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  Kesia stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe we don’t need to. I’m supposed to be a mechanic from the Scepter of Industry. Who says I was ever taught to dance? I can just remain wherever the non-dancers are.”

  “Countess Nula won’t believe it. None of them will. I love dancing. No one in that room will believe I fell in love with a clumsy woman.”

  “I’m not clumsy! I’ve mastered three forms of martial arts, armed and unarmed.”

  He blotted sweat from his brow with one of his unbuttoned shirt sleeves. Both of them had abandoned most of the required human outerwear except for shirts and pants. She still refused the skirt until absolutely necessary. “Which is why I think you can dance—I know you can. We just have to synchronize our movements. I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t dance with.”

  “What about a dragon?” Kesia flipped a loose lock of hair over her shoulder. As with sparring, strands always came free from the tie. “You tell me to float, but humans don’t float! Or fly. You’re anchored to the earth, day in and day out, whereas I have these.”

  At the word, her wings emerged from her shoulder blades and along her back, bursting through her shirt and forming long arcs of scale and bone. A sigh of relief escaped her as she fluttered them. Even in the small room with the walls pressing in on her, having her wings meant there was still the possibility of escape. Freedom. Into the sky, where nothing could hold her.

  Except for the Pinnacle.

  Shance stared at her, his jaw slack with wonder. “They’re even more beautiful than I remember.” He moved toward her. “Can I touch one?”

  “No.” Kesia pulled her wings in, curling them against her back and shifting them into nothingness. Pain still ripped through her, but it wasn’t as bad as before. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said absently, eyes still fixed on where her wings had been. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “But floating...can we try one more time? After this, if it doesn’t work out, we’ll go with your idea of being clumsy. Even if I’ll be teased from here to the horizon.”

  “All right.” It was a mystery why the airship captain was concerned with something so frivolous. How could he be a war commander when he was so easily distracted? So unlike Zephryn, who never wavered from whatever purpose he had.

  Even if he ignored her from time to time. Never on purpose, though.

  Shance placed his arms around her, holding Kesia in a kind of box, with her arms around him and partially braced against his shoulder. It was awkward and confining, especially when he pulled her close and she had the perfect angle to dislocate or break his jaw. That fresh wind and tree scent only helped so much.

  “I’m not going to count off this time. Just relax and do your best to follow me.”

  Kesia snorted out smoke. “Do you really expect this to work?”

  “Pretend I’m someone you trust intimately. Someone you would give your life for. Remember, those are two parts of love.”

  “Yes.”

  Trust. Giving her life for. Someone like Zephryn; but that couldn’t be the case. Zephryn would never hold her like this. Although, he had seemed partial to keeping her close in the noxious cloth shop. And they’d run away from the Pinnacle rather than be separated.

  But that didn’t mean he would dance with her, did it?

  Kesia swallowed. She didn’t want or need her fleetwing to dance with her or anything else so silly. They were tactical partners. They didn’t need these human emotions.

  Which meant, for now, all she had to do was act. Pretend. She didn’t trust Shance to keep his word or protect her, and she wouldn't die for him, but maybe she could trust him enough for a dance.

  “Are you ready?” He wore another one of those concerned looks, his blue eyes soft and open. That odd stubble was still on his chin. How did it never grow longer? His lips curved into a playful smile. “Afraid I’ll finally win you over?”

  “Go ahead and try.”

  No more thinking. Release herself. Follow Shance’s movements, moment by moment.

  Step right. Step left. Step left.

  Forward once. Back once.

  Only this time, instead of crushing his toe, Kesia spun fluidly toward him. Against his chest, stepping in time with the flow of his hips. As easy as gliding on air.

  Spin out again. Step back.

  Step left. Mind the invisible person to her left. Half spin.

  Back to center, securely locked in his arms, not confining anymore because this wasn’t a fight. There was no assertion of dominance, no fear of receiving injury. No violence.

  There was only moving together as one on a floor as light as the wind itself.

  “And stop,” he whispered in her ear.

  For so they had ended, their bodies close, arms loose by their sides but still entangled in each other. She hadn’t known bodies could feel that way. Only minds.

  “Was that...an improvement?” For some reason, Kesia matched his whisper.

  His fingers trailed up her arms to her shoulders until they cradled her jaw. “Perfection, my lovely lady. Absolute perfection.”

  For the first time, the words settled into some part of her like the sweetest food and warmest fire. As enticing as his mouth. Close enough for a kiss. One soft brush of their lips against each other.

  She exhaled softly. “You actually mean that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. More than I have for anyone else.”

  And just like that, the flight sank down to the ground. She sighed. It had been sweet. Of course it wouldn’t last.

  “So you have said it to others.” Kesia chuckled, pushing away from him and tossing more hair over her shoulder.

  Shance blinked, straightening his collar and adjusting his shirt, which hung askew on his lean body. “Yes, but you’re the only dragon I’ve said it to and, well, I’ve never danced with anyone like that. We weren’t even touching the floor. I was lifting both of us in the air.”

  “Clever. You should keep that in mind for your future conquests. Isn’t that what humans call love affairs sometimes? Conquests? I have been reading.”

  “Kesia, that isn’t—”

  A knock sounded on the door. “Captain Windkeeper? A special meeting request.”

  “Can it wait?” Shance and Kesia began quickly rolling out the carpet.

  “It came directly from Generals Brody and Markem. Your presence is demanded immediately.”

  Kesia pressed the last part of the carpet in place then pointed to the door. I'm sorry, Shance mouthed. She shrugged and walked off to the wonderful human device known as a shower.

  Hot water from a fountain-like spout in the ceiling. Now, this was perfection.

  Yet as she stepped beneath the spray, an image filtered into her mind. Almost a wish. Zephryn. What would it be like to dance with him?

  With his shirt off.

  ***

  “Captain Windkeeper. You are out of uniform.” General Markem’s lips formed a frown so thin it could have cut mast-line. Beside him stood General Brody.

  “You said to come immediately, sir,” Shance said as he saluted.

  They’d called him to Markem’s office. It contained only a small wooden desk, a chair, and a single bookshelf filled with maps and charts. The desk held a shiny wireless commer and a suspension clipse-mirror. No holograms were currently displayed within the chrome circle.

  “That we did.” Brody’s expression was as stern as Markem’s.

  “It seems it didn’t take long for you to forget any sense of discipline,” Markem added. “The soft life agrees with you.”

  Soft life? Shance’s joints and muscles felt as if they’d been through an air assault. Contrary to Kesia’s verbal jabs, he hadn’t actually danced much in the last few years. An afternoon here, a night there with a woman, but hardly anything considered true romance. The military stole that from him as well. At least they hadn’t stolen the very words, as the Pinnacle had from dragons. Sold
iers on both sides had been robbed of their lives to keep up this damn war.

  And for what? Because dragons were some great threat? As Kesia had pointed out once, there were far more humans than dragons. Plus, the four Scepters surrounded the Pinnacle, giving them the geographical edge over the land-locked mountain territory. Who was bullying whom?

  Brody sighed. “While your personal matters are entirely your concern, Captain Windkeeper, you are aware of protocol when bringing your personal life onto Congruency property. It was brought to the attention of High Command that you have an unauthorized guest in your quarters.”

  Shance kept his expression neutral, even though fear tightened his shoulders. “She isn’t unauthorized, sir. Kesia Ironsley is from the Scepter of Industry. All of her paperwork and clearances have been turned in to the main desk. I regret that I didn’t get her pre-approved, but her arrival was sudden.”

  He’d managed to contact Zilpath about the forged documents. As soon as he’d commed her, she’d sent them over to the Central Market.

  “Apparently, quite sudden.” Brody’s voice turned gravelly. Ah. There was that little matter of turning down Countess Nula Thredsing. Word must have gotten around. Yet another reason why staying in his rooms and tutoring Kesia was a good idea.

  Markem grunted, toggling a switch on his suspension mirror and studying the document that hovered in the blank space “Hm. No living family. Good work merits, especially in the field of airship mechanics.”

  “It was how we met, sir. We fell out of contact with the war, but I remembered her.” It was partly true. Shance did remember Kesia, only in a different shape. “When I met her again, we realized waiting any longer to marry was foolish, especially in wartime.”

  “Yes, so you’ve told officers Fim and Ugresh.” Markem flicked off the screen. “Very well. I have no further questions, Captain Windkeeper. But in the future, remember that all non-essential personnel brought onto military floors must be cleared before they are permitted on the premises.”

  “Yes, sir!” Shance gave him the official salute with the additional toe-heel click. “Is there anything more?”

  Brody gave him a sharp glance. “As it happens, the crew of The Silver Streak could use any available help to assist in the repair work. I’m sure, Captain Windkeeper, you are willing to do whatever is necessary to speed its progress.”

  “Of course, sir.” Anything but marrying a wealthy countess he didn’t love.

  “Then I am certain your highly-skilled betrothed would be happy to offer her talents to the war effort, especially considering it is your beloved ship.”

  Firestorms!

  Markem nodded. “An excellent idea, General Brody. It will turn this minor infraction into something redeemable for the cause.”

  “Agreed. I’m sure you see the logic in this, Captain Windkeeper?”

  Dread chilled his veins. He was blasted clear out of the sky, headed directly groundward. Having actually experienced that, Shance knew the actual scenario was worse—but this came very, very close.

  Fiarston’s beard! He had never explained a screwdriver to Kesia. Did dragons even have screwdrivers? She said she knew about mechanic work, but she could have been lying. Tonight he would have to give her a crash course. “Yes, sir. I’m certain she will help after we have finished preparing for the gala.”

  “Why not today?” Brody’s eyes gleamed. Damn. “I would like to see just what this young lady is capable of to steal your heart so thoroughly.”

  “Yes, sir. Today will be fine. We will meet you in the shipyard in two hours.”

  Markem reached for the headset attached to the brass and wood wireless commer. “I’ll have Captain Tegan arrange for coveralls and other appropriate items to be sent to your room for your betrothed.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Shance saluted a final time and left before the situation could get any worse.

  Kesia had said her family were metal-workers. Hopefully she was too, and a bit more than that.

  Otherwise, they were both heading groundward.

  Chapter 12

  “You have the entire city to explore, and we find you here?”

  It was the voice from a few nights ago, the one with the curious, not-quite-dragon resonance. The voice of the woman who had translated for Zilpath.

  Zephryn looked up from his book, one of many spread across the table in the Scepter of Commerce’s library. There stood Zilpath in a sacklike dress. Next to her stood a middle-aged woman in one of the suits females wore around here. A collar covered her entire neck, and a scarf was wrapped tightly around her head all the way to her eyebrows. She also wore gloves. That wasn’t typical. It was third sunmonth, which he’d recently learned lasted for two entire seasons in the lower parts of Sekastra.

  Curious.

  “Where else would I be?” Zephryn directed the question to Zilpath as both women sat down across the table from him. Although the library lacked an extensive collection of books on weaponry and military tactics, it more than made up for that deficiency in cultural textbooks, economic policies, and other useful information.

  He’d spent the morning studying the surrounding geography of the city-state. Escape into the junglelands would be a possiblity. There were predators, but together, two dragons could fend them off. The only problem was, too long in scale form that close to the equator could trigger the Warm Sleep, nearly as deadly as the Cold Sleep. But skin form would leave them vulnerable.

  Kesia, I need your mind. He sighed. They’d spoken periodically over the last few days, but it was insufficient.

  The women were staring at him. Zephryn sighed. “Zilpath, is there a reason you are here?”

  Zilpath made one of those gestures her counterpart refused to translate, but then the other woman started speaking. “What is that pile of books for? The ones on maps and engineering and horticulture? Have you read them yet?”

  “They aren’t for me.” He pushed the stack away from the shopkeeper’s hands.

  “Who, then?”

  There was only one person he knew who was fascinated with cartography, plants, and mechanics. One dragon, specifically, who was denied access to almost all books in the Pinnacle, except for those he smuggled into her cell. It was hardly Zephryn’s fault he kept finding books Kesia would enjoy. “That is none of your concern.”

  “They’re for her, aren’t they?” Zilpath’s green eyes pierced him like a lance as her fingers moved and the other woman translated. “Your embermate. What do dragons call it now?”

  “I don’t know—”

  The translator cleared her throat. “That question was for me, your highness.”

  “How would you know anything about dragons? Who are you?”

  She glanced at Zilpath, who made an urging sort of gesture. The middle-aged woman sighed, and a whisper of blackish vapor came from her mouth and nose. Smoke? Not the smoke of a healthy dragon; it was too thin. “Pryenil Slightshadow. I’m…something like a dragon. I don’t count, not like others. But I know enough.”

  “How do you know?” Zephryn leaned forward, books forgotten. “Can you shift?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot hear your words, only a buzzing in my mind. You see, I was an experiment by the Pinnacle. They were intrigued by my Talent and held me prisoner with other enemies of the state. It was from my fellow prisoners that I learned the truth about dragons.”

  “What truth?”

  Pryenil winced. “Have you heard of the Scientific Protection Unit?”

  Zephryn snorted smoke then quickly inhaled it. “All I know is that they modified slatesheen to protect dragon scales, and they bind fleetwings together.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Not only his. The pride of a fleetwing was sharing their heartflame with their partner.

  “Oh? That’s not supposed to be their job.” She sighed. “The Pinnacle’s Scientific Protection Unit took many things from me.” Her voice turned bitter. “Ther
e was an accident that resulted in my capture by the SPU. There, they used me as...practice.”

  Zephryn hissed, the air hot with steam. Zilpath glared at him and put a finger to her lips. He nodded once and turned his focus back to the woman. “Continue. Why did the SPU take you?”

  “I’m…I’m not sure I can.” Pryenil glanced around cautiously, taking in their isolated section of the library, sheltered with tall bookshelves. She focused on Zilpath, her fingers moving quickly in conversation. Zilpath reached out and covered the other woman’s hands with her own. A softness gentled the old woman’s face.

  Zephryn raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

  Pryenil exhaled another breath with trickles of smoke. “Yes. This.”

  She slowly unwrapped the scarf from around her head, her blonde hair falling free. She rolled down her collar, inch by inch, until her neck was entirely exposed. The air around her shimmered like the air around a live flame, shifting away the middle-aged appearance to reveal a young woman with honey-gold skin, silver-threaded gray hair, and patches of glimmering silver scales. They pock-marked her narrow cheeks and wide forehead, and clung in puckered swaths down her throat. When she glanced up at Zephryn, her left eye was slitted with a dragon pupil.

  Shock and intense curiosity twisted in his gut. “What happened to you? Why can’t you assume full skin form?”

  Pryenil gave a sharp, coughing laugh. When she spoke, her voice was harsh and guttural. “I don’t have a skin form, Nightstalker. In fact, until the SPU got their hands on me, I was human. Of course, they couldn’t leave it there.”

  She ran her finger down her throat. Zephryn looked more closely. Neat cuts slit the scales and skin in vertical and horizontal lines from her jawline down her neck and disappeared beneath her clothing. “They were curious about my Talent for casting illusions, your highness. Shape-changing, even false shape-changing, is a rare gift. After they…studied that, they decided to see what use they could make of my leftover flesh. I can use a little resonance. I can summon smoke. I’m aware of dragon mindspeak, although I can’t hear it.” Pryenil slipped off her gloves and traced more silver scales on her hands. “With these, I can touch fire. That is the extent of my additional ‘Talents.’”