by Taven Moore
His eyebrows climbed, clearly sensing something not quite right. She smiled at him, then loosed the bottle in her hand. “After all, it would be silly to swap,” she pressed the bottle into his hand and emphasized the word, “seats now.”
Finally, understanding. His eyes flicked, just once, to the purple bottle that Vakaena had set at the head of the table . . . right next to where Hank sat.
She smiled again and gestured for her long-suffering dresl shadow to pull her chair out for her.
He did so without showing any sign of reluctance, though his nostrils twitched and his whiskers threatened to curl.
“What a remarkable odor you have introduced us to,” Vakaena spoke at last. The Seraph held her shoulders oddly, and the tiny fragments of lightning chasing through her wings intensified, both in brightness and speed. “I believe the weather outside tonight is particularly lovely.”
The Seraph snapped her fingers and from nowhere, it seemed, a dozen silent figures emerged and began work. Efficiently and with obvious practice, they pushed aside a thick curtain behind the head of the table, revealing a massive wheel with a hand crank. Taking turns, they spun the great wheel. The sound of well-oiled machinery at work whispered from the walls, then the walls themselves broke away in great sections, moving backward, then sliding smoothly behind the remaining wall sections.
The room was now open to the night air and the perfectly manicured gardens surrounding this section of the building, save for the walls flanking the four hallways leading away from the room.
Fascinating. Simply fascinating. Remora tried to watch everything and take it all in. She’d never seen cogsmithing on this scale before. It had been so silent, too! No sign of gears grinding at all, as if they were regularly oiled and cleaned. Yet the walls themselves had been old stone—worn from time and use. How old must this room, this building . . . this entire skycity be?
“Please do not take this as an invitation to leave.”
Reluctantly, Remora turned her attention back to the Seraph.
“You are my guests for dinner, and I should be most wrathful should you leave without my permission. Rudeness shall be . . . punished.”
Stone-faced guards stepped briefly into view from each opening, then stepped back away.
Remora frowned at Vakaena, disappointed. “Really, that seemed a bit heavy-handed. The initial invitation had been clear enough for a child to understand. You’re behaving like a villainess in an adventure novel.”
Vakaena froze, so still that she might have passed for a bronzed statue, save for the suddenly frenzied movement of the lightning chasing through her wings. Almost everyone else in the room froze as well.
Remora stifled a snort and reached for her water glass and took a sip before continuing. “After all, we are all civilized folk here, even Captain McCoy, despite his ridiculous outfit.”
Hank glared at her, but Vakaena unfroze, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I have heard a great many things about you, Remora Windgates Price. It would seem most of them are true. I have killed a man for less than what you just said.”
Vakaena lifted her own glass of water, and Remora nodded to her, unfazed. “And yet here I sit, still very much alive. Clearly, we have something you want. I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to simply tell us what it is and spare us the theatrics? I’d rather not wait for the dessert course, if it’s all the same to you.”
Vakaena laughed. True laughter, borne of actual humor; it flitted through the room like tiny velvet shadows. For the first time, the guards around the room relaxed, just a little. The Shinra’dor’s red eyes surveyed Remora with avid interest, but Snow still did not look up from her plate. Hank said nothing, but his furrowed brow and incredulous look said enough. She could only imagine the arguments he’d spout at her if they were alone.
Just as well he couldn’t, then.
“Dear, dear Remora.” Vakaena clasped her hands together. “I had no idea tonight would be so much fun. I’m afraid I can’t spoil the surprise just yet. I am still waiting on one of the most important guests.”
A new voice bellowed from one of the hallways. “Vakaena, what is this nonsense about a dinner party? You know I’m busy with the Armaethean treaties! I don’t have time for another one of your games.”
Vakaena smiled, reminding Remora of an illustration she’d once seen of a beast called a crocodile. “Ah! And here he is now.” She raised her voice. “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Vakaano, darling! Come and meet the guests.”
Another Seraph entered the room, all bluster and motion.
Where Vakaena was oil-rubbed bronze and onyx, Vakaano was golds and vanillas. His skin was a creamy yellow, his hair pin-straight gold, shaved in a military cut close to his head. His wings rose behind him, shining even in the soft light of the gas lamps and the moon. Oddly enough, one of his wings had an entire section of black feathers, as if someone had assembled that portion of him incorrectly. Fat caterpillars of red lightning zoomed through his wings, audibly sparking with his agitation.
Remora stared into his eyes.
His brown eyes.
Brown eyes with gold flecks. Just like hers.
Vakaano’s eyes scanned the room briefly, then immediately shot back to Remora’s face.
He froze.
Vakaena steepled her fingers and smiled.
30. Naughty Little Kitten
Remora stared at the newcomer, as openly and rudely as an ill-mannered country girl on her first visit to the city.
My eyes, she thought, heart pounding. He has my eyes!
Well, not precisely her eyes, since Seraph had no pupils to speak of. Still! How many gold-flecked, brown-eyed Seraph could there be?
For a moment, a bare whisper so brief she must certainly have imagined it, she thought she saw a flicker in those brown depths that seemed akin to recognition.
If it had ever been there, it was gone just as suddenly.
“Vakaano, how wonderful of you to join us. It would seem the rest of the dinner guests have all arrived, or at least the only ones who shall be attending.”
Vakaena radiated pleasure, a contented cat crouched over a saucer of cream. The sparks in her wings glowed and her feathers preened, the wings fluffing out with a metallic scraping sound.
“What have you done now, Vakaena?”
Instantly, Vakaena’s feather’s snapped back down, the wings smoothing back out. “Me? Darling lifemate, do you not see for yourself? I have brought our naughty little kitten back, along with almost everyone she might have spoken to.”
Vakaano lifted an eyebrow. “Almost?” he asked. “What good does that do us? She’s been gone for over a month. We need damage control, not tea parties.”
Remora’s heart clenched.
No, this man could not be her father. She had allowed herself to forget, so easily, just what he was capable of. After all, Snow’s secret was his secret as well. He and Vakaena, and other Seraph as well, had been deliberately keeping the Shinra’ere peoples at war with each other for generations.
Had been responsible for so many unnecessary deaths.
On a more personal level, they’d sent that horrible Captain Mack to recover poor Snow. Remora had very nearly ended up sold as a slave, and Mack had made no secret of Snow’s likely fate.
No.
She had less than six months to live. She would not waste that time tracking down the Seraph her unfaithful mother had bedded, not when she had Bones to rebuild, Hank to save, Snow to rescue, Jinn to lighten up, Hackwrench to find a Queen, and Starbirth to prove.
Really, her dance card was already quite full enough.
Regardless, surely she could not be related to someone who considered Snow to be a “naughty little kitten.”
Vakaena pouted. “Don’t you like it, Vakaano? I did all of this for you, darling! Surely our kitten will tell us everything we need to know after a few hours of torture. We can find out anyone who knows anything, and follow the trail from there.” Vakaena smiled.
“We could even try the torture on all of them, just to see if the story is different. The little redhead, for example. I don’t think she’d last long under the lash, what do you think?”
Vakaano’s lip curled. “You don’t even know what they know. Just let the girl go. The captain, too—he’s of no use to us. Now that we have the cat back, we don’t even need the Shinra’dor. His brother is Outcast. He’ll kill himself, just like they always do when they go black. You’re dramatizing the problem.”
“‘Dramatizing’? Any one of these people could know too much. You can’t possibly be suggesting that we simply let them go!”
“Do you recommend we destroy the entire city of Helion, then? She might easily have told any number of dresl while she stayed there!”
“Now you’re just being petty! I can’t believe—”
Remora cleared her throat. The bickering Seraph turned to scowl at her. She ignored their frowns. “With all due respect, I’m not going anywhere without Snow.”
Vakaena’s brow furrowed. “‘Snow’? What in the name of Starbirth . . . oh, dear heavens, you mean my kitten? ‘Snow’? That’s what you’re calling her? Why not just name her ‘Fluffy’ and be done with it?” Vakaena laughed. “Honestly! She’s the most expensive courtesan to come out of the Shinra lands in over a decade, and you call her ‘Snow’?”
Remora’s cheeks burned, but she held her ground. If Snow hadn’t bothered to complain about her nickname, she didn’t see any reason to let these people tell her that she was undervaluing her friend.
Vakaena clapped her hands. “Oh, dear, you are so much more amusing than I thought you would be. Still, you’re quite delusional. Surely you must see that there is no scenario in which you leave with our kitten.”
Remora sniffed. “Clearly, you don’t know me very well.”
Vakaena smiled. “Oh, dear. I know you better than you think I do.”
Before Remora had time to evaluate just what the Seraph might have meant by that, Vakaano spoke up. “Enough of this. It is not up for debate. We kill only for cause, Vakaena. The war is over. Kill the cat and the Shinra’dor and let us be done with this nonsense.”
“You are not killing Snow. Or . . . the Shinra’dor, for that matter! You say you do not kill without cause, yet you made the argument before that Snow’s secret is as likely spread throughout all the Shinra peoples by now. There is no such thing as ‘damage control’ in this situation.” Remora glared at Vakaano, trying to ignore his way the gold flecks in his eyes made her heart flutter. “Any killing today is without cause.”
“Enough!” Vakaena shouted, slapping her hand down on the table with enough force to cause the cutlery to bounce. “This is a silly argument. We are two to one in favor of killing the kitten, and no one even empowered you to vote, little fish. Clearly, we will get no further while she yet breathes.”
“Guards, kill the cat.”
Remora’s jaw dropped and her heart stopped as the guards along the wall saluted, then lifted their weapons.
31. Lovers’ Quarrel
Snow’s ice-blue eyes widened as the first guard’s spear sped toward her face. Remora gasped.
A black-wrapped figure dropped from above, arcblade thrumming. Once, twice, three times the angry line of red spark slashed through the air, and suddenly all of the closest guards found themselves holding the shorn handles of what had once been their weapons.
Jinn.
He stood atop the table, kicking aside tableware and a vase of tropical flowers in a most undignified way. Remora had never before been so delighted to see silverware sail through the air.
The guards took a step back and the room fell into tense stillness.
“Ah, marvelous,” said Vakaena, breaking the silence. “I was becoming concerned you might not make it, dear Jinn.” She snapped her fingers. “Guard Captain? Find out who was on duty above, and see that they are appropriately reprimanded for their negligence. I do not like armed surprises descending upon me.”
Despite her mild tone, a uniformed bull dresl standing behind her immediately snapped a salute and rushed away.
Vakaena clucked her tongue. “Next time, you should try the front door. You were, after all, invited.”
Jinn’s free hand reached inside his robes to remove a familiar envelope, arcblade still held at attention. With a gesture, he flicked the cardstock to the ground, where it tumbled to halt against the clawed foot of one of the dresl guards.
Vakaena’s smile turned brittle. “Ah, I see you received it. I’m going to have to request that you take your seat. In my house, dinner guests do not dance upon the tabletops.”
Remora smiled sweetly. “That truly is intriguing. You see, in my house, we do not attempt to murder our dinner guests.”
Vakaano made a sound. Were he human, it might have been considered a scoff or even a laugh, but it was so quickly smothered that it was probably nothing at all.
Vakaena’s brittle smile shattered, reforming as a scowl. “Enough of this nonsense. Guards, do not force me remind you of your duty.”
The sound of Jinn’s arcblade grew louder as he twisted something on the weapon’s hilt, the beam intensifying and thinning. The guards looked at their cropped weapons, clearly at a loss.
Remora stood. “Jinn, if they attack, please try not to hurt the poor dears. They’re only doing their job, and the person commanding them seems not to value their lives.” She turned to face Vakaena. “This is ridiculous. Surely even you can see that. Jinn is a fully-trained Shinra’ere warrior.”
Vakaena’s lips twisted into a brief, ugly expression that faded just as quickly as it had appeared. She snapped her fingers, and a dozen extra guards stepped into the room, some from outside and some from nearby hallways.
“Surround them and kill them. He can’t possibly defend more than one blow at a time, you idiots. Bonus pay for whomever lands the killing blow.”
It was too many guards. Jinn would probably be forced to kill some of them just to stay alive, but Snow would almost certainly be overwhelmed.
The Shinra warrior’s red eyes narrowed and he adjusted the angle of his blade.
“No,” Remora said, not realizing at first that she’d spoken aloud. “No!” she repeated, more strongly. She moved to stand behind Snow’s chair, arms outstretched.
“What is this nonsense?” Vakaena scowled.
“You’ll have to go through me first,” Remora said, chin up.
“Don’t waste my time, girl. I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
Remora met Vakaena’s eyes without faltering. “I am not afraid of death.” A ticking clock already counted down to her doom. She’d come to terms with her mortality months ago.
Vakaena paused. “I see that you are not.” She sighed. “You are causing me a great deal of trouble, and ruining all of my plans, little fish. Fine, we shall do things your way.”
A triumphant smile began to spread across Remora’s face, only to freeze at Vakaena’s next command.
“Kill all three of them.”
Many things happened at once.
The guards lunged forward on all sides. The sizzle of Jinn’s arcblade whined through the air like insects, leaving behind screaming or hissing or growling in its wake. Remora stood very still, wide eyes cataloguing, evaluating, and rejecting dozens of cogsmithing plans. Everything would take too long and she’d left her emergency stash with Hackwrench, back at the auction.
Snow placed a hand on her shoulder and Remora turned to see the normally sedate dresl’s lips pulled back in a snarl, ears pinned against her head. A white-furred hand, bristling with sickle-shaped claws, slashed the thigh of a guard leaping to attack Jinn.
The guard fell, but two more rose to take his place.
A thought bubbled to the top of Remora’s mind, incongruous and unwelcome.
Could they, might they actually . . . die? Today? Here? Now?
“STOP!” shouted a brassy, male voice.
All action froze immediately, including Jinn. Several gua
rds lay on the floor, injured but hopefully not dead. Remora was untouched, as was Snow. Jinn had borne the brunt of the attack, his black wrappings sliced in some places. If he bled, the dark fabric hid it from her.
Three of the guards had stopped moving with upraised alchemist guns.
Vakaena smiled into the silence, an expression that blossomed gooseflesh up Remora’s arm. Vakaena’s smile felt like a snake slithering through a darkened nursery. “You have something to say, Vakaano?”
Vakaano closed his eyes, a pained look passing across his brow. “Spare them.”
“And why in the name of Starbirth would I do that, husband of mine?”
“Because I ask it of you.”
Vakaena tut-tutted. “This is no minor infraction. The secrets stolen by our kitten threaten all Seraphs. You know as well as I do that she must be punished, and any others who might know the secret as well. If I simply release them now, we shall be held liable for endangering our brethren. If you want to save her, you’ll have to give me better reason than that.”
Again, that smile.
“After all, just a moment ago, you were willing to let our kitten die, and now you spring to her defense? Or . . . perhaps she is not the one you are so keen on saving?”
Remora’s heart froze, then started up again at twice the speed. Foolish, ridiculous, and preposterous. Her mother never breathed a word about the identity of her father. He might even have been a half-blood, himself. The odds of his being the Seraph Lord Vakaano simply did not bear calculation.
Her traitorous heart disregarded her brain’s advice.
Vakaano refused to meet Remora’s eyes. “Just let them go, Vakaena. Please.”
Vakaena’s brows shot up. “‘Please,’ is it, now? So polite, so formal, we’ve become. Regardless, we can’t let them go. You know as well as I, the others won’t allow it.”
“A head start, then.”
Her eyes narrowed, like a cat ready to pounce. “Why, I wonder, would I want to give them a head start, when I went through such pains to bring them all here?” Vakaena’s hands tightened, claw-like, against the table top. “The red-headed girl in particular. Quite a few people looking for her. Quite the prize, she is. Wouldn’t you agree?”