Which left only a few options. And in each one, Ariq ended up in the sea, swimming.
So he could rescue her.
It was the only plot hole that had ever filled her with giddy delight. Oh, she was such a fool. Stories ended, and so did adventures—but life continued on. Theirs would, too. Ariq might stay in the Red City long enough to clear up the mess that their abduction had caused, but surely he would soon have to return to Krakentown. Zenobia was obligated to stay until she saw Helene settled and safe. Then she would go home to Fladstrand.
But this adventure wasn’t over yet. She was still hundreds of miles out to sea, flying above the waves in a jellyfish balloon.
After days of gray, the ocean was a deep blue again. Sunlight danced over the swells, stinging tears from her eyes that the wind whipped back to soak the hair at her temples. The blanket around her shoulders flapped wildly behind her. She’d known few airships that could travel so swiftly—and those were powered by engines. But this . . . she couldn’t look up without being amazed all over again.
From the top of the dome to the rim, the gelatinous mass overhead rhythmically thickened and thinned, as if swimming through the air. Short, gleaming tentacles hung from the translucent body like tassels on a lamp shade. Ariq had told her that war lanterns possessed longer tentacles with venomous stings, which often killed more soldiers within the balloons than the venom killed enemies. But this lantern had been designed for travel, not battle.
Three paces long on each side, the basket was just large enough that two people could ride comfortably, whether sitting or standing.
Or while lying on top of each other.
Her cheeks heated. Her windblown hair swept forward, tangled curls waving like two flags along either side of her face as she looked away from the jellyfish’s pulsating body. Ariq stood at the center of the basket winding the electrostatic charger again. The faster they went, the more often he had to crank it. The rush of the wind almost drowned out the clacking gears and plastered his tunic against the sculpture of his broad chest. Feet braced apart, he rotated the crankshaft overhead, all wide shoulders and flexing muscle.
A sigh of pleasure moved through her. She probably shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Of all the idiotic, reckless things she might have done, surely that was at the top of the list. But here she was.
And it was rather marvelous. Her heart was an overfilled inkwell. She couldn’t keep up with the spill. There were words she could write with that ink, phrases that might describe the sensation of his touch or the sound of his voice, but as soon as she captured the right ones they were obliterated by the overflow. No description could capture the joy and pleasure of simply watching him. Or the anguish, too, in the icy lump at the corner of her heart that knew the end of this adventure would come too soon.
But she could push that aside for now. She could drown every doubt. There would be time enough for those later.
For now there was only Ariq.
He finished winding the charger, and her pulse raced off again, leaping as he met her gaze through the lenses of his aviator goggles. A single step brought him to her side, and though she knew by the look in his eyes exactly what would happen, her need still took her by surprise. Before his fingers pushed her tangled hair away from her cheeks, she was tilting her face up. Before his mouth lowered, she was lifting to meet him.
He stole her senses so easily. She couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the warmth of his lips, the scratch of stubble against her chin, and her heart was spilling over again. God, the way he kissed her. The sweetness of it. As if it wasn’t just the first step to her bed, but a pleasure in itself.
Such a pleasure. Every time.
But this kiss had to end, too.
Lifting his head, he searched her face. His thumbs wiped away the wet paths from the corners of her eyes to her temples. “Are you finished?”
Writing. After they’d shared a breakfast of spongy flatbread provided by the naturalist, she’d spent the next few hours on the basket floor, hunched over her notebook, while Ariq stood as lookout. He’d spotted a few vessels in the distance, in both the sky and on the water, but no ironship.
“Finished for now,” she said.
“The same story again?”
Her throat tightened and she shook her head. The loss of her work still hurt. Losing the letters was worse. She could remember all that Archimedes had written, but it wasn’t the same as opening them, or seeing her brother’s familiar hand.
“A new one,” she said. “But I can’t talk about it until it feels more . . . certain. At the start, it’s always too easy to convince myself that it will all fall apart.”
Especially now, with this story. It was truly new for her. No Archimedes Fox or Lady Lynx.
Which might be the worst idea she’d ever had. Her publisher would probably think so.
He nodded. “You’ll watch with me, then?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want the goggles?”
They only had one pair aboard the balloon. “No. I’ll stand with my back to the wind.”
It was easier to see him facing this direction, anyway. The beauty of the ocean and the bright cloud-puffed sky lay before them, but it was his neck that drew her gaze. He’d tied his hair in the thick knot again—probably so that it wouldn’t whip in his eyes as hers kept doing. She liked it down, as it had been this morning, when it framed his jaw and directed her focus to the generous width of his mouth. But she liked this, too, when the side of his neck and the tendon that ran the length of his throat were exposed. She wanted to bite him there, and lick his skin, and it seemed such an odd place to fixate on. Perhaps because necks were supposed to be vulnerable, yet his seemed so very strong.
All of him seemed so very strong. Not just his body. His heart, his will. It might have been foolish to fall in love, but at least her heart had been practical when it had chosen this man. It couldn’t have chosen a better one.
She wished that Ariq’s had chosen her—not the woman he’d thought she’d been. The spy. The woman in distress. Was he still holding on to a false impression of her? Trying to persuade himself that the differences wouldn’t matter? Each kiss said that he must be. One day, he would stop trying to pretend she was the same. Hopefully they would be separated before then. He would be in Krakentown; she would be home. He would still have warm memories of her instead of disappointment and bitterness.
The dark lump in her heart grew, a dull frozen ache beneath her breast. Oh, but not yet. She wouldn’t let it consume her yet. There was still time left.
Time spent with him. She slipped between his big body and the side of the basket, her lower back braced by the guard rail. Her head wouldn’t block his view; she wasn’t that tall. Her hair blew forward, the tips curling against his chest.
Ariq glanced down at her face, then at the narrow space between them. Her breath caught. A small step would fill that space, pressing his length to hers. But he didn’t move, and instead the distance was filled with their shared heat and what felt like a promise. That space wouldn’t remain.
For now, it did. His gaze scanned the water again, searching for the ironship—a ship that, under other circumstances, he might have been serving aboard.
“The general said you abandoned them,” she said.
His jaw hardened. “I left. But I didn’t desert them.”
“I didn’t think you had. You would be dead now. Wouldn’t you?” She didn’t know of any army that didn’t execute its deserters.
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave?” She gripped the blanket tighter at her sternum to stop the wind from skating down her neck. “Not just why—you already said that the rebellion was moving in the wrong direction—but there must have been a moment, something that tipped your decision. Was it your mother?”
His gaze searched her face again. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I’d already made the decision. I’d told Ghazan Bator of my intentions and had been
handing over my duties when news of her execution came. When news of my brother came.”
And he’d gone to rescue Taka from a prison. “What happened?”
“An earthquake.” His chest lifted on a deep breath. “Though I didn’t know anything of it, then. We received word that a regiment was marching quickly south from Ghanzou. Five thousand men. They had supplies but weren’t heavily armed. They seemed an easy target.”
“But they weren’t?”
“They were. I took a thousand soldiers. We ambushed them at the head of a valley. By the time my archers were done, little resistance remained. But when we moved in, I discovered the regiment’s purpose.” He looked to the sea again. Sunlight warmed the high arch of his cheekbones and the clenching muscles in his jaw before he continued, “The earthquake had buried an entire district under rubble. The Khagan had sent the regiment to dig out the survivors, and supplies to help feed and house the remaining families.”
So the tyrant helped his people, sometimes. “What did you do?”
“Took the regiment’s supplies and continued their march to Longnan. But we were only a thousand strong, when there might have been five thousand. I don’t know how many died because we brought fewer hands.”
But the roughness of his voice told Zenobia that he felt every single one. “Then you left the rebellion out of guilt?”
“No.” A cold glaze swept over his eyes. “I left because I received orders from Ghazan Bator to take the supplies and abandon Longnan.”
“While people were still buried?”
He nodded. “Another regiment was coming from the south, but was still three days away. They could help rebuild but not help save those still under the rubble.”
“What did you do?”
“Disregarded my orders to leave immediately. We stayed as long as we could—and we didn’t take the supplies.”
“And you rebelled against the rebellion,” she said.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Not just me. Most of my soldiers would have disregarded my orders if I’d told them to leave earlier.”
She couldn’t mistake the pride in his voice when he spoke of them. “Then they went with you and helped build your town.”
“Many of them.”
“And you brought your brother, too.”
His penetrating gaze narrowed on her. “The general told you?”
“Yes. While he was telling me you wouldn’t come.”
Ariq abruptly closed the distance. His long fingers swept into her hair and he kissed her, long and hard, before lifting his head.
“I would.” It was an urgent vow against her tender lips. “I always will.”
Throat thick, she nodded. He didn’t step away but turned his back against the basket and held her, his solid warmth against the wind.
He had come. He’d swum through an ocean for her. Maybe jumped from an airship. And as giddy as the knowledge made her there was pain, too, rising. She didn’t know where it was originating from.
Except that she feared this end. And even more, she feared a day when he wouldn’t come.
But she wouldn’t think of that now. She would hide away from those doubts.
There was only Ariq.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Was it difficult seeing Taka’s father? You wanted to kill him.”
“It was difficult knowing that I couldn’t kill him without endangering my town. But to see him? No.” His hand stroked the length of her back. “The most difficult part was realizing how little of herself my mother had given Taka.”
She glanced up. The sun glinted off the frames of his goggles. He wasn’t looking down at her, but gazing off into the distance, his strong profile a hard line. “How so?”
“She protected Taka by never telling him who she was. But I wonder now if it would have been better to give him that purpose, as she did to me. At least then, when he lost everything—his love, his honor—it would have been for a reason. He was the innocent trampled by a war, because she never gave him that part of herself. And now he is the reflection of his father.”
“Are you her reflection?”
“I think so. Even though my face is my father’s. But we are likely all reflections of our parents in some way.”
A brittle laugh escaped her. “I hope not.”
“No?”
“My father was a controlling bastard.”
“And your mother?”
“She—” Had done everything she could.
Guilt rose, heavy and bitter in Zenobia’s chest. Would she truly not want to be her mother? A gentle and kind woman. Zenobia wasn’t that. But if she had been, there would have been no shame in being her mother’s reflection. She’d been thoughtless to even suggest it.
“I’m not like her,” she finally said. “It wouldn’t be so terrible if I was. But I hope that my circumstances are never the same. That I would never be so . . . trapped.”
“How?”
By her husband, by the law, by her gender, by society. “In just about every way possible.”
“Is she still alive?”
Was Ariq imagining another rescue? Such a man he was. She closed her eyes against the sudden sting. “No. She died shortly after my father did.”
“Did she enjoy any freedom in that time?”
“No. She never learned that he was dead.” And died fearing his return. Died because she’d feared his return. The sting in Zenobia’s eyes became a flood. Her throat began to ache. Hoarsely she whispered, “I can’t.”
“Then don’t.” His arm tightened around her. “How did your father die? Do you want to describe it?”
Another laugh burst from her. That would make her feel better.
She wiped her eyes. “He owned an airship. One of his aviators shot him when he tried to roast her for mutiny, then she took over his position as captain. My brother married her.”
Ariq’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Did he? Was that brave or reckless?”
“A little of both.” But her brother was not the only one who loved Yasmeen for it. “She’s inspired some of my stories, too.”
Captain Corsair and Archimedes Fox. They would come for her soon. A few weeks. Helene might be settled by then. Zenobia would be free to return home.
On a shuddering sigh, she turned in the circle of his arms, her back against his chest and her face to the wind. “How long will you stay in the Red City?”
The warmth of his mouth caressed the side of her neck, drawing a shiver over her exposed flesh. “Until the empress or her advisers hear my appeal.”
“You’re going directly to them?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“It depends if they listen. Why? Do you need to stay in the Red City?”
“For Helene.”
“Why?”
That wasn’t Zenobia’s secret to tell. She only shook her head and closed her eyes against the buffeting wind.
The arm around her waist tensed. “I prefer that you’re with me. I’ll stay in the Red City as long as I can.”
To protect her? Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. “Do you think the general will attempt to take me again? To use me against you?”
“He would try.”
Ariq’s tone said that Ghazan Bator wouldn’t succeed. Zenobia didn’t intend to let him, either. This time they would be better prepared. “I’ll be all right if you have to go.” Her body would be safe, at least; she couldn’t vouch for her heart. “Mara and Cooper should be at the embassy by now.”
Unless they were tracking down the marauders, trying to find her.
“Yes. But that isn’t the only reason I want you with me,” Ariq said, and his teeth caught the lobe of her ear.
God. The blood seemed to drain from her head. She sagged against him, feeling that tiny pinch over every inch of her skin. Heart racing, she gripped his arm for balance, his muscles like iron beneath his sleeve.
What had he said? Three days, recovering. Because he would h
ave her deep and hard.
Recovery might take longer than that if he could shatter her equilibrium with a single nip of his teeth.
Zenobia fought for coherence. “Because I’ll warm your bed? That can’t possibly take precedence over the safety of your town.”
“No.” This time the nip was sharper, as if in gentle admonishment. “Because you’re my wife.”
Despite the painful clench in her chest, she had to laugh. “So we’ll continue telling everyone that? Why?”
Ariq didn’t answer.
Her heart gave a heavy thud. He didn’t answer and he’d been a solid presence behind her, but now his body felt like steel. Not just quiet, but rigid with tension.
“Ariq?”
Firm hands caught her hips and spun her around, pressing her back against the rail. Stunned, she stared up at him. Her hair streamed across her face and snapped in the wind. Trepidation tripped through her chest.
His expression had darkened but he didn’t look angry. Just intensely focused on her. He’d pushed the goggles up over his forehead, his brows drawn and his gaze like a blade. And calm. So calm. As he had been while freeing Cooper from the boilerworm’s jaws. As he had been after breaking Polley in half. As he had been when the admiral had first stepped into the vault. The calm that signaled he was ready for battle.
Against her?
Softly he asked, “Why wouldn’t you continue telling everyone that we’re married?”
Was she supposed to? Did they still need to pretend? She hadn’t thought so.
Uncertain, she clutched the blanket tighter and futilely tried to hook her streaming hair behind her ear. “Because we’re not.”
“No?” He leaned closer, gripping the edge of the basket at either side of her waist. “You agreed to be my wife.”
“Yes. But we were in a vault. Alone.”
As if that meant nothing, he discarded it with a shake of his head. “Do you need the approval of your family? You once told me that you don’t let others make decisions for you, so I didn’t think I needed to ask anyone else. Should I have approached your brother first?”
“No.” God, no.
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