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

Praying her instinct was correct, she dropped onto the clump of roots that arched out of the murk.

Dread made Rafi’s palms slick with sweat. He gripped the trunk tightly and shimmied down behind Johanna, keeping one eye on his path and one on her. Any moment a caiman would lurch out of the water and snatch her away. She would disappear forever in a flash of blood and screams.

But as he worked his way out of the branches—his stocking foot snagging on twigs—nothing happened. The swamp’s mirrored surface remained perfectly flat, not even a jumping fish or large bug created ripples in the water.

“I think they’re gone.” She leaned forward a bit, peering beyond the tree’s roots, as if she could see the creatures through the blackness.

“Stay back. They’re faster than you can imagine.” His arm still ached from the vicious attacks he’d fended off with his sword. Caimans had thrown themselves against the blade, nearly knocking it from his grip a half dozen times. Even if he hadn’t dropped the weapon while climbing into the tree, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to heft it now.

He had no way to defend Johanna, besides throwing himself into the teeth of the beasts.

“Get behind me, please.” He slid in front of her, boxing her between his torso and the tree trunk. “And give me back my knife.”

She frowned at him but slapped the blade against his palm.

“Let’s agree on one thing,” he said as he returned the knife to his belt. “You are more important than I am.”

“Rafi—”

“No,” he said sharply. “Last night you said you wanted to go to Donovan’s Wall. You said you wanted to save Santarem from people like Vibora.”

“Of course I do,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “But you can’t put yourself in danger to protect me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Johanna. Protecting you is exactly what I
must
do.” He ignored the hard set of her jaw and continued, “I know how it wounds your pride to feel indebted to anyone. But please, just this once, will you allow me to go first?”

With a flourish she held her arm out to the side. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you ever so much,” he said with equal acerbity.

“Certainly,
my lord
.”

Her tone made his hackles rise, but he forced himself to ignore the irritation.

There were two islands of weeds within leaping distance. He studied the water around both, in case he missed, and decided that the one on the north side looked like it was more likely to support his weight. From there it would be a quick hop to a dead mangrove tree that lay on its side, half out of the water.

“Rafi?” Johanna’s fingers touched his forearm gently, and he found real worry pinching her features. “Be careful, won’t you?”

Her concern matched his growing trepidation, but he hid it with a smile he hoped looked confident. “Of course.”

Trying not to think about the caimans and their vicious teeth, Rafi swung his arms and landed squarely on the center of the island. His feet punched through the bracken, and the tangle of weeds sucked him under. He gasped, spluttering as water closed over his head, cutting off Johanna’s frantic screams.

Johanna didn’t think. She leaped, landing on the island’s closest edge. It held her much lighter weight, and she immediately dropped to her belly and slithered close to the Rafi-size hole. Broken stalks of weeds bent downward, pointing into a warren of roots. She could see nothing in the black water except bubbles breaking at the surface.

“Rafi!” she screamed, and reached into the opening, never considering what else could be lurking below. Flailing for anything that felt human, her hand encountered the feathery texture of weeds and the sharp bite of twisted roots and raking thorns. Something bumped into her arm, then snatched it, yanking her toward the hole.

A terrified shriek escaped her lips as she dug in her toes and tried to scuttle backward, but the weight was too heavy, dragging her toward the water.

She grabbed at the weeds with her free hand, a weak anchor, and dug her toes into the mud, certain her shoulder would tear out of the socket.

Something flashed above the water level, slimy and muck covered, but identifiable as a hand. The top of a head followed, fronds tangled into black curls.

Jo gave one more violent tug, feeling her joint pop in protest, and Rafi’s face appeared. He sucked in a huge lungful of air and heaved himself out of the water, mimicking her pose, dispersing his weight over the island.

“The roots,” he said between wheezing breaths. “I couldn’t get free—couldn’t tell which way to the surface.”

She gulped, breathing as if she, too, had been underwater for too long. “Well then, you should probably thank me.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you . . . or strangle you.”

“What?” She lifted her head. “I saved your life.”

“You stuck your arm into a hole where a caiman could have been waiting to eat you.” He wiped the dirty water away from his eyes and gave Jo a hard stare. “Next time will you please
think
before you act impulsively?”

It was so ridiculous that she laughed. She laughed loud enough to startle the birds out of the trees, and after a few moments Rafi joined in.

Hours later when they finally emerged from the swamp, neither of them was laughing. They were too tired, too hungry, too tense to talk. Crossing the swamp had been grueling. The trees had trapped the heat and humidity close to the water, sapping their energy and creating a breeding ground for swarms of biting bugs.

They were grateful to be on a solid road, but miserable and itchy. And Rafi was in far worse shape than Johanna. His fall had resulted in a dozen deep scrapes on his side, and his stocking foot was bruised and bleeding. While they both had been wet, his clothes had dried stiff and stinking.

The only good news was that Rafi had a general idea of where they were, and was certain a fishing village was only a few miles north. There they could barter for fresh clothing and shelter.

At sunset they caught sight of a few small homes and a tiny inn, all built on raised platforms. The thatch roofs mingled with the lowest branches of the ironwood trees, making the houses seem as if they were built right into the trunks. Clumps of hydrangea, blooming in bright greens and blues, hugged the stilts below the inn and climbed up the staircase to the covered porch.

It would have been picturesque without the dried monkey heads dangling from the eaves.

Johanna arched away as a light breeze stirred the gruesome garland. The animals’ eyes had been stitched shut, but their gaping mouths revealed shriveled black tongues between sharp yellow teeth.

“They’re for protection,” Rafi said as he held open the door for her to pass through. “It’s a local custom.”

Johanna pulled a disgusted face. “Not one you practice in Santiago.”

“Well . . .” He offered her the grin that she always thought was just a smidgen arrogant. “You haven’t seen the inside of my closet.”

“Ah. That explains your odor.”

He barked a short laugh and followed her into the common room.

•  •  •

Johanna’s hair was clean, and her stomach ached with fullness. It was her first real meal since the Keepers had captured her and dragged her away from Santiago, leaving the wreckage of her family in their wake.

Her brothers would have loved the food. She could imagine Thomas devouring bowl after bowl of
feijoada
, and Michael eating so fast he’d dribble some on his shirt. And Joshua . . .

Pressing her hand to her mouth, she forced down the sob that threatened to rise with thoughts of her brothers. She could still feel Joshua’s blood on her skin and hear his rasping final words.
Safe,
he’d said, using his last breath to reassure her that Michael was alive and hidden.

In four months’ time she’d lost her father, mother, and two of her brothers, and watched a handful of other people die trying to protect her. Her career and identity had been snatched away and replaced with something ephemeral.

And all for what? Because I’m apparently the heir to the throne of a broken kingdom and responsible for a barrier I don’t know how to fix?

Jacaré had sworn that as the magical barrier weakened, it created an elemental vacuum, siphoning power from Santarem and throwing the environment out of balance. Panthers crept out of the mountains to harass farmers, snakes infested the ruins of the capital city, and a vicious drought stretched on, killing crops and leaving many of Rafi’s people without enough food for the winter. And that was only the beginning of the danger. The Nata, as Jacaré had called them, were Keepers motivated by greed and power. They would flood Santarem and control its people if the wall fell.

Tears burned in Jo’s tired eyes, but she refused to let them drop. Rafi had gone down to bathe and bandage the gashes he’d gotten when he fell, but he would be back soon. Johanna would not fall apart in front of him. Not again.

A voice broke through her dark thoughts, its tone soothing and familiar.

Think of Beta,
her father would have said, retelling one of Santarem’s oldest stories.
She lost her hand to the
dragão
, but did she give up the fight? Did she let that monster raze the countryside and destroy Santarem? No! She walked into its lair and fired the killing bolt with one hand and her teeth!

Get up, Johanna. Get up and fight.

After a few deep breaths she did. She and Rafi had worked out a plan as they made their slow progress through the swamp. The magical barrier had to be repaired. But without Jacaré’s help, Johanna had no idea how to make that happen. There was only one place that might have the answers she sought: the Great Maringa Library.

It housed the greatest collection of Keeper lore, some of which was rumored to have been looted from the Citadel after it had fallen and Johanna’s birth parents, King Wilhelm and Queen Christiana, had been slaughtered by Duke Inimigo’s troops.

“We cannot go to Maringa. Inimigo will have our heads,” Rafi had said when she initially made the suggestion. “It isn’t worth the risk, no matter what those books can tell us.”

“Can you think of another way?” Johanna had challenged.

Neither of them would consider going to Duke Belem for help. The fat menace had attacked Johanna and stolen her necklace, King Wilhelm’s sigil. He had been untrustworthy before he had the necklace, but now he was a dangerous foe with the means to consolidate power and make a play for Santarem’s throne. They couldn’t afford to let him get close to Johanna again.

All other arguments had dissolved, and Rafi and Jo had agreed to continue traveling north to Cruzamento before turning west to Maringa. They hoped that any pursuers would expect Rafi to return to the DeSilva estate, and be thrown off their trail.

At least that’s what they wanted to happen. They had no idea how many Keepers had sided with Vibora or how many subjugates might be helping her.

If they could get to Maringa. If they could find the information. If they could figure out how to stabilize the wall. If they could stand against power-hungry dukes and powerful Keepers . . .

If. If. If. No guarantees. No assurances.

She swiped away the doubts and determined to hold on to whatever shreds of hope she could grasp, knowing too well the consequences of succumbing to despair. After her father’s death, Johanna’s mother had fallen into an awful, crippling depression, and the rest of her family had been casualties.

For now, Johanna would have to find some pocket in the back of her mind to stuff her own hurts and woes into. Someday, when this whole tangle was unraveled, she’d allow herself the time to grieve for her family properly.

Footsteps approached from the common room, and she forced a smile onto her face. It trembled, but held.

Rafi knocked lightly before pushing the door open. “Johanna?” He edged into their shared room, as if he were invading her private space. He’d purchased a new shirt, a garish woven thing with a wide V at the neck, a large pocket across his belly, and a hood that hung to his waist. It wasn’t quite long enough, looking like something that might have shrunk in too-hot wash water.

Johanna wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t look away from the lines of muscle the shirt exposed. She’d always been attracted to Rafi, even when she refused to admit it. She had spent weeks ignoring his good looks, branding him a conceited noble, and taking every opportunity to wound his pride. But now heat crept up her cheeks when she realized that neither of them had spoken, that they both waited, frozen, staring at each other.

“That shirt is absolutely hideous,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

“Wait till you see the dress I got you.” He flung a package in her direction. “I thought it was a good disguise.”

She unrolled the bundle and fingered the purple, brown, and yellow material. “Are we blind beggars?”

“No, we’re wool merchants.”

“Who specialize in selling the ugliest fabric possible?” She held the dress up to her neck and saw that it was meant for a much larger woman. She’d have to hack off the bottom and find a way to cinch the neckline, but it was far better than the shirt she’d rinsed out in the bathtub. “What is this pattern? Clouds with legs? Trees with too many trunks?”

“I believe they’re sheep.” Though from the look on his face, it seemed he, too, was struggling to decipher the picture. “Wool merchants dye their cloth in the brightest colors possible as showpieces when they travel to larger towns.”

“This one has five legs.”

“I think that’s a tail.” He reached across the small space to touch the animal in question, his hand lingering on her arm.

The contact sparked a fuse, lines of heat raced across her skin, spiraling inward, making her stomach clench.

Breathe, Johanna. No need to get ninny-headed every time he walks into a room.

She wanted to turn away, to pretend she felt nothing, but his fingers slid past the bend of her elbow and landed on the dip of her waist.

Rafi pressed her closer. The ugly dress was crushed between them, her hands fisted against his ribs, his heart pounding against her knuckles.