Read Online The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) by Becky Wallace - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becky Wallace
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buildings, a weathered foundation with nothing on it—all signs of a city that had stood against Inimigo during the Ten Years’ War and been punished for it.
The people showed their scars with furtive, hurried movements, dashing past the Glorious Gander as if expecting to be snatched inside. The inn was, as its name suggested, glorious. With a columned portico, a curving driveway, and more greenery than the rest of the city combined, it looked more like a country manor than a place of lodging in a bustling merchant town.
Behind the fountain—which featured an enormous, water-spewing goose—a lacquered carriage was parked. The door had been gilded with a clenched fist, similar to the one on Vibora’s cloak.
“Were you expecting someone?” Pira asked as Vibora handed her reins to a waiting groom.
She didn’t respond but didn’t punish Pira for speaking out of turn, either.
Pira guessed that was a no.
They walked through a marble-floored entryway into a well-appointed sitting room full of polished tables and padded chairs—atypical for any inn Pira had ever visited. Even the clean establishments didn’t have rugs that could be spilled on or dirtied by muddy boots.
A man sat in a chair in the room’s rear corner. His feet rested on a tufted ottoman, and while he looked relaxed, in a silk jacket and lightweight canvas pants, his eyes took in the entire room. He was in a prime position to monitor entrances and exits, close enough to the window to bolt, but out of a bowman’s range.
His black hair was pressed flat under a band of woven gold, a metal version of a cadarço . Pira didn’t remember much from her history lessons of Santarem, but a crown meant royalty, and she knew this man had no claim to the country’s throne.
A second man, dressed in well-cut traveling attire, sat perpendicular to the duke. His face was chapped, his cheeks and forehead sunburned.
“Inimigo.” Vibora stopped in front of his footrest and offered a stiff bow.
She bowed to him. What in Mother Lua’s great name does Inimigo have that can command Vibora’s allegiance?
“That,” he said, pointing to Pira, “is the wrong girl.”
“Yes. I know, sir.” Vibora snapped her fingers, and the muscles in Pira’s knees turned to water. She tumbled to the floor with a graceless thump. “Barrata has gone after the princess.”
The duke considered this information for a moment, one finger tapping the side of his face. “That is upsetting,” he said in a monotone that defied the anger in his eyes. “Perhaps, then, I won’t be able to uphold my end of the bargain, since you’ve failed to uphold yours.”
Pira’s head was bowed, but from the corner of her eye she saw Vibora’s lips thin. Why didn’t she burn Inimigo where he sat?
“I don’t think that would be wise, my lord. Sapo would be vastly disappointed.”
Inimigo grunted, but the sound was vexed instead of fearful. Barrata was afraid of Sapo. As was Vibora. Was Inimigo stupid—a pawn in some game he didn’t understand—or was he truly that powerful?
“I, too, am disappointed, and I know that Duke Belem will feel similarly.” He turned to the man whom he hadn’t bothered to introduce, and said, “Well, Underlord, you’ve heard the information firsthand from my miserably incompetent steward. Please relay the message to your master. Our plans must go forward with all due haste.”
What plans? Pira wondered.
“It will be done,” the underlord said as he rose from his chair. “Be certain that my duke will remain forever your ally.”
“As long as he’s dependent on Maringa’s steel, he will be.”
The underlord’s mouth opened, but he held his tongue.
Inimigo flicked his hand, and the underlord fled from the room with steps that got quicker as he drew nearer the door.
Once the man was gone, Inimigo reached for a small bag that rested at the base of a crystal lantern. “So many people need me, or at least what I can offer.” He tossed the bag to
The people showed their scars with furtive, hurried movements, dashing past the Glorious Gander as if expecting to be snatched inside. The inn was, as its name suggested, glorious. With a columned portico, a curving driveway, and more greenery than the rest of the city combined, it looked more like a country manor than a place of lodging in a bustling merchant town.
Behind the fountain—which featured an enormous, water-spewing goose—a lacquered carriage was parked. The door had been gilded with a clenched fist, similar to the one on Vibora’s cloak.
“Were you expecting someone?” Pira asked as Vibora handed her reins to a waiting groom.
She didn’t respond but didn’t punish Pira for speaking out of turn, either.
Pira guessed that was a no.
They walked through a marble-floored entryway into a well-appointed sitting room full of polished tables and padded chairs—atypical for any inn Pira had ever visited. Even the clean establishments didn’t have rugs that could be spilled on or dirtied by muddy boots.
A man sat in a chair in the room’s rear corner. His feet rested on a tufted ottoman, and while he looked relaxed, in a silk jacket and lightweight canvas pants, his eyes took in the entire room. He was in a prime position to monitor entrances and exits, close enough to the window to bolt, but out of a bowman’s range.
His black hair was pressed flat under a band of woven gold, a metal version of a cadarço . Pira didn’t remember much from her history lessons of Santarem, but a crown meant royalty, and she knew this man had no claim to the country’s throne.
A second man, dressed in well-cut traveling attire, sat perpendicular to the duke. His face was chapped, his cheeks and forehead sunburned.
“Inimigo.” Vibora stopped in front of his footrest and offered a stiff bow.
She bowed to him. What in Mother Lua’s great name does Inimigo have that can command Vibora’s allegiance?
“That,” he said, pointing to Pira, “is the wrong girl.”
“Yes. I know, sir.” Vibora snapped her fingers, and the muscles in Pira’s knees turned to water. She tumbled to the floor with a graceless thump. “Barrata has gone after the princess.”
The duke considered this information for a moment, one finger tapping the side of his face. “That is upsetting,” he said in a monotone that defied the anger in his eyes. “Perhaps, then, I won’t be able to uphold my end of the bargain, since you’ve failed to uphold yours.”
Pira’s head was bowed, but from the corner of her eye she saw Vibora’s lips thin. Why didn’t she burn Inimigo where he sat?
“I don’t think that would be wise, my lord. Sapo would be vastly disappointed.”
Inimigo grunted, but the sound was vexed instead of fearful. Barrata was afraid of Sapo. As was Vibora. Was Inimigo stupid—a pawn in some game he didn’t understand—or was he truly that powerful?
“I, too, am disappointed, and I know that Duke Belem will feel similarly.” He turned to the man whom he hadn’t bothered to introduce, and said, “Well, Underlord, you’ve heard the information firsthand from my miserably incompetent steward. Please relay the message to your master. Our plans must go forward with all due haste.”
What plans? Pira wondered.
“It will be done,” the underlord said as he rose from his chair. “Be certain that my duke will remain forever your ally.”
“As long as he’s dependent on Maringa’s steel, he will be.”
The underlord’s mouth opened, but he held his tongue.
Inimigo flicked his hand, and the underlord fled from the room with steps that got quicker as he drew nearer the door.
Once the man was gone, Inimigo reached for a small bag that rested at the base of a crystal lantern. “So many people need me, or at least what I can offer.” He tossed the bag to
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