by Becca Andre
The quarrel flew true, and only Farran’s inhuman reflexes spared him the loss of the other eye. The bolt skimmed across his cheek, the purple arcs of power leaving shallow flaming grooves in his silver skin as it passed.
Farran’s evasive action must have loosened his magical grip on Grayson because he was on his feet in an instant and launched himself at Farran. They collided, falling backward to slam into the wall of the stable cabin. Either the impact or something Grayson did freed Lock from Farran’s hold, and the little dragon sprang into the air, flying back to Briar’s shoulder.
“I will not be your lackey,” Grayson said between clenched teeth.
“Then what will you be, my brother?”
“As she said, I will be what I want to be.”
Briar stilled. Was he finally willing to try?
“And what’s that?” Farran asked. “Another ferra slave on a leash? Do not let your human lust command you.” He slammed his hand into Grayson’s stomach and sent him flying. He crashed to the deck and slid across the boards to stop at Briar’s feet.
Farran regarded them with his single eye, not seeming to care enough to savor his momentary triumph.
Briar thumbed the button on the back of the crossbow, but she had been right. There were no more quarrels in the chamber. She let the crossbow slide from her fingers.
“Briar, run,” Grayson said, the words spoken on a pained wheeze.
She wasn’t about to abandon him. “Lock, fetch my fiddle bow,” she whispered.
The little dragon sprang into the air, winging his way toward her open cabin door.
Grayson shoved himself to his feet. “That won’t work. Go, Briar.” He took a step toward Farran and the dorsal spines slid out of the silver orifices along his back.
Lock emerged from her cabin, winging his way back to her with her bow in his talons. He dropped it into her waiting hands and landed on her shoulder.
Grayson leapt forward, moving so fast that Briar almost couldn’t follow it. He cleared the distance between him and Farran in a single move and smacked his hand against Farran’s chest. The silver metal rippled beneath Grayson’s hand.
Farran shouted, then swatted Grayson aside, the blow knocking him to the deck.
Briar cringed with the impact and gripped her fiddle bow tighter.
Grayson rolled onto his hands and knees, shaking his head as if to clear it. A few drops of blood fell to the deck, perhaps from his nose or mouth.
Briar was shocked to see the imprint of Grayson’s hand sunk into the metal of Farran’s chest, but as she watched, the metal smoothed out and the impression faded away.
Grayson shoved himself to his feet, but swayed when he tried to take a step.
“Lock, be the fiddle,” Briar said under her breath. Grayson needed healing.
A shimmer of static, and Lock transformed. Briar grabbed the neck of the fiddle before it slid off her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, my brother, but you must experience the pain before the enlightenment.” Farran attacked, throwing punches so quickly that Briar lost count.
Grayson met the attack with one of his own and Briar realized now just how much he had held back during his fight with Eli—even after he lost himself. Unfortunately, Farran was just as strong and just as fast. But the pair were not evenly matched. Grayson’s human flesh could not withstand that kind of punishment, and unlike Farran, he felt pain.
As the fight progressed, Grayson began to stagger, throwing fewer punches as he tried to dodge Farran’s unrelenting assault.
Briar brought the fiddle to her chin and drew the bow across the strings. She would heal Grayson and share her strength, giving him the means to defeat this monster.
Farran’s head snapped up as she launched into her song.
Grayson dropped to his knees. Briar.
She wasn’t certain if he spoke her name aloud or not, but she reached out to him through her song.
“What is this?” A hint of emotion colored Farran’s voice, but Briar couldn’t define it. “A soul singer?”
“Leave her…alone.” Grayson struggled to rise.
“Her heart would be a prize, indeed.” Farran took a step toward her.
Briar sawed the bow across the strings, emitting a dissonant series of notes.
Farran jerked to a stop.
She wasn’t about to let him stop her when Grayson needed healing.
Farran’s eye narrowed as she returned to her song of hope and healing.
“No, I will not let you undo what I have begun.” Farran started toward her once more, new determination in his stride.
Briar raked the bow across the strings again, releasing a screech that rolled into a counter melody to what she’d just been playing.
Farran pulled back his lips, exposing teeth and gums of the same shiny metal. His stride slowed, but he continued forward as if walking through molasses.
She threw more into her new song, directing it at him. The notes were harsh, shrill, and dissonant. Yet the tune maintained its structure, gaining strength as she poured her heart into it. A song of resistance, a fight against the unnatural to preserve the world and people she cared about.
Only a few feet away, Farran seemed unable to move closer. “You unenlightened witch,” he whispered. “He will be ours.”
He will be what he wants to be. She didn’t speak the words aloud, but fed the notion into her song, the counter melody dancing with Grayson’s original song as her fingers flew along the soul iron strings.
And no one—not you, Solon, or the ferra—will force him to be otherwise. Her bow was shredding under the violent assault as her song gained momentum, crescendoing toward the finale.
“You’re…not…ferra?” Farran spoke between clenched teeth.
I will not be defined. The song exploded from her fiddle, lashing out at the monster before her.
Farran’s metal body lit up as if hit by a bolt of lightning. Briar had a moment’s confusion as she wondered how lightning could fall from a clear sky. Then she noticed that the arcs dancing across his skin were purple. Perseus must have returned, taking advantage of her song holding Farran in place.
She continued to play, her fingers slick with blood, and her bow nearly spent.
The purple arcs grew, reaching greater distances and growing in brightness. She worried that they would catch her boat on fire, then Farran exploded in a flash of white-violet light. The final bolt shot heavenward with an accompanying boom of actual thunder.
Briar lowered the fiddle and stared at the spot where Farran had been. There was nothing left—not even a charred spot.
“Huh.” She released a breath. Perseus must have some powerful magic.
“Briar?” Grayson stood before her, though she hadn’t noticed him getting to his feet. Did he still need healing? She tried to focus on him, but it seemed she was staring down a long dark tunnel that was slowly closing in on her.
“Briar, look at me.” He touched her face, his fingers slipping beneath her chin as he encouraged her to meet his eyes. Human eyes, she was relieved to see.
“Perseus has some wicked magic,” she told him. “You should stay away from him.”
“Perseus isn’t here.”
“Wh—” She tried to look away, but lost her balance. Grayson caught her against him, and her cheek came to rest against his bare chest. “I don’t understand,” she muttered.
“We can puzzle it out later,” Grayson said.
She wanted to argue, but the world swung around her and her vision shrank to pin pricks. She felt Grayson’s arms around her. He’d picked her up. Again.
“I don’t need to be carried, Mr. Martel.”
“Humor me. It makes me feel useful.”
She frowned, but couldn’t seem to find a g
ood argument. “Do I need to play for you?” she asked instead.
“I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t sound cold, so she let that argument go.
The air changed, becoming muggier and scented by the familiar smell of wood smoke and a freshly mopped floor. Her cabin.
He didn’t walk far before lowering her to a familiar mattress. Her bed in her little alcove. She blushed, not certain how she felt about having him in her private space.
The bunk shifted, and she realized he’d sat down beside her.
“Um.” She stopped, not certain what she even wanted to say.
“Shh, don’t try to talk.” He touched her face again. “I think you overdid it.” His fingers moved up to her temple. “But I don’t sense anything wrong.”
She wondered how that worked, but didn’t get to ask as a warm metal nose bumped her cheek, the nudge followed by a concerned coo.
“You’re doubting me?” Grayson asked. It took her addled mind a moment to realize he spoke to Lock.
An assertive whirr answered him, then Lock’s little face swam into view, his gem-like eyes full of concern.
“I’m fine, Lock,” she reassured him. “Just tired.” She reached up to touch him.
He let out a startled squeak.
“Easy,” Grayson said. He took Briar’s hand. “They’re just cuts.”
“Cuts?” she asked, not following any of this. She needed him to leave so she could sleep this off.
“Lock’s strings cut your fingertips.”
Lock snapped his jaws.
“Well, they did,” Grayson shot back.
“Boys. Please,” she muttered. “It’s no big deal.”
An assertive whirr followed.
“He’s insisting I heal you,” Grayson said. “May I?”
“Will I end up with sparkly fingertips?” she asked, remembering the faint sheen to Zach’s skin after Grayson removed his burn scars.
“If so, they’ll just be faint lines.”
Lock moaned.
“All right,” she relented. “Do this, then I’m going to sleep.”
“Of course.” Grayson took her hand in his, turning it upward to cup the back of her hand in his palm. With the other hand, he brushed her fingertips with his.
Her breath caught.
“Sorry,” he muttered, perhaps thinking he’d hurt her.
He hadn’t, but she wasn’t about to admit that it was his touch that caused her to gasp. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on sensing his magic. If she was ferra, would she feel something?
“All done,” he said.
She opened her eyes, surprised he was finished. Lifting her hand, she examined her fingertips. A bit of blood was still smeared across them, but she saw no evidence of where an injury had been.
“It doesn’t sparkle.”
“Your skin responds well to my touch.”
She looked up to find those intense blue-gray eyes watching her.
He abruptly rose to his feet. “I’ll let you rest.”
Lock gave him a questioning whirr.
“I can’t,” Grayson muttered to the little dragon. “Watch over her. Call me if you need me.” He seemed to say the last to both of them, then walked away.
Briar rolled onto her side and let her eyelids slide closed. “What did you ask?” she muttered. What had Lock requested that Grayson couldn’t do?
His answer came as a sensation as much as an image. Her cheeks heated at the impression of Grayson lying down beside her. Lock had just innocently asked him to stay, but…
“I’m fine,” she reassured the little dragon. She rubbed her healed fingers over his scales. “We did it, Lock. We vanquished the monster.”
A smooth cheek rubbed against hers.
She still didn’t understand how it had happened, and if Lock had any insight to offer. She drifted into dreams before he could tell her.
Briar stood at the bow of her boat, facing the closed miter gates as the water rose in the lock around her. It was twilight, or perhaps, dawn. For some reason, she couldn’t remember. But the low light added to the discomfort of the moment.
She rarely stood at the bow while locking through. Something about the closeness of the huge gates and stone walls made her uneasy. She was a canal nomad, always on the move, free to go where she would. Except at this moment. She could go nowhere. She couldn’t even see beyond the gray walls.
“It’s all about perspective,” a male voice said from behind her. There was something about the voice that was familiar. The cadence or perhaps the accent.
He stepped up beside her, his auburn hair catching the low light. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, his build lean, but fit. She could imagine him running a great distance and tiring little. But he wasn’t familiar. Maybe his voice had simply reminded her of someone.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Few people can see beyond the narrow confines of their world.”
He looked over, and she gasped. If he noticed her shock, it didn’t show in those dark gray irises flecked with gold. Eyes she had seen before, except now, they were human.
“Farran,” she whispered.
He didn’t acknowledge her recognition. “Can you see what lies beyond this?” He waved a hand at the gates before them.
She frowned at the gates. “If you mean physically, then no. At the moment, I cannot.”
“That bothers you.”
“I don’t like to be confined, boxed in—”
“Labeled.”
She smiled. Maybe he had been paying attention. “Exactly. But the lock will fill and the gates will open, and beyond them will be the next level of the canal.” The life she loved, past, present, and future.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
With a rumble, the gates began to open.
“Wait. The lock hasn’t filled. If you open the gates…”
Almost a foot separated the two gates and the space continued to grow, but no water poured in. Briar held her breath, knowing this wasn’t a good thing, but unable to do anything about it.
Instead of water, light poured in through the opening. Orange light and heat. Briar’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the world beyond the bow of her boat.
Instead of water, a stream of molten metal flowed between barren banks. In the distance, a town was visible—or what was left of it. Black spires of former buildings rose in the air, smoke rising from the ashes.
“What is this?” Briar whispered. Had he brought her to hell?
When he didn’t answer, she glanced over and found the space beside her empty. She turned, his name on her lips, and froze. Grayson stood behind her, his body more metal than flesh. Unlike Farran, he didn’t have that emaciated form, but he had picked up a lot more of Lock’s features. He didn’t wear the helmet, but he still had the horns. His fingers were tipped with talons, and along with the wings and spinal fins, he now had the tail.
Heart clenching in her chest, Briar looked up and met his alien blue-gray eyes.
Play for me. The words were a command and as devoid of human warmth as Farran’s had been.
Briar looked around, wondering how she could play for him if he had already absorbed Lock. Then she spied her fiddle. Her repaired fiddle.
She reached out her left hand to grip the neck—and saw that she had no fingers.
Chapter 20
Briar sat up with a gasp, her bunk creaking with the sudden movement. She sat in her little alcove on the Briar Rose, the afternoon light peeking around her curtain.
A concerned whirr preceded the poke of a little metal nose against her forearm.
“Lock,” she whispered, so relieved to see him whole—and still separate from Grayson.
“I just had the worst dream,” she told the little dragon. “But it was just a dream.”
Lock rubbed against her arm, his whirr reassuring.
“I need to get up.” She swung her legs over the side of the bunk. What was the status of the canal, her boat, and most important, her crew?
And Grayson. As silly as it was, she needed to see that he was still human.
Lock sprang up on her shoulder as she got to her feet.
Briar pushed back the curtain and was surprised to find her cabin empty. Judging by the light streaming through the windows, she guessed that several hours had passed.
“Be the necklace,” she told Lock, not certain what she’d find outside her door.
A familiar warmth settled around her throat as Lock complied.
The door to the cargo hold stood open, and Briar stepped through, blinking against the afternoon brightness.
“Briar!” Kali came to her feet from her seat on the side of the boat. “You’re up.”
“Yes,” Briar agreed, not certain what to make of her reaction, but glad to see that she hadn’t drowned.
Kali hurried to her. “Look, if anyone asks, I was sitting right here with the cabin door open.”
“All right.” Briar studied her. “Why would anyone ask?”
“I’m supposed to be watching you, but that cabin was so stuffy.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Perseus and Grayson, along with the men of your crew, went to see what could be done about the broken dam before the State Boat—I believe they called it—got here.”
Briar nodded. The State Boat was sent out to do repairs. Perhaps Grayson thought he could do some magical repairs, but she didn’t know how that would work since there was no metal of significance in the earthen dams, sluices, or guard locks that might be involved.
“What about Darby?” She figured that would be the first thing her crew took care of.
“Gone.”