David had no love for Castilian royalty, but it seemed a cold-blooded way to send men to their death—especially as di Fiore
had no investment in their victory or loss, except to observe an outcome.
“We also need men on that floor, instead of machines.” Komlan gestured toward the fighters. “It would be more of a victory when they see one of their own struck down, then get back up.”
“No,” di Fiore said. “Someone has to be defeated. We don’t want anyone to see himself as the person who loses.”
Komlan nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink. “Well, what of bringing in augmented buggers from England? We could put a man with a hammer against a man with spring legs, or a meat cleaver against a gaff-man. They’ll heal quickly, too. A man watching won’t see himself in them, won’t think of his pain and defeat the same way.”
David unclenched his jaw. “I assure you, we do.”
Both looked to him—di Fiore
observing
, Komlan frowning. “No need to be overly sensitive about it, son,” Komlan said. “Those Englishmen raised under the Horde think differently than you or I do. If they agree to fight, there’s no harm done.”
Except that they would be asked to fight because they weren’t considered men. Because that difference made it easier to watch them draw each other’s blood.
“Kentewess is right,” di Fiore said. “Men like him have had to fight harder than all of us, every day; so did those under the Horde. They’ve already felt enough pain, so why add more? It should be a lesson to the rest of us, to remember how our lives could be much more difficult. We need to be thankful for what we have—and we have these fighters.”
Bludgeon all of that to hell. David didn’t want to be a hero, or a lesson. Just a goddamn man. People treating him like less or more than one made his life more difficult than losing his legs ever had.
Cheers sounded again as the automaton fell. Beaten, broken in
half, but easily repaired. David suspected that the two men at the table didn’t see him much differently.
Annika did. And he would rather see her.
He rose abruptly, gathered his coat. “I must take my leave. Thank you for the meal, and the conversation.”
Di Fiore stood. “I hope we didn’t upset you? We didn’t mean to run you off.”
“I’m not running.” But he didn’t see the sense of staying where he was. David fed that which made him happy, not angry. “I have plans to see a woman.”
“Ah.” That fishhook smile appeared again. “I hope you have an answer for me.”
David was waiting for an answer, too. Though he hoped to see Annika tonight, however, he wouldn’t ask her for it yet. “I must refuse. Your offer is generous, but I’m satisfied with my current situation.”
“I urge you to reconsider. My father could use your help.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
Di Fiore nodded, held out his hand. “Until next time, then—when I’ll try harder to persuade you.”
He could try all he liked. David took his leave, found Dooley drinking with a fisherman in the tap room. The older man took a single glance at his face. “So they got to you at the end?”
“I’m done with it,” David said.
“Go on, then. Svenson and I are trotting up to the next pub, where it’s a bit easier on the ears. I’ll see you when.”
With a nod, David made his way outside. God, he could breathe again. A heavy clang sounded behind him. A mild tremor ran up his legs…and continued.
That wasn’t the automatons.
He rode through the minor quake, watching the houses, listening. Sheep bleated behind tall fences, but everything else remained quiet. Not strong enough to damage any of the buildings, the
quake had either centered miles away, or hadn’t been that powerful to begin. Many of the townspeople likely hadn’t noticed it at all.
David started off again. Two inches of snow had covered the street, making the going more treacherous now that he couldn’t spot the icy ruts as easily. Lamplight glowed in the windows of the houses, casting patches of gold over the white. Two women approached, each wearing thick coats with furred hoods, tapping through the snow ahead of their feet with wooden staffs, testing the ground. Heavy packs burdened their shoulders. He edged toward the right side of the street to give them more room.
The first woman paused, staring at him through the dark. Damn it all. The last time he’d passed a woman on a darkened street, she’d screamed and run, and he’d spent the rest of the evening wavering between pissed off and guilty, in turns.
His foul mood had just left him. Why this?
“David Ingasson!”
He stopped, shock rooting him in place.
That accent.
But she wasn’t Annika. His light-enhancing lens clicked into place, showed him a pale face and a silver nose beneath the shadow of a hood, and the softer version of that face a few steps ahead.
Heart pounding, he found his voice. “Yes?”
The older woman spoke. “You seek to bury your mother’s beads. If you give them to me, I will see that it is done.”
She would? He could hardly comprehend how she even
knew
. “Annika told you?”
“Yes.”
Annika had told them. Yet they weren’t hostile. Whatever she’d said must have put him in a better light than his threat deserved.
“What say you, Ingasson? The blood of her sister will do as well as yours, and will guide Inga to her own mother’s side.”
Surprise struck him again.
“Her sister?
”
“Yes.”
He had another aunt? “What is her name?”
“Hildegard.” The woman smiled slightly, as if amused by his astonishment. “Will you give them over?”
Torn, David considered it. The task would be completed…but his mother hadn’t only asked for her beads to be buried. She’d asked
him
to do it. “I promised that I would bury them myself.”
She nodded. “So I will tell the others. Where do you travel to next, Ingasson?”
“Vik, for the next month.” With forays north to the glaciers. “Then we head to Höfn. What is your name?”
“I am Camille. She is Lisbet, my daughter.” The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off David during the conversation, but he hadn’t seen any wariness there. Instead she wore a smile with her lips pressed tight together, as if suppressing laughter. “Can I trust you not to follow us?”
He wouldn’t have, anyway. But David sensed that if he broke that trust, she’d see that he never fulfilled his promise. “Yes.”
“Safe journey, Ingasson.”
They started off again. David watched them go, still disbelieving that they’d ever been there—and soon, he realized, there wouldn’t be evidence that they had been. The snow fell steadily. Their tracks would be filled in by morning.
In a daze, David returned to the airship.
He had another aunt.
The cargo lift carried him up to the main deck, where he paused. Annika stood at the starboard rail, immediately recognizable by the brightness of her scarf. She wore the blue wool mantle that covered her from shoulder to thigh—the balloon warmers radiated heat the length of the deck, making a coat unnecessary.
She didn’t look up at his approach, but leaned against the side with her elbows resting on the gunwale and her chin propped on mittened hands, her gaze fixed north. David stopped, taking her in, feeling the painful twist in his chest as he studied her face. Her faraway
expression held longing, sadness—as if whatever she wanted wasn’t here.
Almost everything that he wanted was. He cleared his throat. Annika glanced up. Her smile of greeting eased the pain near his heart.
And he was beginning to realize just how much he owed her. Despite her insistence that she couldn’t help him, she
had
. He didn’t know what would come of the discussion Camille had with the others, and he didn’t know whether she’d done it for his sake or for his mother’s, but he’d always be grateful for it.
“Thank you,” he said.
Her brows came together and she straightened, turning to lean back against the rail. “For what?”
“I met Camille and Lisbet.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, lit by surprise. “What did they say?”
“Camille said she would see my mother’s runes buried for me.”
“And?”
“I refused. I promised my mother I would do it, and so I will.” The heat from the warmers was painful against his back now. When they’d been under way, the constant wind had kept them from becoming too hot, but the wind from the bay wasn’t doing the same job. He turned, feeling like a piece of a meat on a spit. “Now I wonder if I was mistaken. If she only wanted to have them buried, does it matter who buries them? But if she meant for me to do exactly as she asked, then I’m the only one who can. What if I fail, however? What if I refused my only opportunity to see the task done? I’m not sure what serves her best.”
Annika pursed her lips as if considering the dilemma. Her mouth plumped, and for an endless moment, David wasn’t torn with indecision at all. He wanted to taste her mouth beneath his, to feel the heat inside, to know the sweetness of her kiss.
Desire stirred up an ache that had become all too familiar since
he’d met her. David turned against the rail again and let the cold breeze hit his face. It didn’t help.
Finally, she shook her head. “Who can know what she intended? But everyone will think well of you for adhering to your promise.”
He wanted them to. He wanted
her
to. After years of not caring what others thought of him, here he was worrying about it again. “She said I had an aunt. Hildegard.”
“Yes. She is Källa’s mother.”
“Your sister, Källa?” He searched her face, couldn’t find the slightest resemblance to his mother. “We are cousins?”
“No.” Annika studied him in return, her expression suddenly guarded. “Källa and I have different mothers.”
“And fathers?”
She shrugged, as if to say it hardly mattered. He couldn’t imagine. David’s father had meant everything to him.
But if Annika and Källa had different mothers and fathers, he must have misunderstood what she’d meant by the term “sister.” Very likely, she used it as some religions did, referring to all other women as sisters. Källa must have been close to Annika, however, if she’d spent four years looking for her.
She was still watching him in that careful way. Still unsure. Or just so accustomed to concealing her origin that sharing made her wary.
“You’re searching for my cousin.” At her nod, that sense of wonder came over him again. He had another aunt. He had a cousin. “Let me help.”
Her eyebrows arched. “How will you?”
“I’ll do what you do. I’ll buy advertisements—but with a wider range. I’m not limited to an airship route. I correspond with scientists around the world; I know they will help.”
“Why? You don’t know her.”
“I’d like to.”
She narrowed her eyes. Not certain of him yet.
“Think on that, too,” he said. “Give me your answer tomorrow.”
“All right.”
The airship’s bell rang four times as she spoke. The middle of a watch, he realized.
“You aren’t on duty?”
“I am, but we’re in port, and there’s little to do that I haven’t already done.” She turned toward the bay again, her face flushed with heat. “I only have to stoke the furnace and check the warmers. They were running a bit hot.”
“Only a bit?”
Suddenly laughing at him, she said, “Yes.”
“How long before you have to go?”
“About half an hour before I need to stoke again—and I’m waiting to see that the warmers cool.”
“So you have a little time.”
“Time to talk about something else.” Her eyes still alight with humor, she asked, “Shall we finally talk about you?”
They’d never gotten to him the first night. This was long overdue. “All right.”
“Do you chase volcanoes because of the promise to your mother? Have you been hoping to find the mountain?”
“That’s how it began. I read as much as I could, searching for any mention of a burial site. I became fascinated along the way.” That search had led him to her, too—and he’d become just as fascinated again. “Even after I bury her runes, I’ll continue to study them.”
She looked at him as if he were mad. “Why?”
He grinned. “We have to live with them, don’t we? It’s better to understand them than to just fear them.”
“There’s good reason to fear them.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She studied him, brows lowering, her lips pursing again. He only had to lean over and press his mouth to hers. Would she soften
against him? A gasp of surprise against his lips, then a deeper taste…or she’d push him away.
God, he was a fool. She was still debating whether they could even be
friends
, and yet he was dreaming of kissing her? He was aroused at the thought of her melting against him? He’d obviously lost his mind. David turned again, made himself focus on her eyes.
That didn’t help much, either.
She looked out over the bay again, her gaze lost in the distance, her expression pensive. “I suppose you want to make certain that what happened to your mother doesn’t happen again.”
“It will happen again,” he said. Not the same sort of disaster, but a disaster all the same. “And again and again.”
“Then why?”
“Because we might make a difference. If we predict an eruption, we can move a population to safety.”
She glanced back at him. “You can predict one?”
“Not yet.” He grinned when she laughed. “But there’s more than that. A century ago, the year after the fissure eruptions, temperatures dropped—not just in winter, and not just in the northern regions. It was among the worst famine years worldwide, even among the Horde. Many of us think that it was caused by the ash in the air, blocking the sun.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “It also happened after the eruption at Krakatoa. So if we study the volcanoes, if we know how much ash they eject, how high it goes, where the wind takes it, we can help people prepare for long winters, low harvests.”
She looked up at him, a new light in her eyes, as if seeing him now in a different manner. “That’s…admirable. I thought you might be seeking glory.”
That startled a laugh from him. “No. There’s not much glory to be had. Most of the work is tedious and dirty, the weather
always too hot or too cold, and in the middle of an expedition I often have to remind myself why the hell I’m risking my life for it.”