Except that they just couldn’t seem to stay apart.
He hadn’t answered yet. She glanced over. His gaze had fallen to her bruised jaw, her swollen lip.
Oh. Not such a silly reason to wait, after all. And the warmth moving through her now had little to do with her body, and much to do with her heart.
She should be more careful. He’d hurt her before with words, with indifference. But he could hurt her much worse if she believed that he cared more than he did.
But this voyage was already better than before—and she’d intended this trip to be an adventure. Surely she should take a risk.
If she did, she had to do it soon. Because the Red City was just over the next rise, and Ariq wasn’t only waiting to kiss her. He was waiting for her to tell him who she really was. He knew her name, but didn’t know all that name meant. And he’d given her until tonight to tell him.
That decision was almost upon her—and she didn’t only risk her heart. She risked her brother, too.
Maybe she could just tell Ariq half the truth. She could say who Zenobia Fox was without revealing that she was also related to the man who’d once destroyed some of the rebellion’s war machines. She didn’t have to say she was a Gunther-Baptiste.
If she had been looking toward forever with Ariq, of course that would have to be revealed. But she wasn’t. Whatever happened between them in the Red City would end when she returned home.
So how long would she stay? That depended almost entirely on Helene, and whether her friend needed her after revealing her condition to her husband.
How long would Ariq stay?
She didn’t know. It couldn’t be long.
The realization settled like a heavy sickness in her chest. Then it vanished, along with every single thought as the airship crested the forested ridge. She stared ahead, disbelieving her eyes. Before her lay the Red City and, behind it, the enormous wall that marked the boundary of the Nipponese territory—oh, but who cared? She gripped the edge of the porthole, trying to see everything beyond the wall all at once.
So many towers. Rising high, so high, and glowing a soft pink as if made from marble and washed by a sunset. They stood close together, canyons of soaring towers with airships floating between. Clear turquoise water flowed like a river between the structures nearest to the sea, and the reflection danced up over the walls.
“What is it?” she breathed.
“The imperial city.” Ariq braced his forearm against the top of the porthole and bent his head to peer through. “They call it The Living City. That’s coral, strengthened by steel—and much of it still growing.”
Coral. How? “Is it natural?”
“As natural as a kraken.”
No, then. And yes. Something natural that had been altered, and had taken a new life of its own.
And so incredible it made her heart hurt. Twice in one day, it had ached like this. The first was when she’d seen the thousand walking machines. Now a city that looked like heaven.
“People are amazing,” she whispered. “And terrible. But also amazing.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly—and his smile was, too. Amazing. Terrible.
Oh, there was so much hurt he could do. But this wouldn’t be much of an adventure without a little danger. And she wouldn’t have much time.
Still staring out the porthole, she said, “How big?”
Ariq leaned closer and waited until she looked up at him. That amazing, terrible smile had widened to a grin. “My grip isn’t the only reason I’m called the Kraken.”
Of course. Any man would say that. She raised both hands, palm to palm, and wiggled her fingers like tentacles.
“So it’s like this?”
A shout of laughter shot from him. Swiftly catching her fingers, he clasped them to his chest to stop their waving, and she felt the shudder that ran through him as he contained his laugh.
Still, a few more seconds passed before he said, “Exactly like that.”
***
From above, the reason for the city’s name couldn’t have been plainer. Almost every roof had been painted crimson. Just over the rise, homes were scattered over the terraced slopes like rubies against green velvet. Nearer to the sea, rows of buildings crowded together in long gashes. Though Zenobia hoped they would dock at the harbor so that she could see more of the city from the ground, Blackwing flew straight to the embassy.
Situated on a tree-studded hill near the wall, the sprawling residence had the same red roof, but the wide balconies, paired columns, and tall windows could have been lifted from a manor on the French islands in the Caribbean. A wrought-iron crest on the roof formed a heavy crown for the airy facade—which, Zenobia thought, typified almost everything French.
Basile Auger waited for them at the embassy gate. Though Helene had described her husband often, and in the sweetest of terms, Zenobia hadn’t known what to expect.
Upon first glance, he appeared a stern-looking man, with an exactness to his dress and grooming that worried her. How would such a man respond to Helene’s condition? Turning to another lover out of loneliness might be pitied, but it also might be considered a weakness—and the ambassador did not seem like a man who tolerated weakness.
But beneath the thin, meticulous mustache curved a friendly smile, and his blue eyes were warm when he turned away from an ecstatic and tearful Helene to welcome Zenobia. “My wife has spoken of you so many times. I received with sincerest pleasure the news that you would be accompanying her.”
He did seem sincere. And he was all cordiality beneath that stern exterior. No wonder Helene was besotted.
Zenobia returned his smile. “I was grateful for the opportunity.”
He looked to Lieutenant Blanchett, who stood behind them, and seemed on the verge of greeting the officer when Helene took his hand and directed his attention to Ariq. “And this is Governor Jagungar of Krakentown. He helped to rescue us when the airship was attacked, and was kind enough to act as our escort the remainder of our journey.”
The ambassador’s face went utterly blank. Zenobia had seen him glance at Ariq when they’d first descended on the cargo lift—it was impossible not to notice a man of his size. But Ariq had insisted on carrying her heavy satchel of gold and letters, and Zenobia had let him, so she suspected that Auger had dismissed him as a porter. Now Auger had the expression of a man who had opened up a larder in search of a cake and found a growling tiger, instead.
He quickly recovered. “My lord Governor.” A deep bow accompanied his greeting. “You honor us. For all that you have done, my gratitude knows no bounds.”
Beaming, Helene said, “I have insisted that he stay with us as our guest, and the governor has accepted the invitation. I hope I have done right.”
“Yes! Of course.” Though beads of sweat had popped out on his brow, the pleasure that suffused the man’s stern features seemed genuine. “My lord Governor, you are most welcome. Please come in and we will see you settled.”
That was the last Zenobia saw of Ariq for some time. She was shown to a room on the second level and abandoned—which suited her perfectly well. Ariq’s arrival had put the household in a quietly elegant uproar, and poor Helene was trying to greet her husband, step into the role of ambassador’s wife, and play the hostess all at once. Better that Helene didn’t have to worry about her, too.
The chamber was lovely, in bright yellows and cream, with a separate sitting area and a curtained bed. She unpacked her trunk and typesetting machine, then realized that Ariq still had her glider contraption with her manuscript inside the pack. Unease struck her. Most of her secrets lay inside that satchel. But this was trust, wasn’t it? She’d trusted him enough to hand it over in the first place. She had to trust him now.
In any case, Ariq already knew she was Zenobia Fox. He would just discover a little earlier what Zenobia Fox did.
To occupy herself, she opened the balcony doors in her bedchamber and stepped into the late-afternoon sun. The front of the house lo
oked out over the tree-lined street and the garden across the way, so she couldn’t see anything of the imperial city. The view was lovely, but everything that she wanted to look at was in another direction.
A tap sounded at her door. The maid, probably. She called for the woman to come in and went inside.
Ariq stood in her bedchamber.
Her heart thumped. Oh, his eyes. So dark and focused. The door was wide open, so nothing could happen, but the way he looked at her she might as well have been spread across her bed.
The way he looked at her, she wanted to be there.
As if it weighed nothing, he held out her glider contraption. Breath shallow and color high, she went to him. Had he always been so big? Of course he had. Broad shoulders heavy with muscle, arms like steel—and the way he carried himself, so that even if he’d been a foot shorter he would have still seemed like the tallest man in the room. She’d always noticed it. They’d even made a joke of it. But it didn’t feel funny now, when he seemed to take up every inch of her bedchamber.
“Thank you.” The heavy satchel dragged her arms down and hung from her hands, gently bumping into her knees. “Will I see you at dinner?”
He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “And now, too. Come walk with me.”
“Outside?” she asked hopefully, but didn’t really care. She’d go anywhere.
“Up the street. You can see over the wall at the top of the hill.”
Just as she’d wanted, while standing out on the balcony. He must have known. Only yesterday, she’d cried in his arms and told him she’d just wanted to walk down a street alone.
She wouldn’t be alone. But he was giving her part of that.
Heart full, she locked the pack in her trunk.
“The balcony doors, too,” he told her. “Keep them locked when you’re not out there.”
“Yes, Mara,” she said, because the mercenary would have told her the same thing, but did as he asked without argument. It was sensible. If another kidnapper came, those doors offered the easiest access to her bedchamber.
He smiled when she picked up her notebook. She didn’t know why it amused him so, but she didn’t intend to ask. He was one of the few people in her acquaintance who didn’t feel slighted when she briefly ignored him in favor of her notes, and she didn’t want to discover that he only tolerated it for some reason that amused him but would have humiliated her.
Like overhearing that she looked like an ugly ghost.
His face darkened. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She tucked her notebook away. “Let us go.”
She would not let that overheard conversation hurt her anymore. She would let it go. How many times had she said something that she later regretted? So many. Ariq had been in private conversation with his brother and a friend. She cringed to think of what someone might have heard in her conversations with Archimedes over the years.
And she had to trust that Ariq’s interest in her was genuine.
That was not so difficult. He’d been blunt from the first, and there was something primal in his nature, matched with a deep integrity that was unsuited to subterfuge. Not that he wouldn’t hide his true emotions, or that he wasn’t capable of deceit—a commander in a rebellion, he must have deployed some strategies—but if Ariq wanted something from her, he wouldn’t resort to seductive lies to get it. He would pry it out with his bare hands.
It was just so very hard to trust. So very hard not to doubt.
But Zenobia supposed that was because of who she was, not because of anything he’d done.
Aside from agreeing with his brother that she was ugly.
That was nothing, though. Forgotten.
Then truly forgotten as they left through the embassy gates. An open-topped buggy passed, its engine puttering. All of its occupants wore masks, almost completely obscuring their faces. The driver’s was a horrid thing, black rubber with two giant lenses over his eyes and a long tube that covered the nose and mouth and hung to his chest like an elephant’s trunk. Seated behind him, a man and woman wore more finely wrought masks, with white faces painted so cleverly that it almost concealed the shape of the lenses and the tube filter. Not as horrible, yet more eerie, and when they turned their faces toward Zenobia and Ariq, it was like watching porcelain dolls drive past.
“Are those plague masks?” On their journey here, Helene had read a passage about them from her book, but Zenobia hadn’t thought they would still be in use. Almost a decade had passed since the Nipponese wall had first been opened to outsiders. Surely if any sickness were to sweep through the populations, it would have done so by now.
At her side, Ariq nodded. “They’re still required for visitors on either side. All foreigners have to wear them past the wall. Anyone who comes through from the imperial city has to wear them at all times while here, or wait through a quarantine before they can return.”
“But how can that be enforced? What if they went to a private house and took it off? How would anyone know?”
“There’s a saying in Nippon that ‘the Empress sees all.’” Ariq’s voice was grim. “No one likes to test it, because those who do often disappear.”
Like his mother? He’d once said the Nipponese had executed her as a spy.
He didn’t say more now, except, “Come.”
He gripped her hand to lead her across the street. She hadn’t expected that. Color warmed her cheeks again, her heart raced, and she was sorry when he let go.
Beyond the embassy, she got a better look at the red wall. Unlike the roofs in the city, it hadn’t been painted crimson—instead the wall had been constructed of rust-colored bricks. Almost thirty feet high, with watchtowers every few hundred yards, the barrier began at the sea and snaked hundreds of miles south in a large semicircle, where it ended at the sea again. She and Ariq stopped to watch a queue at a gate, where the masked couple in the buggy waited for the guards to check their documents. One of the privileged access points, Ariq told her—where diplomats and nobles passed between the cities. Everyone else had to use the main gates closer to the harbor, where the wait was much longer and the restrictions tighter.
The hill wasn’t steep, just enough to make her calves and thighs burn a little. Presently they left the street, taking a path through a copse of trees, and abruptly the imperial city lay before her again, just as stunning as before.
Even more so. This time, the pink and orange of a sunset had begun to wash the towers in a deeper color. In the distance, the last of the sunlight sparkled across the surface of the turquoise water like gold coins. Between the canyons of buildings slipped airships of all sizes, and designs she’d never seen before. Some with balloons beneath wings, others floating along using sails with ribs like a lady’s fan, some that seemed to dangle from nothing until the shape of a giant jellyfish resolved against the darkening sky. It all looked unreal, like a painting of a fantasyland—and oddly familiar.
She’d never seen those coral towers before. She was certain of it. Yet she seemed to recognize the shape of the structures with their multiple levels and elegant, sloping roofs. Bridges stretched between the towers like gossamer strands.
Only yesterday, she’d hoped to cross a similar bridge.
“It’s like the Fox Den,” she realized. But instead of wood and brick, steel and coral. And so much larger.
“Yes. That’s why the twins chose it.”
But Ariq wasn’t even looking. He’d turned toward the Red City, which sprawled down the hill and toward the harbor. The warm glow of the sunset washed across the high planes of his cheeks, caught the rough shadow over his strong jaw. His expression seemed pensive, and melancholy, and Zenobia thought that his name suited him not just because of his grip or his tattoo or because he never let go, but also because he kept so much beneath the surface. And when he did show a bit of himself, like now, he could very easily crush her. Already he was squeezing her heart.
“What is it?”
“My mother’s house.”
Not far down the hill, a cluster of homes stood, each with a garden. She couldn’t be certain which one he pointed to, but she supposed it didn’t matter.
“I’d assumed that she made her way into Nippon,” she said.
“There were no visitors then. No quarantines. No trade. Anyone could leave; but if they did, they couldn’t come back.” The melancholy had hardened. “They were also at war, so the soldiers had to leave—and their families had to decide whether to live behind the wall or never see them again.”
So the Red City had sprung up, she realized. Made of families waiting for their soldiers to come home. “It seems a rather bad reward for their service—that they couldn’t return across the wall.”
Ariq frowned. “If they fight for a hero’s welcome, they fight for the wrong reason.”
“Then it should be given to them.”
“Given? What a warrior earns is his. Rank. Honor. Anything given means nothing compared to that.”
“And you don’t think they’ve earned the right to return home?”
He softly squeezed her hand. “It is never about returning. It is about defending that home.”
Anyone who defended that home with his body and life had to deserve more. But she would not convince him. With a sigh, she said, “At least they can return now.”
“Yes.”
“But when your mother came?”
“Almost thirty years ago, there was only this city to return to—and many men looking for wives. She chose a naval commander.” Admiration filled his voice. “I don’t know how she decided, but she couldn’t have chosen better. He’s an admiral now—and at the time, he was involved in almost every major battle between the Khagan’s forces and theirs. She passed more intelligence to the rebellion than a dozen other spies.”
The Kraken King Page 24
