Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “You lot are either gods-damned idiots or hard of hearing,” Gwen replied, casting her eyes skyward with exaggerated annoyance. “We were talking about the positive aspects of our impending departure, not the burdens.”

  Everyone laughed, but Lydia leaned closer to Lena and asked, “What’s the Princess like?”

  “Better than most of her ilk,” Lena replied. “She’s fair and not prone to losing her head. But…”

  “But…,” Lydia pressed, curious to know more about the girl she’d be watching over for the coming weeks.

  “Have you ever met someone and felt like you might spend day and night with them and never know who they really are?”

  Lydia had spent her life surrounded by politicians. There was nothing she knew better. “I know the sort.”

  “I’ll let you form your own opinions, though.” Lena smiled. “Tomorrow, you get to be my shadow.”

  * * *

  With the sun barely above the distant horizon, Lydia walked with the other young women toward the palace, Lena filling her ears with instructions as they went, almost all of it related to manners and protocol. The sword she’d been provided hung from the sturdy belt holding up her snug trousers, the weight comforting despite the fact that she had no idea how to use it. Same for the knife sheathed on the opposite side of her waist.

  “Technically, the captain is in command of us,” Lena said. “But Bercola is the one who manages the day-to-day, including our training. She’s a giant.” Casting a sideways glance at Lydia, the other girl asked, “Have you ever met a giant?”

  Lydia’s guts swirled with trepidation, because she had met this particular giant. And she rather thought there was no chance at all that Bercola wouldn’t recognize her. Silently, she cursed Killian for abandoning her without appropriate instruction. This was his insane plan, and yet she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him since the prior day. “I haven’t,” she lied.

  “I hadn’t, either, though I’ve heard there are more of them in the South. I’d always heard they were quick to temper, but Bercola isn’t too bad.”

  “Just don’t do anything stupid,” Gwen chimed in. “Bercola doesn’t have any time for foolishness.”

  They rounded a corner, and the palace came into view, partially hidden behind a stone wall that stood perhaps fifteen feet high. The two aged men standing inside the gates eased them open at the sight of the women. Beyond was a lane paved with grey stone that split and encircled a lawn that contained miniature versions of the towers of the god circle at the center of the city. The lawn was bordered with stone planters, but the crimson flowers within them were wilted and dying, though whether it was from neglect or the cold Lydia couldn’t say.

  The palace itself was a two-story affair made of the same solid grey blocks as the rest of the city, the vast structure curved in a half-moon shape. Wide steps led up to a twin set of solid wood doors, the planks reinforced with steel, but the guardswomen ignored them in favor of a narrow path leading them to a small side entrance.

  Inside, the corridor was dark and narrow, lit by dripping candles set into sconces on the walls. It smelled like tallow, woodsmoke, and of something cooking, and Lydia could faintly hear the clatter of a kitchen preparing itself for the day.

  They took a narrow staircase up to the second level, and it was as though Lydia were stepping into an entirely different building as they made their way out into the wide vaulted corridor. The floors were intricate parquet layered with elaborate woven carpets. The plastered walls were framed with polished wood that gleamed from the sun shining through windows set high on the walls, the building cunningly designed to allow natural light into the corridor despite it being enclosed by rooms on both sides.

  Lydia’s boots sank into the carpet as she followed Lena, taking in the gilt-framed pieces of artwork hanging on the walls. Ahead of them, the corridor was closed off by a heavy door, which was flanked by two guardswomen, one of whom Lydia recognized as Sonia. The young woman’s hazel eyes warmed at the sight of them.

  “How was the night?” Gwen asked.

  “Quiet.” Sonia proceeded to give Gwen a detailed report of the evening, but as they were talking, Lena stepped to Lydia’s side. “They tend to be a late-to-rise sort, so we’ll likely be doing little more than standing right here for the next couple hours.”

  “Does the Princess often leave the palace?”

  “Rarely. Her ladies are responsible for doing her good works in the city, but even they hardly venture out anymore.” Lena’s mouth curved up in a smile. “It can be very boring work.”

  “Then you, at least, will be pleased with Her Highness’s plans for the day.”

  Lydia jumped and turned to find Bercola standing behind her, the giantess having come out while the other girls entered to relieve their counterparts.

  “Good morning, Bercola.” Lena smiled widely. “How is my largest and most favorite ray of sunshine on this fine day?”

  The giantess exhaled a belabored breath. “I really need to figure out a way to get you fired, Lena. You’re gods-damned irritating.”

  “It’s why you love me,” the guardswoman replied, but Bercola’s eyes were fixed on Lydia. “So you’re the new recruit.”

  Before Lydia could answer, someone said, “I was under the impression we had a sufficient number of guards in our employ, Lord Calorian.”

  Turning, Lydia found a young woman standing in the doorway, Killian behind her. She wore a high-necked gown, the amber velvet identical in color to her wide eyes. Her dark blonde hair was twisted back from her face, spilling down her back in thick ringlets that would’ve been the envy of any patrician girl in Celendor. Her skin was the color of sand, her cheeks rounded, and her small nose slightly upturned above bow-shaped lips. She was a good foot shorter than Lydia, her narrow waist and generous curves emphasized by the cut of her dress. She was lovely, but what struck Lydia was that she was regal. Undoubtedly, this was Princess Malahi.

  In response to the Princess’s query, Killian only shrugged. “I’m merely attempting to compensate for your recent decisions, Highness.”

  “Is that the reason?” Malahi’s voice was light, but her eyes narrowed as she looked Lydia over. “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Lydia, Your Highness.” She bowed, noting as she did that the other girl was wearing boots, suggesting this wasn’t a jaunt down the corridor. Straightening, she added, “I’m pleased to be in your service.”

  Malahi inclined her head. “And I thank you for it. May the Six keep us both safe.”

  Without another word, she started down the corridor, Lena and Gwen hurrying to get ahead. Bercola and the rest of the guardswomen followed, but Killian caught hold of Lydia, his hand encircling her bare wrist.

  “Against my better judgment, we’re going into the city to tour the crown shelters,” he said in a hushed voice, his eyes locked on hers. “You see anything, anything at all, that seems not right, you tell me.”

  She nodded, the warmth of his hand against her skin capturing her focus. This was the first time she’d seen him since they’d parted ways at the Calorian manor, and though she had accumulated a hundred questions to ask him, she felt reluctant to break the silence hanging over the corridor.

  “You should be wearing gloves,” he said. “Just in case.”

  “I’ll buy a pair as soon as I get a chance.”

  Killian nodded. But he didn’t let go of her, his other hand slipping into the pocket of his trousers as though to retrieve something. He swallowed and looked at his feet. “I—”

  “Captain! Carriage is being brought around!” Lena’s voice carried down the corridor, and Killian simultaneously let go of Lydia’s arm and jerked his hand out of his pocket. Taking a long step back, he scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at her.

  “I should go,” Lydia murmured, his obvious agitation triggering her own.

  Killian nodded, but as she started down the corridor he called, “Lydia.”

  She stopped
and looked over her shoulder, seeing his throat move as he swallowed. But all he said was, “Be safe.” Then he opened the door behind him and disappeared.

  31

  KILLIAN

  There were more pressing matters, none the least convincing Malahi that to go into the city was an unnecessary risk, but Killian found himself backtracking into Malahi’s rooms. Shutting the door and flipping the latch so a servant wouldn’t catch him, he hurried to the massive closet containing her clothing, pulling out a drawer that had to have held at least three dozen pairs of gloves. He dug around, finally extracting a pair of black riding gloves, which he tucked into his belt.

  As he rose to his feet, his eyes landed on one of the heavy chests containing some of Malahi’s jewelry. Opening one, he lifted out trays of jewels, searching for something that would suit his purpose, finally catching sight of the glint of silver near the bottom. Malahi never wore silver, gold as much an emblem of the Rowenes house as the scorpion courtesy of the mines on their lands, so the absence of a silver chain wouldn’t be noticed.

  Unlike the ring burning a hole in his pocket.

  32

  LYDIA

  It was raining.

  A frigid wind drove the fat droplets against her face with such force that it felt like being struck by pebbles of ice. Her hair and clothes were drenched, and freezing water dribbled down her back, her skin prickled with goose bumps. Worst of all, the cold was making her nose run, and Lydia had nothing but her sleeve to wipe it with as she stood with the rest of Malahi’s bodyguards, listening to Killian argue with the Princess.

  “It’s too risky!” he shouted into the open carriage door where Malahi sat with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed to slits. “There are tens of thousands of people in this city who resent you for no reason more than that you have food in your stomach.”

  “And you think me hiding in my palace will win their favor?”

  “I think in the palace I have a fighting chance of keeping someone from sticking a knife in your back!”

  “I believe you that it’s dangerous, Killian. I believe you that there are threats out there. But I’m not a coward.”

  “No, you’re a bloody idiot!”

  Lena hissed through her teeth where she stood next to Lydia, and Gwen gave an answering wince. The argument had been circling around the same points for the past twenty minutes, escalating with each pass, but now they were both shouting.

  “Gods-damn it,” Lena muttered. “I don’t know why he ever thinks he’ll win against her.”

  “I think they both like to argue,” Gwen replied.

  “I think he wants to be able to say ‘I told you so’ when something goes wrong,” another girl, Brin, chimed in before Bercola shot them all a look that said shut your mouths.

  Lydia wiped the rain out of her eyes, only to be splattered with more as wind gusted against her, torrents running down the back of her neck to soak into her shirt. Though she didn’t think the other girls were wrong, watching Killian’s agitation made her wonder if there wasn’t something more to his concerns. His eyes kept drifting from the argument toward the city as though he saw … no, sensed something to be wary of. As though his mark was warning him. Yet the rain, and an occasional piece of hail, pinged off the light armor he wore in lieu of his usual black coat, and she knew he wouldn’t have worn it if he’d believed there was any chance of dissuading the Princess.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Malahi’s amber eyes were narrow. “Perhaps if you could provide me with some more specificity about the threat?”

  “You know that’s not how it works.” Killian’s voice was low, his irritation drifting off him in waves. “It’s not like Tremon is whispering instructions in my ears. All I know is that today the city has a bad feel to it.”

  “Will tomorrow be better?”

  Killian didn’t answer.

  “The next day? The day after that?” She crossed her arms. “Maybe you ought to consider that me doing something might help the feel of the city.”

  Color rose on Killian’s cheeks. “Have it your way,” he snarled, then slammed the carriage door shut, coming over to Lydia and the others. “Lena, you ride inside with her.”

  Lena nodded but muttered, “Lucky me,” under her breath.

  “At least you get to stay dry,” Gwen replied, slapping her lover on the shoulder as she walked toward the carriage.

  While their backs were turned, Killian brushed against Lydia and she felt a tug on her sword belt, then he was stalking over this massive black horse, checking the saddle girth. Glancing down, she saw he’d tucked a pair of gloves into her belt, and while no one was looking she quickly pulled them on.

  Killian swung into the saddle with practiced ease, then turned to survey Malahi’s bodyguard, plus the additional guardsmen he’d seconded from the palace walls. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead, skin glistening with rain that emphasized the hard lines of his cheekbones and jaw.

  “Keep your heads up and eyes open. If things go sour, your priority is to get the Princess back to the palace or to one of the gatehouses,” he said, then nodded at the coachman, who snapped the reins against the backs of the four-horse team.

  Moving out at a walk, the women flanked the coach, the gates opening as they approached. Lydia adjusted her sword belt, despite knowing that it was for show. Her true purpose was to look for the corrupted. To warn the others. Though she was freezing, sweat pooled beneath her breasts and dripped down her back, and her hand went to the knife belted at her waist. Equally useless against the corrupted, if what she’d heard was true.

  The carriage passed through the streets, moving slowly into the city. Mudaire was quieter than she’d ever seen it, all the bustle stalled as the people abandoned their business to watch their princess pass. There was no fanfare. Far from it. Women stood with crossed arms, eyes tracking the progress of the group. Children peered out of alleys, expressions feral and hungry. Lydia felt hunted, imagining corrupted hiding in every shadow, and she let her vision drift out of focus so that she could see the life emanating from the people watching them. Some were bright. Most were not.

  “Gods-damn it,” Killian muttered, his horse chomping angrily at the bit. He cast a glance at Lydia, and she shook her head. Nothing. Yet.

  The carriage team’s hooves clip-clopped in unison, the plump animals tossing their heads, the plumes of their trappings sagging in the rain. Lydia’s skin crawled, and she fought the urge to step closer to Gwen. Be brave, she mouthed silently to herself. Then she looked over her shoulder.

  The street was full of people, a silent procession following on their heels.

  “Kil—” She caught herself. “Captain…”

  “I know,” he said. Reaching down, he pulled open the coach door and said something to Malahi that Lydia couldn’t make out. But the angry twist of his jaw and the way he slammed the door shut told her all she needed to know. Keep going.

  They wound through the streets, the crowd behind them growing. Then the carriage stopped. Lydia glanced once at the large warehouse, her stomach souring as she recognized the shelter. The smell of the place wafted over her, and she bit down against the panic rising in her chest. The feeling of being pressed in on all sides. Of being unable to breathe.

  “Form up,” Killian barked, snapping her back into the moment. Instinctively, she fell in next to Gwen, forming a protective barrier as Malahi stepped out of the carriage, a parasol balanced over her head to keep her golden ringlets out of the rain.

  If the Princess saw the masses watching them, she said nothing, walking straight toward the shelter door. Killian and Bercola flanked her like twin towers. Several of the girls walked ahead and the rest of them fell in behind, leaving the old men to watch over the horses and carriage.

  “What is that stink?” Malahi demanded the moment she was inside.

  “Shit,” Killian replied, then tilted his head sideways. “With hints of piss and vomit.”

  “I know t
hat,” she snapped. “Why does it smell like a latrine in here?”

  “Because people must go where they sit.” The words were out of Lydia’s mouth before she could think. “They pack women and children and crippled soldiers in here as though they were cattle, no room to move. Barely air to breathe.”

  “Lydia, shut your trap,” Bercola muttered under her breath, but Lydia barely heard the admonition as Killian’s eyes tracked to her, the muscles in his jaw flexing. But he said nothing.

  Malahi faced her, and for a moment Lydia was certain the other girl would reprimand her for speaking out of turn. But the Princess only said, “You stayed here?”

  “For a night. It felt like a lifetime, so I can only imagine how those who’ve been staying here for weeks—for months—feel. But the alternative is facing the deimos.”

  The Princess’s eyes panned over the other guards. “Have any of the rest of you stayed here prior to joining my guard?”

  A few nodded.

  “Is it as she says?”

  More nods, and Lydia tried to curb her irritation at having her word questioned.

  “Why didn’t any of you say anything?” Malahi demanded.

  The girls who had nodded looked at their feet and shrugged, and Lydia clenched her teeth against answering for them. Of course they hadn’t said anything—to escape from that nightmare had been a dream, and no one was fool enough to jeopardize that by suggesting that the shelters the Crown had created were any less than adequate.

  Killian cleared his throat. “Because they—”

  “I gods-damned know why they kept quiet, Killian,” Malahi snapped, then abruptly turned, picking her way through the filthy straw until she stood in the middle of the warehouse. “I want these shelters cleaned out every morning. Pay those staying in them to do it, if they are willing. And find more space for people. Another warehouse.”

  “There is no space, Malahi,” Killian replied. “The city is full.”