The Clockwork Crown

by Beth Cato

  Without her headband, she clearly heard the songs of the men inside: the snaps of cracking bones, the dull thumps of concussions, and cacophony of blood and bodies, followed by the klaxons of flesh afire.

  She couldn’t smell it, that charring of skin and muscle, the reason she hadn’t been able to eat meat until well into her teenage years, but she knew it. She knew the particular screams of a body on fire, how it lit up the brain with brilliant dazzles of pain.

  Mother. Father. The neighbors, the village, the horses. Red on black, flames scraping the night sky. Mud of the field sucking down my feet, rooting me in place.

  A terrible scream rang in her ears. The raw pain from her own throat told Octavia that the sound came from her.

  King Kethan stood in the yard, filthy, his face carved in wrinkles of concern, and then she was past him. Deep concussive blasts knocked her off her feet. She tumbled over, sharp grass gouging her like needles. She bounded up again at a run. Her legs throbbed, the skin stretched taut with new growth, but she refused to slow.

  Stop the screams. Stop the suffering.

  Heat lashed against her. The gasbags flared and just as quickly expelled their contents, the flames dwindling yet still high. Something terrible shook the ground. Some small, sensible part of her brain remembered the wyrm and that she should be concerned about it, but all she knew and breathed and tasted was fire and ash.

  “Octavia! Octavia!” Strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around.

  The triumphant brasses of a marching band. Hunger, dehydration, exhaustion—­exhilaration.

  “Alonzo?” she whispered.

  His nutmeg skin was dark with accumulated sweat and grime. Crescents of filth underlined his eyes. Goggles sat atop his forehead. Her gloved hand hovered over his cheek, afraid to touch him, as if he wasn’t real.

  “You’re here? Really here?”

  Another violent shudder and flash of heat. Alonzo shoved her down, wrapping himself around her. He stank, but his touch, his presence, was pure Alonzo, and oh Lady, did she need him at that exact moment.

  The screams within the airship went mute.

  “I am sorry, Octavia, I am sorry. I had to shoot it down. I saw you in the doorway, the wyrm, the boomers, what the ship was trying to do. I had to shoot it down.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his shoulder. The oiled duster was smooth against her skin. “I know.” She knew, even as she tabulated more deaths to weigh on her soul. A ship of that make, with a full gunnery crew, held as many as forty. None escaped. None.

  The fire roared.

  A child cried, the sound high-­pitched and anxious. She looked back toward the dugout. It was gone, collapsed in the concussive blasts. King Kethan stooped over as he unearthed the little girl. He held her up as she screamed again.

  “Oh no.” Octavia pried herself free of Alonzo. “There are two women and another babe in there.” She tore across the grass, her senses already straining to find them in the rubble. Just as when she scrutinized Mrs. Garret, she detected a glow with her mind’s eye.

  “Help. Medician.” Farrell’s words were weak, but boomed in her ears as a summons.

  “We’re coming!” she screamed.

  King Kethan frantically dug with a small trough. “They should be about there,” he said, pointing.

  “I know.” She knew exactly where they lay. She heard the screams of broken ribs, the heavy bleed of a scalp wound, the choke of blood in the lungs. Alonzo was at her side. “There.” She pointed a few feet from where Kethan had gestured. Alonzo dug in with both hands.

  Octavia took a few steps forward. “Oh, Bruna,” she whispered. Her gloves delved into the dirt and dry grass. Behind her, Farrell coughed and hacked as Alonzo unearthed her. The heaves made the woman scream in pain. Three ribs. Internal bleed. Needs pampria. But Octavia didn’t stop digging. Kethan joined her, then Alonzo.

  They found the still form of Bruna. The back of her skull was a mash of blood and hair. Sheltered in the arch of her body, the little boy bawled with quiet convulsions, unharmed but for his terror. Alonzo whisked him away. Farrell cried out.

  Octavia didn’t hesitate. She dug out one of the Lady’s leaves, the third. Bruna’s broken jaw hung askew as Octavia turned her over.

  “No!” King Kethan yelled, his bony fingers prying at her arm. “You cannot—­” Panic galloped through his song.

  “The leaves are only poison if they’re chewed.” She met his terrified gaze. In all we’ve endured these past few days, this is the first thing that has scared him, the idea of someone being poisoned the way he was.

  “You are certain?” he asked, trembling.

  “Yes. I know how to use them.” Seeing the certainty in her eyes, he backed off, sagging as if deflated.

  She crouched beside Bruna and pressed the leaf beneath her tongue. Gently, she shut Bruna’s jaw. Over her, King Kethan’s breaths rattled. Bruna shivered as if tickled in her sleep. The jaw shifted into place with a loud click. The purple rings beneath her eyes sank into healthy skin the color of fresh-­baked bread crust.

  “Alonzo, keep the other woman back,” Octavia said, not needing to turn around. Farrell, even in her agony, was trying to reach Bruna.

  Bruna’s brown eyes opened, blinking. Before she could try to speak, Octavia pried open her jaw and removed the leaf. It dissolved in her hand.

  “God does have mercy,” whispered King Kethan, a slight sob in his gravelly voice.

  Bruna frowned as her eyes focused on Octavia. “You . . . you need to hurry. The Tree is waiting.”

  Octavia bowed her head. The Lady had sent her a message again, just as she had done with the dead woman in Tamarania and times prior. That border between life and death seemed to be the only time that the Lady could directly speak to a person. “I know.”

  “You can’t keep me from her! Bruna! Bruna!”

  Bruna’s face distorted in horror as she regained full control of her body. “Farrell? The little ones?”

  “They’re all out. Farrell’s badly hurt, but I can tend to her. Don’t—­don’t tell her you died.” It seemed like a silly thing to say, but Octavia felt the need.

  “No, no. Not now, anyway. Later.”

  Octavia nodded, then scooted back to make room for Bruna to scramble up. Dirt showered from her clothing as she rushed to the rest of her family. Sobs and wails brought tears to Octavia’s eyes.

  “Octavia.” Alonzo offered a hand to help her up, but as she stood, she found his focus wasn’t on her. He looked at King Kethan and pressed a fist to his chest. “You have the look of the Stout family, yet you cannot be Devin Stout.”

  “I am not. You may call me Grandfather, for now.” King Kethan saluted him in turn. “And you are the Alonzo Garret of whom I have heard so much. ’Tis an honor to meet you.”

  Alonzo looked at Octavia, clearly curious. “I know that my fool sister sent you to Mercia. I am consumed with both awe and dread to know what befell you in the city.”

  “That story will need to wait until we’re done here.” She ran her wand over both hands as she trod across the dirt ruins to where Farrell and Bruna sobbed together. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a green blur and heard the songs of three happy bodies—­those of Leaf with the two children. The gremlin hopped and chattered and sent them into titters.

  Of course Leaf is back. He must have led Alonzo and Chi in our direction. He was working to bring us together all along. I deserved that raspberry.

  “Bruna, I need to heal Farrell, now.”

  Bruna pulled back from her gentle embrace. Alonzo and King Kethan helped to move Farrell to the medician blanket. The circle flared to life the instant the men stepped back. The Lady was here, watching, waiting. Prodding them on like a child herding cats.

  Lady, you are the grieving mother, the one who understands laments. Know that I’m thankfu
l you’re here to heal and comfort, but I’m still bitter. I’m tired. I’m tired of all these deaths that follow in my wake, this suffering.

  The heat, the sense of the Lady’s presence, did not waver or react.

  Octavia read the needs of her patient. A hefty scoop of pampria; Bartholomew’s tincture, to bind bones; heskool and bellywood bark, as a precaution. The circle dissipated the instant Octavia knew the healing was done.

  “Thank you, Lady, for extending your branches,” murmured Octavia, from habit more than anything.

  “Yes. Thank you, Lady,” said Farrell. She looked straight at Octavia as she spoke. Odd chills crept up Octavia’s spine. King Kethan passed the metal crutch to Farrell as she scooted back. Bruna knelt beside her.

  “I think we lost everything but each other,” said Bruna.

  “Then we didn’t do too badly,” said Farrell.

  “How far to the next settlement?” asked Alonzo.

  “East, maybe half a day’s ride,” said Farrell. “During the war, we retreated to the far fringe of the Dallows. Most of us had the sense to stay there, even after this last armistice. We should have listened, but we wanted land of our own. I should have listened.” She looked away, her face twisting with rage. Bruna reached for her again.

  Now that the crisis was past, Octavia was suddenly aware of the dwindling light and the chill against her sweat-­soaked skin. Beyond the songs of nearby bodies, the world seemed strangely quiet. Even the flames had died down to a distant crackle. We all need to get out of here. If exposure doesn’t kill us, the missing airship and the plume of smoke will bring Caskentian military at full throttle and gallop.

  “The wyrm vanished in the midst of everything. What about Chi, Alonzo?” she asked. “I only saw her at a distance. You rode her all the way from Tamarania?”

  “Indeed.” He glowered, arms crossing his chest. As he moved, she could see that beneath the oilskin he still wore his jockey attire from the arena. “At the conclusion of the bout, Tatiana tried to excuse your absence, but I knew you would not leave, not with us in peril. It did not take her long to confess the truth. As for the beastie, Chi would not permit me to leave the hangar bay without her. Her intention was clear.”

  “Goodness. You came even further than my horse. She had the reinforcement of the Lady’s branch, and she still didn’t truly survive.”

  “Your horse? The white mare?” asked Alonzo, brows drawn together.

  A sudden, terrible thought flashed through Octavia’s mind. “Did Chi eat or rest at all?” She set off for the rise where she’d seen Chi.

  “No, not truly. I dismounted a few times each day, but Chi did not wish to pause for long. She seemed compelled by a greater force.”

  The Lady.

  Octavia forced her stiff legs to walk faster. “Chi’s body is alive like any animal’s. Her needs are biological, even if her extremities move as machines. She can’t . . .”

  They stopped at the rise.

  The massive chimera had collapsed into a meditative Al Cala pose, folded forward like a small child. The wings had tucked in close to her back. Her armored head bowed, face planted to kiss the grass. Thick mud caked what was visible of her legs. Of her chaotic, powerful song, nothing remained. Chi’s momentum had kept her going all those miles, but like a horse run too hard and not rubbed down afterward, the chimera stopped, and stopped completely.

  A small wail escaped Alonzo’s throat, a sound Octavia had never heard him make before. He rushed down to Chi and rested his hands against the slick membrane of a wing. “Can anything be done?”

  He has to ask, but he knows. Octavia stood back, fists balled at her hips. “It’s not your fault, Alonzo. You wouldn’t have been able to stop her from coming here. She probably died immediately after you dismounted. Her hearts, her body, everything shut down. There’s no trauma. No bullets from the airship struck her. Her . . . her souls are too far gone for a leaf to work.”

  As if responding to his name, Leaf fluttered to land between Octavia and Chi. He was utterly silent.

  Alonzo embraced the massive chimera. “She took care of me, in truth. In the Arena, we were a team. She understood me, as you said she would. This long ride, she chirped, and she listened. I had total faith that she knew the path to you by magic or instinct far beyond my comprehension.”

  “You told me once that you only had battlefield faith,” she said softly.

  “What have we endured these past few weeks if not a constant battle?”

  They remained still for several minutes. Alonzo leaned over Chi with his arms wide, his face turned away. Octavia placed a hand on one of Chi’s tapered ears. The horned accessory was gone, revealing a thick ear tip flecked with white whiskers. Alonzo murmured something she couldn’t quite make out. Smoke and emotion stung her eyes. She looked away, blinking. The wind shifted more and the foulness of heated aether made them both cough.

  Alonzo stood upright and looked toward the source of the smoke. “I do wonder,” he said, voice hoarse, “at the presence of a Caskentian airship this deep in the Waste. I saw many of our soldiers these past few days, and Chi and I did not even follow the pass. What of armistice?” He kept one hand on Chi’s shoulder.

  Octavia stroked the large ear. “War’s been declared again. The Lady’s Tree is now exposed somewhere to the east of us. Caskentia saw it by air, and of course, nothing like that can ever be left in Waster hands.”

  “The Tree, visible,” he murmured. “Why such a change?”

  Why such a change indeed. Octavia looked at her gloved hands as despair welled within her chest. Because, Alonzo, I’m changing into a Tree. The King thinks I’m supposed to be the Lady’s replacement.

  She needed to tell him. Alonzo had always been forthright with her, even when it imperiled his job as a Clockwork Dagger. But telling him meant saying the words aloud, meant they were true. The stories always said that the Lady pleaded with God to save everyone and that she welcomed the change and everything it meant. I want to help everyone. I do. But not like this. Not to lose my own humanity. Not to lose Alonzo and whatever may come in our future.

  “We must burn Chi, lest she fall into the hands of Caskentia or the Waste.” His voice was thick.

  “Yes.”

  “Octavia. About the airship. I am sorry . . .”

  Hearing her name caused her skin to prickle in an odd way. “It’s the same as that buzzer pilot before. I know, Alonzo. I hate it, but I know. They would have killed us by gunfire or lured the wyrm into attacking us. You did what you needed to do.”

  His brow furrowed. He looked as if he didn’t be­lieve her.

  “I thought you wanted me to be more accepting about this kind of thing?” she asked. “Isn’t it more reasonable? Better than trying to save everyone?”

  “Yes. But ’tis not you.”

  “What am I anymore?” Hysteria edged her voice. She almost screamed out the truth, but took in a deep breath instead. “I’m sorry, Alonzo. I’ve seen so much death this past week, more than usual. Worse than usual.” A pause. “I had to kill again. Mrs. Stout’s son.”

  His blue eyes widened as he stepped toward her. “Octavia, for you to do such a thing, there had to be a good reason, just as when you defended yourself against Mr. Drury.”

  She leaned into his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. Oh Lady, he stank of a week of compounded masculine musk and hundreds of miles of dirt, but he was Alonzo and he felt so good. As always, he knew better than to shush or offer ridiculous consolations. He was simply there, solid as an old oak, respecting her in weakness just as he respected her in strength. His fingers found the exposed nape of her neck and brushed away the whirls of hair that had escaped her tightly coiled braid. The touch of his callused thumb caused her to shiver, and not simply for the joy of physical touch.

  I could be pulled inside his body again, so easily.

 
“Octavia.” When he said her name, she felt it like a flicker of heat, like when he was in the Arena and he spoke to her. My eavesdropping began each time as he said my name. He evoked me, just as how I call out to the Lady and direct her attention within a circle.

  The realization stole her breath. I really am becoming the Tree. A new Lady.

  Her legs buckled.

  Alonzo made a small sound of surprise as he caught her full weight. She knew the scream of his exhausted muscles as he lowered her to the grass in the shadow of Chi’s body. Alonzo stood again and reached for something on the chimera’s saddle.

  With a soft chirp, Leaf bounded to within inches of Octavia’s face. Something akin to concern created wrinkles in his forehead.

  She leaned closer to Leaf. “You talk to the Lady,” she whispered low enough that Alonzo couldn’t hear. “I know you talk to her. Tell her I don’t want this.”

  Leaf squawked in dismay, flapping his wings.

  Alonzo crouched over her. “There is water in my canteen, and food—­”

  “No. Not now. We need to go.”

  “Are you able to walk? I can . . . I can take care of Chi, if granted a few minutes.”

  Octavia gritted her teeth and made herself stand. Alonzo waited within arm’s reach in case she fell again. Just as I looked out for him when he lost his mechanical leg. Leaf landed on her shoulder with a whisper of wings. Octavia faced Chi and placed her fist to her chest.

  “Chi, your creation was a cruel thing, but your souls were noble and cohesive. Thank you for caring for Alonzo. I’m sorry you were sacrificed in such a way. You deserved better. You deserved a whole shop’s worth of cheese.”

  Emotion clogged her throat. She turned and walked away, leaving Alonzo to say his farewells in private.

  She could hear King Kethan’s approach. He had been shot three times when the airship had strafed them but the wounds already had sealed. Beyond the worsening wear on his clothes, he was as well as he could be.