Chapter 8
The owl was gone in the morning. Ridge probably would have discovered this himself eventually, but he was still snuggled under the parkas with Sardelle when the shout came from outside. He sat up and shivered at the cold air that blasted him. His poor soldiers had doubtlessly had a less enjoyable night than he, so he wouldn’t complain.
“Morning?” Sardelle murmured, her tousled locks flopped over her face.
“Yes.” He pushed her hair back and kissed her.
She smiled and returned it, lifting a tender hand to stroke the side of his face. His heart danced at this simple gesture, trusting it meant that she was in no rush to rise, in no rush to forget their night together.
Reluctantly, he extricated himself. As much as he would have enjoyed spending more time with her, time he knew they wouldn’t—shouldn’t—have together once they returned to the fort, his duty compelled him to return as quickly as possible. The storm had passed, and a clear blue sky was brightening in the east. His men would be worried about him, just as he worried that the airship had swooped back in that direction after leaving that damned owl behind.
Ridge fastened his clothing, shivering. He didn’t remember being cold last night, but maybe that was understandable. Body heat, indeed.
“I suppose no one will bring us coffee,” Sardelle murmured, her clothing rustling as she, too, got ready.
“Not until we get back. Though I don’t know if you’d like the stuff Lieutenant Kaosh makes. It’s… sludgy.”
“Then I won’t feel jealous that I’ll not likely be invited to breakfast.”
She didn’t sound stung, but the words made him wince nonetheless. Yes, as far as the rest of the fort knew, she was a prisoner, someone he definitely shouldn’t be sleeping with, and even if she wasn’t truly a prisoner, he probably still shouldn’t be sleeping with her. Last night, he had been too busy launching campaigns from his trousers to remember that fact. If she would just tell him who she was and what she wanted…
But no, if she could, she would have. He had sensed that a few times, when she had been gazing at him, almost saying something.
“We’ll figure something out,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t imagine what.
Shifting rock outside of their cave let him escape from the moment without further promises.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Rav. We’re fine.”
Ridge was glad he and Sardelle were fully clothed—she even had her pack on already—when the soldier peered inside, though he had a feeling the fact that he had spent the night in a cave alone with her would be all around the fort within an hour of their return. At which point all sorts of speculation would occur. Oh, well. He had more important things to worry about than fort gossip. Besides, it wasn’t until the news made its way back to his commanding officer that he truly had to worry.
“Owl’s gone,” Rav said.
“Yes, time to get back.” Ridge grabbed his pack and rifle, but hesitated before trooping out. Rav had climbed down out of view, so he paused to give Sardelle a one-armed hug and murmur, “I’ll find a way to get some coffee to you. Any other breakfast requests?”
She kissed him on the cheek—it couldn’t feel that nice with a day’s beard growth poking out of it, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Those mango pastries sound good.”
“I’m afraid I would have to take you back to civilization to find one of those. A basic pastry might be doable.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Ridge squeezed her one more time, knowing it would be the last for a while, then climbed out of the hole. The soldiers were all waiting at the bottom, their packs and snowshoes on. Belatedly, it occurred to him to wonder if he had any lipstick smears across his face or bite marks on his neck. No, Sardelle hadn’t been wearing any makeup—where would she get it in that pit of a fortress?—and she had been enthusiastic, but still on the refined side, and worried about putting weight on his wounds. As if he would have noticed. She probably wouldn’t bite him until their second night in a cave.
That thought had Ridge grinning, but he managed to rein it in by the time he reached the bottom. The first question he got was whether they should try to dig Nakkithor’s body out of the snow, and that sobered him right up. He and Sardelle helped retrieve the dead soldier and build a travois, then Ridge led the way out of the canyon. The snow had blurred their trail but not swallowed it whole, though he could have found his way regardless. He might not have all the combat assets these infantrymen did, but he didn’t get lost, not even when he was upside down, streaking away from an airship with cannonballs flying by on either side.
It doubtlessly marked him as crazy, but the memory of that battle filled him with nostalgia and a longing for home. He wondered if Sardelle would like his little cabin on the lake. Not that she would ever visit it… She would finish whatever she had come here for and then disappear, sneaking out past the guards as easily as she had the last time. And if she took something from the mines, it would be treason if he let her go without trying to stop her. At the least, it would be ineptitude. He had never thought his record was in danger of being stamped with either label. A first time for everything. Unless he locked her up until she talked. That would be a lovely reward for last night.
The fortress came into view more quickly than he expected, or maybe his thoughts had kept him busy and he hadn’t noticed the trek. Men had been working to clear the east wall, so one couldn’t simply run down the hill of snow and into the courtyard, but it would be some time before evidence of the avalanche was completely gone.
The gate opened before they arrived, and Ridge found Captain Heriton waiting in the courtyard, along with a couple of burly soldiers and a scruffy prisoner with shifty eyes.
“Uh oh,” Sardelle murmured behind him.
Before Ridge could ask for clarification, the prisoner thrust his arm toward her. “She’s the one.”
Captain Heriton nodded slowly, as if he had known all along. Ridge met Sardelle’s eyes and found concern there. Was her secret about to come out?
“What is this, Captain?” Ridge asked, his palms suddenly damp inside his mittens. If her secret turned her from an uncertainty to a known enemy, what would he do?
“This is the man you had us detain, the one who supposedly killed the woman in the washroom.”
“He denies it?”
“No, he admits it since he claims she was a witch and had put a curse on him, on his loins specifically. He’s had a rash ever since. He assumed she had done it because he’d tried to coerce her into a sexual relationship. She threatened him apparently.” Heriton wriggled his fingers, as if these details were dismissible, but his eyes sharpened as he launched into the rest of his explanation. “In interviewing him, I discovered that your… friend—” the captain extended a hand toward Sardelle, “—was also a suspect, albeit one this prisoner couldn’t reach to interrogate since she’s so often been with you. But it seems she was also present when this man developed his rash. He had just found her down in a mine shaft.”
“Not a shaft,” the shifty-eyed prisoner said. “She was in the rocks. It was odder than a three-legged parrot. We had to dig her out. Rescued her. She wasn’t grateful like you’d expect though. Crazy woman ran past us while we were bent over.”
“Because of… a rash?” Ridge asked.
The man nodded, crossed his legs, and dropped his hands protectively over his crotch. “Most painful itchy thing I’ve ever had.”
Ridge gave Sardelle a curious look, but her face had gone expressionless. She didn’t even offer a these-people-are-obviously-crazy eyebrow raise.
“It’s odd enough that a woman would have made it down into the mines,” Heriton said, “when the trams are operated by soldiers, and they’re the only way in and out.”
Possibly. Someone could slip down into the mines without using one of the cages. The diagonal shafts were steep, but not that steep. Sardelle was obviously gifted at sneaking in and out of pl
aces. Ridge reminded himself to question the gate guards later. For now, he remained silent and nodded for the captain to continue.
“It’s even odder that she would be all the way down at the end of a new tunnel, in the rock itself, if this man can be believed.”
“This self-confessed murderer?” Ridge couldn’t keep from asking. How reliable a witness should they consider him?
“I got no reason to lie about this,” the shifty man said. “I know what I seen.”
“It’s hardly the only unusual thing that’s happened revolving around this woman,” Heriton said. “I’ve been wondering if it’s a coincidence that the Cofah showed up on the same day she did.”
“They showed up on the same day I did as well,” Ridge said.
“You’re a national hero. She’s… ” Heriton groped in the air, as if he couldn’t get a grasp on Sardelle. At least Ridge wasn’t the only one. “I’ll be blunt, sir,” the captain went on. “It makes me uneasy having her walk around here at your side, like she’s your trusted aide. I… I’d like to discuss this further with you in private.”
“Yup, I figured you would.” Ridge sighed. Inviting Sardelle up for coffee was going to be every bit as unlikely as he had feared. “I have a funeral service to arrange and five thousand other things to do, but I’ll talk to you this afternoon.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Now, go find work. All of you.” He shooed the captain and the rest of the soldiers away, until only Sardelle remained, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed up at the mountains. Ridge would have paid a lot to know her thoughts. “You’d better go back to work and stay out of trouble for a few days, at least until something else distracts Heriton.” He smiled at her, though he felt guilty for sending her back to the laundry and those crowded barracks rather than finding her a nice room. His room, perhaps? The problem was, he shared all of the captain’s concerns. Whatever she had been looking for down in the mines when she had been discovered, Ridge doubted very much that his superiors would want him to give it to her.
“Work?” Sardelle asked. “I thought I had the day off. Eight days off, wasn’t it?”
The book reports. Right. He almost told her that the days off wouldn’t start right away, but curiosity changed the lay of his tongue. “What would you do if those days off started today?”
“Research in the prison library. I… thought I’d try to find your flier for you.”
“My what?”
“The flier you were talking about yesterday, the one that crashed ten years ago.” Sardelle spread a hand. “Maybe you could drag it back here and fix it up so you would have a way to defend against further incursions from the airship.”
He frowned. He had caught her hesitation and suspected she’d had something else in mind for research until this inspiration struck. Yet, this was exactly the right thing to say to win him over. If he could find that flier and fix it somehow… he wouldn’t have to stalk uselessly back and forth on the ramparts when enemy airships flew circles around the fort.
“Three days,” he grumbled. Ridge hadn’t even known her for three days, and she already had intimate knowledge of the controls on his dashboard.
“Pardon?” Sardelle asked.
“Nothing. Go. Research.” Ridge waved. “The library is on the second floor over there. I’m skeptical you’ll find it particularly extensive or useful though. I doubt records of crashes are kept in there.”
“I won’t know until I look.” Sardelle bowed her head toward him. “Thank you.”
Such a formal parting of ways. It seemed a crime after their intimacies in the cave. Yet this was how it had to be. He shambled off in the other direction, heading for his office, his heart feeling like a crashed flier.
Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 14