by K. E. Blaski
Logan answered his door naked from the waist up—and flustered. The sound of Lasca knocking on Februus’s door traveled across the hall.
“Nobless! Um. You’d better come inside before the others see you.” Logan’s gaze darted around the hallway and he gestured for her to enter.
She looked back over her shoulder, where Lasca had been, but she’d already disappeared inside Februus’s room. It all felt wrong. Lasca would never be the same—and it was Jennica’s fault.
“You got some spirit, that’s for sure, wandering down here by yourself. Bit of a risk taker aren’t you?” Logan stretched a tunic over his broad shoulders, which, to Jennica’s surprise, were made of flesh. Except for the silver on his face, there wasn’t a scrap of metal on him. He caught her staring. “Lucky for you I’ve got my own stash of inhibitor. Want some for yourself?” He winked and flexed a bicep.
Heat crept up her neck to her face and rested on her cheeks. “Sorry, Logan. I needed some air and took a walk, wound up here,” she tried to explain.
“How’d you know this was my room?”
“One of the servants.”
He nodded. “Well you best be quiet while you’re here. I’m fond of my head being right where it’s at. Have you eaten? We’ve got some time before I escort you to Noble.”
“I’m not hungry.” She was too worried to eat. Worried about Lasca and the wives—what was going on in the harem room right now?
She’d acted on impulse again, hadn’t even considered the consequences of letting the Cidrans go free. She should’ve discussed her idea with Damen. He would’ve helped her think things through, helped her come up with a plan. Either that or tried to talk her out of it. Maybe she would’ve listened to him this time, too.
“It’ll be Marcis who’ll have my head if you don’t eat.” Logan broke into her thoughts. “He wanted to escort you himself, but Noble’s banned him from seeing you. My meal will be here soon. You’ll have some, okay? But stay near the back of the room when I open the door.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t prepared to argue with Logan. He could crack her in half like a twig. Not that he would. In fact, after Marcis, Logan was the soldier she felt safest around. An easygoing, good-natured guy, with a fondness for gossip.
“Any news from your end of the castle?” he asked. “Oh, do you wanna sit?”
Jennica surveyed Logan’s room for the first time since she’d entered. The door was outsized for such a small space, and there were no windows, a cot so tiny Logan must have to curl into a ball to fit on it, a table, and a chair. It was worse than a dorm room. It was a closet on a submarine.
Logan pulled the chair out for her and she sat. When he perched on the edge of his bed, it sagged under his weight. He tried to avoid touching her knees with his, unsuccessfully. However, they did successfully avoid staring at each other in the claustrophobic room until breakfast arrived. Logan grabbed the tray from an unknown servant—Jennica only saw hands, since he blocked the view into the room with his bulk.
She nibbled on a sandwich of aniello tucked between two slices of langor bread. Under Logan’s watchful eye, she washed the bites down with a pale amber drink, flavored with mint leaves, and tried to smile.
Out in the hall, a commotion brought both Logan and Jennica to their feet. Men shouted, doors thudded open and shut, metal scraped on stone. Logan drew a dagger from a scabbard strapped to his waist. “Stay back, Nobless.”
Marcis swung Logan’s door wide. His mouth dropped at the sight of Jennica, but he quickly gathered himself and addressed Logan. “Trouble. Big trouble. Februus is dead—murdered. Checking door to door to make sure the rest of the company is safe. Keep Nobless inside.”
But Jennica was already under Marcis’s arm and out the door. She had to see Februus for herself.
“Nobless, don’t!” Marcis and Logan flanked her as the other soldiers became aware of her presence.
“Take her to Noble now!” Marcis shouted to Logan as a blond, pale-skinned soldier dropped his sword and leaped toward Jennica, his arms extended, hands grasping.
Logan slung Jennica over his shoulder, knocking the air from her lungs, and then he tore down the corridor, casting soldiers from his path. But she’d already seen Februus, lying on a bloody cot, the handle of Lasca’s knife rising from the center of his chest.
◊ ◊ ◊
“Not quite the entrance I expected.” Noble sounded amused when Logan entered the stone courtyard with Jennica’s rear end stuck in the air, her torso draped over his back. He set Jennica on her feet in front of her husband.
Noble was as ugly as ever in a green-colored suede tunic open to the waist, revealing a puffy golden silk shirt underneath. The edges of a purple cape were gathered at his throat with a gold clasp. He smiled like he was happy to see her.
“We didn’t want to be late.” She straightened her sleeves and took a deep breath, readying herself. “You know how slow I can be.”
Noble laughed, his metal teeth glinting. “You are creative, my lovely. Catching a ride on the back of a soldier.” He kissed the palm of her hand, his lips icy on her skin. She expected a frostbite mark, but there wasn’t one. “I’ll devour you right here if that boy doesn’t get here soon.” A drip of blue-tinted saliva slid from the corner of his mouth.
Logan’s eyes widened and he stepped forward. “Sir, do you want me to remove your wife for her safety?”
“No, he’s coming—see? Running like a fool.”
Damen’s robes flapped as he dashed across the courtyard. “My apologies, sir. Your inhibitor.” He held out the flask.
“You’re lucky I’m in a glorious mood. Aprica is shining, my wife is by my side, and today, I fly.” He thrust his arms outstretched to the sky, then growled at Damen. “You show up late, then offer your flask to me first. Do you want to poison me?”
“Yes.”
“And is there poison in there now?”
“No.”
Noble slapped Damen on the back, nearly sending him sprawling. “Nothing better than a Tovar. Always honest. Drink first, Damen, in case someone else is inclined to act out your desires.” He watched as Damen drank, and then squeezed him around the shoulders like they were best buds. After a few moments, Damen handed Noble the flask, and Noble slugged down the rest.
Noble puffed his chest and scooped Jennica up into his arms, crushing her to him. “I’ll carry you now.” His voice sounded gentle, his embrace deadly.
She couldn’t catch a large enough breath to protest. All she could do was gasp. “Please,” she squeaked. Her eyes pleaded at Damen, begging him to read her mind and stop Noble from smothering her.
He caught on. “Sir? I believe Nobless is having trouble breathing, sir.”
Noble relaxed his grip. “So she is.”
Jennica found enough air to cough and sputter.
“You are a weak little thing, aren’t you? I’ll have to remedy that, won’t I? Let’s go.”
He cradled her through the crowded courtyard. Soldiers, servants, and citizens pulled back to make a path to box seats that smelled of freshly cut lumber. A bright yellow canopy and multicolored flags fluttered in a wind that carried the scent of animal dung and brine from the sea. The whole thing reminded her of the seating for a joust at a reenacted medieval fair.
There were only two empty seats; the rest were filled by the scientists from the night Alban had been murdered. Jennica sat in one of the two remaining seats, but Noble, instead of taking the seat next to her, motioned Damen to take it.
“Aren’t you going to sit by me?” Noble was the one that could protect her from the men in the stands. Even under the influence of inhibitor, she didn’t like the way they kept staring. When they weren’t lusting after her, the scientists looked like they wanted to kill her.
Somehow, Noble interpreted her concern for herself as desire for him and kissed her full on the mouth. She didn’t dare wipe away the bitter taste from her lips. She forced a smile, but feared her attempt probably came across as
a grimace.
He didn’t notice, too wrapped up in himself. “After I fly, we will do more than sit together.” He left the stands in a swirl of purple fabric and silver scales.
As Jennica watched him cross the courtyard, she sat on her hands so no one would see them tremble.
“Are you okay?” Damen said in a low voice, so the others wouldn’t hear. “Feeling all right after last night?”
“No. Oh, Damen, there’s so much I have to tell you.”
“I have to talk to you too, but not here. Not now.”
Nearby, Farrar pointed. “Look! The flying machine!” The entire crowd cheered: servants and soldiers and townspeople. The children darted between legs to stand near the front. Some sat on an adult’s shoulders to get a better look at the contraption being wheeled into the courtyard on a cart. A giant basket, as large as a boat, was being pulled by four of the elephant-sized oxen and pushed by ten men, with Noble riding inside, waving. More cheers and shouts rang through the crowd.
“What will happen if it doesn’t fly?” Jennica asked Damen.
“I don’t know. Let’s pray to Aprica it does.”
The procession stopped in the center of the courtyard. The oxen brayed and snorted as they were unharnessed and led away. A hunched woman with wild white hair darted around the basket, barking orders to the men. They pulled on a series of ropes, unrolling an immense gray canvas sack onto the ground. A deflated balloon.
“It’s her,” Jennica pointed out the white-haired woman to Damen.
“Argathe? You know her?”
“Yes. No. I mean I didn’t know her name. She came to visit while I was confined to my room.” She almost said while I was grounded, but knew Damen wouldn’t understand the reference.
“What did she want?”
From his tone, he obviously didn’t like the woman—a sentiment that, after meeting her, Jennica could understand.
“She offered a proposal.” It was all she could say in public; she was sure the scientists were listening to her every word. She wanted to tell Damen about the entire visit. No more secrets. The burden of holding back was too much. Besides, that dam had already broken when she’d told him she cared about him. The L word. No going back. “It’s okay.”
His expression was not reassured.
“I didn’t give her an answer.”
She went back to watching the flight preparations. The men began to inflate the balloon. But instead of using a gas-powered fan to fill the canvas bag with air, they were tossing blue stones inside it. Each time a stone landed, a deafening pop stretched the bag open a bit further. The process was dumbfounding, yet it worked.
On Earth, to expand the air and raise the balloon, a pilot would light a propane burner and direct the flame into the balloon’s opening. Jennica had drawn a simplified version for Noble, never expecting he’d create one within a few weeks. But what these men used to raise this balloon wasn’t a propane burner at all. It burned blue, like a pilot light on a gas stove, and the roar of flame sounded like the T. rex from Jurassic Park.
The balloon stretched and swayed. Men guided it over the boat using the ropes. Argathe shouted and cursed at them over the roar of the burner.
Jennica’s grip on the wooden railing cut the circulation to her hands. She wiggled her fingers to get the blood flowing again. If Noble failed today, he’d direct his wrath at her and her silly sketches. If he succeeded, his celebration would be . . . with her. Either way, she lost.
“At least he didn’t try to build a helicopter,” she said.
“Argathe convinced him to start with this. He might’ve had better luck with the helicopter.” Damen shook his head.
Watching the unwieldy balloon pitch and sway, she could understand Damen’s skepticism. One of the scientists behind her prayed to Aprica. Jennica glanced over her shoulder to see which one it was. Hadrian.
He caught her watching. “Nobless, if he doesn’t fly today, every scientist on his staff will go to the dungeons.”
“He’ll fly.” She sounded like a little girl wishing on a cottonseed.
“He’s too heavy. The ship’ll fly stuffed with children and animals before it’ll fly with him sitting in it.” Hadrian patted the sweat from his brow with a cloth.
She decided to think positive, especially with Argathe involved. Jennica remembered the flash of blue lightning shooting from the old woman’s finger that had incinerated the hawk. “Anything’s possible on Astrune,” she told Hadrian.
“Watch! He’s going up.” Damen touched her arm lightly.
The balloon stabilized over the center of the basket. And then it was as if an invisible hand cupped the fabric, pulling the balloon, with the basket attached, into the air. Three feet . . . five feet . . . eight—a soldier could now walk under the basket without hitting his head. Fifteen feet . . . thirty . . . forty-five feet, and the balloon stopped, tugging against a tether held by the men.
He keeps it on a tether because he hasn’t figured out how to control it. He doesn’t know how to use the wind to steer. All he could do was go up and down, pulled by ropes like a floating balloon ride at the state fair. It wouldn’t be enough. How could he be satisfied with such limited flight?
Noble leaned over the side of the boat and waved to his crowd. They clapped and cheered in response. “He flies,” voices began to chant.
“Success?” Jennica asked Damen.
“I . . . don’t know. He didn’t go very far.”
Noble signaled to the men to pull him down. “He’s not staying up there for very long either.” Not very long at all. Like he couldn’t wait to get down.
Wouldn’t it be ironic if Noble discovered he was afraid of heights? Here he was, demonstrating flight—only to find out he didn’t like flying.
Noble, afraid. She wanted to laugh—an over-the-top, frantic kind of laugh—but she dug her nails into her hands instead. There’d be no laughter in the church of Noble.
A woman in the crowd screamed. Jennica looked up; the balloon was dipping to the left, an arrow sticking out of the canvas. Another arrow soared over the heads of the crowd and impaled the other side of the balloon. The basket careened against the side of the castle. More screams of terror erupted.
People scattered, including the men holding the tether to Noble’s basket. Logan hurtled over the stands and sprinted to where the rope lay twisting on the ground. He leaped onto the tether, using his weight and arm strength to lower the balloon before it deflated.
While Logan tugged and pulled, blue flames beat at the balloon, catching and then raging through the canvas, devouring it with a howl. Noble grasped the edge of the basket as it pitched and scraped against the castle. He tossed his head back and roared. Soldiers gathered into two groups at Marcis’s command. He sent half toward the source of the arrows, and the other half in the direction of Noble’s dying hot air balloon.
Marcis dashed to the stands. “Damen, get Nobless out of here. Keep her safe. Farrar, Gram, the rest of you, follow me.”
Damen ushered Jennica hurriedly along the perimeter of the courtyard as Noble’s basket crashed to the ground, with him inside.
“Come on, come on, Jennica.”
She followed in a daze. One minute she was agonizing over what new torture her husband had devised for her and the next . . . “Could he be dead?” she whispered, afraid to speak the words, afraid to hope. She hung back, searching the crowd for a glimpse of the basket. Needing to see for herself.
And then she saw him, striding through the blue flames, his arms outstretched to the crowd of servants, soldiers, and citizens. His eyes appeared to burn blue like the flames.
“Get down. Get down!” Damen knocked her to the ground, shielding her body with his own.
Jennica peered out from under Damen’s arm to see blue fog swell and spread from Noble’s chest. The very air seemed to expand around him and away from him, like a shock wave. And when the wave hit half a dozen soldiers, and even more of the servants and townspeople, they collapsed,
writhing on the ground. Their faces stretched into grimaces; their bodies shuddered in silent agony. The only sound was the hiss from the blue flames.
Golden clouds soared from the scattered bodies, collecting into a stream of shining steam. Noble walked among his dying people, drawing the golden mist into his mouth until it disappeared inside him. Soldiers, townspeople . . . children lay at his feet, their vacant eyes open to the sky.
Then Jennica spotted Logan. Flat on his back near the burning basket, he spasmed once. No, no, oh, no. She choked back a howl of her own. He can’t be . . . Logan’s quick reaction had saved Noble, and Noble had killed him for it!
“Get up. We’ve got to get out of here,” Damen said.
“Logan.” Not Logan. Jennica wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.
Damen pulled her off the ground and dragged her into the darkness of the castle. “We’ll need this.” He grabbed a lantern at the entrance. Tugging on her arm, he kept urging her to follow him. He pulled and prodded her through the dark halls.
She found her voice. “Wait, wait! Please.” Digging her feet into the stone floor, she forced Damen to stop and listen. “Is Logan really . . . dead? All those people. Did Noble just . . . eat their souls?”
“Yes. I’m sorry you witnessed it. The next part’s worse, though. He’ll kill their defenseless bodies. When he’s angry, he’s brutal about it. I’ve seen him rip what’s left to pieces.”
Jennica made a quick decision. “Take me to the harem.” She’d seen with her own eyes what Noble was capable of. If he were to find out what she’d done . . . She had to protect the harem, the Cidrans. “I have to see them.”
“Your room, or the top of the North Tower—those are the safest places for you until we know what’s going on. You have to take this seriously. An assassination attempt on Noble? You could be next.”
She clasped his hands inside hers. “Please.”
He stared at her fingers knotted around his, and he sighed. “This way.” He backtracked, taking her through an archway they’d passed earlier.