Cry of Metal & Bone

by L. Penelope

  She rose from her curtsey with the others and held herself so tightly she feared her bones might break, but she refused to allow even a sliver of emotion to show. She’d hidden her feelings for Jack all her life, had planned to hide them forever when she married his brother. It would not be so hard to continue to do so.

  For the briefest of moments, she considered if exile to Fremia would be such a bad thing. At least there she would be spared the sight of him—that striking jaw, those lips that constantly threatened a smile. She would not have to watch his happiness grow with another. But no, Elsira was her home, and if a lifetime of heartbreak was part of her punishment, she would bear it.

  Between one blink and the next, the Goddess Awoken appeared. Lizvette wasn’t sure if She’d come through the door behind the thrones or emerged from thin air, but Her presence thickened the atmosphere in the room. Lizvette had not seen Her in person before and found herself enthralled by the deity she’d worshipped her whole life. Power seemed to radiate from Her pores.

  As the king and queen sat, the Goddess stood next to them, peering at those gathered. Lizvette held her breath when Her gaze grazed her, and her eyes darted to the ground, staying firmly locked on the tiles until she felt the Goddess’s attention pass.

  Jasminda did not look in Lizvette’s direction, but Jack glanced at her quickly, no emotion in his eyes. She stiffened as another piece of her heart disintegrated into ash.

  Queen Jasminda gestured them all forward before speaking. “We have taken a break from our celebration and asked you all to come here for a very important purpose. The need is immediate and could not wait another day. Lizvette Nirall”—Jasminda motioned in her direction but still did not look her way—“believes she has information that will assist us in finding the perpetrators of the temple bombing.”

  Lizvette’s face heated, her blush riding high in her cheeks as the attentions of the others scoured her. So the queen had decided to accept Lizvette’s offer. A tiny flicker of hope lit within her.

  “We have reason to suspect that her father, Meeqal Nirall, is working with the Hand of the Reaper. Since more attacks have been threatened, time is of the essence. I ask that you all accompany her to Yaly to investigate and, hopefully, bring Nirall back here for interrogation and to stand trial for treason.”

  The Raunian man sucked in a breath. Lizvette darted a glance at him, surprised to find pity in his eyes. Unlike the rest of him, which appeared alien and fierce, his eyes held a warmth she did not expect.

  Jack spoke up, his voice resonating in the marble room. “The Intelligence Service has had no luck locating Nirall. For those who do not know, he was a former member of the Council of Regents, a trusted advisor who actively worked against me in secret and threatened Jasminda’s life. If he has any connection to the Hand of the Reaper, then it is likely that he’s being apprised of the ongoing investigation.”

  “That is why this cannot be considered an official mission,” Jasminda added. “Aunt Vanesse, you and Clove are traveling to the Yaly Classic Air Race, which takes place in a few days. I would ask you to transport the others. Their cover will be as race attendees.”

  The Sister nodded, her scarred face beatific when she smiled. This was Jasminda’s aunt. Lizvette recalled that the queen’s mother had been from a prominent Rosiran family. “Of course,” the woman said.

  The shorter woman, Clove, also grinned infectiously. “Sounds exciting.”

  Lizvette smothered a small smile. Their unquestioning enthusiasm was refreshing, and neither had looked upon her with scorn for her father’s actions—or her own, which had been publicly detailed in the press.

  The queen continued. “Darvyn ol-Tahlyro is a trusted friend of my husband’s and of the crown.” She motioned to the Lagrimari man who seemed uncomfortable with the praise. “And the Goddess has recommended Tai Summerhawk to accompany you, as well.” Jasminda’s voice held no uncertainty, though she didn’t elaborate as to what the Raunian’s skills were or how he was to assist. “We are in your debt, Master Summerhawk.”

  The Raunian tried to hide the look of surprise on his face and bowed deeply. He hadn’t spoken yet, and Lizvette wondered what his voice sounded like. Deep and gravelly, she guessed, as that would best match his build. Taller than she was by at least two heads, he was larger and broader than most Elsiran men. The loose collar of his linen shirt revealed a well-muscled chest, and thick, woven breeches covered strong legs.

  He caught her appraisal of him and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, Do you like what you see? Lizvette snapped her head forward, embarrassed by her lack of propriety and irritated with his impertinence.

  “There is a contingent of Foreign Service agents stationed in Yaly,” Jack said. “They have just been deployed in the past two weeks, chosen from men I trust in the army; however, they don’t know the particulars of this mission. The fewer who know the better. If an arrest or additional security is necessary, call on them. They understand that this is classified.”

  A heavy solemnity hung in the room, and Lizvette felt the weight of what was being asked of her. She hoped she was up to the task.

  The Goddess stepped forward, capturing everyone’s attention. “All know the part they are to play,” She said. Lizvette scanned the faces around her, which all held some level of confusion. It appeared the Goddess was overestimating the knowledge of those present. “You must leave immediately and work diligently to accomplish your tasks.”

  Lizvette bowed her head in deference. If their Sovereign believed they could do this, then they must be able to. After answering a few questions about logistics, the king, queen, and Goddess exited through the same door behind the thrones, leaving the rest alone.

  “Clove Liddelot. Nice to meet you,” the shorter woman announced, holding her palms out in greeting. Lizvette pressed her palms to Clove’s.

  “Vanesse Zinadeel,” the Sister said, and Lizvette repeated the greeting. While not aristocrats, the Zinadeels were wealthy merchants. Both daughters had chosen to join the Sisterhood, but it was not widely known that the family had cut off the eldest after she had left the order to marry a former Lagrimari prisoner of war.

  Lizvette wondered as to the story behind the burn scars on Vanesse’s face but would never pry. Then she startled somewhat to notice that Clove and Vanesse held hands after they’d made their introductions. Their body language and constant eye contact seemed rather intimate, but before she could decide if she was reading too much into things, Darvyn approached.

  “We are to travel by airship?” he asked in heavily accented Elsiran. She was glad he spoke the language. She hadn’t even considered the communication barrier.

  “Aye,” Clove said. “The king has lent me the royal airship for the Yaly Classic.”

  “Clove is a pilot. She’s come in the top ten for the past three years,” Vanesse said proudly, squeezing her hand.

  There was definitely more than friendship between the two women. Such pairings were seen with regularity in Fremia, where Lizvette had attended university, but Elsira was a far more conservative country. Then again, much was changing. Only weeks ago an Elsiran and a Lagrimari would not have been in the same room together. She shook her head slightly in wonder at it all.

  Only then did Clove’s words hit her. “Alariq’s airship?” Lizvette said with a gasp. Clove’s enthusiasm paled a bit. “The one that killed him?”

  Clove and Vanesse shot one another wary glances. Vanesse came forward, placing a hand on Lizvette’s arm. Instinctively, Lizvette wanted to brush off the contact, unused to such familiarity, but she held herself still so as not to offend.

  “It’s been fixed and fully inspected. Clove has flown it several times since then and will go over the mechanics again before we take to the air. She’s made sure it’s safe.”

  “And we won’t be flying into any thunderstorms, either, be sure of it,” Clove added.

  Alariq had died in such a storm …

  Lizvette knew their words were meant to calm
her fear, but her chest tightened anyway. She had lost her fiancé and her future in one of those contraptions. Alariq had never shared the common Elsiran view regarding foreign technology. He had been forward-thinking, excited about new advancements, and look where it had gotten him.

  Lizvette nodded and smiled in an effort to put the others at ease. Vanesse and Clove mimicked her actions, appearing relieved, though Darvyn peered at her closely. She suspected he was an Earthsinger and, as such, would be able to see through her lies, but she couldn’t worry about it. She would have to steel herself against her fears and rise above them. It was necessary to complete this mission, return some honor to herself, and avoid exile.

  Darvyn and the women talked among themselves, discussing what needed to be done before they could take flight. The Raunian, Tai, who had stood somewhat apart from them until now, sauntered over to Lizvette. A smattering of dark hair dusted the visible skin on his chest. She tore her gaze away only to be drawn in by his hands, which were palms out, ready to greet her in the Elsiran way. His fingers were thick and calloused, likely from years of labor. She hesitated before raising her own hands and touching his palms as lightly as possible. A strange sensation—something like static electricity—greeted her, and she jerked back.

  Tai chuckled at her skittishness, but a shadow seemed to cross his eyes. His reaction was curious, but the expression dissolved into a smirk before she had decided what it meant.

  “Well, duchess, it looks like we’ll be spending some time together.”

  “We don’t have duchies any longer in Elsira,” she snapped, more forcefully than she had intended, annoyed by his smug tone. “‘Duke’ is a ceremonial title reserved for the king. And of what use will you be on this mission? How is this any of your concern? We are currently at odds with Raun.”

  “I’m not here in any official capacity,” he said with a grin. “Think of my participation as more intimate in nature.” He swaggered deeply into her personal space.

  She leaned back, torn between stubbornly standing her ground and maintaining a respectable distance. Raunians didn’t acknowledge the rules of polite society. She hadn’t thought the Lagrimari did, either, but Darvyn had been nothing but respectful and polite so far. Quite unlike this coarse pirate.

  “I’m good at finding things, duchess. Maybe I’ll get the chance to show you sometime.” He winked, and heat trailed down her body followed by a spike of anger. How dare he? She was far too well bred to slip down to his level, however. She spun away and stood closer to Clove, listening in on the conversation she and Darvyn were having about travel times.

  Lizvette’s skin prickled at the thought of the Raunian who remained behind her. It would be quite a long mission with him around.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maasael the Traveler accompanied the seeker as she took her first steps into darkness. He provided a boat and wind enough to carry her away.

  Alone she sailed until the placid sea was interrupted by the emergence of a fin. “Where are you going?” called a shark through his razor grin.

  “To prevent the repetition of the past” was Ayal’s reply.

  —THE AYALYA

  Tai gripped the edge of his seat as the airship took off from the roof of the Elsiran palace. He’d never been in one of the contraptions before and would have happily spent the rest of his life with his feet firmly planted on the ground or on the deck of the Hekili.

  Mik had shivered when Tai had told him of the upcoming journey. “Wingless, featherless men were not meant to race through the skies, mate,” he’d said. Tai agreed, but there was nothing to be done about it.

  Clove and Vanesse sat in the tiny cockpit. The rest of them had piled into the airship’s narrow cabin, which featured four plush seats, two on each side, and was lined by windows. Tai had no desire to watch the earth grow farther and farther away, so he stared straight ahead at the woman in front of him. Lizvette.

  Her name fit her. She was every bit the picture of Elsiran aristocracy he’d supposed her to be—nose upturned slightly at the end, delicate, nearly golden eyes framed by full lashes. Her strawberry-blond hair was swept up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She kept trying to avert her gaze from him, and a strange satisfaction filled him every time she failed.

  Often her glances were filled with annoyance, which delighted him even more. Elsirans were obsessed with manners and “proper” behavior. Tai knew enough to realize that staring was considered rude, but he didn’t care. Partly because he liked the color her cheeks took on when she caught him and partly because he just liked looking at her. Finally, she held his gaze a bit obstinately.

  He grinned broadly, pleased at the hint of fire in her personality. “So, duchess, I take it you’ve been to Yaly before.”

  “Yes. When I was a child, we would travel there frequently to visit my Uncle Rodriq, the ambassador. He isn’t my uncle by blood, just a close family friend. I haven’t been back for several years.” She stopped, seeming to realize she was rambling. Tai tried to hold back his amusement, but by her pinched scowl, he wasn’t doing a good job. “Have you been to Yaly, Master Summerhawk?”

  “To be sure. I sail there frequently. It’s the vilest place on earth,” he answered in Yalyish.

  Her eyebrows raised, apparently surprised that he had enough intelligence to learn an additional tongue.

  “Is that their language?” Darvyn asked in Elsiran.

  Tai turned to him. “You don’t speak Yalyish?”

  Darvyn shook his head. The two had only spoken briefly before the trip. The Lagrimari man had approached Tai after they’d been dismissed by the rulers of Elsira and confided that they were the only two who knew about the mission to save Queen Jasminda’s family and the Goddess wanted it to stay that way.

  From the corner of his eye, Tai caught Lizvette’s frown.

  “Neither do I,” Clove piped up from the pilot’s chair. “You can always purchase a translation amalgam.”

  “What do you know of Yaly?” Lizvette asked, turning toward Darvyn.

  “Not much. We had limited contact with them—trade only. Lagrimar exported the iron ore and precious jewels found in our eastern mountains and received shipments of goods we couldn’t produce. I’ve only ever met one Yalyishman.” The last was said with venom.

  Tai’s gaze was drawn to Lizvette’s lips when she placed a finger to them in thought. “How did you trade?” she asked. “I thought Lagrimar was entirely cut off from the world except for during the breaches?”

  “Morladyn’s Pass. It’s a river that was created from generations of slave labor—Earthsingers blasting their way through the eastern mountains. A cable runs through from end to end and pulls unmanned barges.”

  “But if there’s been a path through the mountain all this time, how is it that the True Father never went through or tried to invade Yaly?” Lizvette asked.

  Darvyn’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. “He tried, once, after the pass was completed. No one alive but him knows what happened, only that he did not succeed. I’ve heard tales from the elders that all but three of the soldiers who went with him were lost, and the three who returned went mad. But history has a way of disappearing in Lagrimar, so the truth will likely remain a secret.”

  Tai had never given much thought to the isolated desert country. Tales of the True Father’s cruelty and the pitiful state in which he kept his people were known the world over, however his exploits rarely impacted anyone but the Elsirans. It had been 250 years since the Fourth Breach, or Iron War as it was called, that saw Elsira fighting both Yaly and Lagrimar. Raun remained neutral in such conflicts, though Raunian mercenaries were often hired by foreign navies for special missions.

  Tai couldn’t imagine being stuck in one place his whole life, never having seen other lands, learned other languages, or met different kinds of people. He felt a deep compassion for the Lagrimari, just now being introduced to the rest of the world.

  Darvyn rubbed his hands across his face.
“So what is the plan to find your father?”

  Lizvette’s posture grew even more rigid, if that were possible. Tai could only imagine what was going on inside her mind to hold such tight control of herself.

  “I want to start with my uncle. He’s been itching to retire but has stayed on as ambassador since his wife is Yalyish and has no desire to go to the ‘hinterlands,’ as she calls Elsira.”

  “Imagine what she’d think of Raun,” Tai muttered. Lizvette almost smiled. “Well, I think we should start with a Dominionist gathering,” he went on, watching her brow lower.

  “Why start there?” she asked, her voice shrill.

  “Because your uncle seems like a weak lead. Certainly if they are such good friends he would not give your father up. However, the Elsiran temple bombing follows the pattern of similar attacks against Yalyish devotionaries perpetrated by the Dominionist sect. There have been close to a dozen bombings over the past five years, each escalating in damage and intensity. Palmsalt has never been used before, but other similar toxins have been.”

  “So you think the Hand of the Reaper may have been inspired by the Dominionists?” Darvyn asked.

  Tai shrugged. “Inspired by, colluding with. The Dominionists are well-known haters of magic and would have motive for assassinating the Goddess and destroying a place of worship. Nirall could be working with them.”

  Lizvette tapped a finger against her chin before shaking her head. “The Dominionists are a foreign group that’s begun to gain a foothold in Elsira. I don’t think a nationalistic faction like the Reapers would associate with them—assuming Father is a member of the Reapers. Uncle Rodriq is the far more logical choice. If I convince him that I’m loyal to Father, he will help me.”

  “Zealotry is rarely logical, duchess,” Tai said with a smirk. “Those with common enemies often work together. But how about this, let’s test out your acting abilities, shall we? Convince me that you like me and I’ll believe you can pull this off.” He sat back, crossing his arms.