Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  66

  KILLIAN

  Agony tore through him, like his insides were being twisted and torn out of his body.

  Everything went black. For a heartbeat. A moment. A lifetime.

  Then with a gasp, Killian jerked upright, the pain gone. All of it. Not just from Bercola’s spear, but every cut and bruise and torn muscle vanquished.

  Lydia.

  She was slumped next to him, fragile and ancient, her hair totally white.

  Please, no. With a shaking hand, he pressed fingers against her throat, relief filling his chest at the faint pulse he found there.

  “Eastern bank is signaling that they’ve been breached,” someone shouted, cutting through the noise building around him.

  “You have to go.”

  Her voice was little more than a whisper, but her green eyes were steady.

  “I’m not leaving you.” He’d left her too many times. He wouldn’t do it again.

  “You have to. They need you.” Her hand found his, gripping it hard. “This was the chance you wanted.”

  It was, but not like this.

  “Go.”

  It wasn’t a request, but a command, and Killian’s skin prickled. “Get somewhere safe,” he said. “I’ll find you.”

  Accepting the reins of a horse, he mounted, riding out among the cavalry of the Royal Army, pulling the blood-smeared page full of the High Lords’ signatures out of his pocket. “Seven of the Twelve Houses of Mudamora have spoken,” he shouted. “It is their will that Serrick Rowenes be removed from the throne, and in his place, Malahi Rowenes to be crowned Queen of Mudamora.”

  From across the masses of soldiers, he saw Serrick’s glare, but Killian found his gaze drawn to the older woman in white robes at his side. She met Killian’s stare, then reined her mount away from the King’s, riding hard in the opposite direction. Killian’s skin burned like fire ants marched across it, but whatever she was up to, he didn’t have time to deal with it now.

  “On the far side of that river,” he shouted to the mounted men, “stand not only soldiers, but your mothers. Your wives. Your sisters. All who have fought day and night to hold back our enemy so that your children have a chance to flee to safety. They have bled and died so those you love might live another day. Will you leave them to fight alone? Or will you ride with me now and send these bastards to the underworld?”

  The army roared their answer, the sound growing as his words passed back through the ranks, his name repeated on a dozen lips. Then on hundreds. Then on thousands. And when it reached the fevered pitch he was waiting for, Killian pulled his sword and held it in the air.

  “For Mudamora and the Six,” he shouted, then led the charge toward the battle.

  67

  LYDIA

  Lydia awoke to the feel of a hand gripping her own, and she blinked in the faint light of a glowing lamp. She was in a tent, a pillow beneath her head and a heavy blanket pulled up to her throat. Beneath, her clothes were sticking to her skin and reeking of blood, but that all fell away as she turned her head to see who was next to her.

  Killian sat on a stool, half-asleep with his chin resting on the palm of one hand, his elbow balanced next to her. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his clothes marked with mud, blood, and worse, but he was there.

  “Killian,” she whispered, and he blinked, focusing on her face.

  “Thank the gods,” he breathed. “I was afraid you’d never wake. That you’d…” His throat convulsed as he swallowed down the rest of his words, and she gripped his hand to prove she was alive and well.

  Or at least as well as she could be. “What happened?”

  “After the battle, I went in search of you. Found you passed out beneath a wagon and I brought you here. Camp is still in chaos, so no one paid me much attention, thank the Six.”

  He straightened, his back popping with the motion. “Army’s flushing out the last pockets of resistance, but the war is done. What remains of the Derin forces are fleeing back to the wall, presumably with Rufina, as she hasn’t been found among the dead. We’ve received word from Mudaire that the city is nearly evacuated. Everyone is safe.”

  “You won the war.”

  He shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  But he had. The last thing she remembered was him galloping toward the enemy army, the Mudamorian cavalry rallying behind him, unblinking and unhesitating, as though they knew without a doubt that Killian would lead them to victory.

  “Malahi lied to everyone,” she said. “I discovered what she was up to and told the King that she wanted him dead. There was no other way for me to get him to march to your aid, but then it made everything worse.”

  Killian was silent for a moment. “Who knows what Malahi sent you to do besides Serrick?”

  “His personal healer, Cyntha. He made me swear to tell no one else.” It had been the reason Serrick had kept her next to him from the moment she’d confessed—he hadn’t trusted her to keep her mouth shut.

  “This is dire,” Killian said. “I need to get you out of here. There were too many witnesses to you healing me and Serrick himself knows your face. Your description is being circulated and it’s only a matter of time until someone finds you. And with the High Lords having voted to crown Malahi as queen, Serrick needs you as proof that Malahi tried to have him killed. It’s the only chance he has at keeping his crown.”

  A chill ran down Lydia’s spine knowing that she was being hunted.

  “You need to get back to Celendor to help Teriana.”

  “Teriana’s not in Celendor,” she said, watching the color drain from his face as she told him what she’d learned from Bait. “I can’t help her.”

  “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowing Quindor to cage you up.” Killian extracted a cloak from beneath the cot. “Put this on. Sonia has horses waiting. I’ll sneak you out of camp and she’ll get you to a small port and on a ship. If you ride fast, they won’t be able to catch you, and they don’t have the pigeons to warn every harbor on the coast. Sonia has connections and Gamdesh is the safest place for you to go. You won’t need to hide your mark.”

  She held the clothing in her hands, staring at the fabric. “What about you?”

  He looked away. “What about me?”

  “They’ll know it was you who helped me escape.”

  “They’ll suspect it was me, but I’ll lie through my teeth if they ask. And besides”—he hesitated—“without you, Malahi’s rule is uncontested. And it’s not in her best interest for me to be charged with a crime against the Crown.”

  Because he was betrothed to her. Was going to become Malahi’s king or prince consort or whatever sort of nonsense title she forced upon him. Anger and grief abruptly rose in Lydia’s chest, and she blurted out, “Do you want to be with her?”

  Killian went still, his eyes fixed and unblinking on the ground. “I’m sworn to her.”

  “To protect her, not to marry her!”

  “I…” He gave the slightest shake of his head as though to clear it. “I have to believe that Malahi will make a better ruler for Mudamora than any of the High Lords. Better than her father. If my marrying her is what it takes to get the crown on her head, and to keep it there, then I’ll do it.”

  Lydia’s chest throbbed in the way it did when she’d healed too much and it was threatening to give out. Like it was too tired to keep beating. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I answered it well enough.” He turned away, his back to her. “For all that she’s done, Malahi is my queen and my future wife, and I’ll not speak against her.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Not even if Malahi deserved it. He was too honorable. Too gods-damned loyal. “Do you love her?”

  “Lydia…” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “Do you love her?” she demanded, rising to her feet, her knees wobbly.

  “Please don’t push this.”

  Let it go, a voice w
hispered in her head. Nothing good will come of this. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

  “Tell me that you love her, and I’ll let you be.” Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Say it. Just say it. Say that she’s the one you want.”

  The silence was interminable. The worst she’d ever endured. Lydia was on the verge of speaking again just to break it when Killian turned around, voice low as he said, “Don’t make me lie to you.”

  Lydia took one step toward him. Then another. Her foot rose to close the distance between them when he reached up, catching her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his hands through her clothes, his arms trembling, fingers flexing.

  “You can’t.” He said the words under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear. Not speaking to her, but to himself. “You can’t do this.”

  Why can’t you? Why does it have to be this way? The thoughts circled wildly in her head, demanding to be voiced, but Lydia shut them down. Because to ask him to betray his word to Malahi would be like asking him to betray who he was.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of tears even as she felt the heat of his breath against her face, heard his soft inhale and exhale in her ears. This was what her heart wanted. He was what she wanted. But neither of them took that next step, only stood and breathed and thought of what might have been. Because it would never be more than that. Never more than a dream that taunted the mind in the darkest hour of the night.

  “Lord Calorian?” a voice called from outside the tent, both of them jerking away from each other with a start.

  “What?” Killian demanded. “I’m trying to get some sleep.”

  The individual coughed uncomfortably. “You’ve been summoned by the King.”

  “Malahi is queen.”

  A hesitation, then, “I’m just conveying the message.”

  Hissing between his teeth, Killian shook his head. “Keep the lamp down and your head covered. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  68

  KILLIAN

  He strode through the muck of the Royal Army camp, barely noticing the soldiers who inclined their heads to him as he passed.

  There was only one thing that Serrick could possibly want: Lydia.

  Without her, he had no proof that Malahi had tried to kill him, and without that proof, the crown was no longer his.

  If Serrick got his hands on her and forced her to testify, Malahi would be executed for treason and then Lydia would be given over to the healing temple, and Killian refused to allow that to happen to either of them. Which meant he was going to have to lie. Lie, and then get Lydia free of this camp and, in doing so, save both her and Malahi.

  Guards opened the flaps to Serrick’s tent and Killian stepped instead, making his way through the series of antechambers, following the sound of voices. The first face he saw as he stepped into the receiving chamber was Hacken’s, and Killian froze in his tracks.

  His brother was splattered with mud and a long red scrape marred one cheek. The rest of the High Lords who’d been with him were also present, equally filthy and battered, but alive. Serrick sat in a chair, hands folded, face grim, flanked by the High Lords who’d accompanied him on the campaign. Only Malahi was absent. “Where is the Queen?”

  Serrick’s face soured, but he gestured a hand to Hacken.

  “We were attacked as dusk fell,” he answered. “By Rufina. She was alone, but mounted on a deimos.”

  Killian couldn’t breathe. “Malahi?”

  “Rufina took her.”

  Gods, no. The room faded in and out of focus, Malahi’s last words echoing through his head like a prophecy: If you don’t come back to me victorious and I lose the crown, everything that happens will be because of you. Because of the decision you made in this moment. And any blood that is shed will be on your hands.

  “You should’ve been with her,” Hacken hissed. “You were supposed to protect her.”

  He’d sworn to protect her.

  “And yet we cannot fault Lord Calorian’s decision to do otherwise,” Serrick said, rising to his feet. “We have him to thank for Mudamora’s victory over our enemy. And I have him to thank for my life.”

  Rufina has Malahi.

  “Whereas it was you worms”—Serrick gestured at the High Lords—“who put the target on my daughter’s back. Setting her up as your paper queen. And you—” He glared at Hacken. “Don’t for a heartbeat think that I don’t see what you hoped to gain with your brother on the throne, you greedy little creature. You are disgusting to have used her so. And at what cost?” He looked away, grief painting his face. “My girl is gone and I should hang the lot of you for your meddling.”

  Vaguely, Killian realized that Serrick hadn’t told anyone about Malahi’s plot to assassinate him, but his mind couldn’t focus. Couldn’t move past that he’d left her alone and now she was gone.

  “You have no authority over us, Serrick,” Hacken growled. “You are no longer king.”

  “No?” Serrick spit the word. “Then who rules Mudamora? Your would-be queen is dead.”

  Malahi is dead.

  “We have enough here for a majority vote, so why not do so? Crown a new king.” Serrick laughed. “It need not be me. It could be any of us. It could be you, Hacken, who sits on the throne.”

  All the High Lords shifted uneasily.

  “Of course.” Serrick sat back down. “If you grasping fools were capable of choosing among yourselves, Malahi would be alive.”

  Malahi would be alive if you hadn’t left her.

  “All of you get out,” Serrick said, motioning for a servant to refill his cup. “Debate among yourselves somewhere out of my sight. Until you make a decision otherwise, I am King of Mudamora.”

  “Don’t get comfortable on your throne, Serrick,” Hacken said. “You won’t be sitting on it for much longer.” Then he and the other High Lords left the room.

  Killian blindly followed them until Serrick called out, “Not you, Killian. You and I have much to discuss.”

  Freezing in his tracks, Killian fought to regain composure. Lydia was still at risk. He wouldn’t fail her, too.

  Serrick picked up the decanter sitting on the table and poured two glasses, handing Killian one. “Where’s the girl? Lydia, I believe her name is.”

  “I don’t know. The last time I saw her was moments before I rode into battle.”

  Taking a mouthful of his drink, Serrick eyed him. “I doubt that’s the case, Lord Calorian, but given the circumstances, I’ll not press that issue just yet.”

  Killian only crossed his arms, saying nothing.

  “Lydia was adamant that you were unaware of Malahi’s plot to kill me, but I did not believe her.” Serrick shook his finger at Killian. “Did not believe her, that is, until you came galloping across that field to foil the second assassin, nearly losing your own life in the process. Seems unlikely you would’ve done so if you were complicit in the plotting.”

  Malahi was dead. What was the point in trying to protect her now? “She confessed what she’d sent Lydia to do. I took issue with it.”

  “I’ve no doubt you did.” The King’s eyes were too knowing for Killian’s comfort. As if he saw quite clearly that the issue was not with Serrick being murdered but with Lydia being the one to do it.

  “If that spear had been intended for me, would you still have ridden into its path?”

  “It was intended for you.”

  Serrick gave a soft smile. “Oh, I think we both know it wasn’t. Malahi had the crown in her hands—my death was hardly necessary. But killing the girl who knew her plans most certainly was. Malahi sent an assassin to kill Lydia, not me, and you knew it.”

  Had he? Killian wasn’t certain. Wasn’t even certain now if that had been Malahi’s intent, and the only person who could confirm it was Bercola, who was nowhere to be found. Either she was dead or had fled, but even given the circumstances, Killian struggled to believe Bercola’s honor would allow for the latter.

 
“I know it is your instinct to grieve for her death,” Serrick continued. “Even though she conspired against me, she was still my daughter and her loss pains me more than you can know. But she was a conniving, wicked thing who manipulated everyone around her to achieve her own ends, caring not who she hurt in the process.”

  Malahi had made some unforgivable choices, but—

  “She used you, Killian. She knew what you cared about. What you wanted. And she exploited that information in her quest for the crown. Surely you see that now?”

  In hindsight, it was impossible not to see how he’d been manipulated. How little what he had wanted really mattered. How easily Malahi had risked everything and everyone Killian cared about in order to achieve her own ends.

  “Yet despite my daughter’s machinations, you have proven yourself, Killian Calorian. Proven that Tremon still values your service. And Mudamora needs you now more than it ever has.” Serrick took a step back. “I would have you take command of my armies and see our kingdom put to rights.”

  It was what he’d wanted. What he’d always wanted. But not … Not like this. Not with this man as king.

  “You were marked to protect the realm.” Serrick inclined his head. “And I intend to bestow upon you every resource in order to ensure that you can do so.”

  “I…”

  “Remind me your age, Killian? I’ve forgotten.”

  He blinked. “Nineteen, Your Grace.”

  Serrick chuckled. “Such an enormous honor, especially for someone as young as yourself. But Tremon clearly believes you’re ready.”

  Maybe this wasn’t how he envisioned it, but this was his chance to atone. To give his people back their kingdom. To allow them to thrive.

  Is that even possible with Serrick as king? Killian didn’t know.

  This was what you wanted, a voice screamed inside his head. The only thing you’ve ever wanted.

  Except that wasn’t true anymore. There was something—someone—else, and she was waiting for him. And for the first time since he’d met Lydia, he was free to do something about the way he felt.