Jolan decided it would be a good time to take another, longer examination of the skyship.
The widows weren’t naked for very long. They pulled Almiran garments out of their saddlebags and threw them over their bodies. A few minutes later, they looked like a pair of local farmhands instead of two highly trained, foreign killers.
“Quite the transformation,” Cumberland said.
“One of the many advantages women have over men during clandestine operations.” Shoshone gave Cumberland a long look. “You couldn’t hide your killer’s body underneath a whale’s skin. But us?” She motioned to her plain tunic. “All it takes is some cheap fabric and a subservient look in our eyes. We’ll fit right in.”
She glanced at Iko, made sure she was ready, too.
“We will return before dawn with a better sense of the situation,” Shoshone said.
“Meaning a sense of whether you need our help or not to steal that thing?” Willem asked.
“Correct.”
“You’re not taking horses or nothing?” Willem asked.
“Do you know a lot of peasant women who ride horses back to town after a day in the fields?”
“Um. No.”
“There you go.”
“What about your weapons?” Sten asked, motioning to the blades they’d left near their armor.
“We do not need them.” Shoshone paused. Focused on Cumberland. “I suppose it would be unnecessary to remind you and your men not to start a fire while we are gone?”
“We’re Almirans,” Cumberland said. “Not morons.”
Shoshone gave a wry smile, then headed toward the city on foot. Somehow, both she and Iko had changed their gait to seem labor-weary and stiff rather than aggressive and intimidating.
“I think Shoshone kinda likes you, boss,” Sten said when they were gone.
Cumberland spat. “Not sure that woman likes anyone.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Willem said. “All that talk of killers’ bodies and whale skins. She even smiled at you.” Willem blew a line of snot out of his left nostril. “You guys think I got a shot with Iko?”
“No,” Sten said, already digging into his saddlebag for some trout jerky.
“But I saved her life. That means something, even if you’re a widow.”
“Wouldn’t be so certain about that, my friend,” Sten said. “Those women are colder than the northern waters of the Soul Sea that they call home.”
“But you said that Shoshone liked Cumberland!”
“I did.” Sten studied the darkening sky for a moment. “But that’s different.”
“How?”
“Just is.” Sten lay back on his saddle, which he’d propped up against the incline of the ravine to use as a pillow. “I’m taking the first nap. Wake me when it’s my turn for the watch.”
He was snoring less than a minute later.
Jolan helped Oromir tend to the horses. Partly because he’d grown fond of his horse during their journey—he’d named him Rain, after rain ale—but Jolan also wanted an excuse to talk to Oromir alone. There hadn’t been much privacy during the journey.
“What will we do with the horses if we have to go inside the city?” Jolan asked.
Oromir rubbed his horse’s muzzle. “Set them loose. But don’t worry. Mustard here’s a free spirit. He’ll make sure they get on in the wilds.”
Jolan faked a smile, since he knew that Oromir was trying to cheer him up.
“None of the others named their horses,” he said. “Just you and me.”
“Most wardens avoid getting attached,” Oromir admitted. “This lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to long-term relationships with animals.”
“But you don’t. Avoid it, I mean.”
“No. But I’m still young and foolish. That’s what Cumberland would say, at least.”
“I don’t think it’s foolish to get attached to things.”
Oromir smiled. “Good.”
They finished with the animals and settled down together in the ravine, away from the others. Oromir took out his brandy flask for them to share.
“What made you want to become a warden?” Jolan asked after his third sip.
“I guess you could call it an inherited desire. Five generations of jaguar blood flows through my veins. My dad was a great warrior. The best swordsman in the Dainwood, if you believe Cumberland and Sten. Although I think they blow smoke up my ass about it since he died before I could remember him.”
“How did he die?” Jolan asked.
Oromir swallowed. “He was at Glenlock Canyon. One of Bershad’s men. Not everyone who fought that day got a pair of bars, but my father did. He was a proud man. Refused to hide from the king in the gloom.”
“Oh,” Jolan said.
“He killed two dragons before the end,” Oromir said. “A Blackjack and a Cinnamon Wex. But then he drew a writ for a Red Skull, and, well…”
“I’m sorry, Oro.”
“That’s okay. I was just a little kid. And Cumberland looked after me. Brought me up right. He’s the only father I’ve ever truly known. And the only one I need.”
“I never knew my father,” Jolan said. “But I guess Master Morgan filled the role, more or less. He got killed by a dragon, too.”
Oromir gave a sad laugh. “In Almira, the brotherhood of boys whose fathers have been sent down the river by a great lizard is a big one.”
“Yeah.”
They passed the brandy back and forth for a while in silence.
“Are you scared about stealing the skyship?” Jolan asked.
“Willem told me once that it was a waste of energy to be scared of something before you’re sure it’s going to happen.”
“If that’s true, I’m wasting an awful lot of energy right now.”
Oromir rolled onto one side so he was facing Jolan instead of the stars. “What are you scared of, Jolan?”
“Getting killed by Balarians.” He paused. “And if that doesn’t happen, I guess I’m pretty terrified of riding back to the Dainwood and never seeing you again. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I’m just a warden. Nothing special about a killer in a mask.”
“I’ve known killers. They carry a … coldness in them.”
“You mean the widows.”
“Them. And a man I traveled with for a while. But it’s in Cumberland and Willem and Sten, too. They’re good people, but they’re closed off. They never laugh all the way. They never relax their shoulders. You’re different. The way you drink that brandy. The way you smile.” Jolan paused. Summoned his courage. “The way you look at me, most of all. I’m terrified of getting separated from you, and never being looked at like that again.”
Oromir put a hand on Jolan’s wrist. “But are you sure that’s going to happen?”
“I guess not.”
He smiled. “Then there’s no reason to worry.”
Jolan smiled. Took another nip of brandy. But he couldn’t help thinking to himself that most of the time, you weren’t sure something was going to happen until it was already done.
* * *
True to their word, Shoshone and Iko came back to the ravine before dawn. They were driving a heavy wagon pulled by an old ox with milky eyes. The wagon was covered with a brown oilskin tarp.
“Any trouble?” Cumberland asked as they rolled the cart past the tree line.
“No,” Shoshone said. “We have information. And a way in.”
“Okay,” Cumberland said. “Let’s hear it.”
“The Balarians sacked the city when they arrived in that massive skyship, but there wasn’t much to sack. One of Cedar Wallace’s old lieutenants who survived Floodhaven had styled himself the new lord of Black Rock, but he only had a few scores of wardens sworn to him. They died easy.”
“How’d you hear all this so fast?” Willem asked.
“Men will tell you all sorts of things if they think they’ll get to fuck you after,” Iko said, smiling at him.
“Anyway,” Sh
oshone said, “with the wardens gone, the Balarians took hold of the city without much trouble. The whole operation is run by a general called Corsaca Mun. He’s Actus Thorn’s second-in-command.”
“Those names mean nothing to me.”
“Thorn rules Balaria now. And Mun is heading the Almiran occupation.”
“Got it.” Cumberland scratched his beard. “If all the other ships left, why’d this one stay? And why here?”
“It is as we suspected. They are waiting to see if a Papyrian navy shows up on the horizon. If it does, they’ll destroy it just like they did Linkon Pommol’s fleet.”
“Hm.”
“There’s only one way to reach the skyship,” Shoshone continued. “They have a cable running from a fortress turret to the bottom of the hull. At night, the ship itself is lightly guarded when the crews come down for rest and meals, which is good.”
“But you have to infiltrate a fortress to get there,” Willem finished. “Which is bad.”
“That depends,” Iko said. “Were you hoping to part ways with us, or do you want to stay until the job is done?”
Willem smiled. “Oh, I’ll stay.”
Iko smiled back.
“Willem’s personal conviction, if that’s the word we want to use, isn’t a factor here,” Cumberland said, turning to Shoshone. “I need a sense of the logistics.”
“The job’s very doable,” Shoshone said. “The Balarians are stretched thin—they’re only patrolling the city’s choke points. And we have these.”
Shoshone pulled away the tarp from the back of the oxcart. There were a few sacks of lumpy potatoes, and five sets of Balarian armor bundled on the back.
“Where did you get those?” Sten asked.
“From men who did not need them anymore.”
“There’s a lot of blood on this one,” Sten said, picking up a breastplate.
“Yes.”
Cumberland studied the armor. “It could work. If they’re on a skeleton crew and we move quick, plenty of confidence. It could work. But there’s a problem.”
“What is it?”
“None of us can speak Balarian.”
There was a silence.
“I can,” Jolan said.
They looked at him.
“Although Master Morgan always said my accent was a little funny,” he added.
Cumberland gave him a long look. “You sure?”
“I’ve come this far.” He glanced at Oromir. “I want to finish it.”
Cumberland turned to Sten. “I won’t force this upon anyone.”
Sten spat. “Day comes when a boy alchemist has bigger walnuts than me is the day I’ll drown my own self in the nearest puddle. I’ll go. Need to pay them Balarian fuckers back for killing half my family anyway.”
“Oro?” Cumberland asked.
“Insulted you even asked.”
“Okay, then.” Cumberland bent down. Put a hand on Jolan’s shoulder. “Guess we’ll make a soldier of you yet, boy.”
24
VERA
Balaria, Burz-al-dun, Workshop of the Royal Engineer
Osyrus Ward was in his workshop. Since the last time they’d visited, the butterflies had hatched from their chrysalises.
Ward had killed them. Put them into jars filled with amber fluid.
“Empress.” Osyrus stood when Kira and Vera entered the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Quiet,” Vera hissed, pulling Kira into the room and closing the door. They’d managed to traverse the palace without attracting attention; she didn’t want to screw that up now.
Vera guided Kira toward the far wall of the workshop and squeezed her shoulders—a silent reminder to stay put. Then she turned to Osyrus, who was watching Vera with a calm curiosity.
“We need to leave Burz-al-dun tonight,” Vera said. “Is it possible?”
Osyrus frowned, although he did not seem upset. “Did something happen?”
“Is. It. Possible.”
Osyrus pursed his lips, then unlocked the metal clasps on a heavy metal box that was set on his desk. Vera prepared to throw Owaru at his head if he produced a weapon. But instead he came up with the orb he’d been working on earlier. The translucent strands were now pulsing with a clean, white glow.
“Yes. The engine Kor is ready.”
Ward pushed a button on his desk, and a section of wall behind Kira opened, revealing a spiral staircase leading down.
“If you’ll follow me.”
* * *
They entered the skyship dry dock through a trapdoor in the floor that opened into a long gutter. The lights were dim. Empty crates and piles of copper pipes were everywhere.
Vera came out before Kira and scanned the area. Seven of Osyrus’s acolytes were working in the far corner of the room. They wore their strange masks and black aprons, and were struggling to work the lever on a small crane. Nobody else was around.
“Follow me, Empress.”
The royal skyship was now suspended from the ceiling. Vera gazed up at the fusion of metal and dragon bone. The last time they’d visited, the ship’s innards had been on disorganized display, like the entrails of a whale that had been torn apart by orcas. But everything was neatly forged together now—the hull smooth and sleek and painted a pale blue that reminded Vera of the sky on cold, clear morning. The levitation sack was deflated and laid out above the deck on metal support struts.
“You finished her,” Kira whispered.
“Yes,” Osyrus said. “Four days ahead of schedule. We’ll need a crew to fly it, of course.” Osyrus consulted his watch. “But as fate would have it, we need only wait a few moments, and one should present itself. The longbowmen have been performing dawn dry drills every day for the last month.”
Forty-nine seconds later, the far door to the hangar opened and twenty soldiers carrying longbows walked through it.
“Black skies,” Vera hissed. “Empress, back down the trapdoor. Quickly now, there—”
“Don’t panic, Vera. If you will allow me just a few words with these men, they are exactly the people that we need to leave Balaria safely.”
“They have no reason to help us. They’re soldiers.”
“They’re humans. Which means they’ll react to the situation that is presented to them. Wait here a moment, and I will get us on our way.”
Osyrus popped up from the gutter and walked toward the men. Vera kept a hand clamped on Kira’s shoulder, and got ready to yank her back down the hatch if Osyrus Ward’s persuasion skills turned out to be lacking. She’d memorized the path they took through the secret passageway to get here and reversed them in her head. Four rights, six lefts, straight through three intersections, then two rights.
Of course, there was nothing for them back that way besides a swift execution.
“Seventh platoon of the illustrious longbowmen!” Osyrus shouted, opening his arms. “I see that you are punctual as always. Arrived for another morning of dry training?”
He motioned to a wooden apparatus on the far side of the hangar that was built to mimic a skyship’s deck.
“You know that we are,” said one of the men. “It’s by your orders.”
Vera squinted at him—she knew that face. It took her a moment to realize from where.
Decimar. The soldier from Aeternita’s Grace.
“You are unhappy with the assignment?” Osyrus asked.
“We should be in Lysteria with the rest of our company, not playing pretend on a dry dock.”
“I would have thought a reprieve from the bitter Lysterian chill would be welcome.”
Decimar spat. “What are you doing here, Ward?”
“There has been a slight change of plans. Rather than the usual rigmarole today, the empress has personally requested a live demonstration of her new royal skyship’s capability.”
Decimar blinked. “What kind of demonstration?”
“Kira Domitian would like to fly today,” Osyrus said.
A few of the men cracked s
miles. Thumped each other on their breastplates. But Decimar wasn’t convinced so easily.
“I’ll need to check with my captain. Might be you requested us for the training detail, but he’s my commander. Not you.”
“Certainly,” Osyrus said. “However, I must warn you that Empress Kira is not a particularly patient person. Nor does she have much time—there is a diplomatic envoy from Pargos arriving in several hours that she must greet, and then her schedule will be quite tight for the next several weeks. If she were to miss her chance to fly her newly completed ship, I believe she might hold a grudge against the soldiers who caused the delay. The officer, in particular.”
Decimar seemed to chew on that, and arrived at the conclusion that angering his captain was a lesser evil than pissing off an empress.
“All right, Ward. The empress’ll have it her way. Being honest, we’ve all been eager to see how this new one flies.” He frowned, as the logistics began dawning on him. “There’s dragon oil for the ship? I thought it was all sent to Lysteria?”
“A small amount was left behind, and marked for discretionary use by Kira Domitian. Those crates over there.”
“They’re marked as gears and copper pipes.”
“Clerical error. But do not worry about the fuel, my acolytes will handle that. Onto the ship, please. Time is wasting and the empress has insisted that we view the sunrise from the sky!”
Decimar and his men clambered up the rope ladders on the side of the ship’s hull. Osyrus waved at the masked men—who had stopped their struggle with the crane and seemed to be waiting for instruction.
Osyrus rattled off a series of orders in a language that Vera had never heard before. The acolytes twitched into action, pulling ceramic jugs of dragon oil from the crates and loading them into the hull of the skyship.
“What language was that?” Vera asked, coming over to Osyrus as he surveyed his men’s progress.
“Hmm?” Osyrus said pleasantly.
“The one you used to address the workers.”
“Oh, it is a rather obscure dialect from the eastern reaches of Graziland. But do not worry, you can speak to them in Balarian once they’re aboard the ship and they will understand.”
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