by Rachel Grace
He might think so, but he had not a clue what he was up against. “They aren’t your type of Wode. Cyrus. Don’t you know rogues when you see them? They don’t play by the rules. If Nephi has a chance, if you and I want to get out of here intact, this is our only way.”
“Son of a lowborn wretch,” he swore, pushing up his sleeves and eyeing the distance between his balcony and the ledge. “I suppose you’ll just leap onto the roof and walk across? You can see perfectly, can’t you?”
She loved his petulant tone. “You made it out of the tree alive, yes?” She patted his shoulder, stroking it one second longer than she should have. “Trust me. You can do this as well.”
He was still muttering as he clambered up onto the balcony railing. She uncoiled her whip, sending it out with perfect aim so it coiled around the pipe, handing it to him. He gripped the leather handle and took the small leap toward the water-filled drain attached beneath the roof.
As she’d predicted, the end closest to him groaned and creaked under the pressure, breaking away from the wall and dousing him with water as he swung the length of the smooth copper wall. She saw the whip begin to loosen and slip, but by that time he was low enough to reach out and grab the turret ledge, hanging on as though his life depended on it. Smart man.
“Damn,” he gasped through gritted teeth.
Two small leaps and Phina was on the roof, her tail out for balance as she walked the ledge and hopped on the turret’s rounded dome. “Don’t swear. They may hear you. I can see the balcony from here, Cyrus. Hurry. And don’t drop that. I fancy it.”
She was talking about the whip, of course.
Long, grunting moments later she watched him reach a ledge wide enough for him to stand on. It was but a step away from the queen’s balcony. She dropped down to join him, her smile wide, hand held out for her long leather toy.
He was glaring as he handed it to her. “You enjoyed that.”
She could not deny the truth, but she was smart enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. On occasion. Besides, he had enjoyed it as well. She could smell it.
They moved as one to leap over the balcony and through the open doors to the well-lit rooms of the queen. Who they saw first made Phina’s jaw drop.
“Lucy Thrice?”
The young woman turned around, the side of her face not scarred with old burns smiling in surprised delight. “Lightfoot? By the two moons, my luck is still with me. If anyone can get what’s mine it is Lightfoot, sure enough.”
Cyrus, still dripping wet, had already drawn his sword, but Phina stepped ahead of him, looking around the room suspiciously. “What business could you have in the palace, Lucy? Someone purchasing poisons?”
Lucy Thrice cackled, making Phina smile. “They don’t need little Lucy Thrice to poison each other. You know that. I did a job for a lord, is all. A job I lost two men and got a lot of grief for. I deserve payment.”
Cyrus’s tone was disbelieving. “What kind of job?”
She shrugged carelessly. “Basic baggin’ job. Little half-breed Wode from the Hill here intent on runnin’ away. I was told to make sure she got somewhere she could earn her keep. Somewhere she would stay alive, but be confined.” She turned around and raised her voice as if hoping someone would hear her. “Not Lucy Thrice’s fault she wasn’t put on display. I did my job, and I should get what’s mine.”
Dare. Lucy was talking about Dare. She sent Cyrus a warning look. She knew Lucy Thrice. She could handle her. “I heard about that. Saw her myself. I can be your witness. The Siren’s owner took a personal fancy to her and kept her behind the curtain, so to speak. Why are they refusing to pay?”
Lucy looked relieved at Phina’s understanding. “That is it all over, Lightfoot. Why blame Thrice?”
But Phina thought she understood. They’d wanted her whored out. Wanted Dare, who had been sheltered and protected and isolated her entire life, to break. The line of men who would want a turn with a beautiful, helpless Wode half-breed would have certainly done the trick.
She could sense Cyrus’s anger. Knew he understood as well. They had known Dare would leave the palace and taken steps to ensure she would be snatched.
Just as they had discovered Cyrus would be on the Siren, and paid Phina to sedate him. Not to steal from him, but to steal him.
How did their enemy know so much? Phina had believed only the Khepri had eyes everywhere. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Lucy Thrice went still. “I have a bad feelin’.”
“So do I,” Phina agreed, catching a familiar scent in the air. A scent that was growing stronger. Where was she?
“You are a tenacious Arendal, aren’t you, Cyrus? And Seraphina? Did you come with Lucy for your reward? You should get more, I think, since you did catch him for us twice.”
“Muller. Queen Idony has certainly lowered her standards if you’ve been invited for tea.” Phina gripped the hilt of the sword more firmly, ready for anything, and sneered. “I notice Lennis was not invited. But then, I killed him, so I imagine he would not make very good company.”
Muller chuckled delightedly. “So that’s what became of my not so silent partner. I had wondered. I owe you this time, Seraphina. You saved me the trouble of ending him myself.”
She had the strongest urge to claw his eyes out, but Muller was not alone. What’s more, her sister’s fear was a scent growing stronger with every passing moment. Drawing her attention.
“Is this the man, Seraphina? The one you let in my room?” His tone was expressionless, but Phina felt a needle pierce her heart at his words. He would never forget that betrayal.
“Yes. I am sorry. Cyrus? Nephi. She is nearby.”
“Go,” he muttered. “I can take care of him. He’ll tell me where the dagger is before he dies.”
She had no desire to leave him. Muller was tricky. But she could not ignore her sister’s silent cry for help. Ellsworth could have an army of Wode between them. Finally, an excuse to shed some blood.
Chapter Seven
“I am Cyrus Arendal, the Queen’s Sword.” He kept his gaze and sword pointed at the short gray-haired man near the doorway, but addressed Lucy Thrice. “If you leave now, Ms. Thrice, you may escape punishment for abducting the Queen’s Chalice. I will not offer you this boon should I see you again.”
“The Chalice?” Lucy sputtered. “They never said she was the Chalice. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Lucy Thrice knows when she’s not wanted. We’ll just call it even.”
She pushed the older man out of her way as she scurried out the door, in too much of a hurry to look back.
Muller smiled, but Cyrus could see the weakness in it. The telling tremor. “I am a guest of your queen, Arendal. Is it your habit to greet guests with your sword?”
Cyrus quirked his lips. “It is if the guest is the same man who stuffed me in a trunk and sent me to the desert to die. Toss your pistol on the floor.”
Muller held up his hands, one slowly reaching into the holster inside his jacket and pulling out his weapon. Cyrus was alert, but Muller dropped it on the floor without a sign of resistance. Damn it. He was hoping for an excuse to gut the villain. Was he such a coward that he would not even try for one clean shot?
Apparently he was. Muller kicked the pistol toward Cyrus, who knelt to grip it with his free hand.
“I followed orders,” Muller offered. “I plucked your dagger and handed you over. What happened to you after is not my responsibility.”
Cyrus laughed, but there was no humor inside him. Just the memories of the pain he’d suffered. The others who were forced to work alongside him. The beatings. “You sound like that woman Thrice. I believe you. The both of you. You are cowards. Not to blame for what happened after you sold us. After you took all those people from their homes and sent them to death or servitude. You are not to blame for my scars or the danger you have put all of Theorrey in by following orders and taking your cut. I absolve you. That does not mean you won’t die.”
He stepped closer. �
��Still, I might spare you if you told me where the dagger is. And where is the queen? I should rephrase that. Where is the true queen?”
A high-pitch voice drew Cyrus’s attention. “The queen has been taken to a safe place, away from you and the Felidae. I was left behind to relay a message.”
Berhnard had staggered in, the blood staining his stomach spreading across the bright fabric of his tunic. “She was disturbed at your arrival. Claims you were not supposed to come back, sir. Odds against your survival were apparently rather high. The lord did not take enough precautions to protect her, she said.”
Cyrus swore. The man had fallen to his knees beside Muller, gripping his side as his life’s blood drained from him. “Berhnard. Damn it, man, could you not see she is not Idony? What lord? Did she have the dagger with her?”
“Dagger?” He seemed pale, confused. “No, sir. Only Wode and a contingent of oddly dressed men with strange claw-like gloves. I am sorry, sir. I do not know what lord she was referring to. Only that she mentions him often of late. If I can do one last thing for you…” Berhnard used his remaining strength to stab Muller between the ribs. He must have been hiding a blade of his own.
Cyrus looked on in astonishment and helpless rage, taking a pointless step forward as the two men collapsed on the floor of the queen’s sitting room. One dead, the other soon to follow.
What the hell was going on?
He heard the sounds of shouts in the distance. Seraphina. He should help her. He started for the door but before he reached it, something stood in his way.
Hovered in his way.
One of those scarab bugs of the Khepri’s design? Its brass body glowed a bluish green, its wings a blur in the air as it stared at him. A mechanical bug was staring at him.
Cyrus let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t suppose you know where the dagger is, do you, bug?”
The scarab flew over his shoulder into the room, leaving the sitting area and flying toward the queen’s bedroom.
Cyrus followed, a strong wave of sadness crushing his heart as he looked around at his queen’s room. The Theorrean globe that spun eternally on its own. The shelves of books and journals, and the familiar paintings on the wall. She had done them all herself. Over the years the queen had become all things. Scholar, artisan, scientist. She always pushed his compliments aside, saying that with enough lifetimes, anyone could be thought wise or mad. She strove for wise.
He studied the images in her paintings. She had created dragonflies hovering over white lotus blossoms, mermaids rising from the sea. All her stories come to life.
She had also painted Felidae. He moved closer to a painting he had always been drawn to. A female Felidae with flowers and feathers in her hair, her smile breathtaking—it reminded him of Seraphina’s. The woman looked powerful, serene. The queen had drawn a city in the trees around her. A city filled with Felidae. Was this another fairy-tale scene? He’d always thought so. The Felidae on the island lived in staggered huts on the ground, and there were no trees inside the settlement on the edge of Centre City.
Cyrus swore when he saw the gem the queen had painted around the Felidae’s neck. “Impossible.”
He knew that unique jewel. Two ruby circles merged together, one on top of the other. But this was no ordinary ruby. This interesting jewel had a flame inside it. Orange and gold with a hint of blue.
He had seen it. Held it. And he knew that it did not merely appear to be flame. A trick of the light. It was a true flame. Moonfire.
It was the only one of its kind, and currently embedded in the queen’s missing dagger.
The scarab’s hum drew his attention to the small bureau beside the bed. Cyrus shook his head. It was clear this particular automaton had no idea what he was looking for. The false queen had no doubt taken the dagger with her. He could not imagine she would have left it in an unlocked drawer.
The bug was insistent, bumping its miniature metallic body into the wood. Cyrus opened the top drawer, feeling guilty as he rifled through Idony’s private letters and keepsakes.
Nothing.
The scarab had landed on top of the bureau, buzzing its wings rhythmically. “Why do I feel you are leading me on a merry chase for nothing, Khepri? Or distracting me long enough for the enemy to attack?”
As if in answer, he watched it walk back and forth on its tiny brass legs, its wings buzzing every few heartbeats, seemingly impatient for him to make a discovery. Cyrus looked closer.
He saw a slender drawer beneath the one he’d just opened. He wrapped his fingers around the pearlescent lotus-shaped knob and tugged. The drawer was empty. He looked closer. More than empty. It looked… incorrectly made.
He reached inside, running his fingers along the back seam of the drawer’s bottom, and felt a cold latch or key of some kind. He gripped it, pulling blindly, and heard something click into place, like the catch on a large door.
The entire bureau started to slide from its position against the wall and he stood up, stepping back in shock. How had he not known this was here?
It had moved across the floor to reveal what appeared to be a steel strongbox built into the wall. The mechanism on it was complex and unique, with brass wheels and strange symbols he did not recognize. Cyrus hadn’t the first clue how to get it open. “Any insight into unwinding this riddle?”
He sighed heavily in the silence of the room. “I am conversing with a bug.”
It must have heard him. The Khepri’s fascinating scarab buzzed over his shoulder and attached itself to the top of highest brass wheel, spinning one after another into its proper place before his eyes.
“You have my thanks.” Cyrus shook his head at the insanity of the situation, looking over his shoulder cautiously as the automaton continued to work. He walked out to the sitting room and tilted his head. He heard nothing. No one. But that would not last long. Surely the shield guards on the Hill had been alerted by now. And if they’d been informed that the Queen’s Sword had gone rogue… it would not be an easy task to get Seraphina and escape.
Who was behind this? What member of the Theorrean Raj or noble had this much reach? Had sway over desert cults and common city criminals? Dare had told him another was involved. This noble Berhnard had mentioned? This lord?
He had an overpowering desire to cause someone pain. But who? It was difficult to focus his rage when he did not know where it belonged. And he needed to focus it, use it to find his queen instead of letting it control him.
Though he had to admit, he had a much stronger handle on it since Dare and the Deviant had first stumbled across his path.
Since Seraphina.
When had her betrayal stopped stinging so intensely? Why did he, despite all personal evidence to the contrary, trust her? Why did he already desire her again?
The sound of the seal on the heavy iron door unbolting lured Cyrus back into the queen’s bedroom. “You did it. Now let’s see what we have found.”
Cyrus opened it farther, unsure of what he would discover. When his eyes focused on the object in the vault, he was at a loss. The dagger was here. Somehow the false queen and her accomplice must have found Queen Idony’s hiding place and used it to their own end.
Who would be fool enough to leave this behind after going to so much trouble to take it? Unless he had been the only true target, and the dagger merely a trophy.
The scarab hummed as it flew lazily nearby, no doubt drunk with victory. The flapping wings, however, did not conceal the new noise coming from the shadows of the steel box. A clicking sound. Or the hissing of steam. Perhaps it was a timer. Cyrus bent closer, lowering himself to see the flame of the dagger so close to his hand. He reached for it before the door could close again, in case there was a timing device attached.
Two greenish-blue points of light appeared beside his hand an instant before he felt the bite. Sharp needles like fangs sunk into his skin.
He dropped his sword and grabbed the dagger with his other hand, cradling the wounded hand to his ches
t. The pain was excruciating, and his only distraction was the revelation of a strange snake unlike any he had ever seen.
It was not living. An automaton like the scarab, but nowhere near as innocent in appearance. It slithered out of the box, its segments pushing it forward on the floor, giving it the appearance of gliding. Of grace. The top of its head flattened like a crown or hood, its glowing eyes and brass fangs were hypnotic. Staring at him.
The scarab dove at its head, and Cyrus was their stunned audience of one as they fought. The snake made a move to bite the large bug, to strike it with its tail, but the flying machine eluded the attacks.
Finally, in an apparent act of self-sacrifice, the scarab attached its legs to the snaked head and clamped on, its wings beating faster, causing a static charge to fill the air. The light around it grew, the mechanical hum growing louder until Cyrus rolled away from the struggling pair, covering his face with his arm as their theorrite power sources overloaded.
Not fools after all then. Cyrus was grateful to the Khepri’s now lifeless helper lying on the floor beside the equally powerless snake and shook his head, trying to clear it. “I am sorry, little bug. I will tell them you died with honor. Which will be more than I can say for myself.”
Black spots were swimming in his eyes. Seraphina. He got to his feet and took a few staggering steps before looking down at his hand. The pain was gone. It was numb. The skin around the wound was raised and the veins turning dark with sickness, but he could not feel a thing.
This was no way for a Wode to end. Killed by fake snakebite. A toy of destruction made by someone too cowardly to face him man to man.
Phina. He had to get Seraphina out of here and safely aboard the ship with her sister and Dare.
Cyrus tucked the dagger into his belt, left the pistol on the bed where he’d set it, and lifted his sword. He had to find her. He tripped around the bodies of Muller and Berhnard and into the hallway.
He could hear the clash of swords down the hall and headed in that direction. She might need him to save Nephi. Nephi, the queen’s lady maid. She’d always covered herself from head to toe, keeping her face lowered when he came in the room. Did she look like Phina? Beautiful Seraphina.