Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  59

  LYDIA

  The wind whistled past Lydia’s ears, her arms flailing as she fell, the sea rushing up to meet her with impossible speed.

  But she still had time to regret her choice.

  The toes of her boots slammed into the water, and then she was plunging down and down. Bubbles rushed past her face, pressure building in her ears, and when she looked up, the surface seemed terribly far away.

  Kick, you fool!

  Her legs churned, and she rose. Only not fast enough. Her chest burned, the desperate need to breathe sending flashes of panic through her veins. Then her head broke the surface.

  She had the chance to suck in one breath before the waves slammed her against the cliff wall. Her wrist snapped, her forehead slicing open against the rocks; then the water was dragging her backward. Frantically, she searched the cliff walls for the opening. But there was nothing.

  How was that possible?

  High tide.

  Her error slapped her in the face as the waves surged again, her feet slamming against the uneven rocks. Her ankle cracked, and she choked and floundered, trying to swim with two broken bones. Her mark was healing her, but not quickly enough.

  Swim!

  Body burning with pain and exertion, she dived, kicking as hard as she could in an attempt to get farther out to sea. The ocean flung her backward, the cliff rushing toward her. She was going to hit it again.

  Swim, gods-damn you!

  Pain exploded across her body as she hit the rocks, her body breaking. The sea pulled her back again, though she barely had the strength to stay afloat.

  She’d made a mistake.

  She was going to drown.

  She’d failed Teriana.

  She’d sacrificed Killian for nothing.

  Water closed over her head, and she couldn’t move. Couldn’t swim.

  Madoria help me.

  But blackness only filled her eyes as her consciousness slipped away.

  Then sunlight burned into them.

  Lydia choked and coughed, rolling on her side to throw up before resting her face against the gritty damp sand. Her whole body was in agonizing pain, but she was healing.

  “I was of a mind to let you drown, but Magnius thought otherwise.”

  The familiar voice filled her ears and, still coughing and spluttering, she rolled onto her back and looked up. “Bait?”

  “Hello, traitor,” he said, resting a dagger against her throat. “Fancy meeting you on this side of Reath.”

  Her rattled brain struggled with his words, and then she understood the accusation. “I didn’t tell Lucius anything. I swear it on the names of the gods.”

  “Invoking the names of the Six, you godless Cel wretch!”

  Her throat stung, and Lydia felt hot droplets of blood dribble down her skin as she gasped, “I didn’t betray you.” It was hard to get the words out, her lungs feeling like they’d never have enough air again.

  “Prove it.” His eyes were black and stormy, and then water surged over her legs and Magnius was in her mind. The demigod delved into her memories, and she relived the moment of learning the Quincense was in danger, of running through the gardens toward the gates, desperate to warn her friends. Worst of all, that painful moment when she learned the Quincense had been taken. Only then did Magnius release her mind, her vision clearing to reveal Bait’s stunned expression. And she knew he’d seen it all.

  “Gods, Lydia,” he breathed, pulling the knife from her throat and shoving it into the sand. “I’m sorry … We assumed…”

  “It’s fine.” She caught hold of his arms. “Please tell me Teriana’s with you.”

  Bait slumped and exhaled a long breath.

  Lydia’s body turned icy cold, her heart beating like a drum. “Is she…?”

  He shook his head. “She’s alive. The Cel have landed on the Southern Continent, in Arinoquia, and they have her with them. Tesya is a hostage in Celendrial.”

  Teriana wasn’t in Celendor. And the Cel were here.

  Easing up, she sat in the wet sand, her head resting on her knees. Finding a way home to help her friend had been her goal, what had kept her focused through everything that had happened, and now …

  “She’s alive,” he repeated. “Magnius, at least, would know if she wasn’t. But Lydia, how is it that you’re here?”

  “Xenthier. There’s a stem in the outtake tunnels of the baths in Celendrial.”

  Bait whistled between his teeth. “And you took it, not knowing where it went?”

  “I didn’t have a choice. Lucius tried to have me murdered.”

  Bait’s jaw dropped and stayed that way as she told him the story. “Lucius is blackmailing the Thirty-Seventh Legion’s legatus, and he ordered him to shove me into the drain so my body wouldn’t be found and it would look like I’d made good on my attempt to escape.”

  “Legatus Marcus of the Thirty-Seventh?”

  She nodded and Bait spit into the sand. “You know him?” she asked.

  “Aye. I know him.”

  Lydia’s skin felt like ants were marching across it, her mouth turning sour as she listened to Bait tell her everything that happened in her absence, though there was one detail that captured all of her attention. “Marcus has Teriana?”

  Bait’s eyes were inky waves as he nodded. “Keeps her with him at all times. In his own gods-damned tent. And Lydia … He’s as clever as they say.”

  She knew. But gods, all she could think of was that Teriana was the prisoner of a young man entirely under the control of Lucius. “Has he hurt her?”

  Bait shook his head. “I saw her a few nights ago, and she was fine. But then again, she hasn’t given him reason to harm her. Yet.”

  For several painful moments, neither of them spoke, Lydia coming to terms with the fact that Teriana was imprisoned by a man who had a secret he was willing to murder to protect. A secret that Lucius knew and had no compunctions against exploiting.

  Lifting her head, she said, “Whatever Lucius is blackmailing Marcus with has something to do with his family—his real family, not the legion. He said he knew me, which—”

  “Makes sense,” Bait interrupted, “because he’s a Domitius.”

  Domitius? Lydia stared at Bait in shock. The head of that family was not only her neighbor; he was the wealthiest man in the Empire. She’d grown up with Cordelia and Gaius and … “Gods, Bait. Senator Domitius had a second son named Marcus that went to the legions. It’s him.”

  He was the one she’d played with in her father’s library when they were small children. Except something about that truth jarred with her memory. Lydia rubbed her temples, trying to figure it out, but it had been so long ago.…

  Bait’s eyes had shifted into the brilliant blue waves of excitement. “Do you know what Cassius has against him? We could use it. Force Marcus to give her back to us.”

  “He didn’t say. It could be anything. The Domitius family has their fingers in politics and business across the entire Empire.”

  They sat in silence; then Lydia finally said, “We have to rescue Teriana. We can’t leave her with him.”

  Bait rested his forehead against his knees, then in one sudden move slammed his fist against the sand. “She doesn’t want to be rescued.”

  “But…”

  “If she escapes, Tesya and the other Maarin prisoners will suffer the consequences,” he said. “She thinks she can sabotage them. That’s why I’m here. I heard the Gamdeshian fleet was on its way to assist Mudamora, so Magnius and I took a xenthier stem north in hopes of sending them back. But…” He lifted a hand, gesturing at the harbor full of burned-out wrecks.

  It was no coincidence that the Cel had set their eyes on the West right as the army of the Seventh had marched to war. Everyone believed the Gamdeshian fleet had been burned to prevent Mudaire from being evacuated, but with this news from Bait … Lydia wondered if the Corrupter had much more far-reaching plans. From the look on Bait’s face, he was thinking the sam
e.

  “Lydia, if the legions can find land routes to and from the Empire, the West is going to be pinioned between two armies.”

  And the legions would find the xenthier paths; it was only a matter of time. The Senate would pay desperate men and women by the hundreds to travel through unmapped stems in the East in the hope one of them would get lucky. And the legions in Arinoquia would have the gold needed to do the same.

  “What do we do?” she asked, more to herself than to her friend, because the idea of doing nothing made her sick.

  Bait exhaled slowly. “Do you think I haven’t been asking that very question since the moment the Quincense was captured?”

  Perhaps her going back to Celendor and implicating Lucius would be enough to prevent the horror that was to come. “Can you get me back to Celendrial?”

  Both his eyebrows rose. “Do you think you can stop Cassius?”

  “He broke the law,” she said. “And trying to have me murdered is the least of it. The truth might see him removed from his position as consul.”

  But would that be enough to stop the invasion? Never mind that the Senate had no ability to contact the legions on the Southern Continent, there were many others like-minded to Lucius in their desire for conquest. Others who might pick up his torch and carry it onward, especially if they discovered Marcus had been successful in his venture. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that the only sure thing going back would accomplish was seeing Lucius dangling from a noose.

  Was vengeance worth sacrificing Killian’s life? The lives of all those in his army? All those who couldn’t be evacuated in time? Never mind that Lydia possessed information the West might use against the Cel.

  “Lydia?”

  Bait’s voice tore her from her thoughts. He was staring at her broken wrist, the swelling and bruising fading as the fracture knit. He gaped at her. “Did Hegeria mark you?”

  Denying it seemed like a waste of time. “Almost as soon as I arrived.”

  “Teriana always believed you were from the West. That you were from Mudamora.” A faint smile rose to his lips. “Looks like she was right.”

  His words sank into her soul, the truth of them ringing like a bell. This was where she was from. This was where she belonged. This was where she needed to stand her ground and fight, no matter what she had to do. No matter what it cost her.

  “I can’t leave,” she said. “I can do more good by remaining than by going back.”

  “That’s insane, Lydia. You don’t want to be in this city during a siege, and you certainly don’t want to be here when it falls.” He caught hold of her wrist and pulled. “I can get you out of here.”

  She shook her head. “You need to go. Convince the Sultan of Gamdesh that the Cel are as great a threat as the Seventh’s army. Convince him that maybe…”

  “There’s a link between the two.”

  Lydia nodded. “And you need to get back to Teriana. If she can find out what the Domitius family has done that would allow Lucius to blackmail Marcus, maybe we can use it.”

  “It will take me some time to get to Gamdesh. There’s no underwater xenthier paths on this coast that run south, so Magnius and I will have to swim.”

  Swim? Then she understood. “You’re marked by Madoria.” Which meant he could breathe underwater. And turn the tides.

  He winked and grinned, his teeth white against his ebony skin. “A pirate of the seafloor, Domina. You didn’t think the Quincense got so rich selling to cheap Cel scum, now did you?”

  An idea rolled into her thoughts, something she’d barely been willing to consider. “Bait, does your mark work when you’re in the East?”

  He nodded. “I don’t play much with the currents and the tides while we’re there, though. Too much chance of being caught.”

  Clenching her teeth, Lydia dug deep for the courage to ask her next question, dreading the answer but needing to know. “Was my father still alive when you left Celendor?”

  Bait blinked. “Yes. Why?”

  “Thank the gods.” The words rushed from her mouth, relief filling her core. “His nephew, Vibius, is in league with Lucius. He’s been poisoning my father with the aim of taking control of the Valerius seat in the Senate.”

  “And you’re wondering if your mark will work if you go back.”

  Lydia gave a tight nod.

  “If it did, they’d know about us,” Bait said slowly. “And that’s a secret Teriana’s fighting to keep. She’s got the odds stacked against her enough without the Cel discovering the truth about god marks.”

  “He’d keep it a secret. I know he would.”

  Exhaling slowly, Bait said, “I believe you. But the truth is, I’m not sure it would work. Hegeria’s not going to help someone who doesn’t believe.”

  And her father was Cel to the core. There was no chance of that.

  “I’m sorry. But if it’s any consolation, your father is the one keeping Captain Tesya. Teriana was none too happy about that, but given what you’ve told me, I think he’s protecting her from Cassius. Which means he knows Cassius is up to no good.”

  If Teriana was upset about Lydia’s father keeping Tesya, then … “Does Teriana believe that I betrayed her?”

  Bait nodded, and Lydia’s chest tightened. If her friend believed that, then she believed all that had happened, and all that would happen, was her fault. “If you can get to her, make sure she knows the truth—that I love her, and that I’d never betray her.”

  Her hand drifted to the scabbard at her waist, the blade in Malahi’s possession. Even so, it reminded her that she was no longer quite the helpless girl she’d once been. “And make sure she knows the truth about the man she’s bargained with.”

  60

  KILLIAN

  Icy water dripped down the back of Killian’s neck, and he winced as a blast of sleet-filled wind hit him in the face. He spared a longing thought for his fur-lined cloak, but the aging soldier he’d lent it to needed it far more than he did. If only he had two hundred more to give.

  The weather had turned foul overnight, a blizzard of wind and sleet that was bound to turn to snow by nightfall, likely thanks to the summoner’s meddling with the winds on the coast. What was already a hard march delayed by the need to build bridges over streams of blight was made worse by a road now turned to muck, and his hopes of reaching the ford by nightfall were diminishing by the second.

  His war-horse’s teeth snapped in his direction, but Killian only pushed the stallion’s nose away before glancing up at the two exhausted greybeards perched on the black brute’s back. The pair probably weighed less than Killian in armor, but the other horses were showing the strain of carrying two riders, heads hung low, the mules pulling the small catapults no better. There was no helping it. There was no time to stop. No time to rest.

  Two thousand men and women marched at his heels. Five hundred Gamdeshians. Three hundred old men who’d made up the city guard. Six hundred soldiers the High Lords had brought with them. And the rest were women who’d volunteered to fight. Some of them were warriors, but most were civilians here to give the families they’d left behind in Mudaire a chance to flee. A chance to live. There were some who’d call this army weak, but Killian knew better. These men and women had something to defend, and while they might die fighting, they wouldn’t break.

  “Scout,” Sonia muttered from where she strode next to Killian, seemingly unaffected by the abysmal conditions despite having been born and raised in the balmy heat of Gamdesh. Likewise, the soldiers she led pressed onward without complaint, the loss of their comrades when the fleet was razed fresh in their minds. They wanted revenge.

  Killian knew the feeling well.

  Peering through the sleet, he watched the scout gallop toward them, the pace alone telling him all he needed to know.

  The woman slid to a stop. “The advance force is only a few hours’ march from the ford, my lord,” she gasped, dismounting next to them and leading the tired horse.

>   “Shit,” Killian said under his breath, exchanging a quick glance with Sonia. The Gamdeshian captain knew as well as he did that if Rufina’s men made it to the ford ahead of them the battle was lost and Mudaire would be at the mercy of their enemies.

  “Off,” he ordered the men on his horse, then swung into the saddle. “Archers on horses! The rest of you, double time.”

  Sonia was already on Seahawk’s back, organizing the archers with the ease of someone used to command, and within moments the force was rallied around them. “We have less than an hour to make the ford and get that bridge down,” he bellowed. “Now ride.”

  Digging in his heels, he gave the stallion his head, mud splattering high as he tore down the road. It wasn’t long until only Sonia kept pace, but that didn’t matter. The two of them alone could bring down the bridge.

  If only that was all it would take to stop Rufina’s army.

  The rolling farmland turned to forest, the branches giving some respite from the wind, if not the mud. The stallion leapt over a stream of blight that crossed the road, then slid, struggling to keep his footing. Then they were out in the open, the great ravine containing the Tarn cutting across the landscape. Killian stopped on the lip of the steep incline leading down to the narrow bridge spanning the river. The embankment on the far side was lower and not as steep, but as on this side, the road disappeared into the trees, hiding whatever marched upon it. Not that it mattered—his gut told him they were close.

  Sonia behind him, he eased his horse down the slurry of mud and rock, dismounting next to the bridge.

  “You call this a ford?” Sonia muttered, eyeing the churning rapids of the Tarn as Killian extracted the canisters of naphtha from the sack attached to his saddle.

  “It’s doable,” he replied. “Bridge gets washed away in floods every few years. It’s only waist deep, but it’s cold enough to freeze your balls off.”

  “How fortunate I was not cursed with such vulnerable body parts,” she replied, and despite the gravity of the situation, Killian laughed.

  They walked onto the bridge, pouring the liquid onto the planks and dousing the thick pillars holding it out of the rapids. Wind blasted against them with such strength that it seemed to suck the air from Killian’s lungs, whipping away the stink of the liquid. Which gave him an idea.