Dark Skies by Danielle L. Jensen Page 0,53

Then he trailed off and fell backward to land with a splash in the fountain, his crutch landing a few paces away.

“Of course,” she said, then grumbled a few choice curses she’d heard the household guards use. With her luck, she was going to be trapped here until morning. “Help! Someone help me!”

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Fiery panic rushed through her, and Lydia lashed out, flinging her body from side to side, but both the sewer grate and the arms holding her were implacable. A low voice said in her ear, “For the love of the Six, girl, shut your bloody mouth before you get us both killed.”

Lydia quit trying to scream, instinct stilling her. A second later, a young man’s face appeared in her line of sight, his gloved hand still covering her mouth, the other braced against the back of her head. “I’ll help you,” he said. “But you need to stay silent. I don’t aim to end my days in the stomach of the spawn of Derin.”

She had no idea what he was talking about but nodded anyway. He released her, and as he straightened she noticed the sword belted at his waist.

“I’m fine,” she said to him, knowing this was a dangerous situation that could turn out very badly for her. “I don’t need any help.”

“Of course you don’t.” The moon peeked out from behind a cloud, revealing a smile that even a blind woman, which she practically was without her spectacles, would find charming. “Though allowing me to do so would be you doing me a tremendous favor. My self-confidence has been dreadfully low of late and rescuing a damsel in distress”—he held up one hand to forestall protest—“even if she is only pretending to be in distress, has bolstered it tremendously.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Yes, but don’t take it personally. I mock everyone. My brothers consider it my worst character flaw.”

“You’ve many then?”

“Brothers or flaws?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Both.”

“Two brothers and flaws beyond counting,” he replied, but his attention had drifted to the sky. “Are you lodged nearby?” He bent to gently tug on her leg, his gloved hand warm against her bare skin. “I’ll take you back to wherever it is you’re staying. Not,” he added, “because you need an escort, but rather for the good of my own conscience.”

Lydia bit her lip. Did she lie about having a place to stay and send him on his way, or did she confess the truth?

“You’ve nowhere to go, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll put you up for the night then,” he said. “Clearly we can’t have you wandering the streets, and the crown shelters aren’t fit for rats, much less a girl on her own. Especially one wearing”—he frowned at her—“a dressing gown.”

“I didn’t plan to be running about outside when I put it on,” she said, her cheeks burning. “And while I appreciate the offer, I have no way to pay.”

“There are many things in life I need, but coin isn’t one of them. Put in a good word for me the next time you pray to the Six and I’ll count us even.”

A shiver ran through her at his casual reference to the gods. If she’d needed further confirmation that she had reached the Dark Shores, that was it.

Grabbing hold of the bars of the grate, he heaved, the fabric of his dark coat straining over the muscles in his arms. “This is quite the predicament.”

“Who are you?” she asked, using the opportunity to examine his face. He was young—perhaps a year or two older than she was—with skin several hues darker than her own. His strong jaw was clean-shaven, his nose slightly crooked from being broken, but rather than detracting from his rather exceptional good looks, it only gave him a roguish sort of appeal.

“You must be new to the city if you have to ask.” Letting go of the grate, he turned her leg in various angles. “Killian Calorian,” he said. Then he heaved on her leg.

Her ankle screamed in pain, and Lydia thrashed, trying to get out of his grip.

The crippled man chose that moment to sit up out of the fountain and start singing. He only managed two lines of his song before being drowned out by a piercing scream.

The air filled with a steady thump-thump, like beating drums. Another scream tore through the streets. This time it was closer.

“Stay still, soldier,” Killian hissed, his eyes on the man. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

Lydia froze, but the

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