Well, no matter. Zenobia lifted her chin.
Ahead, the crowd parted like water. She didn’t need to look back to see why. Ariq had glowered at her before, too. If she feared him, that might have been enough to make her get out of the way—but knowing that he’d just broken a man in half would have convinced her.
Ariq caught up a moment later. His palm settled against her lower back, where the tips of her hair brushed against his hand. The fingers of his left hand were curled loosely around a few familiar objects.
“You found my hairpins?”
“No.” He met her gaze evenly. “I stole them.”
From her hair? “I want them back.”
“I’ll buy new ones for you.” He tucked the pins into his tunic as if daring her to go in after them.
Maybe next time. She couldn’t lift her arms to twist up her hair, anyway.
So she only sniffed, as if his taking her hairpins during their kiss didn’t please her, and Ariq grinned, as if he knew it did. His big hand felt like a brand in the small of her back all the way to the tinker’s shop. His fingertips lightly stroked circles through her tunic. If he meant that subtle massage to soothe away the pain of the attack, he was doing a blessed good job of it. Her side hurt, her mouth stung, and her neck ached, but she was only aware of his possessive touch creating a disconcerting tension all over her skin.
The tinker met them at the shop entrance with impossibly wide eyes and a wet cloth. Zenobia took it gratefully and pressed it to her lip before leading Ariq to the typesetting machine.
He frowned at the heavy ball. “This?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Even as he asked, he picked it up. Not denying her. Just wondering why Zenobia Fox would need a clickity-clackety ball that wrote evenly over a page.
He didn’t know who she was, Zenobia realized. He knew her name. But he didn’t know anything else about her.
That couldn’t last. Maybe she would even tell him herself. But not yet. Not until she knew how much she could say without risking her brother.
“I can write my letters more quickly with it.” She told him a half-truth. “But also because the clacking drives Helene mad. So when she chastises me for leaving the inn, I’m going to write as vigorously as I can until she lets me be.”
He gave a short laugh and hefted the machine under one arm, then offered the tinker a gold coin. The girl opened her mouth as if to tell him that she’d already been paid, but Zenobia stopped her with a sharp shake of her head. If he was going to assume that Zenobia hadn’t already given over a gold coin for that machine, then he deserved to be fleeced.
Besides, the girl had offered her a knife. “Tell her that if she goes to your inn, she can make her way to your town,” Zenobia said to him.
Ariq did. A moment later they were out on the street again, his hand at her back. She tried to ignore the stares. At least no one would try to grab her now. And no one blocked her way. Those who didn’t scramble back at Ariq’s approach stood as far to the side of the walk as possible when they passed.
“How does your search for the marauders go?” she asked him. Three days, without a word. She could make up for it now—not just talking, but looking. His strong profile made her almost stupidly happy. “What have you been doing when you aren’t breaking men in half?”
“Killing zombies and destroying the hopes of a good man.”
A grim note in his voice told Zenobia he wasn’t joking.
“No wonder everyone here fears you.” But not in his town. His people trusted him instead of fearing him. She looked toward the inn, where the balloon he’d arrived in still waited. “Where are Tsetseg and the others? They didn’t return with you?”
“They’re going home tomorrow. But today Tsetseg is teaching Jochi’s wrestlers how to disable a mechanical suit with their bare hands.”
“Why?”
“Because his zombies are dead. Now his men don’t have anything to fight tonight when the den lords attend the games. So he’ll ask the twins to send a few of their guards into the arena. The twins will, because they’ll assume their men will win.” Hard satisfaction firmed Ariq’s mouth when he glanced down at her. “And no one in that arena will ever forget seeing unarmed wrestlers defeat those suits.”
Her heart jumped against her ribs. “You said you couldn’t change anything here. But you just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I can’t,” he admitted and his deep laugh made her heart leap again.
Oh, she loved the sound of it. Loved watching him—the rebel who no longer fought, but showed others how to.
“I wish I could see it.” Her gaze settled on the pair of guards patrolling the opposite side of the street. Guards who would report to the twins, but would never have helped her. “I suspect your days have been more interesting than mine. I should have gone with you.”
His humor fled. “I knew you had secrets to keep. So I didn’t want to give anyone reason to notice you.”
That would have been best. “They have reason now.”
“They have reason to be afraid.” Steel hardened his voice. “Because if anyone comes after you, first they’ve got to go through me.”
Kidnappers were more likely to come now that they all knew her name. But maybe the Kraken King’s name was terrifying enough to keep them away, even after she’d returned home. She wouldn’t need mercenaries to protect her then. She wouldn’t need anyone.
And maybe she could walk alone down a street again.
“I hope you’re right,” she said softly.
***
Does it show?
Zenobia’s question wouldn’t stop ringing in his head. That wasn’t disbelief that she’d been struck. That was the reaction of a woman who’d been hit before. A woman who was so accustomed to it, her first thought had been whether the bruises would upset someone else.
A woman who’d hidden evidence from a beating before.
She was up in her rooms now, hiding it again. Concealing the damage.
Fists clenched, Ariq stalked a path in front of the Coopers’ quarters, waiting for Mara. He couldn’t stop moving, not yet. If he did he might tear them all apart.
But he wouldn’t. Zenobia had feared the couple would blame themselves. They probably would. Ariq blamed himself for leaving her here.
She would have called them all fools. The first night he’d met her, she’d told him she wasn’t in the habit of letting other people make her decisions. If she’d made up her mind to go after that typesetter, there was nothing the Coopers could have done to stop her. And if she’d been determined to go alone, she’d have made certain they didn’t even know she was leaving.
And if she’d known that someone would recognize her, Ariq knew she wouldn’t have stepped outside the inn.
Does it show?
A door opened on the upper levels. Mara emerged from Zenobia’s chambers. The mercenary had been waiting for her when they’d returned to the inn, her stern expression failing to conceal her concern. Zenobia had sighed and said, “I will tell you about it upstairs.”
Now Mara would tell Ariq what he needed to know.
If she told him anything at all. Her face was a tight mask as she opened the door to her rooms. Cooper sat inside, and his reaction on seeing his wife’s expression was a mixture of relief and worry. “She’s all right? What happened?”
“He told everyone who she is.” She indicated Ariq with a backward jerk of her thumb.
“She’s been exposed?” Dismay tightened Cooper’s features. “You’ll have to go with her to the Red City.”
Cooper had spoken to Mara, but Ariq answered, “I am.”
With an angry hiss, Mara pivoted toward him. “So I’ve heard. And she won’t let me go until Cooper is ready, so you’d better hope that your name is enough to protect her.”
“If my name isn’t, then I will be.” And now the rebellion would come to him instead of going after her. “But I need to know more.”
“We won’t tell
you her secrets—”
“Not that.” Ariq would wait until Zenobia trusted him enough to tell them herself. “If I’m watching over her, what will I not expect?”
Jaw clenched, Mara stared at him for a long, hard moment. Then she sighed and pulled her hand through her hair. “She’s wary. So you might think she’s always on guard. But she’s distracted when she’s working—when she’s writing her letters and notes. It’s like she’s somewhere else. You can walk up behind her and she won’t notice.”
Ariq nodded. He’d seen that.
“She’s up early and late to bed,” Cooper added. “And she doesn’t sleep well. She’ll get up in the night and won’t be where you expect her to be.”
That wouldn’t be a problem if she was in Ariq’s bed. Everything would be better if she was there.
“Who am I watching for? Who hurt her?”
“Who hasn’t?” In a sharp burst, Mara laughed at him. “Everyone who learns who she is wants to use her for something. She knows it. She’s careful with strangers. She doesn’t trust anyone to be who they’ve said they are, or to truly want what they say they want. So you watch out for strangers—but it’s the people she’s let in who you have to pay close attention to, because her shields are gone with them.”
Mara’s words twisted in Ariq’s chest. With him, Zenobia’s shields were still strong. She’d kissed him. That didn’t mean she would ever let him in. “She’s vulnerable to anyone she cares for?”
“Anyone who cares for her,” Mara said. “So few do. She doesn’t have defense against it.”
No defense. Neither did he. She’d destroyed Ariq’s walls.
Now he knew how to get through hers.
As if realizing what she’d just given away, Mara dropped her hand to her pistol. He’d seen that look in her eyes before—just before she’d shot a marauder in the face. “Understand this, Ariq Noyan: We’ll kill you if she’s hurt.”
He wouldn’t have expected anything less. But they wouldn’t have to kill him.
If anything happened to Zenobia, it would be only because there wasn’t anything of Ariq left.
Part IV
THE KRAKEN KING AND THE INEVITABLE ABDUCTION
Blackwing
Somewhere over Southwestern Australia, en route to the Red City
May 27
My dear brother,
Happily, I have emerged from the smugglers’ dens relatively unscathed. Much has changed since we arrived, however. I am no longer an anonymous traveler. I have been exposed.
Do not fret. I am safe—and not everyone knows who I am. Helene still does not. Unless word travels on the winds, no one in the Red City will know, either. My guards are staying in the dens for a few more days while Cooper’s legs are repaired, but they will soon follow. In the meantime, I am traveling in the company of the governor of Krakentown, who has already snapped one man in half for me. I am certain he can protect me until Mara and Cooper arrive.
I suppose that if my other letters have reached you, then you are already on your way to this part of the world, and you’ll receive this upon your return. But if by happy chance this message reaches you first, know I am well and that you shouldn’t bother to come.
Truly. Do not come. If you do, in my next adventure Archimedes Fox will suffer unimaginable tortures at the hands of a villain. When a beautiful mercenary finally rescues him, he shall make very dull comments—and wear an ugly waistcoat, too.
All of my love,
Zenobia
XIII
The flight to the Red City was already better than Zenobia’s previous voyage aboard an airship—and not just because they hadn’t been attacked by marauders.
At least not yet. After all that had befallen them on this journey, Zenobia wouldn’t make any bets.
But if any pirates or marauders had nefarious plans for Blackwing and her passengers, little time remained to carry them out. Though the city wasn’t clearly visible over the ridge of green hills ahead, the smudge of blue sea on the far northeast horizon told Zenobia that they would be upon it soon.
Too soon. She’d been so eager for her last airship journey to end. Not this one.
The polished boards of the observation deck vibrated softly beneath her feet. She’d spent most of her time here, standing at the large portholes, watching a narrow thread of the continent unspool ahead. Grasslands had given way to endless desert scrub, then abruptly to green again. She’d risen in the morning to see a cloud of dust swirling in the distance like a storm, and as they’d passed she’d realized it had been stirred beneath the feet of a thousand walking machines, all marching together. To the south, a city had stood like a monolith, and around it delicate winged airships had fluttered on the air currents like butterflies. The night had been hot, almost too hot to breathe, but noon had brought the sweet scent of rain through the open portholes at the sides of the ship. She’d been fed melons that had somehow been chilled, and dishes that were spicy and sour, with meats so rich they’d all but dissolved on her tongue. Almost everything she’d encountered seemed designed to clutch at her heart and overwhelm her senses.
Especially the man who stood beside her.
Ariq had hardly left her side. He’d been the last person she’d said good night to the previous evening, and the first she’d seen upon emerging from her cabin that morning. That should have annoyed her. There were few people whose company she could tolerate for more than a couple of hours at a stretch.
But she hadn’t tired of him. Not even for a second.
He’d told her about his visits with the den lords, of how he’d traded a kraken’s penis for information, and how Lord Jochi had remembered a much younger Ariq wrestling in a tournament against a butcher.
He’d asked about Fladstrand, and she’d told him of the cold sea and how the wind had a knife’s edge, of the neighbors who were always peeking through their windows, and how the ferries always left with more young people than returned.
He didn’t ask why Polley had attacked her. When others were around to hear, he still called her Lady Inkslinger instead of Zenobia. And when she needed to scrawl a reminder in her notebook, or took more time to write out an idea, he occupied himself until she was done.
She hadn’t kissed him again. Lord knew she’d wanted to. But it was his turn to take the initiative. There had been too many stops and starts already. She’d rejected him, and he’d encouraged her. Then the moment she’d given a thought to pursuing more, he’d put distance between them. So she would not be the one who kept going to him, and going to him, while he waited for her to come. They needed to meet halfway.
So now, she waited for him to take that step. She’d waited all through the night, wondering if he would tap on her cabin door—or simply come in, slide into her bed, and . . .
She didn’t know.
Well, she knew. She’d read enough. She’d seen scientific woodcuts and bawdy cartoons depicting all of the positions. Most of her acquaintances believed her to be a widow, so they weren’t as discreet when speaking about their husbands. And a woman couldn’t walk along the docks in any town without overhearing some lewd suggestion or happening across a sailor with his trousers around his knees. It was all very simple. A man would push his penis inside her and press passionate kisses to her face and breasts, then grunt and heave over her until he spent his seed. And if she were lucky—very lucky, according to some of the wives she’d heard talk about it—she would feel the same rush of pleasure that she got from rubbing between her legs.
But Zenobia had thought she’d known what kissing was, too.
So until last night, when she’d been waiting in her sweltering cabin and listening for a tread outside her door, she’d never imagined those passionate kisses might include the slick thrust of his tongue. She’d never given a thought to what her hands might do, but now she longed to clutch at his broad shoulders, to slide her palms down his strong back, to hold him close. She knew his taste and his scent and his soft growling moan. She knew the ha
rd beauty of his face and the darkness of his eyes, and when he covered his body with hers, she thought she might drown in them.
He would be heavy. A solid weight between her thighs. Until last night, she’d never imagined it.
Now she couldn’t stop.
“What is it?” His voice low, Ariq interrupted her thoughts.
Because she had been staring at him again. Not that she had been seeing him. No, his tunic concealed too much. It revealed the breadth of his shoulders, but not the solid form beneath. And that was what she’d been remembering. How he’d stood without a shirt atop a kraken, and how his muscles had rippled with every push and pull of the saw. How he’d walked out of the sea and teased her in the moonlight with only a towel circling his hips. So she’d been staring, thinking of her legs circling his hips and trying to calculate the weight of him there.
She glanced around them. Farther along the deck, Helene reclined on the lounging chair, in conversation with Lieutenant Blanchett. A few other passengers walked from porthole to porthole, looking out. No one was near, so Zenobia could say whatever she wished.
She met Ariq’s gaze again. “I was thinking that you are very big.”
His expression barely altered. Just a sleepy droop of his eyelids, as if they were heavy, and the airship seemed to shift beneath her feet. Oh, dear God. Whatever she’d been imagining now . . . she suspected it would be no more like the reality than her first imaginings had been.
“I am,” he said.
Big. She’d almost forgotten what he was responding to. Looking blindly through the porthole, she pressed her hand against the cool glass, trying not to feel her heart pounding through her skin. “I won’t kiss you again.”
Ariq pushed closer, and though he didn’t touch her, suddenly she could feel every inch of him.
Like coarse wool scraping over steel, he softly said, “You won’t?”
“It’s your turn to kiss me.”
Best to tell him, or he might wait forever for some silly reason. Who knew what twisted logic lay in men’s minds? She still didn’t know why he’d tried for distance before. They had been moving in opposite directions all this time, and she didn’t know why they were coming together now.
The Kraken King Page 23