The Eidolon

Emil stepped forward from the shadows. He spun and kicked the soldier holding the trapdoor level clean off the platform. With one hard movement, he sliced the rope just above Veronica’s neck. She fell through the hole and into Alec’s waiting arms. He rolled out from under the platform, cradling her carefully. Her eyes flew open and she appeared surprised enough not to struggle, but as soon as Alec was clear of the platform, she stepped away from him. She stared hard at Alec, most likely not recognizing him immediately from the mask he wore. He bowed to her and her face relaxed into a near smile.

  Her gaze then sought him out. When it landed on Emil, her eyes widened in amazement.

  Did she think he wouldn’t come? That he wouldn’t figure out a way to save her and Sombor? They’d have to have words when this was all over. Preferably after he’d held her in his arms until he was certain she was alive. Well. And his.

  The crowd—now about a hundred or so—alternately booed the lack of a hanging and cheered to witness the new spectacle.

  Emil heard the movement before he saw it—a sword appeared in his vision and he blocked the blow without a thought. Another soldier stepped forward, and another, until they ringed Emil.

  Veronica shook off her incredulity and ran toward him. But her papá blocked her way, rapier drawn. Without a word, his face red with contained rage, he advanced, his strokes quicker than the eye could see. Veronica parried each one, almost too slow. With her skin pale and glistening, she looked nearly dead. The pain she had to be feeling—from her hand and from whatever torture they’d inflicted during her imprisonment—must be overwhelming. Emil had to get to her before her own father finished her off.

  The soldiers surrounding Emil advanced, but Emil’s crew pounced. With sweeping legs and quick, brutal punches, they flustered the soldiers’ orderly fighting style. Emil stepped through the chaos and toward Veronica, but it felt too slow. He felt too slow. No matter how quickly he told his brain to move, his body couldn’t keep up. He distantly heard the crowd shouting for Veronica’s head.

  Veronica fell to her knees under the force of the Duke’s blows. Emil shoved aside one man, and then another, but he still wasn’t close enough.

  The Duke didn’t even pause as his arm rose to deliver a killing blow. His features smoothed into a calm that was more appropriate in a drawing room. Even now, he was so confident in himself and his choices. Even with his daughter bleeding on the ground before him.

  As the sword descended, Veronica’s metal hand reached up and grabbed the blade. With a look of concentration, she squeezed and the metal snapped in half. Aman Tanrım. That blasted hand saved her. Again. Next time he saw that Hoch fellow, he’d give him an uncomfortable embrace.

  The Duke stumbled backward from the force of the break. Right into Emil.

  Emil yanked the man’s arms behind him with one hand and held a blade to his throat with the other. Veronica collapsed, but Rosseau was suddenly there. He caught her with a fierce look of concern. She’d fainted, finally giving in to the pain.

  “You both will face the noose now,” his Grace hissed.

  Emil snorted. “On whose orders? I’ve explained to her Highness, Queen Victoria, the full conditions of the factories and what the Eidolon has been fighting for. She has, in fact, even sent one of her men to Bridges to confirm where the children have been placed. While she’s not yet investigated the factories, she agrees that the work of the Eidolon may be justified. She’s granted Princess Veronica a temporary pardon pending further investigation. Her Majesty seemed, in point of fact, quite impressed by your daughter.”

  “Impossible!” The Duke’s mouth curled up in a derisive smile. “Her majesty wouldn’t grant an audience with a foreigner like yourself. Who are you?” He tried to turn his head but Emil tightened his grip. “A simple bodyguard.”

  “You’ve no further say on the matter. In fact, I believe your Queen awaits your presence. And unless you want to add to your own personal crimes, you will call your men off and attend her immediately.”

  “Ridiculous. I’ll do no such thing. I’ve never heard such a pile of nonsense.”

  Emil lowered his voice so that the Duke alone could hear. “You think I lie? That I jest? See who joins us this fine morning.” He gestured back toward the platform. A uniformed official—one of Victoria’s trusted inner circle stepped forward.

  His Grace didn’t move. Emil could see him calculating how to turn the situation back to his own advantage.

  Emil couldn’t help it. With the Duke in his grap, he vented his own anguish in a low voice. “You tore my sister from me when she was but five years of age. She cried so loudly I thought all of EurAsia heard her sorrow. I should kill you right now. I could, and there would not be a thing your men could do. Not even avenge you—none of them are a match for me.”

  The Duke’s shrugged, making the blade cut into his skin. He didn’t seem to care. “I’ve helped Grillett round up a million street rats. One such as you say would be entirely forgettable. They all cry like that at first until they learn how to forget their pasts and become useful members of society.”

  Emil had heard such ridiculous litany a hundred times. The Duke had no further defense for his crimes than this. It seemed impossible that such irrational reasoning could ruin so many lives. Render apart hearts and souls.

  The only thought that could calm Emil was this: once Her Majesty uncovered the truth, His Grace’s impassionate reasons would not save him.

  Emil sheathed his sword and shoved the Duke away from him. He had what he wanted. Veronica. Suzanna. He’d leave the Duke in Victoria’s capable and deadly hands.

  The Duke smiled, a twisted, horrible sight, and said, “Coward.” The Queen’s advisor gestured for the Duke to follow. He obeyed, striding toward the palace, the specter of Emil’s words on his heels.

  * * *

  “Where is she?” Emil asked as he leapt over the side of The Hırsız. Rosseau was to bring Veronica back and prepare the ship for launch. The burly Frenchman emerged from Emil’s cabin.

  “I had to give her a sleeping draft. She would not let me attend her injuries. She kept going on about Claire and Suzie and her children and refused to sit. I told her they were fine, that they were safe at Bridges, but she insisted on seeing them with her own eyes. Once she fell asleep, I set her arms and bound her cuts. She’d pulled both shoulders out of their sockets and cut her wrist so deeply, it’s a miracle she could stand upright. As it is, she will need substantial time and nourishment to recover. I gave her some of the tisane.”

  Both shoulders dislocated? In addition to her barely healed hand? Yet she survived. Aman Tanrım that woman was magnificent.

  Emil clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Rosseau. It was well done.”

  The Frenchman would not meet his eyes, keeping them cast on the ground. “Capitan, I will be leaving after we reach Sombor.” He bowed and turned to leave, but Emil caught his arm.

  He didn’t speak for a moment. Rosseau’s shoulders, always so proud, now hunched, burdened. Like Emil, he carried a nearly untenable guilt over Durad’s death. How did one get past such a thing? Was it possible?

  Emil swallowed, thinking of all the times he’d failed Durad. The years he’d been gone. Falling in love with his fiancé. No one person would carry the guilt for Durad’s death.

  “My friend,” Emil said to Rosseau, “The loss of the Prince will not be laid at your feet. Not now, not ever. The prince chose to put himself in harm’s path, just as he chose to deceive you by leaving without informing you. Had he done so, you might’ve been able to save him. I hope you won’t leave me, friend, as I have lost enough this day already.”

  Rosseau’s head lifted, eyes drooping with sadness. He nodded. “I will think on your words, Capitan.”

  Emil watched him go, hoping it wouldn’t take long for his first mate to obey this particular order. Then he strode toward his cabin and entered quietly. Veronica lay on the bed, her eyes closed in heavy slumber. Her mouth remained tight, as though her
dreams haunted rather than comforted her.

  He sank down into the chair and took her hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  A week later

  This time when Veronica awoke, she didn’t feel the cold embrace of steel at her wrists, but a soft pillow at her cheek and a warm brick at her feet. She sat up quickly and swore, her head swimming. Blasted Rosseau. Must’ve given her a sleeping draft.

  How long had she been out? Where was she? Veronica swung her legs over the side of the bed. She didn’t seem to be on an airship, but in a decadent room. Light, red silk drapes hung about several large windows. An oddly shaped writing desk, formed like a crescent moon, sat in the corner. A small fire burned in a fireplace, with two chairs flanking either side. A set of columns divided her room from a sitting area, which contained an oriental-looking couch and another set of chairs.

  She stood, noticing that she wore a soft chemise. Her shoulders no longer ached, and the pain in her wrists beat like a dull, worn-out drum. Her left hand where Dr. Hoch attached the new one still chilled her arm but the giant, burning ache had vanished. She lifted it, gloveless now, and examined it in the soft light. She flexed her fingers carefully. This ugly contraption had saved her life. Saved her from her Papá. Maybe, like Clank, like Lady Flowers, it could do something good for the world.

  The door to her room opened, admitting a girl of about nine years of age with beautiful, brown skin the color of Veronica’s favorite tea. She padded forward and bowed, presenting Veronica with a platter. A note lay on top. Veronica took it, unsure how to thank the girl. She must be in Sombor, surely, where else would they have gone aboard The Hırsız? Veronica smiled and the girl returned it, her face glowing. She perused Veronica’s attire and then her hand. Giggling, she turned and left.

  Veronica slit open the note with the finger of her left hand. A black half-mask fell out. She automatically picked it up.

  Balcony.

  She stared at the note for a moment longer then looked around her room. What balcony? Why the mask? If, like she thought, she was in Sombor, who would now be in charge? Now that Durad was gone…she rubbed her eyes.

  Blessed saints, here she lived while he did not. Veronica never thought she would mourn the loss of any man. Yet Durad had surely changed her, as much as the new hand she now wore. He’d shown her what a man could be when uncorrupted by greed. Charming as spring and good to his soul, she’d liked him.

  The people of Sombor might blame her for his death. She would either be a princess in their eyes or a murderer. Veronica would not fault them for their choice. But she decided she did want to make things right. She wanted to help Sombor. Even if only for Durad. Would they allow her to? They might think the Eidolon a ridiculous figure. London certainly had. But as always, she couldn’t quite fight the spark that told her she could make a difference. That she was different from her father.

  Her father. He’d turned out to be the biggest liar and murderer of them all. How could she not have known? She should’ve at least suspected the Duke had something to do with it. It seemed incomprehensible that papá would dirty his hands in such a fashion. Or lie to the queen he loved and admired. Still, it made perfect sense now that Veronica knew. How else had he become so untouchable? His resources so endless?

  The drapes to a window in her room fluttered. She looked around for a robe and found one laying across a chair. She slipped it on, crossed the room, and moved aside the curtains. A black-cloaked figure stood on the balcony, staring out into the city below. Veronica joined him, recognizing his large shoulders and the wary way he stood.

  A sprawling, humming city lay below them. People dressed in all colors formed an odd rainbow flowing through the streets, calling out in words that carried the same cadence and form as Emil’s frequent Turkish phrases. The air drenched her, hot and humid, forming an instant film on her skin. The familiar spice Emil carried on him drifted pleasantly into her senses.

  “How are you?” he asked, his familiar, deep voice winding into the empty places of her heart.

  “You’ve seen me through worse,” she said as she stepped closer.

  He nodded, still not looking at her.

  Veronica had so many questions for him, so much she thirsted to know. “Are my children safe?” she asked first.

  “They’re all at the workhouse and accounted for. The Queen released Claire. They know now, of course, that the Eidolon and Lady Flowers are the same person. I think the little scoundrels knew all along. When Claire told some little brown haired, freckled minx, she hardly seemed surprised. Nor did many others.” His voice lightened as he spoke of the orphans.

  She grasped the railing. They’d escaped, thank heavens. She felt as light as the warm breeze. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

  “Alec herded them after you were captured. Watched over them while I came for you.”

  While I came for you. The words were so sweet, she dared to let them make her feel valued. Cherished.

  “Alec is alright? Was he injured? What about our papá—”

  “Your brother is fully capable. I don’t think the Duke ever saw him during either fight. He returned home and the last message I got from him was something along the lines of, ‘Tell Peanut to hurry up and get well because I want to show off the Eidolon to all my society friends. It’s terribly dull here without you.’”

  Combined with the growing warmth inside her, the knowledge that Alec had actually helped her and was unharmed made her tremble. He’d caught her. Hadn’t let her fall.

  “Alec and children? Perish the thought.”

  Emil’s didn’t reply, his black cloak waving in the breeze behind him, the fabric brushing her skin.

  “And Lord Grillett? What of him?” she asked.

  “Killed by his own bullet.”

  “What?”

  Emil turned toward her, his eyes dark as night. He gently lifted her left arm, the metal gleaming in the sunlight. “The bullet ricocheted off of your hand when he shot you. It caught him square in the forehead.”

  She pulled her arm from his grasp and stumbled back until she hit the wall. “It was me? I killed him?”

  Emil placed both hands on her shoulders, preventing her movement. “No! It was his own mad obsession for you, Veronica, that killed him. He shot you. And because of what you’ve been through on behalf of those children, he could not kill you. For once, justice intervened.”

  Veronica felt the heat of Emil’s touch through her chemise. His words warmed her just as much. Did he truly believe that? Her choices saved her and the children? Thank the heavens they were safe and Grillett was gone. It seemed a dream, too good to be real.

  “What about the Duke? Won’t he come after me? Won’t he come after the children?”

  “The queen was not pleased when she learned how Lord Grillett truly ran his orphanages. She’s ordered an official investigation. Your father won’t risk coming after any one while under such scrutiny.”

  She glanced sharply at him. “You know, then? About his involvement with Grillett?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I knew he ran the factories alongside Grillett.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” She turned away. How could he have kept that from her?

  A hand landed on her shoulder softly. “Veronica, I knew the Duke by his face only, not his name. He kidnapped my sister many years ago. I thought her dead. I’ve been searching for him ever since. I saw him the night before the engagement ball, when I first figured out exactly who he was.”

  She’d known that Emil was stolen and delivered to the factories, but nothing about a sister. “I’m sorry. How awful, Emil.”

  He gently turned her. She was surprised to see a wild joy in his eyes. It seemed a direct contrast to his sorrowful tale.

  “I found her, Veronica. At Bridges. She’d been going by the shortened name of Suzie.”

  “My little bright-eyed, matter-of-fact Suzie? Is your sister?” She smiled, wide enough that it felt unnatural. Surreal. But nothing about her curren
t situation seemed possible.

  “She’s safe now, in a chamber down the hall. She’s ecstatic to be living in the same wing as the Eidolon. She’s been pestering me to see you.”

  “That’s lovely! I can hardly believe it. I have to admit she’s one of my favorites. She never fibs, over anything. Always tells it like it is. Mistress Phillips adores her too. She can always trust Suzie to help her get to the bottom of things.” Veronica knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help the happiness bubbling out of her.

  “Thank you, canim,” he said softly.

  She stilled. Unable to move. Weighed by his emotion, and by a longing to reach out and feel if his skin was as hot as his gaze.

  “I didn’t tell you about my involvement with the Duke, or the Duke’s with Grillett because I planned to kill him,” he said suddenly.

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked. Of course Emil would want to. He thought the Duke had killed Suzie. Veronica most likely wouldn’t blame him if he had. Particularly since she knew and loved Suzie so much, and cared nothing for the Duke.

  He lowered his voice. The words floated toward her, wrapped themselves around her. “Because after I met you, I…you threw me off. I didn’t know how to get what I wanted. I guess I put off getting my revenge until I knew how it would make you feel.”

  Veronica scrambled to try and organize her thoughts into words. “I tried for so many years to see the queen, but was never granted an audience. How did you get through to her? Get her to consider that the Duke might not be who he seems?”

  Emil’s eyes lifted at the corners, a sign that underneath his scarf, he hid a smile. “I slipped into her chambers and offered her a cup of tea.”

  She laughed. The sound nearly startled her. When had she last done so out of true amusement? “You did not!”

  He nodded. “Oh but I did. Once I told her who I was, she was intrigued. The woman likes a man who’s seen battle and lived to tell the tale.”

  “Who you are? What do you mean?” Veronica’s smile vanished. Did he keep something from her, even now?