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

Vibora. It hit her palm with a wet smack. She opened the drawstring and looked inside.
    A wicked grin split Inimigo’s face. “You’ll never find it. Waste as many of your servants as you wish, but without my help, you, Sapo, and Barrata will never amount to anything more than sideshow Performers. You can’t conquer a country without me. You can’t muster an army without me. You can’t rule without me. And I won’t let you.”
    He stood and smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket. “I’ll see you in Cruzamento in two weeks, Vibora. Do not consider defying my orders.”
    When the door to the inn closed and Vibora dropped the leather bag, Pira had a clearer idea of how to regard the duke. The contents spilled onto the woven rug and spread into a macabre circle.
    Eyes, at least six pairs, irises glazed, stared up at Pira. Their owners had seen something forbidden and paid the price.
    Inimigo might not have essência , but there was no question that he had some sort of power.

Chapter 15
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Rafi
    His mother called them fever dreams—hallucinations based loosely on truth, but mixed with fantastical elements of his imagination.
    Rafi knew, as he sweated and shivered, that the things he was seeing weren’t quite right. Johanna wrestling a bear. A giant drinking tea out of a thimble. A familiar laugh ringing in his ears.
    Icy water splashed onto his face, and he surfaced from the nightmare with a gasp and a cough.
    “Mighty Keepers.” The laugh rolled again. “It is Lord DeSilva. I can’t believe such greatness is quivering on my prison floor.”
    Raising a shaking hand, Rafi wiped the water from his eyes. It was dark in the jail, and he’d been asleep on the molding pile of hay for what felt like an eternity. His muscles throbbed and his head pounded as he looked around the room’s stone walls.
    Against the floor-to-ceiling bars that created the cell’s door leaned a man with a bucket. He gave it a second toss, thoroughly drenching Rafi with its chilled contents.
    Cold rivulets dripped down his face, but none managed to wash away the rancid flavor in his mouth. A hint of moonlight somewhere down the hall backlit the man’s body, but Rafi recognized the build and arrogant slouch.
    “Ceara,” Rafi managed. He’d never liked the underlord and neither had his father, but they couldn’t force an underlord out of his position without cause. Smugness and poor taste weren’t quite enough, and Camilio DeSilva had never found legitimate reason to strip the man of his title.
    No matter the history between Ceara and the DeSilva family, Rafi was grateful the underlord had arrived to free him from incarceration. “I think I have blood poisoning. Please call your physician and get your men to let me out.”
    Rafi tried to roll over, but the agony that tore up his side made him stop with a low groan. The gashes from the weeds hadn’t been terribly deep—he’d survived worse wounds—and he had cleaned and bound them as best he could without assistance. They weren’t healing very neatly, having seeped green as he and Johanna traveled on the peddler’s cart, but it wasn’t until they arrived in Camaçari that Rafi realized he might need medical attention. The brawl had certainly done the injuries no good, tearing them open afresh.
    “My men?” Ceara said, stepping closer and grabbing the bars with both hands. “Do you see anyone else around here?”
    The narrow hallway beyond the cell appeared to be empty. Rafi remembered Bartlett’s men handing him off to the garrison soldiers, who deposited him none too gently on the prison floor. After that everything slipped into darkness. He was still struggling to clear the haze from his mind. Something was off, something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite figure what it was.
    “All the prisoners in this wing have been moved,” Ceara continued. “Apparently, the guards brought in a common tavern brawler who was sick with marsh fever. They had to isolate him for fear it would