Tethered (13 page)

A brief quiet fell, filled only by the sound of hissing steam and the wind. After a moment, Vashon spoke up. “I don’t need to wait until tomorrow, Captain. I’m with you.”

Fortescue and a few others nodded their agreement. Archimedes looked to the first mate. The quartermaster’s word had some weight, but not as much as she would have if she’d been aboard a longer time. His friend had that weight, but he wasn’t throwing it around yet. Longcock regarded the captain in silence as the mutters and declarations of loyalty swelled around them.

Yasmeen held up her hand, quieting them again. “Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Make certain this decision is your own.”

Longcock cleared his throat. “Captain?”

“Mr. Longcock.”

“I’m with you. But as the others make their decision, I’m certain there’s one thing in particular they’d like to know: If those flyers come for us, will you let them take us in or blow us up?”

“I’ll surrender,” she said.

Surprise slapped Archimedes; he stared at her, wishing he could read her expression. Beyond her, the aviators’ heads turned again, their faces uncertain. They hadn’t expected that from her.
He
hadn’t expected that from her.

She continued, “Then I’ll kill William Bushke and destroy his flyers, untether my lady from the city, and get us the hell out of there.”

Ah. That was more like he’d expected. Thank God she was never boring about it.

Pursing his lips, Longcock nodded. “That sounds all right to me,” he said.

*   *   *

She couldn’t lose him like this, she couldn’t lose him—

Yasmeen woke up, gasping, sweating. Gray, predawn light filtered through the portholes. Through a blur of tears, she searched for Archimedes. He lay beside her—and even in his sleep, he wore a troubled frown.

Not just worried for Zenobia, she knew. Worried for her, too.

She understood that fear, though she hadn’t always. She wasn’t accustomed to being terrified for the people she loved. Hurting for them. Steeling herself against that pain and fear was the only solution now, the only way to get through this without losing her friend, her crew, her ship…and her husband, too. But she couldn’t steel herself against him, however much Archimedes might believe she had.

By the lady, she couldn’t bear to lose him—and was almost afraid of the lengths she’d go to, making certain she didn’t.

The sound of the engines changed, slower, throatier. No longer driving at full bore. She felt the slight shift in their speed, the adjustment in their course. They were coming into Medway, then.

Turning toward Archimedes, she wiped the sweat and tears from her face. When they’d gone to sleep early that morning, there’d been distance between them. No anger, nothing hot—simply exhaustion and weariness. Now she was cold.

She curled against him, her back to his chest. Gingerly, she bent her legs, trying to loosen her knees without disturbing him. He might sleep yet. After discovering that
The Kite
—a mercenary skyrunner captained by Olaf Berge—had flown into Fladstrand early the previous morning, they’d spent most of the night bent over the desk with the senior crew and department heads, confirming inventory and drawing up lists of provisions. All of it would need to be secured and stowed today, stuffing her lady to the deckheads. Most of the expanded cargo hold would be filled with the extra coal they’d need; they’d burn up some on the journey, but it was impossible to
know how long they’d be circling Madagascar or venturing farther into the Eastern Ocean, looking for the balloon city.

Perhaps luck would be with them, and it wouldn’t take more than a week or two…but it might take months. They could restock their supplies in Australia, but a wide expanse of ocean and Horde territory lay between here and there. Yasmeen didn’t want to run out of fuel and depend on the wind to bring them in, or risk fishing for sustenance in kraken-infested waters.

The stiffness in her knees subsided—not enough, but she couldn’t lie abed. Not when there was so much to do. With a sigh, she sat up.

Archimedes’ callused hand slid over her thigh. His head lifted, his hair a gold-streaked jumble, his eyes still heavy. “Yasmeen?”

“Sleep. I have to meet with Scarsdale.”

“I’ll come.”

“No.” She pressed her palm to his chest, prevented him from sitting up. Her refusal hurt him, she saw. But she was afraid of hurting him more if she didn’t work through the tangle of emotions that had been tying them up since Bilson had activated that device.

“Yasmeen.” He caught her hand, held it against his heart. Regret deepened the emerald in his eyes. “What I said about hiring someone else, that wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” And she also knew that he wanted to unravel this tangle, too. Something wasn’t right between them—and somehow, that fucked over everything else. But she couldn’t see what it was yet. She needed to clear her head, to look with new eyes.

Slowly, she slid from the bed, turning back to collect her silver cigarillo case from the pillow. His gaze followed her, and she couldn’t bear the torment in his face. Bending, she kissed him. “I know,” she repeated.

He nodded, pulled her down for another sweet kiss. When he released her, his grin was familiar, perfect. “Remember that when you’re with your fancy earl.”

“But he has such fashionable waistcoats.”

“Fashionable? How boring.”

Yasmeen had to agree—and because she wanted to keep
Archimedes close, she pulled on one of his shirts. Too big, but it carried his wonderful scent. She expected a comment, but when she looked away from the wardrobe, he was watching her with a frown.

“You’re all but hobbling, Mrs. Fox. You ought to have loosened up on me.”

Oh, but she’d have loved to. Riding him slowly, taking him deep. “Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Fox.”

“Perhaps tonight,” he said.

“I won’t be stiff then.”

“Scowl at me over dinner, and I will be.”

She grinned and shook her head, before covering her hair with a red silk kerchief and tying the ends. When she glanced back at him, his gaze had unfocused. Lost in thought.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s all too expected.”

“What is?”

“Bilson using Zenobia.”

Expected? “It surprised us yesterday.”

“Only because the device threw us into a spin. We expected him to go for her—we sent her that express.”

“He knows what matters to you. That’s not a surprise. It was clever.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, as if whatever idea had been forming in his head seemed to come together. “It
is
clever. But only until we rescue her and Joseph from New Eden. Then…”

“We kill him.”

“Unless she was never there.”

Ah. “
That
would be clever,” she agreed. “We fly to New Eden after her, only to find that it was all a ruse. Then he doesn’t reveal her true location until we take him and his brother back to civilization.”

And the more she considered it, the more sense it made. Bilson and his mercenaries couldn’t know where New Eden was with any more accuracy than Yasmeen did. In all possibility,
Lady Nergüi
would find the floating city long before
The Kite
did.

“Yes,” Archimedes said. “But it doesn’t help us now. We wouldn’t know the truth until we were there.”

No, they wouldn’t. If Bilson claimed that he’d sent Zenobia
to New Eden, and then—under threat of torture—admitted that he’d tried to fool them, they still wouldn’t know whether he was telling them what they wanted to hear simply to stop the torment.

And he would still be playing some sort of game. “He can’t be holding all of the strings,” Yasmeen said.

“He has the strings.” With a broad grin, Archimedes leaned back on the pillows, arms folded behind his head. “But I have iron balls and a silver tongue…and a fortune.”

Oh, but she loved it when he was cocky. It was Archimedes Fox’s version of her blades and claws. She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“We’ll play along…and call his bluff. If Berge has Zenobia aboard
The Kite
, they’re likely waiting for word from Bilson. But if we’re supposed to be searching for New Eden, they can’t know how long they’ll be waiting.”

She caught on. “And they would need supplies. They’d need a place to collect messages.”

“But we can’t wait for an answer—not unless we find that device. So we’ll have to fly south, let Bilson think it’s all happening just as he planned.” He paused. “Would Scarsdale be willing to send the word out, and then send any reply to us?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll arrange it with him now.” The turnabout might take several weeks to come to fruition, but she was already anticipating Bilson’s dismay. Grinning, she buckled her jacket. “In the meantime, the autogyros ought to arrive by midmorning. Will you see that they are properly loaded?”

“You realize I won’t be able to resist taking one up?”

Yes. “They’ll need to be tested, anyway. Take Longcock, see if they handle the weight. We’ll have the maids with us, remember.”

“I will.”

“And if any of the aviators decide to leave—”

“I’ll kill them.”

She laughed, shook her head. “No. Send them to the steward for their pay and papers. I should return shortly before noon, so I’ll be available if anyone needs to have a word with me before making their decision.”

Archimedes frowned. “You’ll let them question you?”

“No. If they’re still undecided, I’d rather they go. So if they come to me with doubts, I’ll push them along.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do
you
have doubts?”

In her ability to captain this ship? Not at all. In her ability to rescue Zenobia from New Eden, if necessary? Not many. Yasmeen believed they
would
be successful. But there were always risks. “Realistically, I have to recognize that there’s a chance I might fail.”

“Well, I don’t have any doubts,” he said smugly. “Not one.”

“That’s because you’ve never approached anything with an attitude that resembled ‘realistic.’”

“It’s true.” He grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

“Perhaps.” Slowly, her gaze slipped over the hard expanse of his chest, the lean muscles of his stomach, the breadth of his shoulders. “But that’s not the only reason, Mr. Fox.”

His laughter followed her to the door, and Yasmeen couldn’t stop smiling. Whatever had been tangled between them had begun to loosen, and already she felt lighter.

Archimedes suddenly stopped laughing. “Are those my daggers in your boots?”

“Mine.” Her fingers wrapped around the red handles. “Unless you know a good reason for me to give them back?”

“I’ll run after you naked, exposing myself to all of your crew until you return them.”

“I asked for a
good
reason.”

“They match my favorite waistcoat.”

She flicked the tails of her red silk kerchief over her shoulders, then tucked her fingers into the crimson sash at her waist.

He swore. “I
will
have them back, Mrs. Fox.”

“I’ll enjoy seeing you try, Mr. Fox.”

She was still smiling as she came onto the main deck. The sky was dreary, clouded. Drizzle pattered against the metal fabric of the envelope. The deck crew was already busy, readying the airship to take on the extra supplies. With the coal heavy in her lady’s belly, she wouldn’t fly as quickly, but she was fleet and the engines at her heart were strong. Even weighed down, she’d still make fine time on their journey south.

Her knees had loosened up a bit more, but Yasmeen
descended on the cargo lift rather than risk the rope ladder. The steward had been busy; crates of supplies were already stacking up at her mooring station. The boards were slippery with rain. The naval docks at Medway were never quiet—but never as chaotic as unregulated harbors. Yasmeen hailed a passing cab. The steamcoach driver peered at her through the gray morning light, then blinked hard when recognition set in. She saw his brief moment of panic and indecision before waving her into the rattling carriage. Yasmeen grinned as she climbed in. Her reputation extended far, and still produced the response that she’d wanted.

She had earned that reputation, often lived up to it, and had carefully nurtured the barroom stories of her more ruthless deeds…because it was far easier and less time-consuming to let fear deter the majority of the idiots who might attempt to cross her than to actually deal with them.

That reputation would change, she knew. With Archimedes at her side, with Lady Lynx circulating two sides of an ocean, that change was inevitable.

But she didn’t yet know what sort of change that would be—or the effect that change would have. Bilson might be one indication of it. Instead of fearing her, idiots might attempt to take advantage of her feelings for Archimedes.

Why didn’t that bother her as much as it should have?

She cared that someone might threaten Archimedes; she didn’t care whether anyone knew she loved him, even though her reputation could burn on that one detail.

But she didn’t care if it did burn…and she couldn’t fathom it. For years, she’d labored to prevent vulnerabilities from softening her reputation. Why did it matter so little now? Her reaction was the opposite of what she’d expected of herself—and what Archimedes had expected of her, too.

Perhaps that was the root of the tangle. They’d both expected that her response would be different, and they’d both been reacting as if it had been. Because she
should
have cared.

How odd that she didn’t.

The steamcoach rumbled to a stop in front of Medway’s finest inn. Yasmeen flipped a coin to the driver and made her way to the door, where an automaton butler welcomed her in. God. These things were all the rage in the New World, but
though its hat-taking skills and wax-recorded greeting were impressive, it slowed the normal speed of an entrance down a bit.

Beyond the entryway, the dining room bustled with activity. Well-dressed travelers laughed and chatted, all of them surrounded by an air of expectation. Obviously, none of them were headed to New Eden. A smiling woman in a sensible black dress and widow’s cap approached Yasmeen—the hotelier, she assumed.