The Kraken King, Part 2 Read online

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I overheard someone talking. I don’t know who they were.” She waved her hand, but the casual gesture didn’t match the direct gaze she fixed on him, as if to force an answer from him by her will alone. “Is it true?”

  No reason not to tell her. “Yes.”

  “And how will you be traveling?”

  “The mountain walkers.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “Three to four days.”

  She gave a short nod, as if satisfied by that answer. “Not every airship in those busier ports will have been destroyed. Will you arrange for one to come for us?”

  And she would be gone before Ariq returned. Sooner than he thought.

  He’d already accepted it would happen. He had to let her go. Yet the demand that she stay flared through him, strong and hot. She couldn’t leave. Not until he’d had a chance to fight for her.

  Ruthlessly, he battled the urge, the heat. He couldn’t keep her. And he couldn’t let this need rule him.

  But he had other reasons not to send an airship here for her.

  “No,” he said.

  She sighed. “I suppose it would be difficult to convince an airship to fly here.”

  “Some would.” Finding an airship wasn’t a problem. No one would refuse Ariq. But nothing remained secret in the smugglers’ dens. If he hired an airship, soon the marauders would know where that vessel was headed and why. “But it might be attacked as soon as it leaves port. Or the marauders might wait until after you board it.”

  “But an airship could fly east from the smugglers’ dens to the Red City?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then Helene and I will also travel south and make further arrangements from there. It isn’t such a long distance. Will you sell a flyer to us?”

  So she could go to the smugglers’ dens? “I won’t. Such places are not for you.”

  “Not for me?” It was an incredulous echo. Then anger whipped through her voice. “I am not in the habit of allowing men to decide what is good for me, sir, and you obviously misunderstand my reasons for coming. I am not here to secure your permission; I am here for a consultation. And if I do not like what you have to say or what you have to offer, I will either find someone who will tell me of another way to the Red City, or offer enough gold that someone will sell us another vehicle.”

  She advanced on him with each sharp word. Ariq expected her to jab a forefinger into his chest when she made her final point, but she stopped a full step away, staring up at him with her jaw set and her color high.

  And this was the woman he intended to let slip away. No longer cold, her jade eyes burned with fury. But he’d seen her laugh. He’d watched her look at him with a different heat in her eyes. She’d jumped from a balloon to save herself and her guard, then picked apart the marauders’ motivations as easily as tearing a stray thread from a hem. He would never see more of her. He’d never know more of her fire and humor—or the warmth of her skin, the kiss of her lips. How could he let her go without even trying to keep hold?

  But he would. Voice rough, he said, “No one in this town will.”

  “Then I’ll find someone in another town. One flyer is ours, sir. I can send my man ahead, then have him return for us with a different vehicle, but that would take longer and is nonsensical. We only need one more flyer now.”

  “You need more than that. It’s a three-day trip, even on the flyers, and if they carry two people there’s no room for supplies or fuel. You’d be stranded halfway there.”

  Her brow furrowed as she considered that. Sensible even when angry.

  Even when desperate.

  Stiffly, she asked, “May we travel with you, then?”

  Ariq would rather she stayed here. But she was determined. He didn’t doubt she’d find a way to leave while he was gone. At least she could remain under his protection for a few more days.

  “You may,” he agreed. “We’ll depart the morning after tomorrow.”

  No relief softened her face. Her stony gaze held his. “We will pay for our own supplies, of course, and compensate you as our guide. Name your price.”

  His price? Anger shot through him as he understood why her expression remained hard, as if she were bracing herself. She thought he might extract the price in her bed.

  No, she must have expected that he would. She didn’t lack for brains. She’d come here knowing that he intended to visit the smugglers’ dens, yet it had taken her until now to ask whether she could travel with him. She’d exhausted every other option first, as if she feared that he’d demand more than she wanted to pay.

  Jaw clenched, he didn’t speak until he trusted himself not to raise his voice. Finally, he said softly, “There is no price.”

  He must not have completely concealed his anger. Though she didn’t step back, her face paled. Her fingers clenched on her letter. “I don’t want to owe you.”

  “And I don’t want to take you to the smugglers’ dens. So we will both live with outcomes that we don’t want.”

  “So we will.” Her gaze fell to his mouth before she averted her eyes. “Thank you, Governor.”

  He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her to look at his mouth again. That wasn’t the glance of a woman who wasn’t interested. That was regret, as if denying him had been another outcome she hadn’t wanted.

  Ariq couldn’t fight this battle now. But that glance gave him hope again.

  He wouldn’t have to fight, if Zenobia surrendered.

  And he would have less than a week to see that she did.

  ***

  Zenobia gave Cooper the letter to deliver to Lieutenant Blanchett, then rushed with Mara through the rain. Mud splashed up over her boots. By the time they reached their own gate, she was soaked through.

  In the main hall, she shook out her hair and glanced at Mara. She and the mercenary hadn’t spoken since leaving the governor’s house, but Zenobia assumed Mara had used her listening device while waiting for her to finish their travel arrangements.

  “You heard?”

  “Yes.”

  Zenobia nodded. “I’ll tell Helene.”

  The buildings’ sloping roofs overhung the courtyard, offering a covered path between their quarters. Despite the rain, the night was still warm. Zenobia tapped on Helene’s screened door.

  She slid it open at Helene’s call. Wearing a linen shift, her friend stood in front of a tall wooden cabinet carved with flowers and birds, examining the seams of her new dress. Mindful of her muddy shoes, Zenobia didn’t step inside. She poked her head in and offered a smile.

  “We leave the day after tomorrow.”

  Helene gasped, then skipped over to Zenobia, the dress clutched to her chest. Joy and disbelief filled her expression. “How?”

  “We have to travel by land to the towns farther south. That will take three to four days. From there, we can likely arrange for an airship to carry us to the Red City,” Zenobia said, and felt obligated to warn her: “The governor says the smugglers’ dens are even more dangerous than Port Fallow.”

  “Oh, I don’t care! I will do anything to see Basile soon.”

  Anything except stay faithful to him after a year’s absence. Helene wouldn’t be in such a hurry if she didn’t have a pregnancy to conceal.

  But what right did she have to judge her friend? Zenobia had never been married. She only pretended to have a dead husband.

  Helene’s brows suddenly shot up. “Did you say the governor told you it would be dangerous? You spoke to him just now? At his residence?”

  Oh, bother. “He’ll be the one escorting us south.”

  “And how did you persuade him? Oh, don’t answer that. Everyone could see that he didn’t have eyes for anyone else. He fancies you!”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

>   “And you favor him.”

  Zenobia sighed and shook her head.

  “No?” Helene seemed to deflate. “I thought you did.”

  “I favored him for a moment, perhaps,” Zenobia said. “But he’s not the man I thought he was.”

  Instead he was a man who thought she was ugly. She would have told Helene the truth—that Mara had overheard him agree when his brother had called Zenobia a Lady Longnose, a pale ghost of a woman who would be terrifying to wake up to—but her friend might feel obligated to seek justice and an apology from the men. Whatever her faults, Helene had a good heart.

  And the insult still hurt, a dull ache in her chest, but that wasn’t what had pushed Zenobia away. She had a clear view of herself. Though not a hag’s hooked beak, her nose could never be called dainty. After years of working indoors, she was pale. She couldn’t fault a man for thinking the same. And attraction could come in forms other than physical. Words overheard could always be taken out of context. She would have wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and ask what he’d truly meant.

  Even now, some silly part of her wanted to think better of him. He could have required her presence in his bed as payment for their journey. He hadn’t—and the suggestion had angered him. Insulted him, perhaps as badly as he’d insulted her.

  But she would not think better of him just because he possessed the decency not to blackmail her. Refusing to take advantage of a woman should be a basic part of any man’s character, and lauding him for it would be like commending someone for having lungs to breathe with.

  And decent or not, she couldn’t trust him. The insult wasn’t all Mara had overheard, and no context could offer a different meaning to it: The governor wanted to know her secrets.

  Zenobia had good reason for her secrets. They’d kept her and her brother safe for more than ten years. They kept her safe now. Mara and Cooper had stopped too many kidnappers who would hold Zenobia for ransom for her to pretend that she could walk around, flaunting her identity without care.

  “So who is he?” Helene asked.

  Zenobia forced a smile. “He’s the man who’s escorting us to the airship that will fly you into your husband’s arms.”

  “I think I love him, then!”

  Despite herself, Zenobia laughed. “You are welcome to him.”

  And she would carry on as she always had: alone, wary of anyone who showed her too much interest, and her stories providing all the adventure she needed.

  Chapter Five

  After a full day and night, the rain had stopped, but water still leaked into the underground chamber behind Ariq’s home. The pumps were a rhythmic drone in his head as he waded across the flooded floor, an oiled rag in his right hand and a lantern in his left. In the cavernous dark, there was nothing to see, only the shadowed impression of the machine looming overhead. No rust on the steel plates yet. But it would come. The rainy season was an endless fight against corrosion.

  Taka emerged from the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern and splashed toward him. “You should leave this to me.”

  “I’m already leaving too much for you.” Ariq tucked away his rag, trying not the feel the fatigue of a night spent finishing everything that needed to be finished before he left. “But after today, this will be yours, too. The pumps should clear out the remaining water by nightfall. The rest of the oiling can wait until tomorrow.”

  “How long do you plan to look for the marauders?”

  “There’s nothing that you can’t manage here. It should remain quiet.”

  His brother waved that off. “I only wondered whether you plan to return here if no one in the smugglers’ dens recognizes the photographs.”

  If Ariq didn’t quickly find a connection to the marauders, he wouldn’t have the luxury of returning and retracing his steps. He had to keep looking. “Then I’ll find Ghazan Bator and see what he knows.”

  Ariq had fought under the man almost as long as he could remember. He’d known Ghazan Bator first as a shrewd commander, then as the general who directed rebel forces throughout the Golden Empire.

  The general might not know who was pulling the marauders’ strings, but he’d have heard of the attacks. He’d probably know when the Nipponese flyers had been purchased—and from whom.

  His brother didn’t respond. Head bowed, he rubbed the bolted seam of a steel plate.

  “I don’t want to go to him,” Ariq said. He didn’t want to ask anything of Ghazan Bator, and never wanted to owe him. “But if I need to, I will.”

  Taka nodded. “He’ll ask you to find the Skybreaker for him.”

  “I know.” Only a year before, he’d come to Ariq’s town, hoping to secure his help in locating it.

  Ariq’s mother had once been a favorite of the former Great Khagan, sharing his royal bed and his secrets. One of those secrets had been the existence of the Skybreaker, a war machine of devastating power.

  After the former Khagan’s assassination thirty years before, Ghazan Bator had sent her to spy on a Nipponese naval officer—Taka’s father. Despite her loyalty to the rebellion, his mother had taken the secret of the Skybreaker with her. She’d once told Ariq that such power should only be used to defend, not to attack. But even without her words, he would have refused to help the general locate the machine. Ariq had finished with the rebellion the moment the blade had fallen on his mother’s neck, when Ghazan Bator had refused to interfere and save her. She’d been exposed, he’d said—her usefulness was over.

  Apparently, it hadn’t been. Four years later, the general had learned of the machine, and he’d needed her to find it. He’d come to Ariq on the hope that she had passed information on to him before she’d been beheaded.

  Ariq had taken bitter pleasure in sending him away with nothing.

  Now, to save his town, Ariq might be forced to choke down the anger and betrayal, and give the general what he’d wanted: the location where the former Khagan had hidden the machine.

  But it hadn’t come to that yet. Lantern in hand, he waded through the knee-deep water toward the stairs. “I’ve put Yesui in charge of perimeter patrols. Her eyes are better than most. So are her ears. If any trouble stirs in town, she’ll be the first to hear of it.”

  “And that is how you tell me to consult with her each day, so that she isn’t forced to come to me,” Taka said.

  “She thinks you don’t see her. I don’t want her to worry that she might not be heard.”

  “I do see her. I will.”

  Familiar self-hatred hardened Taka’s voice. Even light mistakes weighed heavy on his brother’s mind. He wouldn’t forgive himself for not having paid attention to Yesui before.

  Taka would see her now. That was what mattered.

  And Ariq had no fear that his town would suffer in Taka’s care. Darkness surrounded his brother, and Taka often doubted his worth. Ariq didn’t. For years, Taka had offered quiet help in town wherever it was needed. And only two days ago, he’d flown into battle with Ariq against the marauders. No hesitation, no fear. He’d simply done what needed to be done—and he’d done it well.

  He would when Ariq was gone, too.

  The splashing behind him stopped. “Brother.”

  Ariq turned. The soft glow of the lantern cast shadows upward over Taka’s eyes, darkening his solemn gaze.

  “At the soup house two nights past, I said harsh words about the woman you intended to court. I beg you to forgive me. I should not have said them. I was . . . not thinking clearly that night.”

  And he’d lashed out because he’d been hurting. That pain was the only reason Ariq hadn’t silenced him with his fist.

  “Do you apologize for saying it, or for saying it to me?”

  “For speaking it. But I can only apologize to you. If I apologize to her, I must first tell her what I am apologizing for. Seeking forgiveness would do more harm than good.�
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  Even if Zenobia had offered it, this would be yet another thing that Taka would never forgive himself for.

  But his brother was right. What she hadn’t heard didn’t harm her; telling her would.

  With a sigh, Ariq nodded. “Don’t speak of it to her.”

  “I won’t,” Taka said. They started up the stairs, the ring of their boots against steel echoing through the chamber. “Why did she decide against you?”

  Ariq’s gut tightened. “I don’t know.”

  He needed to know.

  His brother was quiet for another five steps. “Perhaps she heard of our connection. No sensible woman would be associated with me. Not even as a brother.”

  “You have it wrong,” Ariq said. “She is too sensible to reject a man just because his brother had been tortured.”

  “And labeled a traitor.”

  “Dregs! That is not why!” His harsh denial echoed through the chamber. Taka was silent. Ariq listened to the dripping water, took a deep breath, and said, “And if it is, you have nothing to be sorry for. I would be well rid of her.”

  But Ariq wasn’t well rid of her. Knowing that Zenobia would soon be out of his reach tore at his every instinct to grab on, hold tight.

  And to find out why she was so determined to go.

  ***

  In his quarters, Ariq washed off the oil and changed out of his wet clothes, then crossed the courtyard to the dining hall. Saito already waited at the table, milky tea steaming in front of him. A roll of paper lay beside his cup.

  Ariq claimed his seat, served himself the sweet fried bread and hard-boiled eggs from the platter between them. Only a week ago, he’d wished that the chickens in the forecourt weren’t so fecund. Now he was glad that it wasn’t kraken again.

  He poured his tea and nodded to the paper. “What do you have?”

  “Lady Inkslinger’s letter.” Saito glanced up as Taka entered, then looked to Ariq, who gestured for him to continue. Anything Saito had to report didn’t need to be kept secret from his brother. “You said she might be the marauders’ target. It seemed prudent to read her correspondence.”