Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “We followed him here,” Gwen said. “And from our vantage, it looked exactly like that.”

  Run.

  Lydia bolted, trying to get past Gwen, but the other girl dived, hitting her in the legs. They tumbled across the cobbled street, Lydia’s knife flying from her hand.

  Elbowing Gwen in the face, Lydia rolled the other girl off and scrambled up. But before she could regain her feet, someone else hit her in the back, sending her sprawling.

  The other girls dog-piled onto her, pinning her legs and arms.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Lena shouted. “Malahi said she wasn’t to be harmed.”

  Probably so that she can do it herself, Lydia thought bitterly. It was the last thought she had before Gwen clamped a foul-smelling rag over her mouth and everything went dark.

  * * *

  Lydia blinked, the world blurry and unfocused, but not, for once, because of her missing spectacles.

  The room was well-appointed with heavy crimson curtains, furniture of polished wood, and several paintings hanging on the walls, though she couldn’t tell what they were of. The window was cracked open, and from it came a breeze carrying the salty tang of the sea.

  She was in the palace.

  Lydia’s head ached abominably, but as she tried to lift a hand to rub her temple, rope dug into her wrist. Both her arms were bound to the chair she was sitting on. Legs too.

  Biting her teeth against the pain, she pulled against the ropes, but they were too strong. Too tight for her to do more than abrade her flesh. Her wrists grew slick with blood, and with a muttered curse she gave up.

  The door to the room opened, and Malahi walked in, pulling it shut behind her before turning the bolt. “I told them that if they followed Killian they’d find you. Turns out I was right.”

  Anger chased away Lydia’s fear. “Your kingdom is crumbling and your people are dying. But instead of focusing on that, you used your resources to have me dragged here. And for what? To have a jealous spat over a boy?” For the first time in her life, Lydia spit on the floor, immediately understanding why Teriana found it so satisfying. “You’re pathetic.”

  Other than raising one eyebrow as she circled Lydia’s glob of spit, Malahi showed no reaction as she approached, pulling a chair opposite Lydia and taking a seat. “We are here because of your relationship with Killian, Lydia. But let me assure you, jealousy has naught to do with it.”

  “I find that hard to believe given the way Hacken Calorian played you like a love-sick girl.”

  Malahi cast her eyes skyward. “Please. Sometimes it’s best to allow the player to believe you’re being played, because then they won’t expect your attack from the rear.”

  Perhaps some of that was the truth, but Lydia had seen Malahi’s reaction. Even if the Queen knew that there was nothing between Lydia and Killian, having his lack of sentiment for her shoved in her face had hurt. Badly.

  “Hacken’s soldiers guarding the palace ensure I can’t sneak much past him,” Malahi continued. “He believes I’m in here having my revenge on you, but the truth is a much different beast. You’re going to do something for me.”

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just start screaming.”

  “No one will come.”

  “Bercola—”

  “Is still in the infirmary waiting for a healer to tend to her injuries.” Rising from her chair, Malahi went to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of precious water, drinking deeply before she added, “You only healed her enough to keep her from dying, didn’t you?”

  The blood fled from Lydia’s skin, leaving ice in its wake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Malahi sighed, then came back across the room. “Don’t bother denying it, Lydia. It’s easy enough for me to prove.” Reaching down, she took hold of Lydia’s wrists, her fingers uncharacteristically stained with ink. Then she pulled back the rope, revealing the healing abrasions. Moments passed, red fading to pink and then to white before disappearing.

  Undeniable proof of her mark.

  “You’re the healer who saved Killian’s life from the deimos. The healer no one has been able to track down in the month since. The healer he’s doggedly refused to describe, despite the danger aiding you puts him in.” Malahi removed her fingers from the rope. “The healer he hid in plain sight as one of my bodyguards, knowing it was the one sure way to get you past Quindor’s testers when I sailed south for Serlania.”

  And to help keep you alive until you were safely there, Lydia wanted to add, but did not.

  “I suspected some time ago who you really were.” Malahi pulled on the bit of string looped around Lydia’s neck, extracting the ring. “When he didn’t give—” She broke off, giving a sharp shake of her head. “When I asked Helene to describe the girl she’d purchased this from, she said you were filthy, built like a boy, and ghastly tall. Probably northern. And lo and behold, the clean version of such a girl arrives in my employ not two days later. One my sworn sword abandons me in the middle of a riot in order to go back and save.”

  Malahi’s voice was steady, her face serene but for the throbbing vein in her forehead that gave away her anger. Her hurt. “Then the rumors began that Hegeria herself was walking the sewers at night to care for Mudaire’s orphans with a marked swordsman guarding her back.”

  “Someone needed to care for them.” And it should’ve been the Crown. Most were the children of men fighting in the King’s army, and even if they weren’t, they deserved better than sewers and scraps.

  “Peas in a pod.” Malahi gave a slight shake of her head. “Both of you seeing only the suffering in front of your faces with no mind for what good you could have done for those fighting to defend those children.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop us? If you knew who I was, why didn’t you turn me in?”

  “Because,” Malahi said, “what you two were doing in those sewers did more to bolster the people’s faith in him than anything I ever did. Your identity might have been a secret, but the whole city knew that the swordsman was Killian.”

  Neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint crash of the waves below.

  “So now that I’ve done my part in rebuilding your future husband’s credibility, am I to assume you intend to turn me over to Quindor?” Lydia stared Malahi down, clenching the arms of the chair to hide the tremor in her hands. Once she was in the hands of the temple, there’d be no escape.

  Malahi gave a slight shake of her head, but instead of relief, Lydia felt trepidation as the other girl said, “I’ve different plans for you.”

  Sitting back in the chair, Malahi smoothed her skirts. “Let me articulate our circumstances so that you understand my predicament. Rufina’s army marches on Mudaire. They will be here in three days’ time unless Killian and those under his command are able to beat them to Alder’s Ford, which is the only reasonably defensible position. If, by some act of the Six, they make it in time, it will be Killian’s two thousand men and women, only half of whom are trained soldiers, against an enemy that numbers in the tens of thousands. There is no chance of them prevailing—they are sacrificing their lives to give us a chance at evacuating the city. And even then … There is a chance it won’t be enough. That Rufina’s army will arrive while Mudaire is still full of innocent undefended people. And that she’ll slaughter every last one of them.”

  All her life, Lydia had heard talk of military strategy. Her father and his peers sitting on couches, wineglasses in hand, while they discussed which legion would be moved where. The gains and losses. Who’d be saved and who’d be sacrificed. It had always seemed so distant to her—not real lives, but game pieces on a board. To be in the midst of it, with lives that she knew, lives that she had touched, at risk, was another thing altogether.

  “You’re queen now—take control of your army.”

  Malahi’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately, High Lord Torrington was killed last night. His heir is Helene, and she finds herself … disinclined toward support
ing my reign, particularly if it means a Calorian on the throne beside me. I’ve sent word of our situation to High Lady Falorn, but there is no love lost between our families, so I have little confidence that she’ll vote for me no matter how dire the circumstances. As it is, I don’t see how she could make it here in time.”

  It was sickening. Sickening that people were dying and these men and women were scrambling for power rather than scrambling to save every soul they could. Yet the question remained. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  Malahi didn’t answer, and the tension that hung between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. A thousand scenarios ran through Lydia’s mind, but none of them—none at all—ended with her boarding a ship south to Serlania.

  “There’s another way for me to remain queen.”

  Lydia’s blood chilled, because gods she knew what was coming.

  “Both Hacken and Lady Calorian brought horses with them. Fast horses. And Killian didn’t take them all.”

  Lydia’s breath was coming in fast little pants, her ribs aching from the violence of her beating heart.

  “The Royal Army will be expecting messengers from us. It will be easy to give you one, which will allow you access to my father. Then you’ll kill him.”

  The light seemed too bright. Too intense. And because the alternative was to cry, Lydia laughed, the sound wild and manic in her own ears. “You want to use me as an assassin? I can barely unsheathe a sword without risking my own foot, whereas your father is surrounded by trained soldiers.”

  “I don’t want you to kill him with a blade.” Malahi’s face was steady, though the throbbing vein in her forehead remained. “I want you to kill him and make it look like the enemy is responsible.”

  Bile rose in Lydia’s throat, and she swallowed it down. “How could I possibly do that?”

  Silence.

  “I didn’t send you to stand watch with Bercola in that tunnel because I wanted you dead,” Malahi finally said. “I sent you because I knew your mark would make you more likely to survive anything that came at you. I didn’t realize how right I was.”

  It hurt to breathe.

  “I saw what you did to that corrupted.” Malahi leaned forward, her face intent. “Everyone else was too busy trying to protect me to notice, but I saw. I saw when he took life from you. And when you took it back.”

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

  “You can do what they do.”

  Lydia shook her head wildly. “I’m not corrupted.”

  The curtains sailed inward on a gust of wind, and both of them jumped. Rising, Malahi went to the window and pulled it shut, the curtains settling back into place, making the room still. Silent.

  “No. But you could be.” Malahi remained staring out the window. “The same power, but turned to a different purpose. Two sides of the same coin.” She turned back around. “Do you think, if Killian hadn’t arrived and removed his head, that you’d have killed that man?”

  Yes. Lydia kept the thought to herself, straining against the ropes binding her wrists, feeling blood trickle down her skin, the arms of the heavy wooden chair groaning. Her body screamed with the strain, sweat breaking out on her brow, but whoever had tied the ropes had known her business.

  “You’re my only hope. Mudamora’s only hope.”

  I am Teriana’s only hope. My father’s only hope. The only person who knows the truth about what Lucius has done. “I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  The other girl was across the room in an instant, Lydia’s head cracking sideways as Malahi slapped her with surprising strength. “You selfish bitch! People are going to die, and you don’t even care.”

  The accusation couldn’t be further from the truth, because the Six knew, she cared too much. The plight of this city, of its people—it was her plight. She’d felt the same hunger. The same exhaustion. The same fear. And she’d risked everyone she loved in order to help them. Night after night after night she’d braved the darkness and the filth, giving up her life to those who needed it most, aging and nearly dying over and over and over. Yet never had she felt more alive. Never had Lydia felt more like she was in the place she needed to be. And to abandon them now cut her to the core. But not only was the cost of staying more than she wished to pay, what Malahi was asking her to do … “I’m not a murderer.”

  “He’s not a good man.” Malahi hissed the words. “And even if he was, what’s one life compared to the lives of thousands?”

  Nothing. And everything. “There are other people who need me, too. Who are depending on me. Even if I was willing to steal life like one of the corrupted, doing so would mean abandoning those I care about.”

  “What about Killian? Don’t you care about him? He’s going to die if we don’t enable the Royal Army to march to his aid; don’t you understand that?”

  Lydia’s eyes burned, and she looked away, unable to meet Malahi’s gaze. She knew. Knew the guilt he felt about not fighting to the death to hold the wall. That he blamed himself for every life that had been lost since. That he’d fight back the approaching enemy until they cut him down.

  You could save him, a voice whispered inside her head.

  I’d be sacrificing Teriana for him.

  Teriana might already be dead, the voice countered. Your father, too. You know Killian’s alive.

  He wouldn’t want me to kill anyone to save him.

  True, the voice conceded. But what about to save his people?

  “I’ll give you some time to consider,” Malahi said, tearing Lydia back into the moment. “But know this: You getting on one of those ships isn’t going to happen. You ride west and assassinate my father or I hand you over to Quindor. And lest you think me a total fool, you take that horse and try to run, I’ll use every resource at my disposal to hunt you down.”

  There was no way out. No escape.

  Lifting the hem of her skirts, the other girl extracted a knife, slicing through the bindings on Lydia’s wrists and ankles. “And if you don’t like those options,” she said, gesturing to the window, “you can always jump.”

  Waiting until the door had slammed shut behind Malahi, an exterior bolt turning, Lydia tore around the room, searching for tools she might use. A weapon. Something to pry the door open. Anything.

  But there was nothing.

  Even if there were, she strongly suspected there were guards outside her door. The girls she’d called friends, but their loyalty was to Malahi, never mind that they all believed the worst of her.

  Panic rose, hot and fierce, her heart threatening to tear out of her chest.

  Think!

  Sitting back on the chair, Lydia forced herself to consider her options. She could lie to Malahi and agree to the mission, then try to ride south until she reached a port. The risk was that both pigeons and ships would beat her there, and there was no chance that Malahi wouldn’t send word ahead with her description and a reward for catching a rogue healer. Same if she rode north—the Princess was too clever to be fooled by that.

  Be smarter than her.

  She needed to give Malahi a reason not to spend resources trying to hunt her down, and the only way that would happen was if she believed Lydia were dead.

  You can always jump.

  Her eyes flicked to the window. Walking over, Lydia flipped open the latch and swung in the pane of glass, the wind immediately sending the curtains billowing. Below, the ocean crashed against the cliffs, and in the distance she could vaguely make out the longboats ferrying evacuees to the ships anchored farther out.

  Even if she survived the fall and managed to swim to one of them, only children and their mothers were being evacuated today. They’d send her right back to shore.

  She could try to make it to the harbor, hide in the city for a few days, then try to board one of the ships. Except Malahi might not be so quick to believe the fall killed her and would have her description passed aro
und. Would give it to Quindor, who was known for his talent in tracking down rogue healers.

  She needed another path.

  The xenthier.

  The trapdoor to the tunnel had been locked and secured, but Lena had dropped the lock to the gate barring the ocean. It was possible that the lock had been replaced in the intervening hours, but in the chaos … it was just as possible the gate remained unlocked. If she could get inside, it would be easy to retrace her steps to the xenthier stem.

  You have no supplies.

  You have no weapons.

  “It might be my only chance,” she answered the voice, climbing up onto the windowsill. “Teriana’s only chance.”

  What about Killian?

  What about the people of Mudaire?

  Jump, and you condemn them all.

  Lydia stared at the water, so very far below. “I can’t save them both.”

  You know you can save Killian. You have no such certainty about Teriana.

  Closing her eyes, Lydia allowed her doubts and fears and hopes and desires to twist through her thoughts. To fight with one another as the wind buffeted her unfeeling body. It was Killian or Teriana. One or the other. A hot tear ran down her cheek.

  Choose.

  Lydia jumped.

  58

  KILLIAN

  Dread slammed into him like a battering ram, and Killian whirled his horse, staring back at the distant shadow of the city.

  Go back.

  His marching army parted to go around him, but he might as well have been alone on the plain.

  She’s in danger.

  “What’s wrong?” Sonia had circled Seahawk around next to him. “Is it Malahi?”

  Lydia.

  “Do you need to go back?”

  Yes. Even as Killian thought the word, he turned his head back west, marching men and women flowing up the road. The only hope for saving an entire city.

  He felt torn in two separate directions, between the desire to protect two different things that mattered to him so very much.

  Choose.

  “No,” he finally answered. And nudging his horse into a canter, Killian rode toward war.