by Heidi Heilig
“He’s the one who found me a position in the palace three years ago.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not exactly an answer.”
The Tiger sighs, buttoning his coveralls. “Raik was raised to take the throne. Trouble is, he was raised by the Aquitans. But he’s still one of us, and we’ll never rid ourselves of foreign control if we spend our energy fighting each other.”
My eyebrows go up. “You don’t want the throne?”
“I want peace more,” he says simply.
For a moment, there is silence again. Still, the question tugs at me. “So what should we call you, then?”
“Camreon, of course.” He grins. “The Tiger, if you must.”
“Not ‘my king’?”
His smile deepens. “Not if Raik’s around.”
I smile back, tentative. I can’t help it—I like him. But before I can say so, a column of flame erupts from the water just behind the ship. Red as blood, tall as the soul of a giant. Except it isn’t a soul—I know because Camreon sees it too. “What is that?”
The soul in our boat surges away from the flame, fearing fire as it did in life. Is the ship alight? We rush to the rear to check, but no—it is the sea. I have never seen water burn. The heat of the flame prickles my skin, and the ocean boils at the base of the column. For a moment, I fear we are about to be consumed by a tower of flame. But as quickly as it rose, the fire dies, as do the bubbles, and the rush and crackle of flame is replaced by shouting downstairs: Theodora and Leo, arguing.
“How could you?” he demands, and I’ve never heard him so angry.
Theodora matches him in volume. “If we go back to Nokhor Khat, we can easily get more!”
“We’re not going back! You think Xavi will be reasonable? After what he did to the slums?”
“That’s exactly why we have to end this war!” Her voice echoes up from below. “If Cam is really the rightful king, he could finish this today!”
“What happened?” I call to them, my heart still pounding, but I don’t think they hear. Beside me, Camreon grinds his teeth.
“I’ll go check,” he says. Then he looks up at the distant shore, gauging the distance to the fort. “But it might be wise to push a little faster, now.”
“Right.” Heart still pounding, I return to the prow, murmuring to the soul as I go. The boat picks up speed, but we haven’t gone far when a boom like thunder rolls across the water. I frown, looking back, but the water is dark. Until a moment later, when something big and heavy splashes down from the sky.
I have time enough to curse before it explodes.
* * *
Properties of Lytheum
—The metal has similar characteristics to the more common alkalis.
—Highly reactive to water, even to the small amounts found in the air.
—(Is the relatively high humidity in Chakrana a factor in this?)
—Are the volatile properties of the material a factor in its ability to treat “volatile” personalities, or is this only coincidence?
Store the material in oil.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
White spray swamps the deck. The boat rocks in the water. From below, I hear the others shouting. What was it? I cast about wildly, but Camreon takes my arm and points to the fort. “Artillerie!” As he speaks, I see the flash, hear the boom. “We need to move!”
I am already ahead of him. With my hand on the rail, I urge the soul faster, faster. Smoothly, the boat accelerates, slicing through the churning water as we turn away from the fort. When the next shell hits, we’ve gone far enough to outrun the ripples of the wave.
With the shell after that, we are not so lucky.
It hits the rear of La Rêve and bursts apart in light and heat. Below, the shouts have turned to screams. I want to rush down to check on the others, but there will be another shell any moment, and I can’t take my eyes off the fort.
The wind shifts; I smell smoke. “Get down there!” I shout to Camreon over the ringing in my ears. “Make sure the ship isn’t burning!”
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, looking sharply toward the shore at the next crack of the cannon. “To the left!”
I send the soul sideways; as the ship jerks in the water, the shell falls where we would have been. The explosion rocks the boat, but we keep our course, safe from the blast.
“Keep dodging,” Cam says as he hurries to the stairs. “When they fire, they’re aiming for where they think we’ll be. Most ships don’t sail like crocodiles swim.”
I nod, stroking the rail absently, watching the fort. When the next flash comes, we dart right; for the one after that, I hold my breath while we stop dead. The shells go wide, and there is a fierce victory in every miss. Is the artillerie cursing me as he peers through his binoculars, wondering what tides we are riding? And when the last bomb falls far behind our wake, a wild pride swells in my chest. We have passed out of range of the cannon—nearly out of the harbor, to the freedom of the sea.
My smug satisfaction lasts until I look at the sky above the fort. Dawn is approaching, and against the lightening sky, three avions make ominous silhouettes. And this time, it is the metal flying machines we will face. Setting the crocodile’s soul on a course toward the open water, I hurry downstairs. A hazy smoke still hangs in the air below. “Camreon! Where are you?”
“Back here!”
I find the others at the rear of the ship, where the shell hit. There is a new hole rimmed with jagged boards, charred and splintered, and I can see down through the carpet into the bilge. Smoke still drifts up from below, but at least the fire is out—without the soul buoying the boat, we’d sink in an instant. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No,” the Tiger calls up. “Are we out of range?”
“Not for long,” I say. “There are avions coming.”
Akra clenches his teeth. “How many?”
“Three, for now,” I call back. “How many bullets do you have left, Leo?”
“Not enough,” he says grimly. “What about you, Jetta? Any ideas?”
I blink at him, then pull the book out of my pocket, flipping through. A pangolin, a horse, a dog, some birds . . . I chew my lip, thinking, and into the silence, an unfamiliar voice falls.
“You could kill their creator.” Le Trépas’s suggestion. He even sounds regretful as he makes it.
“You mean me.” The thought shakes me—painfully familiar. An echo of the lies my own malheur whispered from time to time, before the elixir silenced their siren song. But is Le Trépas telling the truth?
“I meant the general,” he says—is that reproach in his eyes? “Isn’t he the one who ensouled the creatures? But now that you mention it, yes. Your death would drop the birds from the sky like stones. It’s your blood on their wings, after all.”
“That’s not an option,” Leo says through his teeth, but Le Trépas only shrugs.
“She could try to pluck the souls out by hand,” he replies. “But there’s no guarantee she’ll live through that either.”
“Your sense of strategy leaves much to be desired,” Cam says, but I am only half listening. Something is tugging at the corners of my thoughts . . . dropping the birds like stones . . .
“The ballast,” I blurt out, tearing one of the pages from the book—a hawk’s soul. Hadn’t I meant to do the same thing with the supply ship? “We’ll use them as our own artillerie.”
Cam gives me a nod, approving. We leave Akra guarding the prisoners. Leo, Cam, and Tia rush down to the bilge while I go above. By the time they bring me the first round of blocks, the avions are far too close for comfort. “Cam! Your knife!”
He hands it over quickly; he’s kept it very sharp. With the guard’s lighter, the page, and a drop of blood, I transfer the soul of a hawk into the first stone. As the flying machine comes tearing through the sky toward us, I send the rock up. Improbably—impossibly—it lifts into the air, circling just the way a hawk would. “Higher,” I whisper, and the sou
l inside obeys.
The ballast block spirals up as though caught in a whirlwind, until it is above the flying machine. Then, at my command, the stone tips and stoops as though remembering it is of the earth and not the sky.
Down, down, down—the granite strikes the avion like a fist. In a heavy crunch of metal, the wings splay sideways, the machine tumbling through the air. Liquid spills from the split hull like milk from a cracked coconut, pooling like oil on the surface of the sea. The soul inside the metal body tries to right itself, but I send the rock circling around. The next hit smashes the machine down into the water.
The metal fantouche struggles to rise again, churning the waves into whitecaps with her twisted wings. Without fire, the soul will be trapped in the metal body even when she sinks below the sea. It seems a cruel fate. “Have any of you got a kerchief?”
Tia passes me a folded square that still smells faintly of perfume; quickly, I knot the silk and light the end. Cocking my arm, I aim for the spreading oil around the wreck, but just as I release the flaming kerchief, a man clambers out from the bucket of the cockpit.
Was Xavier foolish enough to come himself? No—it is just a soldat. A stranger to me. Is it only fear that makes him look young? “Allez!” he shouts desperately, urging the bird upward. “Go, go!”
The creature struggles fruitlessly to obey his command. I blink at the soldier. Is he the one who ensouled the avion? Then the accelerant goes up in flames around them, and the soldier dives into the foaming sea. He comes up gasping, covered in the oily stuff, and the flames cover him too, like a mantle. My stomach twists as he shrieks; the scar on my shoulder seems to burn under my sleeve. Fire isn’t quick.
Will the man rise again as a n’akela, and follow me till his soul fades? But the soldier’s scream is cut short as Camreon raises his gun; the soldier’s head jerks back, and his body tips to float in the burning water. It takes me a while to find his soul among the flames—gold as dawn. A small mercy.
Beside the body in the water, the avion’s struggle continues—at least, for a little while. The accelerant burns so hot. But the Tiger jerks his chin toward the sky.
“Look out,” he says. “Here comes another.”
I grit my teeth, marking the next block. “So let’s give them a show.”
With the smell of blood and smoke in my nostrils, I send up two more stones. One goes straight through the joint of a metal wing, and the avion twists and bucks in the air before the second stone takes it down. But then the last pilot has learned—the avion dodges and dances; the stone follows, but not fast enough. The flying machine swoops down toward us, gaining speed as it skims low over the surface of the water. Flame drips from the barrels, and in the wake of its passing, fire rises from the surface of the sea.
“Leo!” I scream. “Shoot him!”
As I smear blood on the next stone, a shot rings out—and another—and another—loud enough to make me jump. But these avions are much stronger than the one Theodora built. Bullets ping off the sculpted metal that shields the pilot in the cockpit. The avion does not turn, even as Leo’s pistol clicks on the empty cartridge.
“Where’s the Tiger?” I do not dare take my eyes off the avion as I urge the stone after it. “He has a gun!”
“I do,” Cam calls back, his voice almost calm. “But I’d rather not use it just now.”
Beside me, Leo curses. The Tiger is advancing across the deck with Theodora before him, his gun once more to her temple. Fury rises in me—how can he have spoken so sweetly of love, while daring to treat her this way? But together they face the flame: a challenge.
The avion stands down first, banking hard as my stone shoots past. The ballast block makes a pale blue streak in the sea as it plunges into the water. Frantically, I coax it up again as the avion circles around. But to my surprise, the flying machine slows as it nears the ship. The ocean’s surface ripples out in waves at the great backbeats of the metal wings.
I recognize the man in the cockpit: Lieutenant Pique.
“Hand over La Fleur at once,” he calls over the rush of wind, the pounding of my heart. “The nécromanciens too. Return to Nokhor Khat and face trial for your crimes. I can promise you justice, and swiftly.”
“I prefer La Rêve to the prison ship,” Cam calls. “And if you sink her, I’ll sink La Fleur. As much as you’d enjoy that, I don’t think the general would.”
Cam’s suggestion makes me shudder—I am half sure Pique will call his bluff. But he only shouts back, “I give you one last warning. Return to the port or face the consequences.”
“I’d prefer to face the open sea, Lieutenant!”
“Ah well,” Pique calls, and though it may just be the way the sound carries, he does not sound disappointed. The thought chills me. What are the consequences he is threatening? The rock is rising out of the water—will I be able to knock the lieutenant from his perch? But the soul inside the ballast block is weary, and Pique turns the avion quickly, leaving ripples over the water as he goes. I call the stone back to rest on the deck, but Camreon doesn’t drop the gun till the lieutenant is out of sight.
When he does, Theodora pushes him away. Her blue eyes flash—fire on water. But before she can speak, Leo steps between her and Camreon. “I told you not to hurt her—”
“And I told you to guard her.” The Tiger shrugs. “Who broke the deal first?”
“Here’s a new deal, then,” Leo growls. “If you threaten her again, I’ll kill you.”
“Wanting me dead is practically tradition in your family,” Cam says. “But if it makes you feel any better, my threat was empty too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Show him, Miss Theodora,” Cam says. Theodora’s face is a mask, but she opens her fist. The bullets from the Tiger’s gun gleam there on her palm.
Leo looks from Theodora’s hand to the Tiger’s face, his anger banked, still hot. “You agreed to this?”
Cam makes a face. “It’s the least she could do, after flagging them down in the first place.”
“I thought Xavier would have the good sense to send a ship after us,” Theodora says through her teeth. “Not avions.”
“This wouldn’t be the first time Pique took the initiative,” Leo says, but I am still staring at Theodora.
“The column of fire,” I say, putting two and two together. “Just before the artillerie. It was a signal? How did you make it?”
Theodora hesitates, so the Tiger answers. “Do you remember what I said about keeping the satchel out of the water?”
“What do you mean?” My heart sinks at the guilt on Leo’s face. He sighs.
“She threw the lytheum in the water while my back was turned.”
“Only half!” Theodora protests, but I stare at her.
“Why?”
“Because the fastest way to end the fighting is for the rightful king to make a truce,” she says, glaring at the Tiger. “One thing I know you’ve never lied about is loving your country. We used to imagine such bright futures for Chakrana, Cam.” Her voice breaks like a heart on his name. “I can’t believe those were only fiction.”
“Unfortunately, none of those futures includes Xavier.” Camreon slots the bullets back in his gun. “And I don’t think he’ll go back to Aquitan.”
“Why does he have to?” she asks, but he laughs.
“Has your own propaganda fooled you, Theodora? You know Xavier holds your father’s legacy as sacred as he holds his god. And both of us know what your father did to win this country,” he says darkly. “I don’t trust the new general any more than I trusted the old one.”
“Don’t talk to me about trust,” she scoffs. “You’ve pretended to care for years while plotting behind my back.”
“You’ve done much the same with my country,” he says, but he can’t meet her eyes.
“A person and a country are two different things.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The Tiger slams the chamber shut and shoves the gun into its hol
ster. “You can’t pretend you designed weapons to shoot at the landscape.”
Theodora takes a trembling breath through her nose. Then she whirls, fleeing down the stairs. Leo hesitates before he follows, leaving me alone with Cam on the deck. The Tiger shakes his head. “He shouldn’t go after her.”
“No.” I give him a look. “You should.”
Cam raises his eyebrow, and as if on cue, shouting echoes up from below. Theodora’s voice. “She needs space.”
“So do I!” I snap, and he blinks. I try to relax my shoulders, my jaw, my neck. “Besides, you were right. Leo isn’t the best guard when it comes to family.”
Cam sighs as he stands, but he does not protest. “Wake me if anything else happens. You should try to rest, yourself.”
“After all this?” My laugh is bitter as he makes his way down. The worst part is, I know he’s right, but there’s no chance of sleep. Not now. My blood thrums in my veins, and the fiery scenes replay whenever I close my eyes: the slums, the explosions, the young pilot floating in a pool of flame. The scar on my shoulder itches, as though in sympathy. But more than that—there is something under my skin. A tingling tension, a buzzing feeling. Adrenaline that will fade, or my malheur creeping back?
My hand falls to the flask at my hip—have I taken today’s dose? Certainly I must have skipped yesterday’s. I take a sip, then heft the bottle, trying to gauge how much is inside. Especially now that Theodora has tossed the lytheum overboard.
It shakes me—the realization that so much of my supply has gone up in a flash of smoke. But the quantity was finite the moment we left Theodora’s workshop. Suddenly, I want what’s left of it. I need to hold it in my hands. To keep it safe. I run down the stairs, casting about for the satchel. I catch sight of Leo instead, sitting cross-legged, running a polishing cloth over his violin. “Where’s the lytheum?”
He looks up from his instrument, his expression resigned. But he nods toward a broken table in the corner, the missing leg replaced by a stack of tin cans. Atop it: the jar. Gingerly, I pick it up. In the dim light of the dying fire, I see a lump of something floating inside. Metal—the size of a bullet, and dull as lead. Except for one side, gleaming silver. “What is that?”
