The Kraken King, Part 5

by Meljean Brook

  Yet far better to escape—even if she died trying. And if this meant her death, maybe the effort would be all for nothing.

  But if she lived, that effort would mean everything.

  She knotted the sleeve and reached for her gold.

  ***

  By midnight, the drizzle had become a downpour. Rain drummed loudly on the iron deck and against the sides of the command tower, the noise joining the thrum of the engines and the rush of the sea.

  Zenobia stood inside the tower entrance, looking out. Everything above decks was darker than on the previous nights. A few lanterns had been extinguished—probably drowned by the rain and not yet relighted.

  A guard stood just outside the shelter of the tower door, hunched against the rain. Rivulets ran down his conical helmet and fell in a steady stream from his neck guard; he’d tipped his head down to keep the water from coursing straight down the back of his tunic. She hoped most of the guards were similarly occupied, defending themselves against the elements. Between the noise and the soaking, she’d be more likely to surprise them.

  And she would need surprise. Her gaze returned to his helmet.

  A helmet. She hadn’t even thought of those.

  Fortunately, it shouldn’t matter too much. When she’d practiced wielding her bludgeon, almost every overhead swing had missed its mark. A lateral swing gave her far better control and more accurate aim. So she’d already altered that part of the plan—instead of coshing the guards over the head, she would bash their faces in. She just hoped there wasn’t anything else that she’d completely overlooked.

  She would soon find out.

  The guard straightened when she emerged from the command tower. Her heart pounding, Zenobia met his eyes and gave him a pleasant nod. She didn’t need to bash his face. He held a stationary post facing the front of the ship and wouldn’t see what she got up to behind the tower.

  He returned her nod and hunched over again as she passed. Within a few steps, the torrent of rain plastered her hair to her skull. The heavy wool blanket she clutched around her shoulders soaked up the rest—but more importantly, concealed the bludgeon dangling from her right hand. Runnels of water flowed across the deck, quickly soaking the curled toes of her new boots. It wasn’t nearly as chilly as she’d expected. In Fladstrand, downpours like this were inevitably bitter and cold. She’d expected a miserable, freezing escape. But this was rather like being deluged with water from a bucket that had been sitting out on a summer’s day.

  She reached the starboard rail and gazed out over the side, but didn’t see anything through the darkness. Instead she pictured the route to freedom behind her.

  If the ironship had been split into fourths, the command tower would stand at the three-quarter mark. It spanned half the width of the ship, with two broad gangways on either side. An empty deck lay open before it. The smokestacks took up most of the remaining space on the stern; spools of cable and gun turrets filled what was left. A platform had been built about fifteen feet above the decks, accessible by a ladder. Until today, when she’d seen the flyers in the hangar, Zenobia had assumed it was another gun deck or a maintenance access for the chimneys.

  More ladders climbed the sides of the stacks; a suspended walkway hung between them. The lanterns that usually glowed on the walkway were out, too. All good for Zenobia.

  So it was time. Her knuckles already ached from gripping the end of her bludgeon so tight. She flexed her fingers, tried to slow her rapid breaths.

  This plan would be successful. She would soon be away from here.

  The guard at the command tower’s entrance was still hunched over. He didn’t look her way as she started down the starboard gangway. No lights shone from the stern. All the lanterns were out? That was odd. So odd. Two guards should be standing at their posts behind the tower. Every fifteen minutes, they took turns making a full circuit of the main deck. When one left his post on his circuit, she’d bash in the remaining guard’s face. Then she’d bash the other guard when he returned, steal his weapons, and run to the hangar.

  Why would they be standing in darkness now, though? At the very least, they should have relighted the lanterns closest to them.

  But she could barely see anything. Pulse racing, she paused at the corner of the tower and readjusted her grip. Ahead were shadows and more shadows. Faint light shone from one of the portholes on the upper levels—one of the officers was still awake in his cabin. But aside from that . . . nothing.

  Maybe they’d guessed her intentions. Maybe Ghazan Bator was just around the corner, waiting for her.

  So she’d bash his face, too.

  On a deep breath, she charged forward and tripped over a lump.

  Arms wheeling, she fought for balance. Her bludgeon thunked to the deck. She fell and her knee smacked iron, trousers instantly soaked, but she caught herself before pitching face-first.

  What the blasted hell?

  She tightened the blanket around her shoulders again and groped through the shadows for her bludgeon. Her fingers struck the gold bulging beneath the sleeve. The material was wet now. Hopefully all the knots down its length would prevent it from slipping from her grasp.

  What had she tripped over?

  Climbing to her feet, she shuffled forward until her toes hit the lump. She reached down. Her fingers met stiff wet leather and traced a familiar rectangular shape, then another. Armor. This was one of the guards’ cuirasses.

  This was one of the guards. She’d tripped over a body.

  Dear sweet Heaven. What had happened? Did he need help?

  Her eyes were adjusting to the faint light. She couldn’t see anything clearly yet, but the shape of the body against the deck was a darker shadow than the darkness around it. Her hands searched upward. The skin was still warm. Had he simply fallen dead? Killed by exposure to the elements?

  No. She froze as her fingers brushed his wet throat. A feathered wooden shaft protruded from it.

  An arrow.

  Heart bolting against her ribs, she scrambled back and glanced frantically around. Oh, dear God. Another shadowy lump lay at the port end of the command tower. The other guard. Someone was killing the people on this ship.

  She’d apparently chosen a very, very fortunate time to escape.

  Was anyone here now? She could only hear the engines and the rain, could only see the dark. The hangar lay ahead and up one ladder.

  Gathering her courage, she sprinted for it—then cursed and splashed to a stop. Weapons. She needed to disable the other flyers or the general’s men could chase her down.

  If any of them were still alive.

  Better not to think of that. Whoever had done this had saved her from bashing the guards, but she didn’t want to be lying beside them.

  She raced back to the guard’s body and stopped dead as a figure dropped into the shadows just ahead of her, landing with a heavy thunk against the iron deck. Not another body. A man—rising from a crouch. Huge, with the unmistakable silhouette of a bow slung across his back.

  The killer.

  A cry of terror jumped into her throat. Zenobia choked it back and swung.

  The bludgeon hit with a solid thunk and the chink of gold. Not his head. His shoulder. Oh, God. He was so tall, she’d misjudged her aim. Panicked, she drew back for another swing.

  A strong grip snagged her wrist, spun her around. A big hand over her mouth stifled her curse and easily pulled her back against a tautly muscled frame. No! His palm muffled her infuriated scream. Desperately she kicked and tried to swing her cosh again. Her struggles were nothing against his merciless strength.

  The rain drummed. A familiar, deep voice sounded in her ear.

  “Good evening, wife.”

  Zenobia froze. Ariq?

  Disbelieving, she stood trembling as he uncovered her mouth. She spun in his arms and looked up, trying to see him t
hrough the dark. The night was cruel, concealing his features, but his clothes smelled like stale seawater and fresh rain, and he was warm and solid and undeniably here.

  Ariq had come for her.

  His gentle fingers traced her jaw. “You’re all right?”

  No. Something was building inside her, something big and indescribable that lodged in her chest and pumped it unbearably full, and she was a breath away from crying.

  How could she be all right? Her heart had been shattered and healed in the same day. All right didn’t begin to describe her state of being now.

  But it would have to do. They hadn’t escaped yet, so this wasn’t time to break down.

  Her breath shuddered as she finally nodded. Taking his big hand in hers, she started for the hangar. “The flyers are this way.”

  Ariq tugged her back against him. “Who has your pack? Your letters? I’ll find them for you.”

  The tears were suddenly closer, her chest tighter. “They’re gone. Let’s go.”

  “Gone?”

  “The general burned them.” Her voice broke. “Please. Let’s go.”

  A long second passed before Ariq asked, “What flyers?”

  “The silver flyers. They used them to make everyone in the Red City believe the marauders had taken us from the embassy. But we can use them to get away.”

  “Where are they?”

  She pointed to the hangar.

  “We’ll destroy them on our way, then.”

  “We don’t need them?”

  “I have a balloon.” Taking the bludgeon from her aching fingers, Ariq tucked a dagger into her tunic’s sash and led her to the platform ladder. “Go up to the suspended walkway. Be careful—the rungs are slick. I’ll be right behind.”

  But not directly behind. He stopped at the hangar and urged her ahead. She climbed the smokestack’s ladder. From below came the distinctive clicking sound of a windup device.

  He probably wasn’t winding a toy. She climbed faster.

  Rain lashed her face when she reached the walkway. On the decks, she’d barely felt the motion of the heavy ironship, but up here the bridge seemed to sway and pitch. She clung to the rail and waited.

  He was here. Ariq was here.

  And her body was shaking. Giddiness? Fatigue? She didn’t know anymore. Suddenly, none of this felt real. Just a fantasy conjured out of her exhausted dreams. She was probably lying on the deck, bleeding to death with an arrow through her throat.

  Only she wasn’t. Ariq appeared and took her hand, leading her quickly across the bridge.

  “I set it for five minutes.”

  She didn’t ask what he’d set. He’d already stopped and placed her fingers on a stiff rope.

  A ladder. She looked up and got an eyeful of rain.

  Ariq’s warm hand cupped her face. “It’s anchored to the ship now, but I’ll have to release the tether before I climb. The ladder will fall away. Just hold on tight and keep going up.”

  Just keep going up. That had to be easier than bashing faces in. She nodded against his palm. “Five minutes?”

  “Four minutes now.”

  She gripped the ladder. His steadying hands remained on her waist until she’d climbed out of his reach. She glanced back. A few lanterns still glowed on the opposite side of the command tower. Dear God, the deck was so far down. She was high enough to see over the top of the wheelhouse—

  How could the pilot not see her? There was always someone in that part of the tower.

  Her gaze shot to the windows. Inside, a gas lamp cast a soft golden light that gleamed in a pool of blood.

  Oh. Ariq hadn’t just been looking for her. He’d made certain that no one would interfere with their escape.

  The sudden addition of his weight made the ladder lurch in her grip. She clutched it tighter, her heart pounding, then almost lost her stomach when the ladder swung free.

  Smoke from the stacks billowed into her face before she swung into clean air again. The ironship steamed on—and she was hanging from a balloon over the sea.

  Well. She had wanted adventure.

  Steeling her nerves, she pulled herself up to the next rung. The swaying wasn’t so bad now. Worse were the little jolts that ran through the rope every time Ariq rose up another step. Each jolt threatened to tug the wet rope from her hands and slip the rungs from under her feet. She didn’t know how her heart wasn’t bursting.

  How long did they have? Three minutes? And she still couldn’t see the balloon. She could barely even see the ladder she was climbing.

  The jolts against her hands weren’t so terrible now, as if she was reaching the point where the ladder anchored to the balloon. The rain had stopped—and the air was warmer. A solid shape resolved against the dark sky. The balloon’s basket.

  Gratefully, she gripped the side and dragged herself over. Ariq was there a second later, pulling up the ladder.

  She looked out over the ironship. The glow of the deck lanterns was the only thing visible on the wide expanse of the sea. The rain hadn’t stopped, she realized—it was just the balloon overhead acting as an umbrella. “How much time?”

  “Another minute.” He moved past her. A soft metallic thunk sounded, as if he’d pulled a lever. “They’re only grenades—they’ll destroy the flyers, but won’t do much damage to the ship. They’ll start looking for us, though.”

  “Can they see us up here?”

  “No. And they’ll see even less when we’re up in the clouds. But sound carries on the open water, and we don’t want to give them anything to aim their rail cannons at.”

  The ship’s engines concealed any noise they made now. But when the explosives went off, the general would order the engines stopped. She and Ariq would have to be utterly silent after that.

  Ariq joined her. His arm circled her waist and he drew her back against his broad chest. Throat thick, she leaned into him.

  She managed a husky whisper. “Thank you.”

  His arm tightened. The lanterns below seemed to be drifting farther away—not just because the ironship was still underway, she realized, but because the balloon was rising.

  “What is this?” His voice was a low rumble against her back. “Your gold?”

  He held her bludgeon in his free hand. She touched the knotted sleeve. “Some of it.” The rest was still in her cabin. “I intended to bash the guards’ heads in and take a flyer.”

  His body stiffened. “I vowed to return for you. Did you not believe it?”

  “I believed you would try. I waited for you on the deck each night.” Below, a bright flash lit the ironship’s stern. A crack sounded, like the roll of thunder. “But we weren’t where you’d left us. I didn’t know if you could come. And I wasn’t going to let the general use me any longer. Not against you, not against your people, and not to hurt my friends.”

  He didn’t respond. Mist swirled around them.

  More lights appeared on the decks. The engines quieted. The mist thickened as shouts echoed from below.

  Her heart seemed suddenly heavy, and her body so tired, as if every bit of the energy that had carried her to this point simply drained away. She whispered, “Am I an idiot for trying?”

  Ariq gathered her closer and she felt the soft brush of his lips against her wet hair before he murmured, “No.”

  Good. Zenobia laid her head back against his shoulder. Warm and solid, Ariq held her as the cloud swallowed them up, as she closed her eyes.

  And he was still holding her when she floated away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By dawn, the numbness in Ariq’s left shoulder had bloomed into a dull, throbbing ache, but he could finally raise his arm above chest-level again. He’d taken blows from soldiers in mechanical suits that did less damage than Zenobia’s bludgeon had. He was fortunate she’d hit muscle, not bone. Even he would have ha
d to slow down for a shattered knee or a cracked skull.

  Ariq had known Zenobia might destroy him. He just hadn’t thought she might literally pulverize him.

  She wasn’t pulverizing anyone now. Sitting against the side of the basket, Ariq cradled her against his chest, her head pillowed on his right shoulder. She’d barely stirred through the night. Now he could see why. Gray light had begun filtering through the clouds, revealing her face, partially hidden beneath the fall of her tousled hair. The sight made his chest constrict. Even asleep, she looked exhausted. She’d said she’d waited up for him each night. Now he suspected she hadn’t slept at all. The darkness under her eyes looked like bruises. Her pale skin seemed tightly drawn.

  How could he have ever told her she wasn’t beautiful? In all the world, there was nothing Ariq would rather look at than her face. That had to be beauty. Not the shape of a nose or the fullness of lips, but that she could draw his gaze so powerfully and fill his heart every time he saw her.

  His wife. Ariq had expected to love her. He hadn’t known that simply holding her in his arms would feel like a gift.

  Before, holding her had merely been something he’d wanted. It would have led to a kiss, a touch, her bed. He still wanted that. Needed that. Now he needed this just as much.

  Unwilling to wake her, he traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers hovering just above her skin. Her steady breaths warmed his fingertips.

  Her hand lay against his chest. Blue silk covered her wrist. She’d layered a sailor’s tunic over the one she’d been wearing the night they were abducted, but only the first layer still possessed a left sleeve. She’d made her bludgeon from the missing length—knotted and as dangerous as a mace.

  So clever, his wife. She’d wondered if her plan had been foolish? It had been far less reckless than his own escape had been. Bash a few guards. Take a flyer. Simple.

  Not so simple for her, though. It would have been easier for her to stay on the ironship. But she hadn’t.

  Just thinking of the risk she’d taken made his heart swell and ache. When he’d promised to come, Ariq had humbled himself before her. He’d let her step on his hand to show everyone that there was nothing he would place above her. It was a gesture meant to show loyalty to a khagan, but by kneeling, by submitting to her foot upon his palm, he declared that she was his queen.