The Kraken King Part III: The Kraken King and the Fox's Den (A Novel of the Iron Seas)

by Meljean Brook

  “I’m leaving tonight,” she told him hoarsely. “I’ve arranged for an airship.”

  “I know. I’m leaving with you.”

  Nonsense. But her fingers twisted in his tunic, holding him closer. “You don’t have to protect me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’ll hire someone until Mara and Cooper come. You have a town to worry about.”

  “And that business takes me to the Red City.”

  Her heart squeezed. “Oh.”

  “But I would go anyway.”

  This time her heart gave a wild thump. “Oh,” she said again, and was smiling when he drew away.

  But he wasn’t smiling. He cupped her face in his hands and his dark eyes searched hers. “When we left my town, I meant to let you go. I have to choose battles. You weren’t as important.”

  Always blunt. She loved that.

  “I tried to keep you away,” she reminded him.

  “I tried to keep you out. We should have both tried harder.” His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her lips and her breath caught. His head dipped closer to hers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You will if you kiss me.”

  His thumb brushed the corner of her bruised mouth. His voice roughened. “Yes.”

  So he wouldn’t. Then she just had to hurt herself.

  Her sore knuckles protested when she gripped his tunic front and dragged him down. He didn’t have to come. The Kraken King, formed of solid muscle and so much taller than she was. But he was a man who chose his battles, and denying her must have been a fight he didn’t want to win.

  And it did hurt. But she expected that. She expected the pain in her knuckles and the burning sting of her lips. His mouth was what she’d expected, too. Warm and firm against hers.

  No one had told her about the rest. She’d thought a kiss was just a pleasurable meeting of lips. No one said anything of the incredible prickling all over her skin or the sweet ache building beneath her breast.

  She would have left without this? But now she would have no regrets.

  Her fingers curled against his chest. A sigh escaped her.

  As if he’d been waiting for that tremulous breath to part her lips, Ariq leaned in, surrounding her, his right hand sliding into her hair and his left flattening against the wall beside her shoulder. Dense muscle flexed beneath her fingers. His mouth moved tenderly against hers, as if taking delicate sips. Oh, but he might as well have been gulping, consuming her, hollowing her out. Her heartbeat filled all the empty spaces, throbbing deeper with every soft kiss.

  With a low groan, he licked the seam of her lips. She gasped his name and he swept in, tasting her, his tongue hot and slick. Sudden need yanked her body up like a puppet, onto her toes, trying to get closer. Her arms rose to loop around his neck.

  Pain ripped up her side.

  She froze. Oh, God. She shouldn’t have lifted her arms so high. But it was too late now. Ariq was pulling away, his body rigid.

  “All right?” His voice was taut with strain.

  Zenobia nodded. Mostly all right. She wouldn’t be bowing or bending for a while. Hopefully there would be more kissing, though.

  Even if it hurt.

  A crimson streak stained his lower lip. She touched her own mouth. “Is it bleeding again?”

  “Yes.” A sudden tremor wracked his body. His fingers tightened in her hair, his gaze intense on hers. “I won’t see you hurt again. You have to tell me the rest. Why this man attacked you. How much you know of my uncle—and how you know of him at all.”

  She couldn’t follow. He knew who she was but didn’t know why Polley had tried to kidnap her? And she didn’t understand the rest at all. “Your uncle?”

  “Temür Agha.”

  The rebel general who’d sent assassins after her brother. He was Ariq’s uncle? Mutely, she stared at him.

  What could she say without endangering Archimedes? Ariq thought his uncle was dead. He couldn’t know that her brother had paid his debt to the man.

  What did he know? He’d called her Zenobia Fox. But did he know that she was also a Gunther-Baptiste?

  “Not now.” Gently, his fingers brushed back through her hair, trailed down her spine. “I’ll give you time. Tomorrow night, we’ll reach the Red City. Tell me then.”

  She shook her head. Not a denial. She just didn’t know how to answer. But she wasn’t going to lose her head just because a handsome man kissed her senseless. She would take the time he’d promised.

  “Trust me,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Zenobia had heard that before. “And if you have to, it’s my own fault?”

  A frown darkened his face. “No.”

  “Then I’ll consider it.”

  She pulled away and started toward the mouth of the alley, where the gathering crowd still stared. What a blasted mess she was. Face bruised, her green tunic ruined, and her hair hanging loose. A few minutes ago, she’d been no one while walking down this street. Now everyone looked and knew her name.

  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 A
riq’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.

  Look for Part IV

  THE KRAKEN KING AND THE INEVITABLE ABDUCTION

  Available from InterMix May 6, 2014

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Meljean Brook’s novel of the Iron Seas

  HEART OF STEEL

  Available now from Berkley

  Yasmeen hadn’t had any reason to fly her airship into the small Danish township of Fladstrand before, but her reputation had obviously preceded her. All along the Scandinavian coast, rum dives served as a town’s only line of defense against mercenaries and pirates—and only as soon as the sky paled and Lady Corsair became visible on the eastern horizon, lights began appearing in the windows of the public houses alongside the docks. The taverns were opening early, hoping to make a few extra deniers before midday . . . and the good citizens of Fladstrand were probably praying that her crew wouldn’t venture beyond t
he docks and into the town itself.

  Unfortunately for them, Lady Corsair’s crew wasn’t in Fladstrand to drink. Nor were they here to cause trouble, but Yasmeen wasn’t inclined to let the town know that. Let them tremble for a while. It did her reputation good.

  Dawn had completely faded from the sky by the time Lady Corsair breached the mouth of the harbor. Standing behind the windbreak on the quarterdeck, Yasmeen aimed her spyglass at the skyrunners tethered over the docks. She recognized each airship—all of them served as passenger ferries between the Danish islands to the east and Sweden to the north. Several heavy-bottomed cargo ships floated in the middle of the icy harbor, their canvas sails furled and their wooden hulls rocking with each swell. Though she knew the skyrunners, Yasmeen couldn’t identify every ship in the water. Most of Fladstrand fished or farmed—two activities unrelated to the sort of business Yasmeen conducted. Whatever cargo the ships carried probably fermented or flopped, and she had no interest in either until they reached her mug or her plate.

  When Lady Corsair’s long shadow passed over the flat, sandy shoreline and the first rows of houses overlooking the sea, Yasmeen ordered the engines cut. Their huffing and vibrations gave way to the flap of the airship’s unfurling sails and the cawing protests of seabirds. Below, the narrow cobblestone streets lay almost empty. A steamcart puttered along beside an ass-drawn wagon loaded with wooden barrels, but most of the good people of Fladstrand scrambled back to their homes as soon as they spotted Lady Corsair in the skies above them—hiding behind locked doors and shuttered windows, hoping that whatever business Yasmeen had wouldn’t involve them.

  They were in luck. Today, Yasmeen only sought one woman: Zenobia Fox, author of several popular stories that Yasmeen had read to pieces, and sister to a charming antiquities salvager whose adventures Zenobia based her stories on . . . a man whom Yasmeen had recently killed.