Lawless Page 11
Zephryn’s jaw worked. “How is this possible?”
She flinched. Had he said something wrong? No, it was the sharpness.
“Another captive. A dragonshifter. She was kept in the cell with me. She gave me the name Pryenil Slightshadow. She was a friend.” Pryenil’s voice wavered. “They were taking her wings to graft onto me, and…she died. I heard her screams through the cavern walls. Shortly after, the Lawless raided the stronghold and rescued me.”
Wetness dribbled from her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. Tears. Zephryn had heard about this phenomenon. For a moment, something in him stirred, and he remembered the night his family had disappeared. “I am sorry, Pryenil.”
“I need no apologies, your highness. I did not tell you my story to gain your sympathy, but to show you what evil the Pinnacle is capable of. What I need to know is if you’ll fight for us. Your people. As much as I am one.” She wiped her face with the fabric of her coat sleeve. “I know why you haven’t, or I can guess. You are trying to protect your embermate, and they’ve likely held that over you for years. But you can’t abandon us. Not when Garishton Ironfire—”
“You mean Garishton Razorclaw?”
“No, that’s his false name. I mean Garishton Ironfire. Traitor to the throne, as all Ironfires are.”
Traitor? Was that Kesia’s secret? Zephryn grimaced. It would explain her reluctance to share her past with him and Razorclaw’s possessiveness of her. But then, why would she run away with him? Why would Razorclaw treat her so poorly?
His fingers stroked the edge of his voicelator. No. Right now, he needed to get as much information as possible. He and Kesia could discuss all of this later.
“Tell me more.”
“Garishton Ironfire controls the Pinnacle.” Pryenil sighed. “Zilpath now wishes to speak.”
He turned to Zilpath, whose hands began waving around in speech. “According to the prophecy, a coalition of Ironfire, Windkeeper, and Nightstalker will bring an end to the war.” Pryenil paused. “Your highness, I don’t necessarily believe this but—ouch! Zilpath, we discussed this. I’m your translator, not your religious emissary!”
Zilpath made a few irritable motions. Pryenil sighed. “Yes, I know Nightstalker has been raised without religion. I’ll explain.” The half-dragon rolled her eyes. “Adherents to the Four Corners religion believe that there is a divine destiny for everything and that good will ultimately triumph in the power of Bonilus the Beneficent. I don’t agree with this, but from what other dragonshifters have said, the Windkeepers, Nightstalkers, and Ironfires have been closely allied in the past, so if a prophecy confirms that, so be it.”
Pryenil’s pocket buzzed. She pulled out a small wireless disk studded with gears and nudged Zilpath. The older woman quickly began wrapping the scarves around Pryenil’s neck and head. The half-dragon’s face shifted until she once more resembled a middle-aged woman.
Pryenil pressed a combination of buttons into the gears, then she and Zilpath stood.
“We have to go.”
“Now? But there’s so much more I need to know.”
The half-dragon woman shook her head. “It can wait until after the gala. Right now, I’m needed elsewhere. Besides, we don’t want to have to explain everything to your embermate all over again.”
Zephryn grabbed her arm before she could leave. “Tell me, what is an embermate?”
“Oh? Kesia Ironfire. The other dragon.” She smiled sympathetically and pulled out of his grip. “You don’t know. The others probably don’t either. Embermates are everything to dragons. Partners in all aspects of life who share a bond until death. You know each other on sight. Something about the resonance of the heartflame. It’s a fundamental part of your world.”
“You mean tactical partners.”
“No, much more.”
Zilpath tugged her clothing. Pryenil nodded, and the two women strolled down the aisle between the tall bronze and wood shelves. Zephryn sat down hard in the chair, Pryenil’s words shifting around his thoughts.
All this time, the Scientific Protection Unit had been abducting and experimenting on humans and dragons. Zephryn had traded his position and knowledge of the Pinnacle’s inner dealings in order to protect Kesia. If he hadn’t been there, would she have been subjected to the same treatment?
The thought of his fleetwing being treated like Pryenil’s dragonshifter cellmate made him burn enough to set flame to every book in the library. How was Kesia related to Garishton Ironfire? If he would treat his own kindred like that, if he was overseeing the SPU’s experimentation, he could not be allowed to rule. Nothing could excuse this. The anger within Zephryn cooled into something hard and implacable. Were there others out there, other dragons in the Lawless who would support him?
More than ever, he needed Kesia. She had always encouraged him to reclaim his title. His fingers rubbed the voicelator.
Zephryn reached out through their link, sending her a pulse of reassurance from his heartflame.
No answer. Had the link cut off before his response? Zephryn’s fingers gripped the wooden table. The new information made this situation far too serious for them to be parted, even for the sake of infiltration. After tomorrow’s gala, the arrangement had to end.
But first, he would take Kesia in his arms. Zephryn had seen the gesture between other couples in the Scepter of Commerce and at that moment, it seemed the perfect way of greeting her.
***
She could do this. She could do this.
Kesia repeated the words over and over to herself as she dressed in the gray one-piece garment. The coveralls fastened up the front with something called a zipper, a device that continuously got stuck on its own metal teeth.
She gave the metal tag another tug. “Move!”
A fold of fabric caught her foot. Kesia sidestepped to avoid tripping over her makeshift bed on the floor. According to Shance, betrothed couples could share the same bedchambers unless they had moral or religious qualms.
She had no such qualms; she just didn’t want to sleep next him.
Shance had offered to give her the bed, but thanks to Kesia’s years in scale form, the mattress was too soft to be comfortable. Instead, she slept on the carpeted floor near the window, wrapped in an extra blanket.
For his part, Shance said it was odd to sleep in a bed when a woman slept on the ground, so he slept on the other side of the bed, with far more blankets and sheets. He said the room cleaners wouldn’t think anything of the situation.
She couldn’t imagine what they thought and didn’t want to. Human rituals about sharing a bed were one area that she could read about on her own, especially after Shance spoke of the male and female taking off their clothes. She was fine with Shance’s clothes staying right where they were.
But Zephryn? Her chest tightened. Sleeping next to him in skin form…He’d said they might explore that area of their fleetwing bond.
Skin on skin.
“Kesia?” Shance called. “We’ve got to go.”
She sighed. One last tug mastered the zipper, and Kesia left the room to find Shance.
He was waiting for her near the door to the suite. Captain Tegan had left quickly after dropping off the items and hearing Shance’s comments about wanting to personally ensure Kesia was properly dressed. Whatever that meant.
Now the airship captain held out a leather belt with small bags and holsters attached to it. Each section was heavy with metal implements or bits of wiring. “Here, let
me put this on you. I organized it.”
“How did you know how to do that? Did you have a romantic relationship with another mechanic?”
“No.” Shance shot her an exasperated look. “I’m actually a decent mechanic myself. My father always said any captain worth their ship could do every job aboard in a pinch and should be ready to do so at any time.”
Kesia allowed him to clasp the belt around her waist, and for once, he made nothing of his close proximity to her. Even his expression was grave and thoughtful. “He sounds like an admirable man.”
“Yes, he is.”
He stayed close, but Kesia let him this time. Instead of the annoying heat and skin prickles, there was only a comfortable warmth and that beguiling scent.
Shance continued, “My parents and I were separated during wartime. The Windkeepers were the last merchants to hold out against conscription, but while family lineage could protect his position, it couldn’t keep me from the draft at age eighteen. I haven’t seen them in years, but we try to keep in contact over commers whenever we can.”
She nodded, sympathy swelling for him. “I can imagine that would be hard.”
“Can’t be helped, right? Everything for this damn war.” He looked down at her curiously. “What about your parents?”
The warmth seeped away. Her muscles seized. “They’re dead.”
“From the war?”
Unbidden, the cavern workshop surfaced in her mind. Her parents, hunched over the workbench, fiddling with various devices. The scent of fire and smoke and engine oil. The smell turning noxious and greenish-black. A monster looming over her, his skin curdled and pockmarked. Reaching out through clouds of thick green smoke.
Coming for her.
“Kesia? Are you all right?”
She jumped. Shance had moved even closer, worry flickering in his eyes.
Kesia shoved the memories down.
“Something like that.” She backed away from him, suddenly eager to meet her doom in the shipyard. “So, get to work, check the wires, look for the broken switches.”
“That’s right.” Shance led the way out of the room and down the hallway. “There’s always been some faulty wiring near the portside engine. Go there first if you can. And if they expect you to fix it—”
“Pray to Fiarston and Viorstan that a giant rock drops from the sky and crushes the entire ship before I have to answer.”
He grinned. “Exactly. It is going to have to be a huge rock in order to break through the ceiling of the shipyard.”
Kesia’s blood cooled further. If she’d been in scale form, she would have instantly gone into the Cold Sleep. “There’s a ceiling to the shipyard?”
“Yes, the whole facility is underground, which is why we’re taking the elevator.” He pressed a button on the wall, and the wall parted to reveal an ornate metal cage suspended on thick cables. “It’s actually beneath the Ilyon Sea. Since we’re such good friends, I’ll let you in on a secret: the shipyard is coated with this mineral called slatesheen. I’m not sure what mine it came from, but it’s wonderfully strong stuff. Even the pressure from the water above doesn’t stand a chance against the slatesheen. The underground tunnel is also made of it.”
“Slatesheen. That’s… amazing.” It was settled: there had to be illegal smuggling from traitors within the Congruency and those within the Pinnacle. Kesia fingered her voicelator, but resisted activating it. No contact with Zephryn. Not when she had to focus. She very well might try praying to imaginary deities if her luck kept running this well.
The marvel of the elevator ride was lost on her. Shance’s instructions about wire colors and electrical conductivity swirled in her head until they became meaningless gibberish.
The elevator doors opened, and Kesia numbly followed Shance down a long tunnel that reminded her all too much of the ascent up the Pinnacle incline. Too soon, they walked through another archway, only instead of the darkness of the Pinnacle chamber, they entered an enormous bay, brightly lit and tall enough to contain a fifteen-story building. At least ten ships in various shapes and states of repair were vaulted on platforms or suspended from the ceiling. The air rang with the sound of hammers and steam-drills, along with plenty of shouting.
“Keep your mouth open and you’ll catch lube or engine oil in it.” Shance grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “Or you’ll tempt me to try and kiss you again.”
“I’ll crush your jaw if you try.” Kesia shut her mouth with a click of her teeth. The smell of engines filled the air, just like in her parents’ workshop. “Should I look less interested? You said the Scepter of Industry was quite impressive.”
“Oh, it is. But you’re fine. General Brody and General Markem will love the compliment from a highly-ranked mechanic such as yourself.”
Kesia swallowed the heat and smoke that suddenly filled her mouth. She had to be calm. This was no time to break down. This was no different than facing the Pinnacle naked.
At least then she had known what was expected of her. Here, she had nothing but a handful of information, a secondhand toolbelt, and a strong desire to shift into a bird and fly away.
As well as memories that wouldn’t leave her alone.
Shance took her hand and squeezed it. “There she is!”
The Silver Streak towered in front of them, propped up on massive concrete keel blocks as tall as Shance. Holes the size of dragon jaws still gaped in the middle where the ship had nearly broken in half. Wooden scaffolding rose up on either side of the hull, and workers scurried around the deck making repairs.
Something in Kesia’s fingers itched to join them. It was an urge she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since the monster came and stole her life away.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Shance’s voice deepened with pride and his face lit up. Then his eyes narrowed. “Oh, blast! Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“The masthead. It has to be there, or we’re all doomed.”
He dragged her toward the gangplank at a fast run, right up the sloping wood to the main deck where two generals stood in quiet conversation. Kesia gave them a quick glance. Markem was taller and had spectacles; Brody was tanner and had grayish black hair. An insufficient sweep for a spy, but right now, she didn’t need more details to crowd out the ones already in her head. Besides, she was spying for herself and Zephryn now. That, and trying to survive this test.
Shance made his salute, and they responded, then both extended their hands to Kesia. She shook them as she’d been taught.
“First Mechanic Kesia Ironsley.” That was the man with grayish black hair. General Brody. “It seems you have kept one of our top captains rather preoccupied.”
Kesia managed a faint smile. “I’m sorry, General. It’s been a while since we’ve been together.”
“Indeed. Although it didn’t take you long to become betrothed.” Was there an edge of anger in his voice?
Shance’s grip on her hand tightened, and he said, “Nor did it take you long to deface my ship. Where is my masthead?”
Markem cut in. “Enough small talk. First Mechanic, this ship was the pride of the Congruency fleet until it met an untimely end. Your record did list you as Talented in mechanics, but this should be quite a challenge, even for you.”
“Yes.” Kesia pulled up the information she’d studied from the last few days. “In the Scepter of Industry, an individual’s Talent always directs their career path.”
“A sensible plan.” And yet, a flash of regret in Markem’s eyes, so quick that she doubted if anyone else caught it. “General Brody and I are eager to see a demonstration of your skills.”
She nodded, grateful that mechanics were outside the military chain of command. Kesia would have forgotten the salute many times over. “I would be happy to oblige. Shance—Captain Windkeeper—has spoken often of this ship. I’m happy to assist him in any way I can.”
“Well, prove yourself in this effort, and you might find a place aboard it yourself.” The
re again, another hint of softness. Shance had warned her that Markem was the harsh officer, but he only seemed overly concerned with protocol and duty.
Brody was the one who kept glaring at her.
“We will check on your status in one hour. Captain Windkeeper? Come with us. The head shipbuilder is going to give us an update on the status of repairs.”
“Aye, sir. I have some specific questions of my own. About my masthead.” Shance gave her a supportive smile and released her hand before turning and walking down the gangplank. Markem followed, but Brody leveled Kesia with another glare.
“I hope you are worth the time, Miss Ironsley. For your sake, as well as for Captain Windkeeper’s.”
He may as well have said ‘murderer.’ His tone held the same derision and promise of destruction as the voices in the Pinnacle.
Kesia shuddered, hands shaking as she reached for her tool belt. She clasped them together to still them. Unless that huge rock could sink through the Ilyon Sea and break through the slatesheen ceiling, she was on her own.
She wouldn’t waste her hour on fear.
Chapter 13
Kesia stood very still. Maybe if she didn’t move, she would become invisible, just for a moment. She closed her eyes, as if that would help.
Wiring. Shance had said something about wiring. And broken switches in the stern. No, the portside engines.
But which side was the portside?
She knew this. Kesia turned to the left side, taking in the skeleton of the partially deconstructed vessel. There must be an engine down there, below the deck and the half-finished planks, but she could barely make out the squat metal hulk from the rest of the lower decks.
Panic stole her breath and clamped her chest like the vises in her parents’ workshop. They had had so many tools there, but even more, there had been...joy.