The Kraken King Read online

She wrote by the sorry light until the ache in her neck became unbearable. Rubbing at the tight muscles, she glanced up.

  The governor was coming out of the water.

  Her nerveless hand fell away from her nape. The moon was overhead and his features were in shadow, but it could only be him. None of the other men were so tall, or their shoulders so broad. Memory provided a picture of the thick muscle carving his chest. Her fingers had spread across his ridged abdomen.

  Darkness guarded everything below his waist. She stared, wishing the moon would move closer or the lantern’s glow would reach a little farther. Then he whisked a towel around his hips and scooped up his discarded clothes from the sand before starting toward the camp.

  Zenobia swallowed hard. Everything he did was encouragement, and he knew she was susceptible to his muscles. She should probably get up . . . and retreat to her tent.

  A few more moments passed before she managed to tear her gaze away. Hastily she gathered her pages and gave them to Cooper. “Please add these to the others before the half-naked man sees them.”

  Cooper nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching. His wife laughed into her hand. Some protection they were. Damn them both.

  Zenobia refused to run. She didn’t want to flee to the tent. She should have. The governor caught up with her halfway there. His black hair wasn’t up in the knot. Thick, it hung level with his jaw. Seawater dripped from the ends and landed on his shoulders before sliding down his chest.

  “Lady Inkslinger.”

  “Governor.” Her voice was thin and high. Absurd. She stiffened everything trembling within her to steely politeness. “I hope you had a lovely swim.”

  “I did.”

  She nodded. “Since we are leaving so early in the morning, I am heading to bed.”

  “As am I,” he said softly, and that was encouragement, too. Strong fingers held the towel bunched at his hip. Dark hair arrowed down from his navel to the edge of the thick cloth.

  Oh, dear. That trail of dark hair was quite mesmerizing. It would be something of an adventure to see where it led.

  He stepped closer. “Come with me.”

  Her heart stopped. A tight ache started inside her, throbbing with its own heavy pulse. “I have no wish to, Governor.”

  “Then do something you wish to, instead. I won’t touch you. I’ll lie back and let you explore everything you’re looking at now. You could take notes.”

  She prayed the darkness hid the flames in her cheeks. She didn’t mean to stare. He was just . . . so big. There was so much skin and muscle to look at, all of it appealing—and that just to one of her senses. She wanted to smell him and touch him and taste him.

  But she shouldn’t let herself hear anything he said. “I’m sure there is nothing I haven’t noted before. So it seems that you would receive the better part of the deal.”

  “Then you can lie back while I explore you. I’ll search out every inch of your skin with my hands and my mouth, and discover which brings you the most pleasure.” His voice was a caress, his gaze warm on her lips. “Would you prefer that?”

  “No.” Though as he spoke, everything inside her that was steel had begun to tremble again. She lifted her chin. “I prefer to go to bed. Mine. Alone.”

  “Then I will, too. But I’ll think of you.”

  “I’ll think of a small worm.”

  He grinned. “So you will think of me, too.” Then he looked behind her and the smile faded. Quietly he said, “Sleep well, Zenobia.”

  That’s not my name, she drew in a breath to say, but the breath she drew was filled with his scent. He passed her, smelling of the sea. Suddenly light-headed, she stared ahead at the side of her tent. The tight ache spread, hot and heavy in her breasts, hotter and heavier as it slid lower. So this was desire. Her head a balloon, and her body like lead and fire.

  Heart pounding, she looked after him. The glow from the lantern illuminated the monster tattooed across his back. The Kraken King. She couldn’t forget who he was. He’d earned his name. After he grabbed onto something he didn’t let go. If he caught hold of her, she’d probably tear away a part of herself trying to slip from his grasp.

  But she had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t caught her yet. And after they reached the smugglers’ dens she wouldn’t see him again.

  That thought didn’t comfort her as much as it should have.

  He vanished into the shadows beyond the camp, heading toward the walking man. Meeng must have needed him, after all. Zenobia looked to Mara. The mercenary was already tilting her head, activating the listening device.

  Zenobia joined them at the center of camp again. Mara lifted her hands.

  “I don’t know the language.”

  Zenobia sighed and went to bed.

  VIII

  Mara hadn’t needed to listen. In the morning the governor told them that the Nyungar had seen the fourteen silver flyers leaving the escarpment to the southeast four nights before, along with smoke from a fire. He’d secured permission to look for the marauders’ camp, which meant a slight detour and an afternoon’s delay while his men searched the location.

  Zenobia didn’t have any objection. They would make camp early, and while he saved his town, she could work on finishing her chapter. Even Helene was not too disappointed by the delay, since they would still arrive in the smugglers’ dens on the following day.

  Mara and Helene boarded the walker and settled into the back. The governor’s hands lingered on Zenobia’s waist when he lifted her onto the ladder. She’d spent a restless night thinking of him, and that simple touch set her body aflame with need all over again.

  It was doused when Helene lost her breakfast within the first half hour.

  How could her friend ever expect to keep the pregnancy secret? After two such mornings, Zenobia wondered if the governor had guessed the reason for their haste. He knew Helene hadn’t seen her husband in some time. But perhaps men didn’t notice such things—or just attributed them to the motion of the vehicle and delicate stomachs.

  Or perhaps he focused on more pressing matters, such as the raid against a marauders’ camp that loomed ahead of him.

  The Nyungar led the way. Though the tall walking machine seemed to move as slowly as a man underwater, each long stride carried it so far the mountain walkers barely kept up. The crawlers scuttled swiftly at its heels. Meeng and Cooper rode the flyers at its shoulders, their engines’ buzz a constant drone.

  At any other time, Zenobia might have considered it the perfect outing. So many new places to see, and such interesting machines to take them there. The escarpment on the horizon was greener than the country they passed through. Bursts of yellow flowers grew on woody shrubs rooted in sandy soil. The trees became more plentiful as they veered east, and they splashed through streams and shallow rivers. Even the heat had abated. White clouds floated above. A cool breeze blew into their faces from the south.

  But today she wished for more conversation. She didn’t want to be left to her own thoughts, because they were all of the governor.

  She liked that he’d established a town for his people, and built it on the ideals of the rebellion. She liked that he hunted the marauders in hopes of keeping his town safe. She liked his laugh, and his humor, and how he didn’t easily take offense to anything she said—even when she hoped he would. She suspected there was much more to him than she’d seen, such as the ruthlessness that earned him his reputation. But even when he’d been angry, he was controlled. And he hadn’t quit his pursuit of her after she’d rejected him, but he didn’t take liberties that other men might have. He never pushed too far. He waited for permission.

  Zenobia couldn’t stop imagining what would happen if she gave it.

  It would be so much easier if she only found his muscles admirable. But despite everything Mara had overheard, despite his intention to know her secrets, Zenobia kept thinking better of him.

  Just after noon, they stopped near a stream and set up camp in a small clearing. Gone was
the easy chatter of the previous day while the vehicles were unloaded. As soon as the tents went up, large coil guns were mounted on the walkers. Lieutenant Blanchett and his aviators stood tensely by, clearly wanting to help, yet knowing they’d be in the way. Zenobia tried to write. She set a stool beneath a tree and scribbled a sentence before giving up. With Mara beside her and providing translations from Mongolian now and again, Zenobia sat with the page on her lap, watching the governor prepare his small band of soldiers.

  So few soldiers. They didn’t know how many marauders they might face.

  Yet it didn’t seem to worry him. Presently he approached her tree, and Zenobia rose from her seat, thinking that he was taking his leave. Instead he eased onto the ground beside her, his back against the trunk and his elbows resting on his upraised knees. So calm, even though he might be going into battle.

  Zenobia put her page away in the satchel between her stool and Mara’s. Cooper was out walking the perimeter; she would give the pack back into his keeping when he returned.

  The governor’s gaze touched Mara, who sat working over her guns with an oiled cloth. Zenobia waited for him to ask why a maid would be doing such a thing. She had her answer prepared, knowing it would make him laugh—that Mara was cleaning her weapons, so it was a perfectly sensible task for a maid—but he met her eyes again without comment.

  Disappointed, she glanced at the walkers. Everything appeared ready. “You aren’t leaving?”

  “We’re waiting for Meeng to return from the Nyungar camp.” He gestured farther up the stream, where the balloon head of the walking man was visible above the trees. “I’m taking all of my people, unless you prefer I leave Tsetseg. She’s capable of protecting the camp, and you’re familiar with her.”

  Mara and Cooper were staying behind, as were Lieutenant Blanchett and his aviators. “We ought to be all right.”

  Her answer seemed to amuse him. He stared at her for a long second before shaking his head, and his mouth compressed as if he fought a laugh.

  Zenobia frowned. She liked it better when she meant for him to laugh at something she said. “What?”

  As if her irritation amused him further, he grinned openly. “Do you believe I’d go if you wouldn’t be all right?”

  Why wouldn’t he? “You have a town full of people to worry about. The safety of two women you hardly know can’t compare in importance to locating the marauders.” Saying so irritated Zenobia all the more, because his grin faded as she spoke, and she liked it so well—but mostly because even if she had been more important, she wouldn’t have needed him to stay, anyway. She pointed out, “And I have gotten along perfectly well without you for many years, sir. After we arrive in the smugglers’ dens tomorrow, I will get along perfectly well without you for decades more. So I’m certain I can manage a few hours without you today.”

  “So you have.” His dark brows drew together as he glanced at Mara, who was thrusting a steel-bristled rod down the barrel of her gun. The sound scraped over Zenobia’s nerves. “So you will.”

  As long as he understood. “Do you think you might find the marauders there?”

  His gaze returned to hers. “No. Four days have passed. They’ll have moved on.”

  “Then why go look?”

  “To see if they left anything behind that can lead us to them. We haven’t found one of their camps before. And a mining town lies a short distance farther. I’ll speak to the people there, as well.”

  In the hopes that they might have seen something that no one else had in months. The marauders had obviously been covering their tracks, and Zenobia didn’t envy the governor his task. Whether in the smugglers’ dens or out in the wild lands, finding them must be like searching for a specific twig in a forest.

  “I wish you good luck, then,” she said.

  He glanced at Mara, then gestured Zenobia closer. She couldn’t help herself. Heart thumping, she leaned in. He sat forward, almost closing the intimate space between them.

  His voice lowered. “You wish me good luck? How can I not take that as encouragement?”

  “It is, but only encouragement to return to our camp. Helene and I need to continue on to the Red City, and you’re rather useful to that purpose.”

  “Not only to that purpose, Lady Inkslinger.”

  “The only purpose I want, governor.”

  Her response would have been more effective if she hadn’t been staring at his mouth again. A lazy smile had touched his lips, and now he sat back, as if to better see her watching him.

  Damn it all. Damn him for this, because he made her feel a part of something special again. Something wonderful. Her stomach fluttered and her pulse raced, and she desperately wanted to be alone with him, to have a few more moments to remember. What harm could there be? After tomorrow, she’d never see him again.

  And . . . after tomorrow, she’d never see him again. This chance wouldn’t return.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Mara. Will you go and check on Helene?”

  The mercenary seemed distracted, her head tilted and her gaze unfocused. Perhaps trying not to listen to the conversation taking place beside her. A moment passed, then she shook herself and lifted her weapon to peer along the sights. “She’s napping in the tent.”

  “Check anyway.”

  “Ah.” Her gaze jumped from Zenobia to the governor and back again. Her teeth flashed in a laugh before she stood. “Of course.”

  Blast her, too. She’d probably listen now, knowing that Zenobia would attempt to flirt.

  This was so foolish. Zenobia was far more adept at keeping men away. She would probably regret this.

  If she didn’t take advantage of this short time, she’d regret that even more.

  But when Zenobia turned back to him, she’d already lost his attention. He sat forward, tension hardening his face as he watched Mara walk across the clearing toward the tents.

  “Does she have a listening device?”

  Oh, blast blast blast! Zenobia lifted her hands, as if in confusion. “A listening device? No.”

  “She does. Dregs and hell!” His fists slammed into the ground beside his thighs, and he shoved to his feet in one powerful motion. “She heard the bull-roarer yesterday. How did I not see?”

  Heart pounding, Zenobia jumped up. “There’s nothing to see—”

  “Because I’ve only been looking at you—and you knew things you shouldn’t have. She told you that I was traveling to the smugglers’ dens. She heard me talking to Saito at the soup house . . .” His eyes locked on hers. His eyebrows shot together in a dark frown. “What else did she hear there that you hardened yourself against me? Was it something someone said about me—or of my intentions toward you? Or was something said about you?”

  Zenobia hadn’t prepared for this. He’d come to the answer too quickly, and she had no intention of ever saying what she’d heard. That she was ugly. That he would earn her trust. That he’d use her heart and her body as tools to access her secrets.

  Just remembering made her burn with humiliation and anger again. Eyes stinging, she stooped for her pack and dragged it up over her shoulder.

  He caught her hand as she turned to go. She flinched, expecting roughness and anger, but despite the firmness of his grip he didn’t hurt her. His voice softened. “Was it something I said?”

  She closed her eyes, her throat an aching knot. She shook her head.

  “Let me correct it.” Gently, he drew her back against his hard frame. “Please.”

  A shudder wracked her stiff form as hope collided with fear. Could he correct it? What if Mara had been mistaken?

  And what if Mara hadn’t been, and he twisted truth into a lie?

  “Ariq Noyan!” Mara’s sharp warning rang across the clearing.

  Suddenly alarmed, Zenobia spun in that direction. But the mercenary wasn’t about to shoot the governor for touching her. Mara wasn’t even looking toward them. She stood outside Helene’s tent, her head cocked and looking north.

&nbs
p; “Something big comes,” she said.

  His fingers tightened on Zenobia’s. “What do you hear?”

  “Like an engine. But . . . deeper.” She dropped to her knees and pressed her ear to the dirt. “It’s coming from underground.”

  Underground. Zenobia’s heart stopped. A boilerworm.

  “Wake her friend. Get her up into the trees or a walker.” The governor’s hands clamped around Zenobia’s waist. “I’m going to lift you. Grab the first branch and climb.”

  Zenobia dropped her satchel. It thudded to the ground and toppled over, the gold clinking dully inside. The governor lifted her as if she weighed nothing. With papery bark under her fingers and her boots digging into the trunk, she dragged herself up to the branch and threw her leg over.

  “Climb higher!” he ordered, then shouted the warning to the others.

  Panting with effort, she hauled herself up to the next branch, then reached for the next, thankful for the tunic and trousers that made this slightly easier than climbing in a skirt would have been. Through the curtain of narrow leaves, she could see the rest of the camp scrambling out of the clearing, searching for suitable trees. Tsetseg and Lieutenant Blanchett had found safety in a walker—Helene and Mara were joining them. The lieutenant reached down the ladder for Helene’s hand. With worry darkening her face, Mara turned to scan the clearing.

  Zenobia did, too. There seemed a sudden hush beneath the chattering of the birds and the ring of Helene’s boots on the ladder, the grunt of an aviator climbing a nearby tree. On the ground below, the governor faced north. A few of the leaves she’d disturbed had fallen onto his shoulders like green confetti. Come up here, she wanted to say, but fear lodged the words in her throat, as if speaking them would bring the monster up from under his feet. He would look up and be gone.

  A loud clacking broke the quiet. Zenobia’s foot slipped before she grabbed the branch again and held on tight, her heart racing. That was the perimeter warning. The boilerworm had knocked it over.

  Oh, dear God. Cooper was walking the perimeter. Which side of the camp was he on? Had he heard the governor’s warning to get into a tree?