by Mary Wine
She wouldn’t care to know how often he checked up on her. Seeing if she returned to her rooms directly after a training session or that she answered him truthfully when he asked where she’d gone the night before.
No, she wouldn’t be pleased at all, but he was. Their fledgling Navigator was everything the others on the waiting list for a Root Ball had proven they were. She had integrity and grit, but all that knowledge did was frustrate him.
He didn’t need to like her.
“I’m a respectable woman…”
Her words rose from his memory, offering him the perfect evidence to back up his opinion. No, liking her was something which would lead him down a path neither of them would like. For all that she was a Navigator, Miss Sophia Stevenson had been raised by upper society. He was uncouth in her eyes. A savage.
His lips twitched up and he walked through the arch to hide his lapse of control from the Guardians. Personally, he enjoyed knowing he wasn’t a gentleman. In his world, he had earned his place and didn’t long for the blessing of the matrons. What he was, he’d earned, not been born into. He didn’t judge his fellow humans by the circumstances of their birth. In the Illuminist world, a man could make his own fortune.
He stopped outside her door. Temptation urged him to reach for the handle and forego the brass knocker, the savage inside him delighting at the idea of surprising her.
He paused, his fingers closing into a fist.
He had the authority to enter her chambers, but the right was given to him to ensure she was not conducting treason, not to placate his own cravings. But there were instances lately when he was forgetting just why he was entering her chambers—or more pointedly, he was searching for an excuse to see her, so had no other reason.
Duty was something he’d devoted his life to. Tonight wouldn’t see him discarding those ideals in favor of following his impulses, whatever the hell they were… Sophia Stevenson was his trainee. Nothing more.
***
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Sophia opened her eyes instantly. “Janette?” She sat up to see her best friend pulling the curtains open.
“Janette, do not—”
Her warning came too late. The morning sun brightened the room, sending pain shooting through Sophia’s eyes. She jerked and closed her eyes, rolling over and reaching for her glasses, but they were not on the bedside table. Accidently, she knocked the lamp and heard it crash to the floor.
“Oh, Sophia, I’m terribly sorry. I forgot.” Janette yanked the curtains closed but did so too hard and the rod they were strung on came right off the wall. The rod and curtains joined the lamp on the floor, the polished wood surface accentuating the noise.
Sophia struggled to her knees, gasping when she heard hurried footfalls a mere second before the door to her bedroom burst open. She barely had time to grab the bedding to shield herself when she found herself face-to-face with Bion Donkova, with Darius Lawley a half step behind him. Both men were attired in suits, but at that moment they looked anything but civilized.
“We’re fine,” Janette offered apologetically. “I just forgot about her eyes being sensitive.”
“I am well enough, thank you.” The polite term felt awkward as Sophia’s cheeks burned scarlet. She remained clutching the bedding to her chin, squinting her eyes in the bright light.
Darius turned his back and retreated from the room, like a gentleman.
“I’ll find your glasses,” Janette said on her way out of the door.
“Your glasses should be placed on your nightstand.” Bion frowned at her.
His tone matched the formal picture he presented in his uniform coat buttoned to his collar. In contrast, her flimsy chemise was teasing the tops of her thighs beneath the bedding. The tops of her breasts were barely hidden by the sheet because her corset pushed them up to the edge of the chemise. The reprimand on his face did not fit with the impropriety of the moment.
For Christ’s sake, if a man was looming over her bed while she was indisposed… shouldn’t he be enamored of her? Or at the very least somewhat interested in charming her? But then again, it was Bion. Nothing about her pleased him.
“If your glasses were in the correct place, you would not have alarmed other members of the crew,” he admonished.
“We are not aboard one of your ships, Captain, and I certainly will not be taking advice from you on how I keep myself in my bedroom.” She rose up on her knees, the need to face him head-on burning through any protest her common sense might have made. “And I am not dressed, sir!”
“I’ve seen you in less.”
Her eyes widened, the deep tone of his voice setting off a ripple of excitement racing along her skin. Her mouth dropped open and satisfaction flickered in his dark eyes, the remains of her composure shredded. Bion Donkova had fast reflexes, but today she was faster. Her hand connected with his face, delivering a slap that resounded loudly in the morning air.
She expected him to be furious; instead, the man growled. The sound sent her back, the sheer maleness of it making her shiver. Challenge appeared in his eyes and his lips curved up into an arrogant smirk. For a moment, he looked very much like a pirate, the sort of man accustomed to being ruthless in the pursuit of what he craved.
He gripped the footrail of her bed and leaned forward. “But if you can’t tolerate the threat to your modesty, feel free to cry out. I’m sure Guardian Lawley will be happy to rescue you before you fall victim to a fit of vapors.”
Her temper boiled. If it were possible for steam to rise from her ears, it would have. But her pride refused to let his challenge pass. With a soft hiss, she forced herself to release the bedding and climb out of bed. The urge to tug her chemise up to cover more of her breasts was also squelched as she lifted her chin and shot him a scorching look.
“I can handle your gutter behavior quite well. Look as you will. All that proves is how much you deserve my contempt.”
She intended to walk past him, but he captured her wrist, his larger hand closing all the way around her limb. It wasn’t the first time he’d manhandled her, but for some reason she was acutely aware of how much strength he had today. Tension curled through her belly, teasing her with a flicker of heat she’d never experienced before. It was dark and tempting and almost irresistible. Almost.
“Release me.”
He chuckled, amusement still flickering in his eyes. His grip tightened a mere fraction, almost as if he might disregard her demand.
Pirate… ruthless and without boundaries. Why had she never realized just what sort of nature he had hidden beneath his formal exterior and endless lectures about duty?
She was trembling, the realization of which cut through her outrage like a rapier. Something in his gaze made it look as if he was reading her thoughts, which was impossible. But she felt it nonetheless.
He pulled her closer, until they were mere inches apart. “I do believe I might just enjoy your attempts to handle my gutter behavior, Miss Stevenson.”
His voice was low and edged with warning. What flared up in the depths of his dark eyes made her shiver. He felt it, that telltale reaction through his grip on her wrist. He smoothed his thumb across the tender skin of her inner wrist before lifting her hand and boldly pressing a kiss against the same spot.
It was nothing like the kiss Jonathon Saddler had given her. This was scorching hot and it stole her breath. Her heart began to race, feeling as if it were straining to break free of her chest. Every bit of self-control she had seemed to be slipping through her fingers like sand, leaving her without anything to hold on to.
With a savage jerk, she twisted her wrist, angling to break his grip at the weakest spot, as she’d learn in her Asian fighting classes. He straightened instantly, his larger body adopting a polished fighting stance to prove he knew far more about the Eastern arts than she did. Something lit his eyes, but she shied a
way from taking a closer look at it. A warning rose up from her mind, telling her to beware of learning more about this side of his nature. Or her reaction to it.
She hurried around him, brushing past a startled Janette and slamming shut the bathroom door, betraying just how unsettled she was. What horrified her most was the way she collapsed onto the closed lid of the toilet, her legs trembling too much to support her. She shook her head, hugging her wrist to her chest. She could not—would not—be affected by him so deeply.
***
The grand hall of the Solitary Chamber was impressive. Its ceiling rose a full two stories and was constructed with elegant arches. The molding would have put Buckingham Palace to shame with its intricate details. The center was carpeted with thick, burgundy carpet. The windows stretched up to the ceiling, with foot-wide panes of glass and velvet curtains edged with tassels framing them. The cost in velvet was enough to make her tailor’s brain reel, but when Sophia added in the pressed chenille wallpaper, the opulence was astounding.
But she couldn’t enjoy the moment. Instead of taking the time to appreciate all the detail of the inner sanctum of the Solitary Chamber, Sophia had to battle to maintain her self-control. At the end of the hall, standing near the raised portion of the floor, were three Marshals, or judges. The scales of justice graced their Illuminist pins, whereas Bion’s had a compass denoting his career path among the air fleet. Guardian Lawley was waiting as well, his pin displaying crossed swords to proclaim his position as a constable.
For all appearances, they looked like men she had lived among her entire life. They were dressed in wool trousers with pin-tucked shirts and cravats worn over vests with watch pockets and jackets constructed of tweed.
After all the warnings she’d endured about how unnatural the Illuminist Order was, she discovered herself agreeing with many of the ways they operated, such as allowing women to testify at a trial. It seemed quite logical; after all, she had been the one abducted.
Satisfaction warmed her, burning away her self-doubt and the last of the strange reaction she’d had to Bion. Now she was consumed by the need for justice. Grainger had been the one behind her abduction. His ruffians had grabbed her right off the street; Grainger had ripped her mother’s cameo off her neck, setting his trap in motion. He’d taken such delight in her suffering and gleefully tormented her by reiterating his plans to torture her if Janette did not arrive to do his bidding once she received Sophia’s cameo.
Oh yes, she was going to enjoy the right of an Illuminist member to testify regardless of her gender. Among the Illuminists, being female did not mean she had fewer rights. It was like something out of a little girl’s dream world, and yet, it was solid reality for those willing to pledge themselves to the secretive Order. She looked over at the man who had so easily put a bullet through her leg in his quest to harvest Deep Earth Crystals.
Grainger was still just as repulsive as she recalled. Compatriot Grainger, actually. Among the Helikeians, they referred to one another as Compatriots.
Sophia didn’t chastise herself for staring at the man. It was almost necessary in a way, because her life had changed so drastically the moment she had met him. Her gaze lowered to his wrists and the silver handcuffs keeping him prisoner. He’d used rope to make her just as helpless and put a burlap sack over her head before stuffing her into a pit.
The fear she’d suffered still felt too fresh. It rose up from her memory, thick and choking.
She shook it off, looking away from the man. But she ended up locking gazes with Bion. His dark eyes were too keen and, she felt, appeared as though he could read her thoughts as plainly as the morning news circular. She was clasping her hands so tightly, her fingernails dug into her palms. Janette stood nearby with her husband, Darius, at her side. He had a hand gently resting on the small of her back. It should have slightly shocked her, such an intimate touch displayed so publicly. Instead, Sophia discovered herself glad for her friend, but that same emotion only highlighted just how alone she felt.
Well, there was nothing for it. Honestly, that wasn’t something that had changed since being abducted either. She had no suitor missing her.
“This trial will be called to order.”
She looked back at the Marshals, fighting against the tide of emotions seeing Grainger was unleashing.
Later. Yes, later she might take the time to nurse her personal hurts. For the moment, she would be strong and steady. The Marshal standing in the center lifted a gavel and pounded it onto the desk in front of him. The sound reminded her of the crack of gunpowder right before a bullet had torn through her leg, and she flinched. Grainger had been so pleased with his ability to harm her out on that lava flow. She lost the battle to not look at him again.
The man was grinning at her. The Marshal began to read the charges against him, but all the formal-sounding voice did was solicit a flicker of achievement in Grainger’s eyes, leaving no doubt that he believed completely in the Helikeian cause.
“Mr. Grainger. You stand accused of being a Helikeian and, in the service of that order, you committed the crime of abducting Miss Sophia Stevenson. Furthermore, you planned to harvest Deep Earth Crystals after forcing the compliance of Mrs. Lawley.” The Marshal peered over the edge of his spectacles at Grainger. “Do you have any defense to render to this court?”
“Of course I do,” Grainger insisted. “But you are too ignorant to understand the purity of the Helikeian Order. You accept any member, taking in the strays and lowbred. It weakens you. Soon, we will crush you and the ridiculous governments allowed to flourish like mold on the face of the Earth. The Pure Spirit Mrs. Lawley is rightfully ours. Our actions created her; it was our cunning that separated her bloodline from your Order. She belongs to us.” He suddenly shot a look at Sophia that curled her toes. “Just as you belong to us because I had a hand in your creation.”
“I do not.” Formal hearing or not, Sophia didn’t think she could have held her tongue if the queen herself were present. “Nor shall I ever.”
Grainger’s eyes brightened with anticipation. “You will.”
Icy dread tingled up the nape of her neck. It spread quickly, traveling across her skin and leaving her fighting the urge to tremble—she would not. Not here, not while Bion watched.
“Enough!” The Marshal pounded the gavel again.
“It is not enough!” Grainger snarled. “Only after we have reduced you to rubble will it be enough! You do not hold any power over me! I will prevail. I am superior to you, my very blood more pure!”
“Remove the accused!” the Marshal ordered.
“With pleasure,” Bion bit out. It wasn’t his place or his duty, but no one stopped him from gripping Grainger’s arm and pulling him around to face the back of the hall.
Grainger surprised them all by laughing. It was a high-pitched sound that hinted at lunacy. Bion towered over him, but Grainger drew himself up like a nobleman being propositioned by a street whore.
“Remove your inferior hands from my person! I come from a pure bloodline that has served the Helikeian Order for hundreds of years. No one here is my equal. We shall prevail!”
Bion dragged Grainger from the hall and the Marshal shook his head. The Guardians positioned at the back of the hall snapped into action and took Grainger through the doors.
“The man is insane,” the Marshal announced. “Quite out of his mind I’d say.”
“He was in his right mind well enough when he held a gun on my wife and forced her to harvest Deep Earth Crystals.” Darius Lawley spoke up. “He should be shot for treason or attempted murder at the least.”
The Marshal stared back at him with a bland expression. “We are not savages. We do not execute the mentally unstable. We shall leave barbaric behavior to the unenlightened beyond our Order and the Helikeians. Judgment will be suspended until a physician declares the accused able of facing the accusations lodged against
him.”
The Marshal lifted his gavel and pounded it against the desk twice. The sound was piercing, ripping a hole in Sophia’s peace of mind. “But… what does that mean?”
“It means we’ll have the privilege of keeping Grainger under lock and key while his comrades enjoy the fact that he is still among the living in spite of his crimes,” Bion muttered from across the hall.
“This is not an airship, Captain Donkova,” the Marshal admonished. “Justice does not need to be so black and white here. Unlike the close confines of an airship, we have the facilities to care for the criminally insane.”
Bion closed the distance between them, his stride determined. “So we will waste resources on curing the man before we condemn him?” Bion’s tone left no doubt that he wasn’t really asking a question. It was dry and condescending, earning him a dark look from the Marshal.
“We shall conduct ourselves as civilized men, ones who do not seek vengeance, but instead focus on maintaining justice.”
The Marshal struck the desk again, harder and sharper this time. All three stood and exited the hall. The level of intensity went with them, leaving Sophia feeling disappointed. She turned and left, her emotions swirling in a turbulent cyclone.
Did she want Grainger dead? She honestly didn’t know. Part of her was relieved to not have to lend her testimony toward condemning a man. But that left her wondering if she was a coward, one of the many who demand justice but are unwilling to stand up and face those they wanted punished.
One thing was certain and that was that she avoided making eye contact with Bion Donkova as she passed him. She could feel his dark gaze on her, but she kept her attention on the door, proving without a doubt that she was a coward.
