by Rachel Grace
GEARED FOR PLEASURE
GEARED
FOR
PLEASURE
RACHEL GRACE
HEAT | NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2012 by R. G. Alexander.
Cover art by Tony Mauro.
Text design by Laura K. Corless.
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PUBLISHING HISTORY
Heat trade paperback edition / March 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Grace, Rachel, (date)
Geared for pleasure / Rachel Grace.—Heat trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56069-3
I. Title.
PS3601.L3545G43 2012
813’.6—dc23
2011042879
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For Cookie—Love is the reason. Thank you for moving into Theorrey with me for the duration, and for being my science guy. For Kate and Roberta, who allowed me to play air pirate and believed in me enough to make this happen. And for Robin L. Rotham, who is eternally patient and always there.
Most important, to the Smutketeers: Eden Bradley/Eve Berlin, Crystal Jordan, and Karen Erickson. As well as Lilli Feisty. For more than three years you have been my friends as well as the story in my head. I am lucky to know all of you, and to have been able to create the powerful female characters you inspired during that one fateful phone call—and place them all in my crazy, topsy-turvy clockworky world. All for one and one for all.
Contents
EARTHLY DESIRES
FIERY TEMPTATIONS
EARTHLY DESIRES
Chapter One
Find the Deviant. Trust no one but its captain with your identity and your secret. Everything depends on you.
Dare lifted a hand to her temple and grimaced at the rough and unpleasantly aromatic material of her woven glove. She needed to quell the turmoil in her mind and focus on her mission, but the task was difficult.
She had prepared as much as she could for this leg of the journey. Her borrowed clothing—from mangled cap to worn boots and pungent gloves—ensured she would not stand out, much less be recognized as one of the queen’s elite shield guards. She need only lose herself in the milling crowd, make her way through the outer edges of the city toward the docks, and, fortune willing, find the ship she was searching for. It was a task that had, this morning, seemed as fraught with unknown dangers as a journey through the Avici desert. Yet thus far she’d encountered not a single obstacle.
The ease with which she had concealed her departure stirred her with ire rather than instilling her with confidence. She had believed the palace—indeed, the entire community of Queen’s Hill—to be impenetrable. Granted, the security detail focused on keeping the unsavory elements out, not in. Nevertheless, the lack of vigilance was unacceptable.
In light of all she had witnessed in recent weeks, she acknowledged that her escape might not be the fault of inattentive guardsmen alone. No. More powerful forces and far more dangerous games seemed to be at play.
So why was she abandoning her post?
She glanced over her shoulder where, high between the peaks of the Twin Mountains, the Copper Palace’s glimmering domed rooftops beckoned to her. From here, Queen’s Hill was awe-inspiring. Distant. The place that had been her home for most of her life had never seemed farther away. But she could not falter now.
She took a steadying breath and walked slowly into the throng of Trader’s Square, weaving between the long rows of wooden stalls crowded with people and supplies. Though the goods often changed with the seasons, the stalls were stationary. They’d been built long ago to cater to those who worked and traveled on the elevated rail.
Dare looked up. The views of the spectacle from the palace windows had not prepared her for the crisscrossing webs of rails that merged above her. Or for the sheer size of the transport swinging subtly as it waited to be boarded.
The governors and nobles visiting Queen’s Hill often spoke of traveling the vast distances cradled in the comfort of the transports’ grand salons. She could not fathom how the sturdy vehicles, laden with cargo and humanity, did not bend the narrow bars. Instead, they hung as light as fruit from a metallic vine high above. How was it that they flew through the air with such ease and with no apparent regard for the natural laws that kept the rest of humanity grounded?
However the marvel was managed, it succeeded in helping travelers avoid the dangers of the uninhabitable and forbidding places that lay between Centre City and the rest of the queen’s domain. Only the truly prepared or the incredibly foolish would risk crossing the marshlands or black desert any other way.
Her gaze followed the rickety wooden stairs leading up to the rail’s loading dock, which was held aloft by thick posts of ironwood and steel. There was a small crowd waiting to enter the transport. Above them, she could clearly see two men perched on top of the tram, on either side of the large engine that powered the machine. One man with long braided hair and a beard was armed with a rifle to protect the travelers. The other, stout and bald, methodically filled a furnace with fuel.
The machine bellowed like a great beast. The steam that belched from its smokestack darkened the sky above her and reminded her of winter clouds. It began to move slowly away from the raised platform, scraping along the suspended track as it headed for its unknown destination.
Where was it going? The small but bustling city of Newgarren on the edge of the desert? Two Moon Bay? Or perhaps this tram went all the way to Faro Outpost, on the other edge of the continent alongside the treacherous western sea. Her friend and fellow guardsman Cyrus had been handpicked from Faro and brought to the palace. She imagined it an exotic place, full of adventure and wonders, but he rarely spoke of it and, sensing his reticence, she never pressed him for details.
The idea of travel was fascinating, but no matter
how intriguing those destinations sounded, Dare had no desire to book passage on the rail. Solid ground, even on a dangerous path, sounded far more secure than tempting fate in the air… or on the sea.
The sea. She stiffened her spine. She would do all that loyalty and duty demanded of her. If that meant boarding a sailing ship, so be it.
Though first she had to find her way to the docks through this boisterous crowd.
Dare cringed. The wonder that drew her gaze had not stopped her other senses from intruding. Rich smells of cooking meat lingered thickly in the air, filling her nostrils. She couldn’t see where the scent was coming from, and her rumbling stomach protested. But the aroma was not the only thing upending her equilibrium. A cacophony of human and animal life assaulted her ears. The chatter of men and women of all ages and attitudes, the mournful baying of the prized threehorn cattle sold on the edges of the square, all combined into a din that played an unwelcome melody on her senses. That tune, as well as the grating emotions of the horde of unaware Theorrey citizens, warred for attention inside her.
She had not imagined their feelings would be so darkly complex. Far more distracting than her surroundings.
Avarice, aggression, lust, and desperation… The chaos of it all dizzied her, every inch of her skin aching at the crush of it. Yet again, she was tempted to return to the silent serenity of the Copper Palace. Although she could no longer find peace there, it was still her home.
The vying calls of aggressive sellers refused to be ignored. The sellers of Trader’s Square were of a different ilk from the merchants allowed to peddle their wares inside the stormgate. Louder. Coarser. Lacking in respect and hygiene.
Having spent her life traversing only the levels of the protected Queen’s Hill, a community in itself, Dare felt entirely out of her element. She had studied in the libraries of the scholars. Wandered the lush gardens of the nobles. Trained with the Wode on duty there, shield guards and protectors of Theorrey and its rulers. And on each market day, she would go down to the lowest level, close enough to hear the hum of the charged outer gate, to choose a special trinket from a polite and officially licensed merchant. A trinket she always hoped would make the queen offer her one of those rare, honest smiles.
That was the world she knew.
She’d often silently agreed with those who insisted that Queen’s Hill held every wonder worth having. That the rest of the city, the rest of the world, could only hold disappointment after such perfection.
Cyrus and the queen did not share that view, and as she continued to wander through the open marketplace, she thought she could better understand their reasoning. It was difficult not to marvel at what she beheld. Not to feel the excitement of a kind rarely encountered on the Hill. So much life.
This place was raw and dirty, yes. Intimidating? Most assuredly. But the ingenuity of these citizens was impressive. They traded in more than necessities. Even in their poverty they were not unlike the artisans on the Hill. They also traded in fancy. Their imaginations seemed to have no limit, and had more experience to draw from.
There were devices she could not begin to describe alongside produce and sweets she could not recognize or guess the flavor of. Her stomach rumbled again, attempting to convince her that it would rather have a taste of the produce than study the mechanics of the windup wonders.
She took several more steps, avoiding a steaming pile of animal excrement—which instantly allayed her appetite—before spying a vendor who sold alabaster house idols the size of her palm. They were all carved in the image of the eternally young queen, each so accurate that it was hard to believe such perfection could be replicated by hand so many times and without flaw.
Another stall held a jumbled pile of mechanical arms and legs for those who had lost limbs and needed a viable replacement. She recognized them, but she’d assumed they had been created solely for the Wode. She’d seen several elder shield guards use the clunky devices nearly as effectively as an undamaged appendage. A few could even use the different switches to change their “fingers” into tools to tighten bolts or heat steel, allowing them to maintain their usefulness.
Of course, there were those who spoke of augmentations that would turn their new arms into powerful weapons for combat, but she doubted the veracity of those barracks stories. They did, after all, include the use of theorrite, a gem the members of the Theorrean Raj thought too rare to waste on wounded veterans. Theorrite was to be used only for “the betterment of Theorrey.” The science ministry believed their intellectual advances were far more important in that regard than an injured Wode’s pride.
Near the end of the row, her attention settled on a stall where a trader sold pendants of swirling desert glass. The beauty of the jewelry stilled her steps. The unique pieces were scattered amongst other treasures. Polished ivory horns that had been hollowed out and filled with alluring, colorful spices. Spiral daggers made of sharpened bone and leather. She believed the objects must have come from Newgarren until she saw what was beside them. Her lips parted. Wings. Small wings spread out to glide, made to catch the wind, and engineered out of what appeared to be tanned animal hide and brass. Dare had never seen anything like it. Surely they weren’t for actual use? They were far too small to hold a man’s weight.
The markings painted on their surface gave her an answer. The symbols weren’t of human origin.
Felidae.
Dare recognized one or two from the old journals that the scholars loved, though she would never attempt a guess at their true meaning. She knew of few who could. It was said even the Felidae themselves had forgotten generations ago. Yet these wings had been recently made.
The slender male trader noticed her studying his goods and frowned. “Don’t hover ’round my stall if you can’t pay, boy. Felidae artifacts ain’t easy to come by, and I don’t mean to give ’em away for free.”
She heard a barked-out laugh before a bearded man stepped into her line of vision, blocking her view as he addressed the trader. “Hah! If those are genuine artifacts, I’m a bloody nobleman’s son. Everyone knows them Spotted Spines never had no culture, ’cept mining or stealing. They never made nothing but more of themselves to feed. Scavengers, not inventors, the lot of them.” He paused and studied the items more closely. “What do you want for that knife?”
Dare lowered her head and walked swiftly away before they noticed her again. Boy, he’d called her. Despite the coarse conversation, she bit her lip to hide her smile. Her disguise was working.
Queen Idony would love this. To walk freely amongst the people, unrecognized. Even the disguise would no doubt make her laugh with delight. The unusual sights, the raucous sounds, the dank, musky smells… she would love all of it. If only she were here to share it with Dare.
She frowned, recalling the unusual messenger that had found her in her palace rooms the day before, just as her own suspicions about the strange goings-on in the palace had become too strong to ignore.
Not human, the messenger had instead been a flying insect made of aged copper. Its wings were colored with old, weatherworn patches of blue, green, and gold. It looked like the paintings of dragonflies she’d seen in the queen’s rooms, though this one was much larger.
It appeared to act of its own accord as if it were alive, landing on the ledge of the balcony outside Dare’s quarters. Faceted crystalline eyes had followed her movements with a strange ticking sound and the unmistakable grinding of gears. It seemed to be watching her, though she knew that was impossible.
When she’d reached out to touch it, the warm metal vibrated with a unique resonance beneath her fingers. A hidden panel on its back had opened to reveal a folded parchment stamped with the queen’s personal seal: the sword and chalice.
There was no doubt it was her sigil. More than its design convinced Dare. The queen had showed her long ago how to confirm the authenticity of her mark. She had made the lesson a game, leaving parchment filled with clues around the palace. Clues she would need to follow to fin
d whatever it was Queen Idony had hidden from her that day.
The trick for this particular game was queensfruit, the most abundant fruit in Theorrey. The pale pink rind had to be peeled and its juice dabbed on the red wax sigil to cause a unique transformation. The vertical broadsword that seemed to pierce the heart of the chalice would turn a light silver while its jeweled hilt darkened to amber and brass. The chalice itself became silver as well, the darker brass used to outline the lotus design etched on the outside of the cup.
Only the queen’s wax, her personal mixture, could create that reaction. It meant whoever had sent this had her approval and followed her command above all others. A true ally.
For Dare, the note on the parchment confirmed and doubled her suspicions, the stunning news leaving her no time to investigate the mechanical insect. Not that it gave her a choice. Its job completed, it had shuddered to whirring, clicking life and taken off into the air with the grace of a living bird, disappearing too quickly for her to gauge its direction or learn anything further from it.
The instructions it had delivered had been precise and emphatic. She was not to go to the ruling body. About this, the Theorrean Raj and the Wode commanders were not to be confided in or informed. It had been an unusual command, but Dare’s loyalty was first and foremost to her queen. It always had been, even before she had been chosen as the Queen’s Chalice. Her father had made sure of it.
The missive had posited a truth that Dare had confirmed for herself that very night, though it struck her even now as impossible. However, it could not be denied. Her queen was no longer within the protection of the palace. Something insidious and untenable was going on, and Dare was on her own.
Hopefully this captain of the Deviant had answers she did not. Or, at the least, knew how to communicate with her mysterious, message-sending ally for more information.
