The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) (33 page)

When the glow began to fade, Jacaré continued his analogy. “Even with a stick a master would win because he knows how to defend himself against the worst or wildest attacks. Sapo may not be as powerful as you are, but he’s sure to be crafty.

“The battle will focus on ambushes over field maneuvers. Sapo wants the power you have, which means he’ll try to incapacitate rather than kill you.” He gave Rafi a significant look. “You can always tap the Performers if you’re running low.”

“Don’t we have to collar people to use their power?”

“No.” Jacaré touched his eyebrow absently, brushing against the scab that Rafi had not offered to heal. “The barrier was built without collars. To some extent,
essência
can be shared by touch. We lined up along Donovan’s Wall and funneled it all into one person. You can use the strongest of these people if things get bad . . . and maybe you noticed, but those with the most
essência
are the most athletic. They’ll be the best fighters anyway.”

Jacaré followed Rafi’s gaze, looking up the line of wagons. “How many of them are you willing to sacrifice as fodder?”

“None,” Rafi said quickly.

“Then we’ll need to be devious in the ways we use them.”

The short-lived battle in the meadow had given the townspeople enough time to get inside the estate’s walls. All the preparations Dom had made—building the palisade, strengthening the walls, stockpiling food, drying out the powder—weren’t enough. Belem had come ready to bypass the palisades, tear down the walls, or, if necessary, starve them out. The blown bridges were only a slight inconvenience. Belem’s engineers were working on ways to get their cannons and ballistae across the ravine and until then he had other methods of destroying Santiago.

The central market was the first thing to go, with the docks a close second. Belem’s men burned everything on the east side of the river that bisected the township, and cut off any escape Dom’s people hoped to make by water.

There wasn’t enough room inside the DeSilvas’ manor to fit the whole township, and all those crowded in the courtyard were affected by the billowing smoke from Santiago’s flames. Men, women, and children hung wet cloths over their faces just so they could breathe.

Once night fell, Belem’s troops stopped shooting flaming arrows onto the estate’s roofs, but Captain Demian reported that there were . . . things . . . floating in the well water. Belem had camped between the central aquifer and the estate, and had his soldiers dump feces and animal carcasses into the wells and the river south of his base. The water that came into the estate was full of that filth and completely undrinkable. Even with the rain barrels and strict rationing there wouldn’t be enough clean water to keep the entire township alive for more than a few days.

Frustrated and angry, Dom paced the halls of the estate, until he found himself at Maribelle’s room. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there; she’d been unconscious since their frantic ride back to the township. While the arrow hadn’t struck anything vital, she had lost a significant amount of blood.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing to her attendants. “I don’t know why I’m here. I guess . . . I just hoped that maybe . . .” He trailed off, trying to put into words what he was thinking. That he could glean inspiration from Maribelle’s sleeping body? That he could absorb some of her resourcefulness by sitting nearby? That he could apologize for having treated her so poorly?

He shook his head in embarrassment and despair.

They seemed to understand. One of the shorter ones, he wasn’t sure which, patted his shoulder as if she guessed at what he wasn’t saying.

“I know you are sworn to keep her secrets, but if there’s anything you know that could help us . . . ,” he begged, looking them each in the eye. “Please.”

They exchanged a look he couldn’t quite read.

“Lord Dom, her trust is hard to earn, and for good reason,” she said. “We’ve been with her since the beginning, and she keeps secrets even from us. But if we knew anything that would help, we’d tell you now.”

They knew what he had only grudgingly admitted. The estate walls weren’t going to keep any of them safe for very much longer.

“There are the wells,” the dark-haired one—he thought she’d been introduced as Eva—said, biting her bottom lip.

“They’re unsafe to use—”

“Not to drink from, Lord Dom, but to travel through. The wells of Santiago are interconnected with horizontal tunnels running to one another and the central aquifer. Someone might have . . .
liberated
 . . . a copy of Lord Rafi’s sewage maps and found the connection.”

Dom’s mouth opened in shock. He knew that before Rafi had gone after Johanna, he’d been planning to add new sewer lines but wanted to make sure they didn’t come near the groundwater reserves. “Have you been in these tunnels?” he asked, adrenaline making his fingers twitch. “Are they passable?”

The ladies exchanged a glance. “Yes,” Eva said, nodding. “A person who was, say, my size or a little bigger could fit through most of the passages.”

“Would someone my size fit through the tunnels?” He held his breath, knowing that even if the answer was no, he was going to use this information to his advantage.

“Yes.”

Dom called Lady DeSilva, Captain Demian, and a grizzled veteran named Gesias to help him work out a plan. Townspeople looked on while Gesias and Eva climbed down the courtyard’s central well and came up at the one just beyond the kitchen door.

The water was only knee deep, and although it was moving, if they hugged the walls, it wasn’t strong enough to sweep them off their feet.

“I know what you’re thinking, Dominic,” Lady DeSilva whispered as Dom marked the locations of the wells nearest the enormous tent topped by Belem’s pennant. “And I’m telling you no. You’re the highest-ranking member—”

“Yes, I know, Mother. You reminded me of that before I interrogated Brynn.” He winced at the bitterness in his own voice. He didn’t mean to be so sharp, but the memory still cut. “It also means that you cannot command me to stay. I’m leaving the state in your hands, and it will be in better care than it would be if you left it in mine.”

Lady DeSilva grabbed his collar and forced him to look away from the map. “If something happens to you, I will . . .”

“I’m sure you won’t be able to think of a punishment harsh enough.”

She fidgeted with the crease in his shirt, smoothing her hands down his sleeves, trying to hide the tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m proud of you,” she said finally. “You’ve honored the DeSilva name.”

Pride filled his chest. It felt good to have done something right, but Dom simply couldn’t accept the praise. “I sincerely hope that you will never, ever expect this much from me again. I have every intention of handing this responsibility to Rafi as soon as he returns.”

“I’m sure,” Lady DeSilva said with a laugh, then pressed a good-bye kiss to her son’s cheek.

Four teams of two, eight of the DeSilvas’ best soldiers, climbed into the wells and split off to four separate segments of Santiago. Three of the teams would provide a distraction, killing as many soldiers as possible, creating confusion, destroying food and weapons stores, and returning to the wells without getting caught.

Dom had joined Gesias and one other guard; they would come up closest to the ornate silk tent that sheltered the duke. The time for diplomacy had passed, and they would convince Belem to leave Santiago or die. It was a desperate plan. They all knew it.

Gesias led them through the tunnels, then free-climbed up the brick-sided well and disappeared over the lip. Dom waited, tense and impatient, staring up at the bucket and crank, and wishing he could see beyond.

A shadow appeared at the well’s mouth and waved for Dom to move to the side. He exchanged a quick look with the other member of their team, then pressed himself against the wall an instant before a body fell over the side, sinking to the bottom and disappearing under the weight of weapons and light armor.

Dom knew that his decisions had killed men, he’d heard them scream and watched them burn, but seeing it from a distance and feeling a dead man’s leg pressed against his own were two different things. Guilt and sorrow warred for a place in Dom’s mind, but they lost to the sudden, overpowering awareness that he was alive. He stood for too long, staring at the lifeless hand that floated on the water’s surface.

The other soldier jostled Dom, and for a moment he really
thought
about what he was doing.

Sneaking into the enemy camp in the middle of the night? This is crazy.

It is, but you can stay in the well with the dead man, or go face the men who are destroying your home. Choose.

Dom gripped the rope and hauled himself skyward.

They came up on the far side of the well and sheltered in its shadow. Gesias gave a quick rundown of their situation. They were deep into enemy territory, and the camp was quiet save for the snoring of men, exhausted after a day of battle and certain the dawn would hold victory for their duke.

Security was lax. Only the camp’s perimeter was ringed with sentries, and two guards stood watch on the duke’s tent. Gesias would take care of the guard in the back, and they’d enter through the rear door and eliminate whoever waited inside.

Moving on silent feet, they paused in the shadow of the tent closest to Belem’s while Gesias loaded a small crossbow and yanked back the crank.

This was the moment everything depended on—Gesias’s ability to take down the guard silently.

Dom took a breath and held it, eyes focused on the guard, on the dim light from the tent beyond. Wild energy danced in his fingertips as he eased his dagger out of its sheath. It took every ounce of his self-control to wait, wait, wait. . . .

The arrow flew and Dom dashed forward. If it missed, he would follow it up with a killing blow.

He didn’t need to worry. The bolt punched through the man’s throat, eliminating the possibility of a shout, but his armor would make a clatter as he fell. Dom caught the guard and eased him to the ground.

Gesias nodded his approval and then followed the other soldier under the tent’s flap.

The interior was divided into a large center room and two smaller sleeping chambers on either side. Both were dark, but the distinct growl of sleep rumbled from the room on the right. Gesias signaled for their other crewmate to keep a lookout. Dom didn’t wait for the command to follow.

His dagger was cool against his palm, but he felt a desperate need to warm the blade in Belem’s blood. Moving silently, with Gesias hard on his heels, Dom entered the sleeping chamber. It, like the rest of the tent, didn’t lack for comforts. Two braziers of glowing coals warmed the air around a long, low bed topped with silky furs and heaps of pillows. Bedside tables were littered with half-eaten food and melted candles, and an open chest showed an assortment of weapons.

Sleeping heavily in the middle of the bed was Belem, his chest bare save for King Wilhelm’s crystal signet.

It would have been easy to kill him and flee, but it was too simple a death for the man who’d ripped that necklace off Johanna’s throat and marched a foreign army onto DeSilva soil.

No. This man was going to suffer and then retreat with his tail between his legs.

Dom dropped onto the side of the bed and covered Belem’s face with a hard hand. The duke woke with a jolt.

“I dare you to scream,” Dom said, wedging his dagger under Belem’s jowls. “Let’s see how long you live after that.”

Panic rolled off Belem, as potent as the bottle of wine that had spilled at his bedside. His eyes were wide, flitting from Dom’s face to the weapon’s hilt.

“If you raise your voice, it will be the last noise you ever make.” Dom let the knife’s edge bite into Belem’s flesh, illustrating his point. The duke didn’t blink, but Dom sensed his agreement and removed his hand from the duke’s mouth.

“A DeSilva. A man of honor.” Belem’s breath was toxic with alcohol fumes. He tried to sound confident, but Dom could see the pulse hammering at the duke’s temple. “Are you going to kill a defenseless man?”

“Do you think I care that you’re unarmed? Do you think it will stop me from slicing through that fat gizzard? I am not my father. I am not my brother. I will not hesitate to cut you apart to prove my point.” Dom leaned closer, his face almost touching Belem’s. His hand shook with rage, and it nicked the duke’s neck afresh. “You will leave my land tomorrow. You will issue an apology. You will agree never to attack Santiago again.”

“Or?” Belem choked out, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth.

“Or I slit your throat now and then come after every member of your family.” And in that moment Dom meant it. He’d burn Belem’s estate to embers if that meant Santiago went casualty-free.

“Listen,” Belem said, eyes shifting to Gesias, who stood guarding Dom’s back. “You have Princess Adriana. I want to see her on the throne and the distribution of power to remain the same. We keep our states, trade agreements—”

“You fool! We don’t
have
her.” Dom eased up enough to snap the green pendant’s chain and tuck it into one of his pockets. “Didn’t your spy tell you as much?”

“My spies didn’t know where the princess was, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t secreted her away somewhere.” Belem’s throat undulated with a heavy swallow, and his eyes flickered to the side, held, and then back to Dom. “If I’d known what I had that day in the forest . . .”

It was the pause that made Dom check over his shoulder as a sword burst through Gesias’s abdomen. Belem reared up with all the force of a mad bull, tipping the bed. Dom dropped to a defensive crouch, positioning himself between the naked duke and . . .

“Ceara.” Dom took an extra step back as the underlord from Camaçari kicked Gesias’s body off the end of his sword.

“Lord Dom, so pleasant to see you,” Ceara said, wiping his blade on Gesias’s back. Even as blood pooled around his feet, Ceara acted like finding enemy soldiers in the command tent was a minor irritation. “You look better than your brother.”