by Ryan Muree
“A game,” he whispered. “You argue facts about history, and the loser drinks. The drunker you get, the worse your answers, usually. You’ve never played?”
She smirked. “Neerians don’t drink all that much. Too many accidents when you live near an ocean.”
He’d played a few times in Keeper training, but nothing to the extent of what Vaughn was expressing worry for.
The fact remained that their plan revolved around interrogating an Ingini, getting pertinent information about where to invade her country, and spy on possible treasonous trades… with the help of a drinking game.
Chapter 3
Zephyr Airship — Revel
The dark lacquered highwood table was littered with empty bottles, shot glasses, dried and sticky puddles of ethyrol, a myriad of grimoire tickets, and scratch pieces of paper.
Adalai’s illusionary dagger had been stabbed into the surface. She held the smooth handle and glared down a twitchy, slurring Clove across from her.
Adalai would get her. She had to. If not—
She swallowed. This was all on her. Sneaking in, finding more crates, discovering how they’re getting them. If this failed, she’d lose everything for good. General Orr would never accept her back, the punishment would be swift and strong, and everything she’d busted her ass for would be lost.
She’d become nothing again. A street beggar, alone in Aurelis, worried about her next meal or worse instead of her next assignment.
And that… that she couldn’t do again.
“You’re hol-shitting me!” Clove shouted, one dirty finger jutted out.
Adalai gestured to Jahree posted against the wall alongside Grier and Emeryss.
Jahree shook his head. “574 P.A. is incorrect. Take a drink.”
Clove had incorrectly guessed the date of the first war between rebels and the Revel Syndicate—the first organization of what became the Revelian Conductor Army.
“One-sided hol-shit,” Clove whined, tossing back another shot glass of clear ethyrol down her throat. She winced and shook it off. One eye closed slower than the other.
The air was stale with the stench of ethyrol. Thick and moist like tree sap, the alcohol slowed all her limbs and thoughts.
Vaughn was already sniveling on the floor somewhere like the weakling he was. Mykel was at least still sitting in his chair to her left, but his head had fallen back. Mouth open, eyes closed, he’d been passed out for at least twenty minutes. Still, they hadn’t been completely useless. Clove hadn’t seen through their plan and had been seemingly convinced that she was forced to “take a break” from interrogating her with threats and pain.
Clove, though swaying side to side in her chair, was still in the game to win. She’d foolishly bet the game on her freedom and wasn’t half bad when the questions didn’t pertain to the separation of Revel and Ingini. Clearly, Ingini had been lying to their people.
“In 213 P.A.,” Clove argued. “Actually, no, the summer of 212, the first Ingineers organized against the monarchy—”
“Sent in an assassin,” Adalai corrected.
Clove glared back. “And when it failed, they returned home until the Revl… Relvuh…” She rolled her head on her neck and screwed up her face. “Revelians… they picked a fight out of Lamnira. The first battle was in early 213 up in uh… uh… Lamnira.” Her thoughts seemed slow as well.
Both Jahree and Adalai shook their heads.
Clove slammed her fist onto the table, bouncing bottles and metal gears everywhere. “You all… were told… stupid history!”
“We were told the truth,” Adalai snarled, and then hiccupped.
Clove smirked at her. “There’s only one question we’ll both get right: Who won in the final battle of Lamnira?”
Adalai squinted at her.
Anyone—Ingini, Revelian, even Stadholden alike—could answer that one. Clove had referred to the only war that mattered. The last war that had permanently separated them. The war where Ingini had embroiled themselves in so much hate and distrust that there was no digging them out of it. After Lamnira, Revel had shoved them back, built the wall, and cut them off from the ether ever since.
But why ask? Had the Ingini been so lost that they believed they’d actually won the war? Or had they been telling their people that many lies all this time?
“We won the war,” Adalai said.
Clove nodded in agreement. “You did. You won the war, but not the battle.” She lifted a shaky arm in a false cheer. “You think there might be a reason we have different dates?”
Adalai shrugged halfheartedly. “Ingini are liars and conniving selfish bastards? Take your pick.”
Clove spat at the floor by Adalai’s boot. “Maybe whichever dickwick was king at the time—”
“Ralian. King Ralian—”
“I don’t give a shit,” Clove retorted. “He and everyone after him don’t want people to know we kicked your ass in Lamnira that summer. Before stealing grimoires. Before Ingineers. Maybe you’ve been lied to this whole time.”
Jahree cleared his throat and called out another key date. Seventy-something. It would have been one of the negotiating meetings that failed. A first of many.
Adalai answered it first; Clove took another drink.
She almost felt sorry for Clove. Almost. If she looked past the fact that Clove was an enemy, one of the traitors and brainless, backward-ass scum of humanity, then she might feel sorry Clove had been born on the wrong side of the wall.
Adalai swallowed the bitter after-taste of previous drinks.
She probably just felt sorry for Clove because she looked like shit, wearing the same Ingini flight suit she’d been found in. Every time she had to take a shot, she’d run her hands through her frizzy brown hair, loosening it further from the elastic barely keeping it back, and rolled up the sleeves on her arms.
Clove was nervous.
Good.
“The Patterly Agreement—” Jahree started.
“Council of Three,” Adalai said.
Clove slammed another glass of ethyrol back.
“By which general?”
“General Bartlett!” Clove yelled mid-swallow.
Adalai took a shot. Clove had just been faster that time.
“In 345 Pre-New Age, Casters were called Conductors and learned through—”
“Law of Thermatics!” Adalai called out slamming her hand down on the table.
Clove took a shot.
“What was it called when—?”
“Vigor!” Clove yelled, slamming her palm against the wood.
Adalai took a shot. It burned all the way to her stomach, and she squelched down the bile creeping up to the back of her mouth. If she threw up, she’d lose. If she pressed her warm forehead against the cool wooden surface, it would be counted as a defeat. They hadn’t gotten the information out of Clove, yet, but they better soon.
Jahree looked at her, and she nodded at him.
“Who was the sole survivor of the Pre-New Age—?”
“Goddess of the Dead—Shenna, the Evergreen!” Emeryss shouted with a smile. She quickly dropped her hand. “Sorry, it was one I actually knew.”
Jahree continued. “Which Revelian city handles distributions from Stadhold—?”
“Prantalis,” Adalai blurted, a little louder than before. No one could beat her, just like Jahree had said.
Clove tossed it down and moaned. Her throat had to be raw and burning. A hole should have been eating through her stomach.
“Which Ingini city on the southern coast has a landing zone for incoming shipments?”
Adalai didn’t have the answer, but she lifted her finger to make a guess.
Clove jumped up and shouted, “Gruskul Mines!”
The room fell silent as the smile slowly faded from Clove’s face.
Mines. Ether mines were dark and deep. Was that how they were bringing them into the rest of the country? Through tunnels in the mines?
They had their target.
&n
bsp; Adalai smiled and lifted a shot glass. “To that, I win.”
She took the last shot of ethyrol in celebration of Jahree’s plan and stood, resting her weight on the table.
Clove’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d just given away. She stood, too, but swayed on her feet. “That’s not fair! You tricked me. You tricked me!” Jahree went to calm her down, but she shoved him off. “You tricked me!”
Adalai fought to maintain her grin and strained to keep herself from falling to the floor alongside Vaughn.
Clove’s eyes closed, and she rocked back on her feet a little.
“Is she passing out?” Grier asked.
Looked like it.
Her eyes shot open full of rage. “No! I was trying to trance my way out of here to make you d-d-dissovvell… dissolve… into ether!” She couldn’t even keep her hand up when pointing a finger at Adalai.
Emeryss’s jaw dropped as she leaned in. “Are you an Ingineer?” she breathed.
Clove’s eyes went as wide as an ethyrol shot glass, as if she’d let something out much worse than a city’s name. She shook her head, hands to her mouth. “No, no…”
Adalai scoffed. “She’s probably just lying—”
“You’re the lying, dirty-ass bastards! Not us!” Clove screamed. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. If you’re going to send me to your precious General, then do it!”
“Why would I do that?” She gave a smug grin. “We might need more information.”
Clove clamored across the table, scattering bottles and junk to the floor and attempting to reach Adalai.
Jahree pulled her off by the waist. “Come on. You can sleep this off—”
“No! Screw you!” Clove tried to wrestle out of his grip. “You tricked me, too!”
He pulled her away, but she jerked her arms free, heading straight for Adalai.
Adalai stood her ground and yanked her dagger from the table to point it at Clove. “Yeah? You going to do something?”
Grier had somehow ended up beside her. She wasn’t sure if he was going to hold her back or protect her. She’d like to think the latter, but sometimes goody-goodies like him have a hard time changing habits.
“I’m going to kill you,” Clove mumbled with a shaking finger aimed at her nose.
Adalai swallowed.
“You can’t kill me!” Clove squirmed out of Jahree’s hold again. “I’m too valuable, but I can kill you, and I will.” Her eyelids were low, her words slurred, but her message was genuine.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Adalai couldn’t do anything with Clove—not yet. Clove was too good for information for the time being, and she’d continue to give it because she wanted to live long enough to get her freedom.
Jahree pulled Clove back, but she persisted. “Hey! Where’s your stupid imaginary friend? Are you a child? Needing to invent something to care about you?” Clove’s words were like flammable acid against Adalai’s skin, poised to ignite and burn her.
“Better than crashing my airship and killing my own brother.” Adalai glared back at her.
Emeryss gasped, and Grier dropped his chin to his chest.
Clove wheeled and kicked, straining and shouting against Jahree’s grapple. “I’ll kill her! Let me go! I’ll kill you, you bitch!” Her voice cracked as she screamed, but Jahree carried her on down the hall.
Adalai’s tired focus shifted to Grier and then Emeryss still standing at the wall. Grier shook his head without looking up at her, and Emeryss frowned.
“I know it worked, but you can’t blame her for being angry,” Emeryss said.
“Blame her? What do I care about her being angry? She’s the enemy.”
“She’s been captured by us,” Grier said. “Clove has no allies here, and that has to be terrifying. If you knew her brother was dead, you didn’t have to bring it up like this.”
Adalai pulled back. Like what? And why all the bleeding hearts for the Ingini?
It’s not like she had anyone at the moment either. If the Zephyrs couldn’t see what they were risking, what Adalai was risking, what she was in jeopardy of losing through all this, then screw them.
“I don’t know for sure,” she said. “It’s logical. Their ship crashed in Revel. His body was nowhere to be found. He’s probably dead.”
“Still, Adalai,” Emeryss said. “Be better than them.” She and Grier walked off to their room to do who knows what…
And who cared?
Urla had put her in charge. She wasn’t wrong. The plan worked. It was Clove, a random Ingini they happened to find. Everyone had a sob story, and sob stories don’t save anyone.
The room swam and spun, and she plopped back into her seat. Finally, she rested her forehead against the cold, smooth table, and fleeting relief washed over her.
Clove has no allies.
Her chest stung a little considering that one. She’d always stuck up for the lonely, for the victim. But they were the victims here, weren’t they? Clove’s people turned an ether-cannon and destroyed a whole city in seconds.
She wrapped her arms around her gut and squeezed her eyes shut.
She’d definitely regret the game in the morning.
Clove’s eyes burned and burned but rubbing them didn’t stop them from tearing up and watering. “My eyes hurt so bad,” she whimpered.
“You’re crying,” Jahree said. He’d carried her since she hadn’t been willing to calm down, and like a baby, the minute he scooped her up, the weight of all those ethyrol shots and terribly wrong answers seemed easier to handle.
He smelled like sunberries. “You smell like sunberries,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“Why are you nice to me?” Her head floated somewhere well above her body. The metal grating of the corridor and the blue ether lights passed overhead. They blurred into lines, into wheels, into stars. She heaved but kept it down.
“I’m nice to everyone,” he said.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“But I’m Ingini.”
“You’re still a person.” Jahree lowered her to the ground and propped her up with one arm as he undid a latch.
She swayed and placed her hand against the frigid wall. It felt so good. So good. She pressed her forehead against it. “Where’s the cage? Where is this?” It had come out muffled and funny sounding. She cracked a smile.
“A room with a bed.”
A bed?
She shoved him back when he came closer. “Don’t even think about it… buddy.”
He reached for her again, and she shrieked, pushing him away with weak hands. Her hands were too slow. She was too slow. Everything was slow.
“I’m giving you somewhere to sleep because your body is going to hate you tomorrow.” He urged her inside toward a bunk with a couple of sheets.
She collapsed on the mattress in a heap and fell back. It was better than her mattress on the floor in Dimmur. Stupid Revel. She reached out, and her hands found a cold metal wall beside her. Running her palms over it, she pressed her left side against it. It was perfect for cooling the heat in her chest.
“Nope. On your side.” Jahree forced her to roll toward the edge of the bed so her face hung off.
“I’m not going to throw up—”
The bile lurched forward, and she gagged. Within seconds a waste container appeared under her, and she retched into it until she couldn’t catch her breath. The sour aftertaste of ethyrol blazed up to her nose again.
Head still over the side, a cool, damp towel pressed against her forehead.
“You’re still here?” She rested her fingers on the small cloth as she lay back. “You have been the leastest bastard of this whole bastard crew, and you went and ruined it. You tricked me, Jahree.”
“Sorry, but we had to know.”
“I wasn’t stealing grimoires.”
“Someone is, and we need to find out who.”
The words to tell him off were right there at the tip
of her tongue, but the connection between her mouth and her brain seemed miles apart in one moment and nonexistent in another.
Her eyes burned again. She was so tired. If she closed them and fell asleep, everything would be better again. Everything would feel better, and the biting in her stomach would subside—eventually.
“I thought you were my friend…” she drawled out. It was instantaneous; in brain, out mouth. Her mouth had betrayed her. No, he did. He’d betrayed her.
More tears came. For him? For herself?
No, for Cayn.
He’d know what to do and what to say. He’d handle it perfectly, probably even convince them to let them go, let alone get out of that stupid cage. He knew how to do everything right.
“My brother isn’t dead,” she sniffled. “Is he?” She finally had the guts to look him in the eyes the best she could. Everything was still a little wavy and too far away, but she had to try. She had to see how he’d act.
He gave away nothing. He said nothing.
“My brother will find me,” she sobbed. “He will.”
Jahree exhaled. “I’ll help you find him when all this mess is over. If you help us in Ingini and help get us back to Revel safely, then I’ll escort you around to find your brother.”
Had he said what she just thought he’d said? She was probably too drunk.
“What?”
He turned for the door. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
The door latched closed behind him.
This was the most freedom she’d had since being captured, and for a fleeting second, she pondered running through the ship, busting out a window, trying to escape. But she couldn’t even lift her arms, let alone her head.
The world, her mind, her heart, it spun and hurt and stung and ached…
Absolutely everything hurt, inside and out.
Chapter 4
Grier and Emeryss’s Room — Zephyr Airship — Revel
Emeryss drew up the thin, pale sheet to her chest and rolled over to find the mattress cold and empty.
Grier stood at the sink in only his undershorts, bent over washing his face.
