And he’d made himself remember her expression when she’d jumped from her flyer, but he hadn’t really looked at her. The sailors rushed forward to fasten the tether lines to the flyer’s nose and to hold the runners steady. Ariq leapt down to the deck and reached for her hand before any other man could assist her.
She bent her head as she dismounted from the seat, carefully watching her step on the narrow runner. Her hair had come undone in the water. The wind had dried and twisted the strands into thick curls down her back. An unremarkable brown, in an unruly tangle around an unremarkable face. Her features were long and angular, her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. He wanted to see her laugh. She would often, Ariq thought—and he suspected that her smiles would be sharp.
Her fingers folded over his. Her grip tightened as she hopped to the deck. She stood taller than he’d realized. The top of her head reached his chin.
Then she glanced up, her eyes like jade stones lit by an inner flame, and Ariq sensed that another battle was coming. There was nothing unremarkable behind those green eyes—and this woman might have the power to lay waste to him.
But if she did, he didn’t want to fight it.
She quickly steadied under the weight of her pack, but he kept hold of her fingers. Her gaze briefly met his again, then she looked up as the other flyers began to descend, using her free hand to shield her eyes against the sun. Pink tinged her cheeks.
“My head must not be as big as you thought,” he said. “You should have ridden with your skirt up.”
She laughed and her gaze flew back to his. The pink deepened. Not a sunburn. A blush.
Good. Ariq wanted to lay waste to her, too. Fire in her blood was a promising start.
But not one he could pursue any further now. Commander Saito spoke behind him.
“Good afternoon, Governor Jagungar.” The formality of his greeting didn’t conceal his amusement.
Reluctantly, Ariq released Zenobia’s hand. She glanced at the commander, then up at Ariq again. A slight frown formed between her brows. Her halting ‘thank you’ earlier had probably been all of the Nipponese that she knew. Now she must be uncertain whom Saito had been talking to.
“I’ll speak with him. See that your friends are well,” he told her.
Saito waited at the ship’s side, looking to the west. A dense column of smoke rose from the burning airship. “Did any others survive?”
“In the lifeboats.” Ariq watched the sailors tether Taka’s flyer. “I’ll quarter the passengers and aviators in my town until the French can come for them.”
“Of course you will,” Saito said, stroking his short beard. Ariq suspected that the commander had grown it to give his features a more mature appearance—and to conceal his ready smile. The man was never serious for long. “My insignificant boat cannot hold a small complement of aviators.”
Ariq grinned. A full city could be housed on this ship. Ten years ago, it had housed a city’s worth of soldiers and patrolled the waters to the north that marked the boundary between the territories claimed by the Nipponese and the Golden Empire. But in the past decade, the Khagan had begun to withdraw his forces, recalling them to the mainland. Now the ironship sailed with minimal crew and no objective other than to remain prepared for another war with the Golden Empire.
The recent attacks had given them all more to do. Ariq glanced back at Zenobia. “The woman who arrived with me might have been the marauders’ target.”
“And my ship’s poor defenses cannot protect one woman.”
“They wouldn’t come for her here.”
“Most would not dare attack your town, either.” But Saito nodded, his shrewd gaze falling on Zenobia. “And most wouldn’t have fired on a French battleship.”
“If they’re after her, they’ll risk my town.”
“Are they after her?”
“We’ll find out if they come.” And if they didn’t, Ariq would have the additional time with her that he’d wanted.
If he could get to her. The female mercenary had quickly alighted from the seat behind Taka and moved to Zenobia’s side. The male mercenary jumped from his flyer—and landed with a resounding thunk on the iron deck.
Mechanical legs. Perhaps more of his body had been altered, as well.
Saito studied the man for a long moment before looking to Zenobia again. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“And the other woman . . . is her sister?”
“An ambassador’s wife.” Who was looking in Saito’s direction while Zenobia spoke to her. “He’s in the Red City.”
“The one who arrived with you—is her husband there, as well?”
Husband? Dread thickened in Ariq’s gut. He hadn’t even considered that she might be married. “I don’t know.”
“I believe we will soon.” Saito assumed his polite expression as the woman left Zenobia’s side and approached them with a determined stride and a warm smile. Before she reached them, he added softly, “I see that you found your brother.”
“Yes.”
And now Taka stood stiffly by his flyer, his gaze forward, focused on nothing. The sailors nearest to him carefully avoided looking in his direction. Worse than looking through him as if he didn’t exist—yet better than the stares from the sailors who stood farther away.
Ariq wanted to bloody his fists on each one of them. But there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t deepen his brother’s shame and discomfort. He could only try to bear his anger half as well as Taka bore his pain.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he waited as the woman stopped and bowed. His eyes met Zenobia’s over her friend’s upraised bottom. Lips tight, she stared grimly back at him as if daring him to say a word of scorn.
He wouldn’t have. He admired her friend’s courage. It was never easy to leave one’s home for a city of strangers.
The woman’s cheeks were flushed when she straightened again. Slowly, she said, “We are very grateful to you and your men.”
“We are pleased by your safety. It gives us great pleasure to assist you.” Saito bowed politely in return. “My name is Saito Jiro. It is my honor to command this ship. Beside me is Governor Jagungar.”
She glanced at Ariq. “Thank you very much, Governor. My companion, Madame Inkslinger, is especially grateful to you as well.”
Madame. A married woman.
Ariq’s fists clenched behind his back. But there was nothing to be done. And his fear from earlier that day had been realized.
He had been too late.
***
Zenobia couldn’t bear watching Helene speak to the two men. Her skin itched with the need to protect her friend. Desperately, she looked to Mara.
“She’s doing well,” the mercenary told her. “They are speaking to her very simply, but she’s not embarrassing herself. She uses French terms when she doesn’t know the proper word, and they both seem to understand her.”
Relief and shame touched Zenobia at the same time. She hadn’t given Helene enough credit. “What are they saying now?”
“The commander is reassuring her that we are going to rescue the men in the lifeboats. Your man, the governor—he is offering us a place to stay in his town.”
Her man? “He doesn’t look very pleased about it, does he?”
His jaw tight, his body stiff. No sign of the humor or interest that she’d witnessed in him earlier. His expression seemed to have hardened into stone.
“No, he doesn’t. But I believe his brother might be the cause, instead—the young man that I rode with. No, don’t look. Enough people are already staring.”
Though burning with curiosity, Zenobia didn’t glance back at the younger man. “So he is a governor?”
“Yes.”
“What is his name?”
“I . . . don’t know for certain.” Mara sounded amused.
Zenobia glanced at the mercenary. “Why?”
“I began listening shortly before Mrs. Auger began to speak with t
hem. Nothing of importance—they only wondered who you both were. But it was familiar speech. I suspect they are friends.”
“So why would that mean he doesn’t have a name?”
“He does. But it might not be his true name, and more of a joke between them. The commander called him ‘jagungar.’ It means ‘one hundred arms’ in Mongolian, but more informally refers to a squid.” Mara’s brows arched. “Perhaps he saw how the governor wouldn’t let go of your hand.”
One hundred arms. Zenobia’s heart thumped.
Mara’s smile faded. “What is it?”
“Oh. Well.” She might end up sounding like a fool, but hiding information from her guards was even more foolish. “I think he’s the Kraken King.”
The mercenary froze. After a long second, her gaze locked on the governor. “Why?”
“A tattoo on his back. It’s the same as one that my brother drew in a letter.” Which was not strong evidence, Zenobia knew. “But then I thought I must be wrong. Many men must have similar tattoos. And when we spoke, he was very . . . very . . .”
Appealing. In so many ways.
“Muscular?”
Blast her. “Civil. He laughed once—and answered all of my questions.” So many questions. Oh, and she did feel like a fool. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Of all the people in this part of the world, what are the chances that we should happen across one of the most powerful men in the Horde rebellion?”
“In this sparsely populated part of Australia, where smugglers and rebels often conduct their business? The odds are better than you think.”
Oh, dear. “Should we worry?”
“We should be careful,” Mara said. “But he has no reason to suspect your identity. And though he might be a dangerous man, I’ve never heard that he’s a cruel one.”
That was a relief to hear. “I’ll be cautious. Though I can’t imagine that any other danger we encounter on this journey will compare to today’s.”
“It was enough excitement for you?”
More than enough. “A full adventure’s worth. I believe Lady Lynx might soon encounter a band of marauders on flyers.”
But of course, Lady Lynx would be the one to kill them all—then later discover that sending the pilots to attack her had been the villain’s plan to cover up a more dastardly plot. It would be a lovely twist, no matter what the governor had said of real men finding better ways to silence their subordinates.
“And encounter a new love interest?” Mara suggested.
For Lady Lynx? Why would Zenobia do that? It would only complicate—
Oh. Mara’s not-so-subtle glance toward the governor finally sank in.
“No,” Zenobia said softly. “I wouldn’t do that.”
She might take every other event from today and transform it into a new story, but not those few minutes on the flyer. A few minutes when a man had looked at her with interest, though he didn’t know who she was and had nothing to gain by speaking to her. Zenobia didn’t have any expectation of it ever happening again.
So she didn’t intend to share that experience or transform it into a story for someone else, but instead hold it very closely for her own.
Ahead of her, Helene bowed again. Taking her leave of the men—or just one of them. The governor nodded to the ship’s commander and started toward Zenobia.
No. Not toward her. His flat gaze slid past Zenobia and he called out to someone behind her.
“He and his brother are taking the flyers back to their town,” Mara said quickly.
Zenobia looked back. The young man was reaching for the tether hooked to his balloon. “Are we leaving with them?”
“No. You will remain aboard the ironship until it reaches port.”
Her heart thumped. Mara hadn’t answered her; the governor had. He’d come to a halt beside her, his expression still hard.
His brother had somehow caused this upset? Her earlier glance at the young man hadn’t given her an indication of why anyone had stared. Red dirt stained his tunic and trousers—yet the governor’s had been stained, too, with blood and dirt. And Zenobia herself appeared a complete ruin.
Perhaps she would find out later. “If you’ll agree to it, I’d like to send my valet with you on the third flyer. He can prepare for our arrival.”
Not that there was anything to prepare. Everything but the clothes they wore and the pack on her back had been destroyed on the airship. But Cooper and Mara always liked to scout ahead, if possible.
“Your valet?” With a slight frown, the governor glanced at Cooper. “You may.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded in response and looked at her again before continuing on. For a moment his interest seemed to return, his dark eyes lingering on her face a little too long. Then a long step carried him past her.
Blast it all. She wanted a few more seconds to hold on to.
“Sir!” Her breath caught when he looked back, because he was doing it again—his gaze searching hers as if he wanted a few more seconds, too. “What town is it? Where are we going?”
“Home,” he said softly. “But many people call it Krakentown.”
III
Krakentown. Zenobia had heard of the place before. Her brother’s letter describing his journey to the town was in her pack, and she read it over again as the Nipponese ironship steamed toward the Australian coast.
His wife, Yasmeen, had flown a passenger aboard Lady Nergüi to Krakentown almost a year previous. Only an overnight stay, Archimedes and Yasmeen hadn’t gotten any further past the docks than to the nearest tavern, and Archimedes must not have known that the Kraken King governed the town or he’d have included that in his letter. Instead he’d only described the town itself, built up around a river at the mouth of a shark-filled bay. Despite expecting a shantytown or a lawless rum dive like the smugglers’ havens to the south, he’d found an orderly, quiet settlement. Zenobia suspected that he would have called the town boring if it hadn’t lived up to its name so well.
Kraken shells dotted the town. The giant armored bodies had been hollowed out, then used for storage and, as in the case of the tavern where they’d passed the evening, as the exterior structures for businesses and homes.
He’d sketched the view from inside the tavern. Then an overhead view of the town from the airship, the enormous kraken shells looming over their neighboring houses.
When she’d first received the letter, Zenobia had been delighted by the thought of such a place, and a little suspicious that Archimedes was having her on. But by the time the ironship neared the town and met the ferry that would take them across the shallower waters to the dock, Zenobia was ready to toss the letter over the side. She appreciated every single word her brother had ever written to her. But just once, she would have liked to see something that he hadn’t seen first.
***
She didn’t expect to have her wish answered so quickly.
The beached kraken was the most horrid, fascinating thing she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d studied drawings. Read descriptions. She’d written about them in so many adventures. Yet nothing compared to standing beside one of the monsters—even a dead one.
Hardly able to think of anything else while she’d been escorted through the town to her lodgings, Zenobia had returned to the beach and the kraken as quickly as possible. Looking at it now, she scribbled impressions into her notebook, but didn’t think she’d ever need to refer to them again. She couldn’t possibly forget this.
Covered by plated iron, the massive body lay in the sand. The bulging mass of its head tapered to a thick cone that flattened at the very tip, forming a shovel-like protrusion wide enough for twenty men to stand upon. Barnacles crusted the armor. A spear still protruded from its giant eye, the radius larger than her two arms held open wide. The fluid dripping from the eye cavity stank of ammonia.
Her own eyes stinging from the smell, Zenobia covered her nose and moved past the head, where the tentacles formed a mountain of tangled coils, as if the creature
had writhed out its last seconds in agony on the sand. The nearest arm was thicker than she was tall.
And this was a small kraken.
Huge chunks had been cut from several arms, cavities of flesh big enough to walk into—the townspeople had harvested some of the meat before it spoiled. Dark gray skin stretched over the upper sides of the tentacles. The smooth gleam gave the appearance of wetness, but she discovered the sun had already dried this one when she skimmed her fingertips over the taut flesh. The underside of the tentacle was a paler gray, the suckers rimmed with pink, and the folded skin around the dimples was still moist.
Though revolted, Zenobia couldn’t help herself. She prodded at the lip of the pink sucker, feeling for the teeth. When flexed, the suckers had razor sharp edges, like the mouth of a lamprey. It was too easy to imagine these tentacles coiling around a man while the suckers tore away his flesh, shoving his ravaged body toward its mouth, where the kraken’s beak would crush bones and finish ripping him apart.
“Geraldine!”
Zenobia jerked her hand away from the sucker, heart pounding. Dear God. Helene’s shout had nearly scared the life from her.
She glanced back. Her friend stood near the town’s open gate, her hand over her mouth and half-turned away from the sight of the kraken—trying not to be sick again, Zenobia realized. Aside from its gaping eye, the kraken hadn’t begun to truly smell, though it couldn’t be long before rot set in. The heat and humidity were oppressive. If not for her dunking in the ocean, Zenobia feared that she would have begun to smell by now, too.
Helene obviously wouldn’t be coming any closer to speak with her. Zenobia trudged through the soft white sand, her notebook clutched in her hand. Farther along the beach, a boy chased through a flock of gulls gathering to pick at the butchered end of a tentacle.
Always collecting information, Mara chatted with the young townswoman watching the boy—and Cooper stood in the shade provided by the kraken’s enormous body, watching over them all.
Lieutenant Blanchett waited with Helene, offering a handkerchief and a steadying arm. The officer had reached the lifeboats after leaving Zenobia and Helene in their cabin; Zenobia had been relieved to see him among the others when the ironship had rescued the aviators. Not everyone had made it, including the airship’s captain.
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