by Ada Harper
Chapter Twenty-One
Provided Cian had unlocked the emergency craft, their escape was just a short distance away. Short by Vault measurements, however, would still take half a day. They regrouped and set out. After the cold of the engine core, the humid press of the tunnels was almost nice. After the emotional wringing of feeling her bond with Lyre bend and stretch, Sabine almost welcomed the chance for idle conversation.
Almost.
“I’m not an unreasonable man. I suppose you did deliver the Syndicate Prime Minister as I asked, though it took some trouble to acquire him.” Sylvere didn’t sound troubled in the least. He’d been transmitting for the past hour, and nowhere in the tunnels could they escape his broadcasts. “Who’s being surprisingly irrational, by the way. However did you accomplish that? I continue to be impressed by your prodigious powers of persuasion, Empress. You were born to rule.”
“No one is born to that,” Sabine muttered.
“Spoken like nobility,” Alais said.
“I would want the Quillian Empire in no one else’s hands,” Sylvere continued. “I admire you, Empress Sabine. It grieves me that you oppose my efforts here. Surely, considering your sister-in-law, you can understand that. And the downfall of the Syndicate would be of great natural benefit to the Empire. You would have all the spoils—all I want is my little girl.”
The thing was, Sabine could understand that. She could feel the emotional pull of it. Imperial families valued nothing more than each other. The stories Olivia told of her childhood in the Syndicate horrified Sabine, in the same way a good boogey monster story would a child. Something terrible, something distant, something sufficiently not real enough to be safe to entertain without requiring action. Because the fact remained that no one wanted a war with the Syndicate, especially not after the recent conspiracy against the throne. The Empire had seen firsthand what awful weapons the Syndicate mind could come up with: nanobots that tortured, bombs that cremated a city. All the boogey monster tales would not convince the senate to go to war. But a removed kind of complacency was the cost.
Caricae children like Sylvere’s daughter were the cost.
Laid out logically, Sabine might have almost been convinced that Sylvere had the right of it. But this wasn’t logic, imprisoning and torturing heads of state to manipulate a war. A war not to save all children, necessarily—Sylvere had made no effort to ensure the Quillian Empire would win—but just to save one daughter. His daughter. Sacrificing a thousand futures for one child lost in the dark.
As much as Sabine empathized with that, nothing in her soul could condone it.
Fingers were pressing into her elbow, but were distant and unimportant. She heard a sigh, and a moment later was wrapped in a warm, suffocating hug. “This is not your fault,” Lyre mumbled into Sabine’s hair. She turned her around to look at her firmly. “Don’t you dare start listening to lies now.”
The words were brusque and in direct conflict with the soft worry bubbling in Lyre’s dark eyes.
Sabine took a breath, and the smile wasn’t as forced as she was afraid it would be. “I’m the empress. I needn’t listen to anyone.”
“Don’t I know it.” It was worth it for the smile she got back.
* * *
They kept going. If they slowed or stopped for longer than a rest, inevitably they found paths closed off, creatures drawn to their location. They might not have been using the compromised communications device any longer, but Sylvere was doing his best to pin their location by force. He was playing a patient game. They’d wear out eventually, unable to keep ahead of his creations. Even Lyre’s reserves would run out long before Sylvere’s monsters did.
He made sure they knew it. The transmissions were perfectly timed, and Sylvere varied his arguments. Complimenting and cajoling Sabine one moment, taunting the next. He turned his attention to Alais, Kitra, even Lyre, looking for a weak link to turn on the others. Alais took to mocking responses. Every time, Lyre just squeezed Sabine’s hand and kept going. They were together, whatever else was uncertain, they were together for now. That meant they could ignore Sylvere’s rantings. Or most of them.
One moment stuck out in the endless parade of hiking, and Sabine’s mind worried at it, like a loose sequin on a dress hem. Sylvere had been talking again. Sabine had been keeping herself distracted from the ache in her feet by cataloguing his persuasive tactics and classic logic fallacies, though she’d lost count sometime after sixteen. He’d been targeting Alais, trying to seed fear about the nanobot agent inert in all of them, the behaviors it could trigger, even provided they escaped, the harm it could do to her House’s reputation. It was a silly move. The Lady Alais was a professional scandal, and enjoyed it. You might as well threaten her with cake and tea.
“There are far more effective applications for these nano agents than poison, of course,” Sylvere was saying over the speaker. “The Vault inoculates extensively. Why build a fence when you can simply will the dog?”
Sylvere had evidently never met the wolves that accompanied Imperial nobles. Wolves only accepted another’s will when they deemed you worthy of their loyalty. Even plant-dogs were not so different. Sabine reached out reflexively for Goji’s ruff and was so amused by the thought that it took her a moment to realize Lyre had stopped walking. The others had slipped ahead, but Sabine stopped and looked back.
Lyre had a blank expression. She always schooled her face, but Sabine was familiar enough with her masks to realize this was not one of them. She looked suddenly and brutally exposed, caught out in a thought. It raised a flare of alarm in Sabine’s chest. The feeling of the bond-pull tugged tight. Distress. “Lyre? What’s wrong?”
Lyre blinked, once, twice, then fast as whiplash was back. “Nothing, nothing.” She smiled at Sabine and picked up the pace again, jutting ahead of her and tossing out, almost as an afterthought, “This hiking trip is getting old.”
Sylvere evidently agreed. The escape glider that Cian had given everything to unlock was located on the huddle of the “nose” of the Vault, as much as any floating city had a front, back, or sides. The gliders were huddled up beneath the underworks eaves like birds seeking shelter. Sabine had just caught the first crack of blue sky between the pipes—a searing crackle of light after the perpetual dim of the underworks—when the ground underneath them listed.
“What—” Alais started.
“Less talking, faster walking.” Lyre grabbed Sabine’s hand and lurched down the suddenly unstable corridor rather than answer.
The shuttles didn’t have a proper bay. They dashed around one blind curve and were blinded by dazzling clear blue sky. A sharp breeze, amplified by their altitude, tugged at Sabine’s clothes. After the stagnant, heavy air of the underworks, it felt as crisp and cool as needle points on her cheeks.
Sabine knew better than to look down, but the horizon was a smear of sand and blue. The Vault had been over the border when they boarded, but had started moving out toward the shore, it seemed. Surely, no matter what diplomatic excuses Sylvere gave, that had to seem suspicious to both countries. Galen would be out of his mind with worry. They had to get off this hell ship.
“They’re all locked.” Alais clutched a support as she eyed the red lights gleaming like beacons above each tiny glider. “The prime minister—”
“No...” Kitra sprinted down the line, face tense until he skidded to a stop at the end. “This one isn’t.”
The relief in his voice almost made Sabine smile. Whatever had occurred between those two during the escape, it had left an impression. She knew the relief of having your belief in another validated. Like a turn in the latch.
She knew she forgave Lyre. She’d forgiven her before, obviously, rationally. Made a decision to, and Sabine followed through on anything she’d decided to do. But she felt it. Lyre was hers. Her spy. Her treasure. Her person. The Vault had made her, but Sabine had claimed her. She wasn’
t going to give that away, or give that up. Not even for the sake of her pride. If Lyre wanted her, Sabine would have her. Lyre was hers, and no one, no court, no mere gossip, was going to stand in her way.
Kitra worked the controls, and Lyre hustled everyone forward as the glider hatch swung open. The flotilla had begun to take on a distinct tilt. Sabine only allowed herself to be herded once she verified there was enough seats in the glider for everyone, if only just. Goji balked at the door.
Lyre shrugged. “Nothing for it, if the mutt wants to stay behind—”
Sabine clicked her tongue and Goji hopped in. He settled in front of her legs, and Sabine struggled not to smile at Lyre’s curled lip.
Lyre moved to the front of the glider with Alais. There was a brief discussion of a piloty nature—not something Sabine had ever dabbled in, leaving the war games to Galen—but when Alais tapped her hands on the controls, what flowed onto the screen wasn’t maps or navigation.
It was Sylvere.
“Lady’s painted red ass,” Lyre muttered, low and with feeling.
“Language, Scarab,” the hologram responded. It was enough to close all their mouths. “Ah, yes, audio capabilities in these crafts are quite good. I’m so glad we can have a conversation again.”
“As opposed to droning on while trying to murder us?” Sabine rose so she could look down her nose at the screen. No idea if the cameras picked that up, but it made her feel more in control.
“My dear lady.” Sylvere looked amused. “As I explained before, I have no reason to wish you harm. You delivered the prime minister and corrupted the archives, which handily wipes all trace of my work from Vault records. Aside from your wandering nature, you’ve complied with every request. But I really insist that we come to some understanding before you make your daring escape from the Syndicate’s dastardly terrorist attack.”
“Syndicate attack?”
“Of course. The hubris of it, these greedy Syndicate men, thinking they could take the knowledge of the Vault for their own, under the guise of a peace summit no less! Such an act threatens the entire world.” He reached for something just off screen and began typing. “They failed, of course. But alas, the Vault was lost in the attempt. Crashed into the sea, never to be recovered. Total loss of all life aboard. Except, perhaps, our valiant Empress?”
“This isn’t good,” Alais whispered. Lyre was already moving. She shot out of the pilot seat and bolted for the door.
“Ever the eager soldier, Scarab,” Sylvere said. “Clever and well-trained. I’ve reserved a spot in my shuttle for you too.”
“Locks re-engaged,” Lyre hollered through the hatch. She was half dangling off the side of the glider, wrestling with something on top.
“Then disengage them!” Alais slammed her palm over the controls. The glider’s meager engines kicked on and the craft swayed. Not from the engines, but from the increasing tilt the horizon took out the window.
Was that ground suddenly closer?
“What a novel idea! This is why they made you a general,” Lyre chirped. Only her legs were visible as she clanged against the glider wall and sparks fell past the door with a curse.
He was going to crash the flotilla. The entire Cloud Vault. A floating city, carrying hundreds, thousands of souls, the brightest minds of the generation, and centuries’ worth of precious knowledge half-stolen from a fallen world.
The scope of it staggered Sabine for a moment. She shook her head. “You can’t be that big of a monster.”
Sylvere’s smile turned sad. “For my daughter, I can.”
For you I’d make myself a monster. Sabine’s breath tangled in her throat. Love could do that. She wanted to turn, she wanted to drag Lyre into the shuttle and find her eyes. Hold her face in her hands and whisper. I see. I see now. But she could only not flinch from the screen. Not flinch from Sylvere. Not flinch from the mirror image of herself she could so easily become.
“I’m not going to help you start a war, Sylvere. No matter how dear your cause. This isn’t the way to save your daughter, or anyone.” She paused, and took a risk. “Sasika, wasn’t it? Sasika wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“She wouldn’t. But that’s the work of a parent. And a leader, no? To do what needs to be done, and accept the personal costs?”
A hail of sparks made Goji growl. Outside, Lyre let out a vicious crow. “Busted loose.”
“Thank the gods,” Alais muttered as she revved the engines. “Get your ass in here.”
A well of triumph made Sabine smile at the comm screen. “I won’t help you.”
Sylvere tilted his head. He almost looked disappointed, if unsurprised. “I accept the cost.” The screen abruptly went blank.
Alais flipped a switch to kill the mic for good with a growl of colorful curses.
“Ma’am!” Kitra was at the door, but Lyre wasn’t. She’d landed on the flotilla scaffolding. Wind whipped her unbuttoned jacket around her like a dark flame. The flotilla began to tilt. The anchor still stabilizing the glider to the strut groaned. And Lyre...she was just...standing there.
Sabine stepped forward, though Kitra wouldn’t allow her to lean out the door. “Lyre—”
“I’m going back for Cian.” Lyre’s eyes found hers, and they were black stars, clear and sharp with something unsaid. “He’s alive. Sylvere would have taunted us if he’d killed him. The Syn will want their Prime Minister back. And Sylvere could still use him against us.”
Us.
“Irrelevant.” Sabine’s voice was level, distant to the flare of panic stoking in the back of her mind. “We’re aware of his plans now. Everything can be handled if we can escape from here.”
“Yeah. I trust you to handle everything.” It was a shattered smile that appeared on Lyre’s face. It softened into something even more terrifying. “I can’t go. I was never going to get off the Vault. Inoculation—remember? Sylvere said it.”
Sabine blinked. “That’s ridiculous!”
“It began to niggle at me, back before you tossed the shield, when you said I was a blank spot. Pure, you said. How many times did I get patched up with nanobots over the years? No way I could be that blank. Unless there’s something in my system designed to not be detected.” Lyre took a deep breath. “I don’t know what they put in me as a kid, and I don’t know what they can make me do if I leave.”
We can fix it. The insistence echoed in Sabine’s mind. She could fix this. She had to. She shoved past Kitra’s guard and leaned out the door. Hardened her voice to heartbreak. “Get in the craft, Lyre. That is an order from your Empress.”
Lyre closed her eyes for a moment and her head dropped. She took a step. For one breath, Sabine thought she’d won. No one ignored an order, and especially not Lyre. Lyre was a good, loyal person and they would get her away from here and they would fix this. That was the only thing Sabine had to offer the world, imposing her will on it until it became a little better. If she could do that then she could fix Lyre and—
Lyre slapped her hand down on the shuttle side. The hatch scissored shut with a pressurized snap.
“Lyre!” Sabine’s fist was on the glass before Kitra could stop her. Lyre stood on the other side of smudged film, an arm span and wall of steel away. Sabine spun toward the controls but Kitra was already in front of the panel, looking slightly terrified but determined. Outside, the walkway was tilting again, but Lyre didn’t seem to notice. She swallowed, and oh, masks didn’t stand a chance between Sabine and Lyre. Her eyes were wet. Her lips hard and thin. She pressed a different button on the outside of the shuttle and the emergency speaker crackled on.
“Alais, you’re clear.”
“Don’t dare take off or I’ll hang you for high treason,” Sabine snapped toward the cockpit.
“Hanging? How archaic. Everyone knows the historical failure of the death penalty to—”
“I gave you an
order,” Sabine said to the thick glass between them. All desperation, no room for anger.
“I’d spend the rest of my life following you,” Lyre said softly. “You fired me, remember? Alais can consider this my resignation.” Lyre’s crooked smile wobbled. She crossed her arms. She didn’t look tough. She looked scared. Scared and alone, gods damn it. “I no longer serve at the pleasure of the crown.”
“You swore to protect me.” Me, Sabine’s mind screamed, not the crown, me. Pick me. You promised me.
“Best way I can figure how. I can’t go. Not with the Syn at Sylvere’s mercy. And not with a bloodstream full of Vault nanos waiting to be turned against me. Against you.” There was a screech of metal. Lyre twisted just in time to miss the snap of a cable coming loose. She crouched, barely still in in the viewport. Barely still in the light. “I’m a tool, Sabs. I’d rather die than be turned against you.”
“I can’t—” Sabine’s voice didn’t crack. It felt like everything else did.
“Of course you can.” Lyre’s smile was wet and broken and dear. “Vault spies don’t believe in much. That’s why I had to stop being one when I fell for you. Lies and secrets, that’s my business. So take it from me: you are the truest thing I’ve ever known. Now, Alais—move your ass.”
The shuttle swayed with a roar of engines. The viewport tilted. Sabine lost sight of Lyre and her vision blurred. Her face felt hot. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t tolerate this. She lunged for the controls, but Kitra hauled her back. Alais cursed from the front of the cockpit and the glider dived for the safety of clouds.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lyre wasn’t giving up.
Of course not. There was a plan. There was always a plan. And a backup plan. And while she might admit she was reaching into the dusty corners of her strategic bag at this particular moment, she had no reason to give up. And every reason to get off this floating junk heap.