The Almost King

by Lucy Saxon

  ‘I did,’ he confirmed, figuring that now he wasn’t a prisoner, the man would be willing to talk to him instead of over him. ‘Where do I sign?’ All he wanted was to go home, shower, get warm and see his friends. The man reached into a drawer in his desk, pulling out two sets of stapled papers.

  ‘Here, and here,’ he instructed, handing over a pen and gesturing to the dotted lines at the bottom of each paper. ‘This one to release you of all charges, and this one to forfeit your commitment to the military.’ Aleks took the pen, a wide smile on his face as he scrawled his signature twice. He got a dizzying amount of pleasure from signing the second one, secure in the knowledge that he would never again have to see the cold, grim inside of Rensav’s military base. He could get an apprenticeship, he could go home and see his family, he could get married.

  ‘Congratulations, you’re free to go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Aleks replied, grinning and shaking the man’s hand. He was almost giddy with excitement as he walked towards the door, refraining from sticking his tongue out childishly at the guards when they didn’t follow him. The door unlocked easily from that side, and almost as soon as he stepped out a black blur came flying at him. He held his hands up automatically, frowning when he caught his coat.

  ‘Thought you might need it,’ a familiar voice called, and when he moved the thick leather off his face he saw Luka standing a few feet in front of him, smirking. ‘Happy now?’ Aleks laughed, dashing forward and grabbing the old man in a tight hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said heartily, feeling a lump rise in his throat. ‘You gave up your ship for my freedom . . . you gave up everything. I can never repay you for that.’ Luka struggled out of the hug, tutting even as he fought a smile.

  ‘Don’t be daft, lad. I didn’t give up everything!’ he insisted. Aleks shrugged his coat on, giving the man a perplexed look.

  ‘But you gave up the Thunderbug. Eight years of your work, and it’ll be dismantled and replicated a hundred times over at the Academy. There’ll be ships like it travelling through the Stormlands within a few years,’ he pointed out, frowning. As much as he hated it, he still knew that all the small ships in the world couldn’t make Karana a viable colony, and people would see that for themselves as soon as they reached it. Besides, he thought he’d got through to Prince Erik.

  ‘Gods, you’re an idiot sometimes,’ Luka muttered, shaking his head. ‘I can build a new ship without too many problems. I’ve sod all else to do with my time. And I’ll tell you this – the greatest mechanical minds at the Academy could spend ten years dismantling and studying that ship, but not a single one will be able to rebuild anything even remotely similar without my input.’ From anyone else it would have sounded arrogant, but Aleks knew that if Luka believed it then it was probably true.

  ‘Did you finish fixing her left propeller?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he drawled in reply. ‘Like I said, none of them will even come close to figuring out how it works. The Academy teaches people to copy, not to create, and you know damn well you need plenty of creativity to understand my girl.’ His voice was proud, and Aleks laughed.

  ‘They’ll come after you when they realise they can’t get her to work. Beg for your help, bribe you, everything.’

  ‘And I still won’t give them a word,’ Luka promised. ‘Until they can finally churn out someone who isn’t a mindless idiot doomed to make timepieces for the rest of his life, I have nothing to say to the Academy.’ He clapped Aleks on the shoulder, urging him forward. ‘Now, let’s get you home. I know a lot of people are awfully worried about you. That poor Raina girl seems to think they’ll cart you off to Rensav as soon as we turn our backs.’ Aleks remembered the look on Raina’s face as the guards had dragged him handcuffed from the inn, guilt curling in his stomach at causing so much stress.

  ‘How has everyone been? Was there anything in the newscasts about it?’ he asked worriedly, turning a corner with Luka at his side. It would take them a while to get back to the Compass from where they were, but Aleks was glad for the walk; it would give him time to get his head straight.

  ‘No, but there were enough people there that night for things to spread through word of mouth. Most seem to believe the arrest is just for captaining the ship; they all think it’s grossly unfair and have been petitioning for your release since you were arrested. The whole desertion charge seems to have been kept quiet.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Aleks said softly, relieved. ‘No doubt the newscasts reporters will be all over the most recent development in good time. I had no idea the king was even in the city.’

  ‘He wasn’t, until the first newscast about Karana. Apparently he hightailed it here with his eldest as soon as he was available, and covered it by saying they were visiting the younger lad,’ Luka informed him knowledgeably.

  ‘Well, I’m sure while he’s here he’ll be happy to do interviews about taking over the rule of Karana on behalf of the Siberene royal family,’ Aleks remarked with irony. Luka stopped, turning to look at him in shock.

  ‘Rule? They took it from you?’ he asked, and Aleks frowned, nodding. Not that it was really his in the first place, but no one needed to know that.

  The conversation halted when they stopped outside the Compass. Aleks grinned, pushing the door open. Expecting Raina, Ksenia and Bodan, his eyes widened when he also saw Saria and Drazan sitting by the bar, smiling broadly at him. Saria practically flew into his arms, bringing him into a firm kiss. ‘Oh, thank the gods you’re OK,’ she breathed, her cheek against his as she hugged him. ‘I was so worried they’d find a way to keep you in there, or worse.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he whispered, fingers tangling in her hair. ‘I’m home and they have nothing to keep me there any more. I signed release papers, I’m cleared of all charges, and my enlistment papers are gone,’ he promised. She smiled, letting him go so he could greet the others. Raina hugged him, pulling back to meet his gaze seriously.

  ‘Is everything all right now?’ she asked pointedly, and he nodded, tugging her ponytail gently. She looked worried, clearly still expecting someone to drag him off for four years of military service.

  ‘Everything is just fine,’ he confirmed. ‘I’m cleared of all offence charges and obligations. I’m a completely free man.’ The girl beamed, hugging him again.

  ‘Thank the gods,’ she murmured vehemently. ‘And don’t you ever scare me like that again!’ Instead of arguing that it was hardly his fault, he nodded, managing a grin.

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ he assured her. Drazan hugged him in greeting, hustling him onto his stool at the bar, where Ksenia presented him with a large, home-cooked dinner.

  ‘How did old Luka manage it, then?’ Drazan asked, looking from Aleks to the mechanic. ‘We thought for sure there must be military secrets involved, for him to bribe the guard captain. What does he know?’ Aleks smirked to himself, wondering how to break it to the pilot that Luka hadn’t just bribed the guard captain but the king too.

  ‘Let the man eat first, storms!’ Ksenia interrupted. ‘He’s had one hell of a weekend, no doubt.’ Aleks smiled wryly; that was one way of putting it.

  After he’d eaten, Bodan brought out the good cider, and together he and Luka recounted everything that had happened from the moment Aleks had been arrested, one filling in details where the other couldn’t. Aleks grinned at his captive audience as he revealed the meeting he’d had earlier in the day, repeating almost every word that had transpired, and watching their amazed faces as they digested it all.

  ‘Expect a newscast soon giving some concocted story about how I offered the land to my king in fealty or something. No doubt they’ll make me look awfully meek and spineless while they do so,’ Aleks mused, shrugging.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Drazan remarked. ‘I was starting to like the idea of being friends with a king.’ The pilot winked conspiratorially, making Aleks snort.

  ‘Leave off,’ he muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘I didn’t want the title in
the first place. I just hope he won’t end up doing anything with it.’ He hadn’t mentioned the look he’d shared with Prince Erik, not wanting to raise any hopes if it turned out the man had similar opinions to his father. Still, Aleks liked to think he had got through to him. ‘No, I’m just glad to be free. It’s more than I ever expected.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I just wish we hadn’t had to go through so much to get there.’ Drazan reached over to touch his shoulder, a knowing look on his face.

  ‘You can’t predict the future, Aleks. None of this would have happened if you could. But . . . it could have gone worse.’ He swallowed and Aleks offered a half-smile. He was right; it could have gone a lot worse. All of them could have died out there, or two of them, leaving the third stranded and alone. Or Aleks could have died in Rensav before any of that even happened.

  ‘Just thank the gods it’s over,’ he mused. ‘Albeit not quite in one piece.’ Drazan nodded, then raised his tankard.

  ‘To Aleks’s freedom, the end of a journey, and the beginning of a new one,’ he added with a faint smile.

  ‘And to Zhora, who helped me when I needed it most, and made all of this possible, even if he can’t be here to see it,’ Aleks said, raising his tankard. A murmur of ‘To Zhora’ went round the group, followed by the tap of tankards and then silence as everyone drank.

  ‘I wish I could’ve met Zhora,’ Saria said. ‘I have a lot to thank him for.’ Aleks’s arm tightened around her shoulders and he kissed her temple.

  ‘He wouldn’t have let you,’ he told her fondly, making Drazan smile. Surrounded by people who had become as close as family, Aleks couldn’t help but glance at Drazan, thinking of the man who should have been occupying the space between him and Luka. Plenty of amazing things had resulted from Aleks leaving home, and he would never forget them: flying through the Stormlands and meeting Kara and her people; seeing the beauty of the land there; meeting so many wonderful people in Syvana, people who he knew would be in his life for decades to come; finding Saria and falling in love – none of it would have been possible if he’d stayed in his tiny village and done what was expected of him. But, despite all that, those things would never be worth Zhora’s life.

  Read on for a taste of

  the first thrilling adventure in the

  epic world of Tellus

  1

  Rain fell lazily from charcoal-coloured clouds as Catherine Hunter sprinted through darkening streets, her long hair tied in a tight braid and tucked beneath a black knitted cap. Her thick woollen coat and black work trousers disguised her gender quite nicely. She was practically unrecognisable; only the people who knew her well would have been able to tell who she was.

  A faint smile tugged at her lips as she reached the familiar tree beside the high stone wall that surrounded the area in which she lived. It took barely any effort to swing herself up into its branches, the knots worn into footholds by constant use. With practised ease, she scrambled up as high as she could manage, edging on to an outstretched branch that just brushed the wall’s peak. From there it was just a short jump over the wall, her thud upon landing muffled by the grass. Taking no longer than a second to regain her balance, she resumed running, diving into a gap at the base of a bush. The fence panel behind it was open, as she’d left it, and she crawled through without a care for the mud on her clothes. Her father would never see them.

  Flitting across the garden to the back door, she pulled a pin from her hair and slid it into the lock, opening it effortlessly. Leaving her boots at the very back of the hall closet, she shut the door soundlessly behind her, hurrying in socked feet towards the stairs. It was her habit to be silent, though she knew she was unlikely to draw her father from his office. Catherine would rather not risk it; the punishment for sneaking out was one she didn’t like to think about.

  After a brief detour to her bedroom to change into more appropriate clothing, Catherine wandered down to the living room, pulling her hair loose as she did so. She was unsurprised to see the newscast screen on in the corner; rarely did her father turn it off, even if he was nowhere near it. She sank on to the plush grey carpet, pulling her knees up to her chest and trying to regulate her breathing. Her father probably wouldn’t want her to join him for dinner, but if he did decide to summon her and she gave herself away by looking out of breath, she could expect to be unable to sit down for at least a week.

  She sighed to herself as upbeat music began to blare from the newscast screen and another recruitment broadcast played out. She wished that, just once, they might show something other than the war. Yes, she understood that the war with Mericus was important and people wanted to know what was going on – but didn’t people also wantto know what was going on in Siberene, or how the storms were in the East?

  ‘Your child will be one of many, expertly trained to protect their country,’ the cast told her in a proud, tinny voice. She sighed once more, tightly hugging her knees. Had she been a common child she would have been one of those sent to fight so the adults could stay behind and keep the country from crumbling. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for her birth, or dismayed by it. Surely even war was better than the life of pseudo-freedom she had now. No amount of sneaking out to roam the streets could change the fact that she was trapped by her father’s demands and expectations.

  Gears whirred and she looked up to see the family servant – a mecha she had affectionately named Samuel – walking jerkily into the room, a tray of food in his claw-like hand.

  ‘Is Father not eating dinner with me, Sam?’ she asked, standing to accept the tray. The purple-white glow in Sam’s eyes dimmed.

  ‘No, Miss Catherine. Master Nathaniel is working,’ he answered in his gravelly voice. Nathaniel was always working. Not that Catherine minded, as she liked being able to eat without being interrogated or insulted.

  Sam reached out a thick bronze arm to straighten the silk throw over the back of the sofa, puffs of pale purple steam spilling from the thin chimney on his shoulder in time with the mechanical tick of his metal insides.

  ‘And Mother?’ she asked, setting her plate on the low table and sitting on the floor to eat.

  ‘Mistress Elizabeth is sleeping.’

  Her mother was always sleeping these days. Sleeping, crying or having a shaking fit. Her father kept telling her that the doctors were doing their best, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a doctor at the house. They had probably given up, just like her father, and were waiting for Elizabeth Hunter to die.

  ‘Thank you, Samuel. You may leave.’

  Catherine half-heartedly forked potatoes into her mouth. From the living room, there was a very good view of the shipyard, second only to the view from her bedroom. She spent a lot of time staring at the shipyard, watching skyships lifting gracefully into the air with canvas wings outstretched, the propellers beneath giving enough momentum for the ships to quickly latch on to the fierce updraughts that wound through the docks. How she wished to fly in a skyship: the freedom, the boundless space, with no expectations from anyone but herself and her crew. The ability to travel to countries she only dreamed of seeing, meeting new people and immersing herself in different cultures . . .

  But that was all a fantasy.

  She was destined – as her father had reminded her many times – to marry a high-born man, and produce many strong, healthy little boys and beautiful, gentle little girls to continue the family line. Though her father educated her like he would a son, that didn’t extend to learning about the family business as a proper heir should. She was to serve her husband in every way, obey his orders, and swear fealty to the Anglyan government – just as her mother had. No one asked her whether she wanted to swear fealty, or raise lots of children, or even marry a respectable man, she thought resentfully. What if she wanted to marry a scoundrel? Gods, how she wished she could be a commoner! She would give up some luxuries for freedom of choice –

  ‘Are you watching those silly ships again, Catherine?’

  She
jumped at the familiar sharp voice, almost spilling gravy down her blouse. Turning, Catherine tried not to grimace upon seeing her father’s tall, imposing form in the doorway, his jaw set and his dark blue eyes stern.

  ‘Yes, Father. And they’re not silly! They’re beautiful,’ she insisted petulantly, for once, sounding much younger than her fourteen years.

  Her father laughed coldly.

  ‘Rusting piles of gears and timber, that’s all they are. You’d best remove all that fanciful dreaming from your head now. It won’t get you very far.’

  Catherine didn’t say anything; she knew better than to argue by now.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ Nathaniel declared, and she refrained from rolling her eyes. Storms forbid her father talk to her just because he wanted to.

  ‘You will be accompanying me to the dockside office tomorrow morning. I have a meeting with Thomas to discuss cutting rations, and he wishes you to be present.’

  ‘Of course, Father,’ she agreed, trying to hide her distaste. The only reason Thomas Gale wanted her there was to discuss her betrothal to his loathsome son Marcus. He was an arrogant, bull-headed boy whom she despised with every fibre of her being, but her opinion mattered little. It was a good match from a political perspective and her own feelings were irrelevant.

  ‘Good. Wear your best dress, I want you presentable,’ her father instructed, eyeing with distaste her plain white blouse and tatty leather breeches. ‘I intend to formally offer the betrothal contract, though I can’t submit it as you’re not yet a woman.’