Lawless

by Janeen Ippolito

  Kesia snorted smoke. “But you soak yourself in one perfume. That’s awful enough.”

  Shance’s mouth fell open. “Is that why you threw up? I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? What does that mean? And I’m getting used to the scent.”

  Nightstalker rolled his eyes. “The exit?”

  “Yes, of course. If you take the right exit and follow the alleys to the southwest part of the city, you’ll come to the Low Quarter. There should be cheap lodgings, no questions asked.”

  Zephryn crossed his arms. “Law enforcement?”

  “Not usually, but the possibility of rebel activity has made High Command nervous, so keep your head down. They’ll have bioelectric scanners.”

  Why did humans place such faith in those devices? The ones at the dock clearance had been inconsequential. His cloaking Talent had helped significantly in that regard, as had Kesia’s ability. Her shifting Talent allowed her skin form to be especially convincing.

  And fascinating.

  He stole a glance at her now; she was still clad in her peasant clothing. Truly, the garments hid her predator nature well, though she had drawn Windkeeper’s attention. Then again, he had seemed to be fascinated by a number of women during the journey from the wharf to the shop.

  Did he really think a dragon was the same as a human female? Was he truly that foolish? Kesia could more than care for herself—although she was still wounded. Less capable of defense. The thought sent a bittersweet pulse through Zephryn, enough to evoke a concerned frown from Kesia.

 

  Zephryn’s lips twitched into a half-smile. Hesitantly, he took her hand in his as he’d seen humans do. It felt necessary.

  Her hand squeezed his more tightly, a curious softness accompanying her natural dragon strength. The thought of releasing her grip seemed unimaginable.

  At that moment, he could have held her hand forever.

  Zephryn stroked her forehead with his other hand, remembering the scales that had been there before.

  Kesia snorted, but thankfully, no smoke spewed from her nostrils this time.

  She would. She was clever and able, far more than she knew. It didn’t mean Zephryn wanted her to work alone; she had faced too much alone already. But this was an opportunity that was logical to take. Just as it was only logical to assist her.

  She released his hand and turned to Windkeeper. “We are ready to depart. Lead on, Captain Windkeeper.”

  He made a fist of his right hand and touched the bent knuckles to his lips. The Congruency salute. Unbidden, fire flared in Zephryn’s throat, which he quickly swallowed down. At this point, Windkeeper was not their enemy. Everyone else was.

  The airship captain made a few curious gestures toward the elderly woman whose gray knot of hair was nearly obscured by a mound of fabric. She returned the gestures with a scowl, adding a few others that made Windkeeper wince.

  Perhaps he was not on good terms with her after all. Zephryn’s muscles seized, and for a moment, he considered ending this entire plan.

  Kesia swatted his shoulder the way she would have swatted at him with her tail in scale form.

  Zephryn grinned at her tease.

  He had the strangest urge to take her in his arms. For what reason, Zephryn couldn’t imagine. How would holding her improve any part of this situation? Somehow, it would; he was certain of that. Certain enough to start reaching for her hand—

  “You’d better go, Nightstalker.” Windkeeper nodded to the window. “The winds tell me the street officers will be here any moment. And I don’t know what Talents they’ll have—they might even be able to detect you through your invisibility.”

  Right. Too sensible. Zephryn nodded. “Until we meet again.”

  He pressed through the corridor that Windkeeper indicated, drawing anonymity around him like a cloak. The Talented humans were of little account.

  But if he lingered too close to Kesia, he might never leave. And he had to.

  For a little while longer.

  ***

  She watched Zephryn be swallowed up in the layers of cloth and overpowering smells that filled the small hallway. She felt his mind go curiously blank, as it did when he used his cloaking Talent.

 

 

  She released a short breath.

 

 

  She smiled.

  She wasn’t alone. Ordinarily, dragons needed line of sight or nearness for mindspeak, but Kesia’s fleetwing bond with Zephryn overcame that limitation. Time and again he had proven that she would never be alone.

  Not like the night she had killed her father.

  For a brief moment, the image of a twisted half-skin, half-scale dragon floated before her eyes, stinking with death that was not his own. The monster took one step toward her. Another and another, each one shuddering the cavern beneath her bare feet. Her fingers reached around for the small piles of metals on the nearby shelves, seeking out anything to defend herself.

  “Ironfire?”

  A hand touched her shoulder. Kesia grabbed it, twisting the arm at the wrist and driving it toward the back of the neck. Her attacker was quick, forcing wind beneath her fingers to loosen them and pushing her back with another blast that pressed her against a pile of soft cloth and cleared the smells.

  The smells. The clanging cymbals and drums. Her mind quickly spun into focus. She was in a shop in the Scepter of Commerce, and she had almost killed the human who was her pretended betrothed.

  Windkeeper watched her warily, his blue eyes wide and calculating. She needed to set him at ease. Kesia pressed her lips together, summoning a regretful tone. “I’m sorry, Captain Windkeeper. Old memories sometimes refuse to stay in the past.”

  “Must have been a firestorm of a past.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, causing the ends to stick up. “Just for future note: people who are betrothed do not fight with each other. Well, sometimes they do, but not physically.”

  She tilted her head up. “Then how do they know how to fight side by side if they lack knowledge of each other’s capabilities?”

  “Generally, betrothed couples don’t fight side by side either.” Windkeeper chuckled wearily, brushing off his waistcoat. “Another thing. Don’t call me ‘Captain Windkeeper.’ Call me Shance. It’s my first name. Not my family name—my personal name. Do dragons have those? If so, I’ll need to know yours. Betrothed couples would use those names with each other.”

  Kesia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, the words catching in her throat. She grabbed a handful of fabric on either side of her, staring down at it for a moment. Slick stuff, with intricate threads all over it. Nothing that a criminal would wear.

  At least, here, no one knew about that.

  Windkeeper—Shance—moved closer. Her muscles seized, still remembering that hideous odor from the dock.

  Shance sighed. “Still bothered by the odd scents? Hold on, I can fix that.”

  A fresh breath of wind circled around her, clearing the air. Leaving only the scent of fermented tree branches. Somehow, it wasn’t so bad when combined with his winds. Oddly…compelling.

  Kesia inhaled, then exhaled. “You truly are skilled with breezes.”

  “Yeah, it makes me a popular guy.” He blinked only one eye for some reason. “Beside
s the betrothal issue, Ironfire sounds too much like a dragon name.”

  “Kesia.”

  “Kesia.” He spoke the word with a soft reverence, his body moving closer to hers. Her heartbeat skipped with the urge to attack and clear her space. At the same time, something warm, but not unpleasant, prickled her skin and sent tingles down to her fingers and toes. Shance continued speaking, “Now that is a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

  She studied him. “It means ‘earthbound.’ Your name is Windkeeper. Why do you have a dragon surname?”

  “It’s part of the family inheritance. We used to be allies with dragons before the war. They gave us the name because of our abilities. What about your surname?”

  “My family were metal-workers and mechanics.”

  “What happened to them?” Shance’s face softened. So different from Zephryn, who rarely showed what he was feeling, except to her. To do so would invite attack from other dragons.

  And she knew just how brutal dragons could be. A memory surfaced in her mind. Her parents’ workshop: the forge, the shelves filled with tools, the workbench carved from stone in their cave. All of it consumed in a sickening greenish haze as the monster crept toward her, one step after another.

  Kesia silenced the memory.

  “My family died in the war. We were prime targets, for obvious reasons. Kill off the dragons who could repair structures and forge…things.”

  “Windkeepers were air merchants before all this sky-bilge started.” Suddenly, Shance darted a look toward the doorway. Two figures stood there, clad in plain clothes like many other civilians in the Scepter of Commerce. But Kesia marked their fluid actions and sharp stares.

  Military. She had to disappear, become a rodent or a cat. She closed her eyes to shift, but fierce pain shot up her back and through her shoulder blade. Scale mites! No shifting yet. “We should leave.”

  He shook his head. “No. They’d notice and give chase. Do you trust me?”

  “That depends.”

  Shance’s jaw worked. “Do you trust me when it comes to human social customs?”

  “I think so.”

  “I need to kiss you.”

  Kesia raised her eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  “You don’t know what a kiss is?” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We’ll touch lips and sort of—taste each other? I’m better at demonstration than explanation. Listen, it’s the only way they’ll believe we’re betrothed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I kiss women I’m not even betrothed to! And they’ve seen me take girls into this shop. For some reason, the scents are alluring.”

  The security agents were nearly at the back of the store. Kesia’s pulse jumped. What harm could this custom do? “All right.”

  Shance leaned in close and covered her mouth with his in one of the most ineffective attempts at suffocation Kesia had ever experienced. Her chest tightened, ready to retaliate with a fist to his jaw. Only, the mouth contact was soft and explorative—what in all the stars was he doing with his tongue? What was there worth tasting on her lips?

  The scent of fermented tree branches broke through her thoughts. Only it changed, becoming fresh and irresistible. Her muscles relaxed, and she leaned forward. Sweet and cool—

  “Captain Windkeeper. Enjoying your furlough, I see.”

  Shance pulled away from her and turned to face the military figures, half-shielding her with his body. He addressed the nearest human, a honey-skinned woman of forty years or so. “Ah, Officer Fim. Always a pleasure. Yes, you’ve found me out. Can I help you with something?”

  Kesia fisted her hands, then consciously released them. This wasn’t the time to fight. She had to stay quiet, or she would endanger everything.

  Fim gave a thin smile. “Merely checking on a suspicious sensor blip. After what happened to The Silver Streak, we must be extra cautious about dragon invaders. The flamers could be anywhere.”

  “Indeed. I heartily applaud your valiant service. Now, if you will excuse me, my betrothed has misplaced her luggage on her trip here for our wedding, and sadly, the only thing the ship’s crew could give her were these rags.” He stepped aside and drew Kesia forward, placing his other arm around her back. She clenched her jaw, then relaxed it, trying to pretend she didn’t want to elbow him in the kidney. “May I introduce Kesia Ironsley from the Scepter of Industry.”

  “A pleasure, Miss Ironsley.”

  Kesia nodded with a smile, not trusting the voicelator to disguise her dragon resonance. Instead, she yawned, a gesture familiar to both dragons and humans.

  Shance chuckled. “It seems the trip has been too much for her. We are only here so she can be fitted with a proper wardrobe for her stay.”

  Fim exchanged a look with her cohort. “It appears you have the matter in hand, Captain Windkeeper. We will leave you to your activities. Such as they are.”

  The other officer smirked. Both made the same salute Shance had made earlier, then left the store. Only then did Kesia let herself breathe, nearly panting with relief. She pressed the voicelator firmly into her skin before daring to speak. “New clothes?”

  “Yes. As of now, you are Kesia Ironsley, a bright young mechanic from the Scepter of Industry.” As Shance spoke, he signalled to the woman at the register, then began moving around the store, pointing to various fabrics. “We had an exceptionally fast courtship and, just recently, you forgave my regrettable indiscretions with another woman and agreed to marry me to keep me in check.”

  Her mind spun, trying to keep pace with all the lies. “If you and I are meant to be together, why would you need my presence to keep you from partnering with another?”

  “Human frailty and the stress of wartime.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you were a dra—a better man, you wouldn’t fall prey to things like that. Wartime increases the bond between tactical partners. Wouldn’t it be the same for betrothed people? Yet you were disloyal to me.”

  “We kissed. If tactical partners were the same as betrothed, that would make you disloyal to Nightstalker.”

  “You kissed me.” Her faced heated. “And it’s an act. A human tradition that has no relevance for dragons.”

  Or did it? She’d noticed Zephryn’s lips before, along with other parts of him. Would it taste as pleasant? More?

  None of that was important to their mission.

  “Of course.” Shance made another one of his odd, one-eyed blinks. “And thoughts like that, my dearest, are why I love you.”

  “You can’t love me. You don’t even know me.” Kesia was about to ask what was wrong with his eye when something tugged hard on her arm. She pivoted, ready to fight—but it was only the gray-haired woman. She studied Kesia as if Kesia were a young recruit with no more sense than a dragonet.

  The way she held out the thin tape with numbers and lines on it clearly indicated it was another weapon. Kesia cleared her throat. “Shance? What is she doing?”

  “She’s not here to hurt you. Just relax.”

  The sly smile he gave her made Kesia certain she would kill him when this was all over.

  Chapter 9

  Shance liked Zilpath’s store. The chaos of colors and incense added intrigue. Sure, the old woman didn’t always look forward to seeing him, but the Windkeeper name still counted for something. No merchant who wanted to stay on good terms with cargo shipping would alienate a Windkeeper.

  Well, the few Windkeepers who were left. Most of his extended family had been killed in the war or scattered across the fleet.

  Shance scattered the air in the shop, idly twirling the streamers of cloth that hung from the ceiling. It had been a few hours since Zilpath and Kesia had disappeared. Zilpath was an old-school seamstress who preferred working by hand, but he knew some of her girls used sewing machines. With enough training under her tutelage, they’d be released into independent work without a single debt, which was far better than the slave market she’d bought them from.

  The sound of Zilp
ath’s heavy footfalls broke through his thoughts. He turned toward the back room—and caught his breath.

  Kesia Ironfire was beautiful. This was already a fact, but the tight black pants, knee-high boots, and fitted dark red corset-coat with short sleeves enhanced her radiance. The color set off her pale skin and rich brown hair, which had been brushed and pulled loosely away from her face in a smooth braid. The lines of her coat flattered nicely, although Zilpath had opted for a higher blouse neckline than Shance preferred.

  After all, it got very warm in the Scepter of Commerce. Wouldn’t want Kesia to overheat.

  She flushed under his attention. “Is there something wrong?”

  Even in human form, her voice was fire and sweet honey, sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

  “Everything is just right. You look . . . right.” More right than any other woman Shance had laid eyes on.

  A hand grabbed his arm, and he looked down to see Zilpath standing there, holding out her hand, her green eyes shrewd. “How much for everything?”

  Her fingers began arcing through the air in graceful swoops. Like other jungleland slaves, Zilpath’s tongue had been cut out to avoid making trouble for her owners. She made up for it by having the most colorful collection of hand gestures he’d ever encountered. Shance mentally sifted through them for the answer. ~Three suits like this, plus a dress, underclothing, and boots. Ten thousand dels.~

  ~Ten thousand? Too much.~ He ended his series of hand gestures with both palms pressed down. Most natives of the Scepter of Commerce knew some pidsyn, the universal sign language from the surrounding villages. He’d just taken care to learn a lot. ~Two thousand.~

  Her wrinkled lips curled back and she curved her hand. ~Two thousand? First you bring dragons into my shop, and now you try to rob me of hard-earned dels? No. For this, I should turn my house and girls back into the slave trade. Nine thousand, five hundred.~

  ~The slave trade wouldn’t take the lot of you. You’re too free-minded. They’d sooner cast you into the Trebbian Seas. Five thousand.~

  She spat into a small pot and popped a fresh sprig of some herb into her mouth. ~The Trebbian Seas? Your shiny new airship mucked them up when it fell out of the sky.~