The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2)

For my grandma, Edie Winkelman, with love and gratitude

Millions of tiny feet stampeded over Pira’s skin, under her shirt, through her hair, into her nose. Leather strips bound her wrists and ankles together, making it impossible for her to dislodge the nasty little creatures. She thrashed, rolling across the gravel-strewn campsite, trying to crush the
paraponeras
under her weight, but nothing deterred them from reaching her flesh.

As if responding to a silent command, the ants sank their needle-sharp pincers into her body, injecting a venom that burned and throbbed. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, and letting the ants crawl
in
.

“You will answer my questions,” a voice whispered from somewhere both near and far. Coming from both within her mind and without.

Pira couldn’t see the speaker, couldn’t see anything with her eyes shut tight against the agony. Sweat dripped from her forehead as her body shuddered and rocks dug into older wounds. Those injuries gave a different sort of hurt, dull and achy, the bruises from an earlier battle.

She clutched that ache like a lifeline to reality.
It’s magic,
she realized.
These ants aren’t eating me alive. It’s all in my head.
Knowing didn’t stop the phantom pain, but it gave her the strength to hold on a little longer.

“Tell me about your companions. Tell me their affinities. Tell me about Jacaré, and I will make this all go away.” The voice had a sibilant quality, stretching out the words with a hiss.

Vibora. The viper.

Pira tried not to think about the events that led to her capture, afraid the collar around her neck would somehow relay the information, but the sensations flooded her mind unbidden. She saw the ambush and Tex burning in a column of flame; she felt the marsh, stagnant and thick against her ankles as she led Johanna toward Santiago; she heard the hail of pebbles thunk against Vibora’s flesh and the sound of the horse galloping away with Johanna tucked close to Rafi’s back; she tasted the acrid words she’d shouted at Leão the last time they spoke—words she’d never be able to recant while living as another Keeper’s slave.

Rolling to her side, Pira tucked her knees tight to her stomach, as if she were protecting herself from the magical barrage. The position also hid her efforts to remove the collar. She could feel metal pressing somewhere between her chin and her collarbones, but she couldn’t
feel
it.

Metal was Pira’s specialized affinity, but her gift failed her.

Jacaré had warned that someday she’d have to fight against a weapon she couldn’t sense. She never imagined the battlefield would be inside her own head.

“Your
essência
is draining away,” Vibora said with a laugh, a sound like scales slithering over dry leaves. “The collar will suck away every drop, and when you recover, I’ll drain you again. I will use your own power to torture you until you tell me Jacaré’s location and his plan.”

Pira’s muscles began to spasm, a late reaction to the
paraponeras
’ bites. Her body believed the magic, even if her mind recognized the truth.

“Tell me.”

The ants bit again.

“Tell. Me.”

Pira opened her mouth.

And screamed.

Dawn, pale as fresh butter, melted through the tangle of branches above Johanna’s and Rafi’s heads. The light nibbled away the mist that hung over the marsh and revealed a strange sort of beauty in the twisted limbs of their temporary haven.

The light did not, however, expose a safe route to escape from the caimans that had chased them into the tree. At some point during the night the lizards had stopped hissing and snapping their teeth. Disappearing into the black water, they were content to wait for their prey under the knotted roots of the mangrove trees. She couldn’t see them but knew they were out there lurking. Hidden. Hungry.

And they weren’t the only cold-blooded monsters stalking her.

Keepers, the heroes of so many of Johanna’s stories, were real and nothing like she’d been trained to believe. She’d sold so many lies as a Storyspinner, unwittingly building up the Keepers as magical saviors. As soon as she had the chance, she’d correct those misconceptions, recounting her own adventure as their captive.

Would people still idolize the Keepers who had kidnapped Johanna as she was weeping over her brother’s dead body?

Probably, she realized with annoyance. Jacaré and his group did have a noble purpose; an audience might approve of any tactics that would save Santarem, especially given the real villains they’d been pitted against.

Vibora.
Thoughts of that magic-wielding witch and her mindless slaves made Johanna shiver. She’d spent only a few moments in that woman’s clutches, but it had been a few moments too many.

If Vibora had her way, the story would conclude with all the people of Santarem serving as her slaves. It was the only fate worse than having Duke Inimigo, the failed usurper and the tyrant of the Ten Years’ War, on the throne.

Unfortunately for Johanna—
and everyone else, really
—the country’s future rested on her very unprepared shoulders. She’d been raised as a Performer, instead of as a princess, and was unsuited to rule anything greater than a few wagonloads of acrobats and Fireswords. But a princess she was, albeit a reluctant one. And Santarem’s tale would come to a very unpleasant end if she failed to reach Donovan’s Wall and secure the magical barrier that kept her country protected from the Keepers’ land beyond.

Thinking about it all—the deaths of her family members, the truth of her heritage, and her duty to the people—made her light-headed with anxiety. A dangerous thing to be, considering her precarious perch.

We have to reach Donovan’s Wall.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and Rafi’s arms tightened around her waist in response. His touch sent her pulse sprinting for a different reason.

Even though they’d spent several hours nested together, her back to his chest and his back against the tree, the closeness between them was a new thing. It made her feel timid and green; it was a new high-wire routine she hadn’t quite mastered, and there was real danger if she fell.

“Are you awake?” Rafi asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Of course I’m awake. I couldn’t possibly sleep with you snoring in my ear.”

“At least I don’t drool.”

Rafi’s tone was dry, but she felt his chest bounce with a barely restrained laugh.

Johanna frowned, feigning offense she didn’t feel. They had spent weeks circling each other like snarling animals, taking every opportunity to nip at the other’s confidence and pounce on the other’s flaws. It was easier for her to slip into the familiar role of prickly Performer than to think of the night they had spent together.

It was the wrong turn of phrase, and her whole body blushed with the implied meaning. They had kissed—
More like you threw yourself at him
—and it had been perfect and delicious, and then horrifically interrupted by Vibora, intent on Johanna’s capture.

Rafi laced his fingers around Johanna’s middle, as if sensing she needed comfort. During the night, when she’d mourned for her family, she’d sobbed brokenly in his arms, but now she shrugged out of his embrace. Instead of soothing away her pain, his touch made her keenly aware of every loss.

Johanna maneuvered around on the branch to face him. “Pira should have been here by now. I hope she escaped. I hope . . .”

There was so much sympathy in Rafi’s expression that Jo had to look away. Instead she studied the water below and added Pira’s name to the tally of casualties. The list had gotten very long, very quickly.
Joshua, Thomas, Mama, Captain Alouette, Snout, two of Rafi’s guardsmen, and now Pira.

The loss of life made Johanna sick to her already empty stomach.

“The caimans probably moved to the banks to sun themselves at daybreak.” Rafi snapped a handful of twigs off the branch over his head and threw them into the water. Nothing rose to the bait. “This is the best time for us to make a run for it.”

The safest, maybe, but there was no guarantee that either of them would make it out of the swamp alive. They had no food or water and only one weapon, and Rafi had lost a boot and his sword in their frantic flight from the caimans.

“It’ll be easier to find our way out with the daylight,” Johanna agreed, trying to reassure both of them that they weren’t about to face death at the jaws of a hungry beast.

“I’ll go first,” he said, sliding his dagger free of its sheath. “If anything happens, then you can still escape and continue on.”

“You couldn’t get into the tree without my help. And if the caimans do attack, then it will be much easier for you to pull me back up.” Johanna didn’t give him the chance to argue. She smacked his elbow with the top of her fist, and the knife popped out of his grasp.

“Jo—” He reached for the weapon, but she clenched the blade between her teeth and scurried away. “What are you doing?”

She smiled around the dagger and fell backward, hooking her knees around the branch.

It wasn’t much different from swinging on a trapeze. She flipped, catching the lowest limb. It bowed under her weight, dislodging a spray of leaves. They floated on the water’s black surface, flecks of green on a tar pit.

“Stop, Johanna.” His voice broke on her name. “Please.”

Nothing stirred. Nothing lunged out of the water. It didn’t mean the animals were gone, but it did give her a bit of hope. She looked up once more, catching Rafi’s wide eyes. Her heart gave a painful thump at the distress on his face, but sitting in the tree was certain death—from starvation or
when
the evil Keepers found them.