The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) by Becky Wallace Read Free Book Online

here.”
    He wrinkled his nose as if he’d stepped in horse dung. “Why?”
    “It’s a fun place to visit. There is a lot to do.”
    “It has the highest level of poverty of all the townships under my control, and a resultant amount of crime. But the inns, gambling halls, and entertainment houses are incredibly lucrative.” He nodded to a man lying on the front porch of a pub, passed out drunk. “Underlord Ceara is . . . he has . . . a very different style of administration. We don’t see things the same way.”
    Neither do we.
    Two days with the peddler had worn away some of the friction between them, but it hadn’t smoothed out the ruts caused by their disagreement. Rafi hadn’t brought up their supposed betrothal again, thank Mother Lua , but he was clearly frustrated with her unwillingness to accept the future their fathers had laid out. And she was equally exasperated with his inability to see her as a person, instead of some uncompleted contract.
    It forced a physical distance between them, making Johanna wonder if what she felt for Rafi—a sort of anxious longing—was what she should feel.
    Since the kiss at the inn, and oh what a kiss it had been , and the argument that followed, their conversations had become strained, their interactions too polite. But then there were moments of awareness, when she caught him looking at her from across the fire or as they bedded down under the peddler’s cart, and she found it impossible to break his gaze.
    There was something hungry in his eyes. The girlish part of her hoped that his interest went beyond duty, but the world-weary part of her feared it might be something else. Maybe that desire was an unspoken longing to take the throne, instead of reciprocated emotion? Did he look at her and see an avenue to power or a girl he could fall in love with?
    “Are we headed to Ceara’s manor?” she asked as they bounced over a particularly bad pothole, which made them both wince. Rafi clamped his elbow against his wounded side. Johanna hadn’t seen the scrapes, but she could tell the injury was plaguing him more than he’d like her to believe.
    “Not unannounced. We’ll have to stop at an inn first and clean up.” Rafi brushed at his now-dusty but still-hideous shirt. “And even if Ceara lets us in, he won’t necessarily welcome my company.”
    Though Santiago seemed like a quiet, content state, there was apparently a great deal of subterfuge and maneuvering beneath the surface. Two of Rafi’s underlords had planned to send underlings to his naming ceremony, instead of coming in person. Not attending and swearing fealty was a blatant act of protest, a show of no confidence, and a personal slight. In the end, one underlord had been convinced to change his position, agreeing to support Rafi in return for someone from his township being appointed to the Merchants’ Guild.
    The other underlord held to his opinion that Rafi was too young to be duke, and wanted to head a council of underlords to fill the seat until Rafi was deemed “mature” enough.
    Johanna felt guilty for having judged Rafi so harshly, assuming he was quiet and aloof out of arrogance. The honor gifts he’d sent as part of his Punishment hadn’t been an attempt to buy her forgiveness; he’d been overwhelmed with all his other duties.
    “We don’t have very much money left, but we’ll need new clothes before we approach Ceara,” he said, and plucked a leaf from Johanna’s dress. “I can’t go to his house looking like a beggar.”
    “Wait . . . Ceara was the underlord who refused to stand for you. Wasn’t he?”
    Rafi didn’t respond, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that she’d guessed correctly.
    “You’re willing to go to him for help?”
    “I promised to get you to the wall, and if that means asking Ceara for help, I’ll do it.” He reached for Johanna’s hand. “When I make a promise—”
    Johanna leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss midsentence. “I