Skies of Fire: The Ether Chronicles

by Archer, Zoe

  He made a stiff bow in Louisa’s direction and strode quickly from the room.

  On the top deck of the ship, with the cold wind in his face, he felt some degree of control return. He greeted the sailor manning the helm and paced along the deck, hands interlaced behind his back and eyes on the stars.

  He knew without turning around that she had come topside. His sensitive hearing detected her footsteps, but more than that, he had a vivid awareness of her at all times.

  “Christopher.”

  Turning to face her, he watched her approach, and he was grateful for her heavy coat’s oversized fit.

  “Your invitation was unexpected.”

  He exhaled roughly. “The implants. They . . . stoke emotions. Things dwell closer to the surface, and it can be difficult to control myself.” His palm scrubbed over his closely shorn hair. “Usually I can keep a tight rein, but you . . . challenge my restraint.”

  “It’s not my intent to rile you.”

  “Yet you do, simply with your presence.”

  “Would it help if I said that your presence riles me, too?”

  He snorted. “Not much of a balm, no. But that’s why I asked you to join me here. It would do us both some good if we got used to each other. Desensitize ourselves. We can develop a callus, so that there aren’t any blisters.”

  “You’re likening me to a foot,” she said drily.

  He hadn’t thought of that, and gave a brief, rueful chuckle. “It wasn’t my most flattering analogy,” he acknowledged. “The intent remains the same. Acclimatization.”

  “Very logical of you.”

  “I’m trying to be.” God knew he didn’t feel logical whenever she was near.

  She inclined her head. “Let us develop our calluses. Shall we walk?”

  “Not going to offer you my arm, though.”

  Now it was her turn to snort. “I always hated that custom. As if a woman didn’t have strength enough to walk without leaning on someone, lest they topple to the ground like a collapsed soufflé.”

  In a kind of amity, they began to walk side-by-side. He nodded at several crewmen as they went about their nighttime duties.

  “Can’t make a decent meal out of a soufflé,” he said.

  “Certainly it wouldn’t be enough for a Man O’ War.” She sent him a sideways glance. “You took three servings of partridge and four helpings of potatoes. And I’ve a feeling that, had there been more, you would have eaten that, too. I remember that you always had a good appetite, but it’s increased. Because of the implants?”

  Direct, at all times. Years had passed, but she was very much the same. “We require more nutrients than normal humans. I’m almost always hungry.”

  “And as captain and power source of this ship, no one will argue or complain if you receive more food.”

  “Admiralty makes special arrangements for the provisioning of airships.” He slanted her a questioning look. “You seem awfully interested in the functioning of Man O’ Wars.”

  “Gathering intelligence is engraved in my nature. I used to think about becoming a journalist, but I found spying a more reputable profession.”

  He choked back a laugh.

  “But I confess,” she continued, “I’ve never known a man before he underwent the transformation. Only afterward. I find the changes . . . fascinating.”

  “Fascinating? Or freakish?” More than a few angry letters had been delivered to Admiralty as well as the Times, decrying the “twisted” and “aberrant” use of technology, the combining of man and machine. He ignored those complaints, glad to be of use to his country, but the idea of Louisa believing he was an aberration made his gut clench.

  She scowled. “Again, you’re speaking for me. When I say that I find Man O’ Wars fascinating, that’s precisely what I mean. Everything I know of them comes from newspapers and books.”

  “But you’ve met others like me.”

  “One can’t be in Naval Intelligence without having dealings with Man O’ Wars. Still, there’s never a moment when I can ask them questions, discover what it’s truly like.”

  Familiar with the Demeter as he was, he knew without seeing that in the darkness she might trip over a cleat. He took her elbow.

  She started.

  “Easy.” He guided her around the cleat, thankful for the bulkiness of her wool coat. It kept him from feeling the warmth of her skin or true shape of her arm. As soon as he’d helped her navigate the obstacle, he released her.

  “Don’t want your hungry mind to starve,” he said.

  Her eyes were wide behind her goggles. “Are you offering me a chance to sate myself?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Take advantage of the opportunity. It won’t come around again.”

  For a moment, she was silent. Then, “Can you feel it? The ship using you as its power source?”

  “It’s a constant hum. Didn’t like it at first, but I got used to the feeling.” He glanced toward one of the metal panels embedded in the hull. “The telumium implants channel my energy, which is absorbed there and throughout the ship and sent to the batteries belowdecks.”

  “The batteries that power the turbines that keep the ship in motion.” She bent and examined one of the steel conduits running from a metal panel. “These lead to the battery. But where is the ether collected?”

  “There are more tubes that run off the battery that connect to the main ether tank, which is how we’re able to fly. Surplus ether is collected in additional tanks which are used in our weapons. Ether pistols, rifles, and cannon.”

  She knelt down to have a better look at the tubing. “Blast these goggles.” She pushed them back and fished her spectacles out of her pocket. “Wish I had your night vision. It’s too dark to see anything.”

  “Here.” He crouched beside her and adjusted the dial on a small illumination device welded to the panel. A soft green glow radiated out. “These are found on every gathering panel. It’s so the crew can perform repairs during the night without attracting the enemy’s attention.”

  The light reflected off her spectacles, hiding her eyes, but he saw her smile. “Clever, these airship engineers.”

  “They’d better be. Anything happens to the ship, it’s not a simple matter of bailing out. A shipwreck looks like a springtime pageant compared with an airship crashing.”

  She gazed at him. He was still close, so that a distance of six inches separated them. “You were at the Battle of Rouen. I read about it. It must have been . . .” She shook her head. “I cannot begin to fathom what it was like.”

  “The skies were made of fire. And the ground was aflame.” He’d never wipe the images from his mind, and in a way he hoped he never would. Too many good men died that day. He didn’t want to forget them, or what they sacrificed in defense of their country. The British losses had been heavy, but the enemy’s invasion had been repelled.

  She lifted her hand as if to cup the side of his face. But she seemed to think better of it and let her hand fall.

  He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed that she didn’t touch him.

  “That was a dark day for the Navy,” she murmured. “We all wore black for a month after.”

  “The nature of war. Victory comes at a high price.” He stood, and cleared his throat. On that day, in the skies above Rouen, he’d thought of her, just as he had earlier today. Wishing he might see her one last time, despite the anger knotted around his heart. It seemed that imminent death brought out the sentimentalist in him.

  “You wanted to ask a Man O’ War questions,” he said. “Don’t squander the chance.”

  She seemed to understand that he didn’t want to speak of Rouen, or what it meant, any longer. After a last examination of the metal tubing, she removed her spectacles and replaced her goggles, then rose.

  They resumed their walk. She asked, “Did Dr. Rossini know that the byproduct of channeling Man O’ War energy was the creation of ether?”

  “Pure chance,” he said, “or s
o I heard. Still, her discovery didn’t go unexploited.”

  “Allowing for the creation and use of fully-manned, armed airships. Elegant.”

  “Lucky.”

  “But useful.” She peered at him, and even in the darkness he felt the closeness of her scrutiny. “I don’t see it.”

  “See what?”

  “Your aurora vires.”

  “No one can,” he said. “Not without a pair of spectral goggles.”

  “Have you ever looked through them?”

  “A few times.” Anticipating her question, he said, “Everyone looks as though they have a glow surrounding them. Different colors for different ratings. Green for Lameth. Blue for Gimel. Golden for Aleph.” The aurora vires had been Dr. Allegra Rossini’s first discovery. Its living energy existed within all people to varying degrees of intensity. She had also been the first to learn how to channel that energy using telumium, leading to the creation of the Man O’ Wars.

  “What was your rating?” Louisa asked. “Wait—don’t tell me.” She stopped walking and turned her full focus on him.

  There had been many a happy evening when he’d been the subject of her intense concentration. Standing here with her now, knowing she gazed at him so intently, his already hot blood warmed even more.

  “Aleph,” she said at last. A man needed a rating of Gimel or higher to be considered a likely candidate for the transformation.

  He frowned. “How’d you know?”

  “It doesn’t take a pair of spectral goggles for me to see how extraordinary you are.”

  A few words from her and his damned heart knocked against his ribs, like a beast eager to please its master. “Admiralty ought to send you scouting for new candidates.” He forced his voice to sound light, unmoved by her praise, and he resumed his pacing of the deck.

  She caught up with him. “My dance card is already full. There’s always another mission.”

  “So there is.”

  They were quiet together for a few moments, and he allowed the night and the wind to speak for him. They were surrounded on all sides by darkness, the vastness of the sky, and the shadowed shapes of the mountains below.

  “Peaceful up here,” she murmured.

  “A deceptive peace. You know those lengthy stretches of quiet at sea? They don’t last as long up here. An airship travels faster than a sailing ship. The battles and engagements come more quickly. We’ve always got to be ready.”

  “Understood. I won’t be lulled into complacency.”

  “As though you could ever be complacent.”

  She made a soft, rueful sound. “My gift and my failing.”

  It struck too close to the core of their separation. Yet the tendrils of their old intimacy had already begun to wrap themselves around him. She had always been easy to talk to. And though he knew no good would come of it, he couldn’t make himself offer an excuse and walk away.

  “Everyone has both,” he said. “Natural talents and innate weaknesses.”

  “I thought a Man O’ War had no weakness.” They had reached the prow and stood next to one another, staring out at the earth and sky.

  “We’re not immortal. Nor invulnerable. We heal faster than normal humans, can take more damage, but we’re made of the same flesh, the same bones. And we can’t be apart from our ships for too long.”

  Rather than look out at the passing landscape, she faced him. “I never heard about that.”

  “A small flaw in the good Dr. Rossini’s design. These panels,” he said, tapping one beside him, “draw off the energy concentrated by the implants. But if any Man O’ War spends too long away from them, all that energy within them builds up. It needs an outlet. Otherwise . . .” He shook his head.

  “What happens?” she prompted.

  “A berserker rage. We lose control. Destroy everything around us, sometimes even ourselves.”

  Her eyes widened. “Has that ever happened to you?”

  “No, thank God. But I’ve seen cinemagraph images of some of Rossini’s early experiments. The men . . . they aren’t human any longer.” Of course, he hadn’t been informed about this particular side effect of the transformation until after he’d agreed to the procedure. He’d been shaken, but his resolve had held. He had wanted to serve his country in the best way he knew. Besides, he didn’t plan on being ashore for long. Nothing to keep him there.

  “I wonder if anyone could survive it.”

  “Some have. But the damage they wreak is beyond comprehension. I’m careful, though, to keep that from transpiring.”

  “You aren’t scared that might happen?”

  The conversation was getting too intimate. One of hazards of toughening the skin meant there would be rawness at the beginning.

  “It’s a difficult thing for me to give up control.”

  “I remember,” she said with a smile.

  Ah, God, so did he. The battles they had waged for dominance. A hungry, hurting need roused within him. His traitorous hands yearned to hold her.

  Go on, then. Want her. Lean into it so it has no power over you.

  “So long as I have a means of siphoning off the excess energy, I’ve no cause for worry.” He rapped his knuckles against the wooden rail. “Keeps me sane, the Demeter does. She and I need each other.”

  “Few relationships have such balance.” Sadness threaded through her voice.

  “An engineer can construct perfect symbiosis.” His mouth twisted. “That’s where science trumps the human heart.”

  “I’ve often wondered if engineers could build a mechanical heart,” she mused. “Some kind of clockwork device that sits in the middle of our chests. To keep it running, we just have to wind it with a little golden key we keep hanging from our necks. We’d feel nothing. Only chug along like automatons. Save everyone a goodly amount of pain.” Her words were light, yet her expression was bleak.

  He wondered—did leaving him hurt Louisa the way it hurt him? There was no good answer.

  When she tugged her coat closer, wrapping her arms around herself, he seized the diversion.

  “You’re cold. It’s time to get you below.”

  “What about the calluses? I haven’t developed mine yet.”

  “Nor I. But that’s how this process works. We keep hammering at it until the desired results are achieved.”

  “By all means,” she said, arching her eyebrow, “let’s hammer away.”

  He clenched his teeth. Commanding an airship with a crew of one hundred and fifty men offered little difficulty, but commanding his own thoughts—and tongue—whenever she was near proved impossible.

  With more of the crewmen watching, he and Louisa crossed the deck and went below. He was grateful that none of the men had hearing as acute as his, or else shipboard gossip would be aflame with intelligence. Already they talked about him and the mysterious Miss Shaw. At all times he conducted himself with constant awareness. He was their captain, and a Man O’ War. Friendship and vulnerability were impossible if he was to serve them well.

  “You’re taking me to your quarters,” she said as he walked down a passageway.

  He reached the door to his cabin and opened it. Peering inside, he said with surprise, “This isn’t the gunnery.”

  She gave him a look that said she wasn’t impressed by his sarcasm. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “Because this is where you’ll be sleeping for the remainder of the mission.” It struck him again that there was every chance the Demeter, and everyone aboard, wouldn’t survive the mission. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it. All he needed to focus on was ensuring that the mission was a success. Living through it was incidental.

  She stared at him. “That isn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s a fine idea,” he countered. “This is the biggest cabin in the ship. Plenty of room for you to go over the intelligence you’ve gathered. Mr. Herbert can bring you charts so you can compare them with the map of the munitions plant.” He gathered up an armful of books from atop th
e table and shoved them into the bookcase. “There. All the space you’ll need.”

  “We’ve enough trouble as it is,” she said. “It’s just asking for more if we share your quarters.”

  He started. “Bloody hell. You think I . . .” He swore again. “Good God, no.”

  Her caginess transformed into irritation. “You needn’t sound so revolted by the idea.”

  One of the restraints holding him back snapped. Stalking toward her, he said, “Revolted isn’t the word I’d use. Part of me thinks I should just toss you onto my berth and show you how much I hated you, how much I missed you.”

  “Ah,” she said softly. He nearly growled when her gaze strayed to the berth in question, narrow, but capable of holding two people—if they were wrapped around each other.

  He fought for restraint. “But I’m not going to. I’m going to have this ship repaired. I’ll find that munitions plant. And then I’m destroying it. Those are the only goals I’ll allow myself.”

  “We,” she said. “We are going to find and destroy the munitions plant. The responsibility isn’t yours alone.”

  “I know it isn’t.”

  She gazed down at the space between them. “I can find another cabin. Bunk with the rest of the crew or”—she exhaled—“sleep in the mess.”

  “I’d never allow that. You’re a guest aboard the Demeter, and you’ll be treated as such. But don’t think that three years have altered the way I feel about you. They haven’t. My heart isn’t mechanical, and the damned thing still wants you.”

  Color flooded her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could he turned and left the cabin.

  Chapter Five

  LOUISA ASSUMED SHE wouldn’t sleep well. Her assumption was correct.

  She lay in Christopher’s bed, surrounded by his familiar scent. Night after night, he stretched his long body out on this same bed and thought of her.

  I should just toss you onto my berth and show you how much I hated you, how much I missed you.

  His words echoed through her mind all night, tormenting her with images she had no right to see. She remembered their last night together with aching clarity. The feel of him over and within her, the taste of his skin, the sounds of pleasure he growled and the moans he coaxed from her. Those memories had kept her warm over the past cold years, but there had always been a dart of ice at their center, believing that she would never see him again, and when she did, he would likely hate her.