia flung herself back.

  The legatus cursed, feet sliding on the slick floor, and they plunged into the steaming pool.

  The water burned Lydia’s skin as she struggled to get her feet under her. Jerking hard, she freed one hand from his grip, then clawed at him, her nails digging deep before he caught hold of her again.

  They broke the surface, Lydia gasping for breath, the water up to her chest.

  “Quit fighting.” His face was inches from hers, so she saw the panic flare in his eyes as a loud knock sounded at the door.

  Lucius’s voice echoed through: “I don’t have all day, Marcus. Please don’t cause me to take this up with your father.”

  The legatus squeezed his eyes shut, the muscles in his jaw standing out against his skin. But without a word, he pushed Lydia down the pool toward the open drain.

  “Please!” Lydia fought against him, trying to brace her feet against the pool floor, but he only lifted her, not seeming to care as she kicked at his legs. “Kill Lucius instead!” The plea tore from her lips. “He can’t blackmail you if he’s dead!”

  “Do you think I wouldn’t slit his throat in a heartbeat if I thought it would make a difference?” He shouted the words in her face, his grip on her arms tightening. “Do you think I haven’t thought this through? Do you think I haven’t looked for any possible way out? There is none! We are both damned.”

  Her shoulders hit the drain, the current tugging at her hips as the warm water flowed into the dark tunnel beyond.

  “I can make this quick.” His hands trembled where they gripped her. “It doesn’t have to hurt.”

  Lydia contained her sobs long enough to speak. “For my benefit or the benefit of your conscience?”