Bec McMaster - [London Steampunk 02]

by Heart of Iron

  “And how goes her experiments?” the duchess asked.

  The only way she could have known of them was if she were having the warren watched. Will’s eyes narrowed. None of the three had shown any sign of surprise. Which meant the Council likely knew everything that went in and out of the warren.

  Something Will’d have to see to when they got out of here.

  “She likes to tinker,” Blade replied with a shrug. He played this game far better than Will ever could. “Thinks she’ll cure me one day.”

  “Do you think she will?” The duchess sipped at her blud-wein. The firelight turned her coppery hair into a flaming corona around her head, but despite the brandy brown eyes and hint of color in her cheeks, her manner was as cool as winter. A little clockwork spider crawled across her shoulder, tethered by a fine steel chain to a pin at her breast. The glass dome of its body showed the exquisite brass cogs of its clockwork interior. He’d seen the type before. Flip them over and the belly was a watch.

  “Keeps ’er amused and outta me ’air.” Blade’s smile held a knife-edge. “Everybody knows there ain’t no cure for the cravin’.”

  “Yes, but her father was Sir Artemus Todd. Wasn’t he the genius who discovered all those weapons for Vickers, before you killed the duke? I hear Todd was close to discovering a cure even then. Perhaps your wife knew something of his work?”

  Blade could be quite reasonable at times. But not when Honoria was concerned. He bared his teeth—some people might have called it a smile—but Will knew it was just the expression he wore before he cut someone’s throat. “Maybe she does. Like poisons that actually work on a blue blood, or a gun with bullets as explode on impact. But nothin’ of cures, princess.”

  To her credit, the lady never even flinched. Instead, she picked up the clockwork spider, letting it crawl over and under her fingers. “I see your knighthood has taken none of the savagery from you.”

  “Did you expect it ought?”

  “Fifty years ago you were dangerous, Blade. Times change. Our resources have changed. If we wanted to get rid of you, we’d simply send the Spitfires in and burn the rookery to the ground.” The duchess poured more blud-wein into her glass and stirred it like tea. As if she weren’t speaking of war. “Right now, you’re…an inconvenience. Out of sight and out of mind. Like someone’s embarrassing, black sheep cousin who keeps showing up to balls.”

  “If you’re tryin’ to grease me up for this favor you want o’ me, you ain’t doin’ much of a bang-up job, princess.”

  The duchess stopped stirring, tapped the spoon against her goblet three times, then set it aside. Her almond-shaped eyes lifted, thick dark lashes fluttering against her smooth, pale cheeks. “Who said the favor we wished was from you?”

  All eyes turned toward Will.

  Leo grimaced. “I thought to warn you—”

  The hair on the back of Will’s neck rose. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared back. “No.”

  “You haven’t heard what it is yet,” the young Duke of Malloryn murmured.

  “I don’t like you no more ’n Blade does. And I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.” He eyed the handsome young peacock and bared his teeth. “A struttin’ tom like you? Why, I figure I could throw you a fair way too.”

  Malloryn raised lazy eyes toward him. A quick flick of his wrist and a knife appeared, balancing on point on his finger. “You’d have to get close enough.”

  “Auvry, that’s enough,” Barrons murmured. Their eyes met and Barrons straightened, his posture screaming out the silent challenge in the air between them.

  Malloryn shrugged—and the knife disappeared. “You’re no fun anymore, Barrons.”

  “Let’s at least remain civilized long enough to give some credence to our claim of being gentlemen.” Barrons eased gracefully into a chair by the fire, hooking his ankle up on his knee. Despite the appearance of relaxing, his lazy-lidded eyes examined the room.

  “And you’re the ones as want somewhat,” Blade replied, sinking into one of the other chairs. He tested it, impressed with the padding. “Never treat with a man as ’olds a blade to your throat. That’s what I always says.”

  Will stayed on guard. A sound in the hallway alerted him. Three separate footfalls, all moving with purpose toward the room.

  The door opened and a pair of the elite Coldrush Guards entered first. As part of the prince consort’s retinue and custodians of the Ivory Tower, they were taken from their families when it became clear they’d been infected, put into the strict tower camps, and trained to kill. Will sized the pair of them up. One of them returned his stare with a wary surveillance. Not fear. But marking him as a potential adversary.

  The man who followed them towered over the guards. With thick brown hair and glassy, almost-colorless eyes, he strode into the room as if he owned it. His long red coat swirled around his hips, and a gleaming metal breastplate protected his chest.

  Will had always thought the prince consort was an older man. He was surprised to find that he was perhaps younger than Blade. Ascending to the Regency nearly thirty years ago, he’d steered the young human princess through the treacherous waters of the Echelon after her father had been overthrown. To consolidate his power, he’d then married her when she came of age, ten years ago.

  The fact that he’d been the one who’d overthrown the human king wasn’t something that was generally mentioned in polite company.

  “Your Highness.” The men stood and bowed.

  The prince consort strode to the fire, holding out his hands to warm them. He looked up, his icy blue eyes examining Will. “So this is the Beast of Whitechapel?”

  A growl sounded low in Will’s throat. Both the Coldrush Guards straightened, hands resting on their pistols.

  The prince consort’s lips crooked up, just slightly, and Will forced himself to relax. Bloody games. Testing him to see what manner of man—or monster—he was.

  The prince consort examined the room. “Have they told you why you’re here?”

  “You want somewhat from me,” Will replied. No wonder they’d wanted him and Blade to come here. A meeting could have been set up anywhere in the city for them if it had involved only the Council. But the prince consort was another matter.

  “I have a proposition. An…opportunity for yourself.”

  “How very kind of you,” Will drawled. “Lookin’ out for me interests like that.”

  Another oily smile. “Well, yes, also an opportunity for us. But I’ll state it plainly. I don’t intend to use you without your knowledge. And you will be ably compensated.”

  Like he’d ever given a damn about money.

  The duchess spoke up. “There’s talk that the French are in discussions with the Illuminist fanatics from New Catalan. It’s an uneasy concept, to say the least.”

  Verwulfen were a blue blood’s natural enemy, the only creature dangerous enough to kill a blue blood and do it easily. But in the eyes of the Illumination, any supernatural creature was an abomination that needed to be eliminated. The tales of New Catalan’s Inquisition was enough to make even the bravest shudder.

  “And how am I to help?” Will asked.

  “We’re not the only country with an interest in the proceedings across the Channel,” Barrons replied. “If the Illumination gains a foothold in France, they’ll have access to the northern waters, plus all France’s airships. We’re considering an alliance with the Scandinavians to prevent that. We have ships—the dreadnoughts—and the Scandinavians have their dragon-ships and air fleet.”

  Bloody hell. A husky bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “You think the Scandinavian clans would ally with you? The Butchers of Culloden? Let’s not forget what’s been done since. All them verwulfen trapped in cages and bought and sold like fuckin’ slaves.”

  Blade caught his arm as he took a half step forward. A caution
. Will shook it off, trying to focus through the red-hot flare of rage. The beat of it thundered in his blood, echoing dully in his ears.

  “Culloden was a long time ago,” the prince consort replied coolly. His guards had stepped forward as if fearing an attack, but he settled into a chair and flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve.

  “It weren’t that long ago to some of us.”

  “Culloden was a mistake.” The words came from behind, from Barrons. All heads turned in his direction and he shrugged, as if admitting a truth they were too embarrassed to claim. “You cannot slaughter an entire race without consequences. Wiping out the Scottish verwulfen clans was only ever going to incite anger. But it was done by our forefathers and there is nothing we can do about it, Will.”

  “And the Manchester Pits? Where they throw us in with wild dogs and bears to bait? Or pit us against each other for blood sport?”

  “They are private enterprises,” the prince consort replied, his fingers slowly drumming on the armrest. “Most of them owned by humans, actually.”

  Which meant he didn’t give a damn. Will knew what it was like to be trapped behind bars, or cut open for the pleasure of a crowd. And yet there was nothing to be done… Verwulfen were outlawed in Britain and capturing them and using them as slaves was not only legal, but encouraged.

  Staring at the prince consort with his pale bloodless face, Will could barely control the surge of anger that boiled in his gut. “What do the Scandinavian clans think o’ your policies?”

  The prince consort’s fingers stopped tapping. “Do you know what they do to blue bloods in Scandinavia?” A tight little smile eased over his mouth. “As I am willing to overlook certain things for the greater good, so are they. This threat from the Continent is of far greater concern than a few individuals.”

  Will shot a look of pure hatred toward the man. “Then I ain’t inclined to be obligin’. You’ll have to use someone else.”

  Turning on his heel, the heat of fury burning in his cheeks, he jerked his head toward Blade. As far as he was concerned, this audience was over.

  “Not even for ten thousand pounds?” The prince consort barely raised his voice, but Will heard it.

  He laughed darkly. The Echelon. Thinking they could buy a man for his weight in gold.

  He had one hand on the door handle when Barrons spoke up. “What if the terms were ones that interested you?”

  “You can’t buy me. Not even you, Barrons.”

  “What if the price was a change in the law?”

  Will froze, hand on the doorknob.

  As if encouraged, Barrons stepped closer, his boots sinking into the plush carpets. “If you help us sign this treaty with Scandinavia, then we would be willing to make certain changes to the law. No more cages or headhunters, Will. We would outlaw pit-fighting if you wished it.”

  His breath caught in his chest, and he turned on his heel. The five blue bloods stared at him without expression. The sight gave him the impression that this had been the trap all along. “Why do you need me so much? Sounds like you’ve almost got it signed.”

  “There are opposing factions in each camp,” Barrons replied with a grimace. “The Norwegian clans are furiously adamant that they don’t need us, and there are one or two Council members of our own who oppose this.”

  Will took another look around. Not only councilors who’d voted for Blade to live then, but the ones who wanted this treaty to succeed. “And I’m to woo the Norwegian clans?”

  “They’re old-fashioned,” the prince consort replied. “And crude. But they’re also a loud voice in the Riksdag. We would like to show that our two species can live amicably.” His smile widened. “And you are a perfect representative. You would appeal to them immensely.”

  “I think ’e just called you crude,” Blade muttered.

  Will ignored him. “If I can win the Norwegian clans over and see the treaty signed, then you’ll revoke the law that outlaws verwulfen?”

  The prince consort nodded.

  “I’ll want that in writin’,” Will said. “And witnessed.”

  A slight narrowing of the prince consort’s eyes. “Agreed.”

  “That ain’t all. I want the pits outlawed. All verwulfen that are caged or slaved are to be set free and given equal rights as humans…or blue bloods.”

  Another nod.

  “And the price on me head is lifted, you understand? I come and go as I please.” No more skulking about the city, running the rooftops at night. Free to go where he wanted. Free to walk the city streets without people trying to kill him—or cage him.

  The prince consort waved a negligent hand. “Would you like that in writing too?”

  Will bared his teeth. “Absolutely.”

  ***

  “That were well done,” Blade said, hauling himself up into the steam carriage with a grunt.

  Will nodded past him to Rip, who wore a coachman’s livery and heavy cloak. Beneath that cloak lurked an armory of weapons, as well as the heavy, mech arm that would damn him in this company. At the back of the carriage hovered Tin Man, another of Blade’s men. Light gleamed off the metal cap that was meshed to his scalp. He couldn’t speak, but he was damn good with a blade.

  “Take ’im home,” Will said, clapping Tin Man on the shoulder. “Make sure he gets there.”

  Blade poked his head through the window. “Where’re you goin’?”

  “Takin’ care of a promise I made.”

  “Alone?”

  “I’ve got safe passage,” he retorted. “Might as well use it for the night.”

  A long pause. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” He turned on his heel and strode back toward the ball. Despite the overwhelming presence of blue bloods, a small smile played about his lips.

  This time Lena was his.

  Six

  No sign of the duke or duchess anywhere.

  Lena growled under her breath and retreated down the hallway. It wouldn’t do to be caught here alone. As much as she wanted to discover more about the Scandinavian treaty, she wasn’t foolish enough to start searching rooms by herself at a ball full of predators.

  Noise washed over her as she returned to the entry. Keeping an eye open for a certain verwulfen she wished to avoid, she ducked into the ballroom.

  Time to leave. She just had to find Adele and her mother—who was chaperoning her tonight—and plead a case of nerves. Pasting a wan smile on her face, she slipped around the edges of the ballroom, searching for them.

  A full circuit took her back to the main doors. Adele was wearing white, as befitted a woman actively searching for a protector, but none of the white-gowned debutantes were her. A little tick of fear started in Lena’s chest. She wouldn’t have left the ballroom, would she? Adele knew the consequences of that as well as she did. Here, they both had an illusion of safety.

  Unless…she’d left with someone on purpose. Perhaps she’d found someone willing to take her as thrall?

  Lena scurried along the windows, peering out into the shadowed gardens. Adele—cunning, smart Adele—would never place such a risk to her reputation again. Not without an ironclad thrall contract in hand.

  Smiling at Adele’s mother, who stood gossiping with another matron, Lena pushed through the crowd and staggered into the entry. The grandfather clock ticked slowly in the middle of the staircase, but the room was empty.

  The powder room. Maybe she was there?

  Pushing open the small room, she ran into the Duchess of Casavian.

  The woman caught her with strong, pale hands. Years ago, her father had infected her with the craving so that when he died, his House would not fade into obscurity. Aramina should have been considered a rogue, but her House was one of the Great Houses. After numerous assassination attempts she’d somehow survived, some said she’d blackmailed her way to power, forcing
the Echelon to accept her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lena said. “I was looking for my friend.”

  Aramina’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Barrons’s ward, aren’t you?”

  And too late, Lena remembered the blood feud between her half brother and this woman. “Yes.”

  “A girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s dangerous.”

  “I know. I couldn’t find my friend… And I won’t go back without her.”

  Consideration lit those brandy-brown eyes. Then the duchess’s ruby-tinted lips thinned. “I’ll look for her. What’s her name?”

  “Adele Hamilton,” Lena said, collapsing against the wall in relief. “She’s wearing white.”

  The duchess paused with her hand on the door handle. “The name is not unknown to me. Wasn’t she the girl caught with Lord Fenwick last year?”

  “Not by choice,” Lena admitted, wondering whether the duchess would care.

  They all knew about it, after all.

  After a long stare, the duchess slipped through the door. “I’ll find her. Stay here; it should be safe.”

  Lena fanned herself furiously. Of all the things to happen, she would never have imagined that the Duchess of Casavian would help her. She was notorious for her cool demeanor and frigid temper.

  And her hatred of all things of the House of Caine, Leo included.

  Why help the ward of her enemy?

  Unless she wasn’t really going to search for Adele… Lena’s black lace fan slowed. The duchess had told her to stay here, not return to the ball, where she might be safe. It was highly unlikely a blue blood lord would stumble into the powder room, but it was also the perfect place for an ambush. Dark, secluded… Far enough away that nobody would hear her screaming over the music.

  All the duchess had to do was find one of the more dangerous young bucks and whisper in his ear. Then Lena would be ruined—just another pawn lost in the game between the duchess and Leo.

  She couldn’t stay here.

  Bolting for the door, she slipped out into the darkened corridor. Was it her imagination, or had the gaslights been turned down? Heart thumping in her chest, she hurried toward the ballroom.