Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles (20 page)

When her fingers went to the buttons at the top of her blouse, he snorted. “Sweet as you were,
professorsha
, I’m not so drunk on your pussy that you can distract me.”

His deliberate crudeness felt like a slap, but she continued undoing the buttons until she could reach inside her blouse. She tugged out the necklace, with its three large stone beads, and unfastened it.

Fumbling through her satchel, she produced two flasks, then crouched down. She set the necklace on the ground, opened the flasks, then poured their contents over the stone beads. An acrid froth bubbled over the surface of the beads. When the froth subsided, the dull stone casings were gone, revealing their true contents.

Mikhail cursed. Floridly.

She dug a kerchief out of her satchel, in case any of the chemicals lingered, and used it to pick up her necklace. Sunlight gleamed off the three beads—only they weren’t beads, but three dazzling star sapphires. They glittered like a constellation brought down from the heavens.

“These.” She stood. “I planned to pay the ransom with these.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at the gems. A mercenary like him knew their value.

“Where’d you get them?”

“Liquefied all my assets, all my savings. I have nothing else. Not even my books.”

He shot his hand out and snatched the necklace from her. Words of protest died on her lips.

“Give al-Rahim this,” Mikhail growled, “and you’ll just be paying for your own death.”

“The terms of the agreement … his code of honor—”

“Means shit. He’ll take the jewels, kill you, kill your parents, then pin it all on Khalida. Snap her ties with Britain completely and come out of the whole thing like a goddamn conqueror.” He sneered at her. “Profit’s the only carrot for scoundrels.”

The cold in his eyes numbed her. “The sapphires are all I have. Without them, I’ve got no way to free my mother and father.”

A shadow passed overhead. Glancing up, she saw the jolly boat circling for its approach and landing.

“Ah, now the
professorsha
speaks the truth,” Mikhail sneered. “These gems
are
going to pay for your parents’ release, except you won’t be paying al-Rahim. You’re paying me. Finally.” The precious stones disappeared into the grip of his massive hand. His smile was icy as the tundra. “And for that payment,
I’ll
free your parents.”

M
IKHAIL BARELY NOTICED
the jolly boat land, or Herrera calling out a greeting. His attention was solely pinned on Daphne, staring at him with a look of guilt and horror.

The necklace in his hand felt like a rope of fire. Another deception she’d used on him.

Hell—what was this sensation between his ribs? To become a Man O’ War, he’d had to endure an hours-long implantation procedure, without benefit of anesthetic. Until that point, he’d never experienced such pain, the telumium filaments attaching to his heart felt as though Hell itself ripped through his chest. But he’d known that the pain of the procedure would be an agony.

Nothing prepared him for what he felt now.

He didn’t understand it. Where this pain came from. The first time he’d caught her in a lie, he’d been angry.

Oh, he was angry now. But this pain … didn’t make any damned sense. Like he was torn apart from the inside out.

Mercenary—that’s what he was. Criminals and liars were as routine to him as typewriters and ledgers were to clerks. Yet somehow, coming from
her
… it made him want to howl like a wounded animal.

He’d been betrayed once by someone close to him, too, two years ago, making this agony all the sharper.

She licked her lips. “You’ll free my parents?”

“For this”—he held up the sapphires—“I will.”

“Or you could take the jewels and leave me here.”

He barked out a laugh. “Mistrust from the woman who’s played me false
twice
.” His glance took in the dried and nearly barren ravine, a fitting place for them to have this argument. “Look around you. See many allies lining up to help? Don’t see the British soldiers lining up in all their crimson glory. No Italian airships sweeping in out of the sky. And gallant knights on white horses only exist in books. Go it alone against al-Rahim. Or rely on me to get the job done.”

She stood motionless, her face ashen. He didn’t want to notice the suffering and regret in her eyes. Told himself he was seeing what he wanted to see. That her deceit had hurt her as much as it had him. More lies, but these were falsehoods he told himself, which made him even more of a fool.

He held the necklace out to her. “Take them. Find your own way to al-Rahim’s compound, give him the jewels. See what happens. Or,” he went on, merciless, “these pretty stones are mine, and I’m the one to get your parents free. Your choice,
professorsha
.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, her words barely a whisper, “Mikhail—”

“Choose, goddamn it,” he growled.

She tipped up her chin. “I choose you.” Holding his gaze, she said, “I’m the one who’s deceitful, but you’ve never been. Not once. You’ve always been honest … about everything. Who you were. What you wanted, and how you’d get it. The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve only spoken the truth. And I knew I could rely on you.”

He shoved the string of gems into the pocket of his coat. They felt cold and dead. “Get in the jolly boat.”

It looked as though she meant to say something more, then changed her mind. Quickly, she strode to the waiting boat. When she stumbled a little climbing into the vessel, Herrera took her hand and steadied her.

Merely watching Herrera touch her made jealousy burn low in Mikhail’s gut. He despised and resented this, too.

Just hate her, damn it. Clean and simple.

But damn him, he couldn’t. She had faith in him, and it resonated like a longed-for sunrise. For years, he’d told himself he didn’t give a cockroach’s arse what anyone thought of him, and for the most part, he didn’t. But
her
opinion mattered.

“Captain?” Herrera called.

He stalked over to the jolly boat and swung himself over the side. After fastening his harness, he gave Herrera a nod to signal it was time to leave. The vessel rose up into the air. Though Daphne’s gaze never left him, he kept his own fixed pointedly at the rocky horizon.

It didn’t make any goddamn sense—this hurt. He should be inured to this kind of deceit. And if it had been just about the money, all he’d have to do was toss her overboard or abandon her in the middle of the blasted desert, then take his profit.

Yet here she was, hands gripping the sides of the jolly boat, watching him with her green, remorseful eyes. Eyes he couldn’t let himself stare into, or else he’d find something he didn’t want, didn’t need.

After several silent minutes flying in the jolly boat, the
Bielyi Voron
came into view. His weapon-laden ship. The purpose for which he was created. He had to remind himself: he was built for war, and whenever he tried for anything more, disaster struck.

They reached the ship, the jolly boat taking its usual place in the cargo hold. Hardly had the small vessel settled than he leapt out. Levkov waited for them. Mikhail tossed the necklace at the first mate, who caught it with one hand, then gaped at it.

“Put that in the strong room,” Mikhail commanded.

At once, and without complaint or demand for explanation, Levkov hurried to put the jewels into safekeeping. Once, Mikhail had danced to Daphne’s tune, letting her keep what he’d believed was a strongbox of gold in her cabin. But even that gesture had been hollow, because there hadn’t been any gold. Just as there hadn’t been any diamond mine. But the star sapphires—those were his now. His only recompense for this whole debacle of a mission.

After Levkov had gone, Mikhail strode out of the cargo bay. Daphne seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he heard the unmistakable sound of her boots on the planks, following him.

Instead of heading straight to his quarters, Mikhail took a different route. His crew seemed to sense his black mood, for they all scurried out of his way as he passed. Finally, he reached his destination. He flung open the door, stepped inside the long chamber, and studied the racks and racks of weapons there: ether pistols and rifles, filled ether tanks for replenishing the firearms, plasma grenades, cases of bullets.

He began pulling guns from the racks, stacking them up on the table in the center of the armory. Every weapon would have to be checked and rechecked by the crew. All of it had to function at peak capacity tomorrow. Hell, they might need some of this today.

Sensing Daphne’s presence in the doorway, he said without looking up, “The
Bielyi Voron
’s strong. So’s her crew. But I’m not going to doubt al-Zaman. Al-Rahim’s compound is probably better fortified than the tsar’s palace, and a rat couldn’t breach that place’s cellars.”

“And al-Rahim has those two Man O’ Wars working for him,” she added.

He did glance up then, and she visibly restrained herself from stepping back from the heat of his glare. “I haven’t forgotten about Olevski. Or that French rogue.”

“One Man O’ War against two, and an impenetrable fortress.” She eyed the guns stacked up on the table, and the other weapons in the armory. “This might not be enough.”

“It won’t.” He checked the sights on a rifle, then set it beside the others. “Which is why we need an ally.”

“The British won’t help us. But if not them, then who?”

He gave her a brutal smile. “Khalida.”

F
INDING A NOMADIC
warlord wouldn’t be difficult for a Man O’ War and his airship. They had an advantage that earthbound men didn’t have: the sky.

“Al-Rahim’s compound is to the south of the city.” In the pilot house, Mikhail, Daphne, and Levkov studied a chart of the area, showing Medinat al-Kadib and the wide stretches of desert surrounding it. “Here, where there are ridges and mountains to help with the defenses.”

“If Khalida and he are enemies,” Daphne said, “they’ll keep far enough away from each other to maintain their territories. They’d use the city as neutral ground between them.” She pointed to a region north of Medinat al-Kadib. “I’d wager my field compass she’ll be found here.”

Again, he didn’t want to be impressed by her intelligence and tenacity, but the feeling rose up in him like an old illness. She hadn’t even argued against the idea of going to Khalida, showing her trust in his judgment, in him. He wanted this uncomplicated. Instead, he got twists and turns, and a hell of a lot of conflicted emotion he didn’t want.

Locating a warlord wasn’t nearly as thorny. Mikhail had the helmsman steer the ship northward, and they passed over the minarets, towers, and crowded buildings of the city before reaching the broad expanse of the desert.

He stood on the forecastle, Daphne and Levkov flanking him. Hot, dry wind swept up from the desert floor, and everything looked as seared and barren as he felt. Colorless.

“Don’t know how anyone or anything could live out here,” grumbled Levkov.

“It’s pure,” Daphne countered. “Stark, but beautiful. Nothing extraneous. And there is life. It merely operates on a contained scale.”

Mikhail’s vision caught these details: snakes and lizards darting amongst the rocks, wheeling birds searching for prey, straight-horned antelope. All scrabbling for existence in a land that gave them little to work with. “Hard way to live, though.”

“Every place has its threats,” she murmured. “Home can be a rocky, barren plain, but if it’s home, and all you know, you come to love it.”

Levkov muttered something about philosophy not saving your arse if you’re dying of thirst, but both Mikhail and Daphne ignored him. Each word from Daphne’s mouth felt like the bitterest pleasure.

Better, and easier, to focus on the task before him. Bare and empty as the desert seemed, seeing it from the sky gave a different perspective. “There,” he said, pointing to the ground. “Tracks in the earth. Looks like they were made by horses and camels, some tetrol-powered vehicles, too. People use these routes.” Through the shipboard auditory device, he instructed the helmsman on altering the ship’s course to follow the routes.

Soon, they spotted people riding in a small caravan. The sight of an airship’s shadow made them all look up, shielding their eyes, and watch the
Bielyi Voron
fly overhead. As the ship continued on its course, it passed watering holes and a small group of tents. The occupants could be coming or going from Khalida’s own encampment, but it meant that the ship was traveling in the right direction.

“More caravans,” Daphne noted. “They’re approaching from different directions, but they’re all converging on the other side of that ridge.”

The airship continued on its course, going over the ridge, and there they found their destination. Khalida’s encampment. It formed its own small-scale city—a collection of over a hundred tents, some of them fabric, while others were collapsible metal structures. Cattle milled in pens, tended by both humans and automatons. Smoke from cooking fires rose in columns. There were men and women not only on horseback, but a few riding mechanized camels, the iron-and-brass beasts adorned as ornately with tasseled reins and blankets as their living counterparts.

Gyrocopters buzzed in patrols around the encampment—small craft made of wood, leather, and canvas. When they spotted the airship, they formed a protective line in front of the camp. The men flying the gyrocopters brandished extremely long rifles he recognized as
jezails
. Only these
jezails
were equipped with ether tanks. Courtesy of Khalida’s British allies, no doubt.

Daphne stiffened in alarm when she spotted the gyrocopters. “They can’t fly as high as an airship, can they?”

“But their ether-powered bullets can still hit us.” He strode from the forecastle, Daphne following, heading for the cargo bay and the jolly boat. “Time to head down there and practice our diplomacy.”

“Or our sprinting.”

“We talk fast.” He went below decks. “But I never run from a fight like this.”