And promptly threw up on his shoes.
Chapter 7
Kesia wanted to die, stomach first. And she wasn’t sure if it was due to the insidious seasickness, the wafts of stench from the human next to her, or the possibility of disappointing Zephryn.
It could easily be all of them.
“Are you all right?” Captain Windkeeper’s voice had the same light-hearted cadence she remembered from the ship, only this time it was laced with concern. “Do you need help?”
“Mmm, fine,” she grunted, slouching down on the bench. Not that there was any need to hide her face from Captain Windkeeper—he’d only seen her as a dove and dragon—but leaning back on anything hard was still torturous for her right shoulder blade.
Perhaps it was additional punishment that she deserved.
Worry filtered in her mind from Zephryn.
An airship captain who wasn’t there anymore. Where had he gone? She lifted her head enough to see him at the water’s edge, crouched down in his dress pants and waistcoat, splashing something in the water.
His shoes.
A moment later, Windkeeper returned, carrying his shoes and socks in one hand. He settled onto the bench next to her. “No harm done, fair lady. My boots were overdue for a polish. Now, what’s troubling you?”
“The sea.” The words escaped before Kesia could stop them. She swallowed the sick-sour taste in her mouth, and with it, a few choice words about whatever chemical the airship captain had doused himself with.
Breathe in. Breathe out. It was only a scent. Apart from the brine and engine oil, the fermented smell wasn’t that bad. She could acclimate.
He chuckled knowingly. “I’ve heard many people have such a complaint with it. For myself, I prefer the sky.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well yes, anyone would prefer the sky.”
“Would they?” Increased interest glowed in his blue eyes. “Are you a friend of the air?”
Scale mites!
“Yes. I mean, no. Oh no. It makes me as sick as the sea waves.” The lies only added to the bile in her throat. “Thank you, Captain Windkeeper. I’m feeling better.”
She tried to move from the bench. Her legs faltered and slid out from beneath her as if the ground were coated in slush. Fear knotted her stomach as her heels skidded out from under her. Her hands reached out to brace her—and met a cushion of air. She gasped as a gentle wind encircled her and eased her back onto the bench, closer to Windkeeper than she had been before.
“Somehow, I doubt that, fair one. Although I admire your fortitude.” His arm lay loosely across the back of the bench. He must have wanted to stretch it.
Did Zephryn notice? Kesia spared a glance in his direction. No, he was deep in conversation with a few dockworkers, very likely getting important information.
Which meant handling Windkeeper was still her concern. Very well. She could try small talk.
“Why do you call me ‘fair’? How can you deduce that my actions are just?”
Shance chuckled. “You make a good point. You seem familiar. Do I know you? You seem to know me.”
Her mind raced for more words, flitting back through her memory of him on the airship. An impressive airship, Kesia recalled, and Windkeeper had worn a special insignia. “Why wouldn’t I? Doesn’t everyone know the great Captain Windkeeper?”
“Hm. True. Although I must say, I don’t remember meeting you. I would never forget such a beautiful face.”
“I tend to blend in.” Beautiful? Fewmets! Why did he keep using words she didn’t know? Her skin itched with the urge to shift and scurry away. A mouse would be just fine, or perhaps a sea gull. No one liked sea gulls. Everyone would leave her alone, including confusing airship captains who kept smiling at her in ways that made her feel uncomfortable.
Kesia grabbed the voicelator disc around her neck, trying to avoid the shuddering sensation in her skin and the sharp spasms from the wound in her right shoulder. Keep it together. She couldn’t shift now. The caregivers had said no shifting for another few days. She’d already broken that rule once, resulting in excrutiating pain. She had to heal.
Shance’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “That pendant is beautiful. May I?”
Kesia tilted away quickly, sending more sharp pain through her back. She bent over. “Um, actually I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“...all right.”
Why did he pause so? She looked up. Windkeeper was staring at her, his jaw slack and eyes blazing with a strange emotion. Shock? Was that shock? “Are you all right?”
He swallowed. “That’s where I met you. I didn’t recognize you without your wings, my lady dragon.”
How did he—the pendant! When she hunched over, the metal cloud lily dangled freely. It couldn’t leave contact with her skin for more than fifteen seconds.
“Fewmets!”
She straightened, pain forgotten, and grabbed Windkeeper’s arm. “Come with me. Now.”
***
It wasn’t the first time a woman had dragged Shance into a dark tavern. Usually those incidents turned out quite well.
But those times hadn’t included a woman with a voice that set every bone in his body on edge with an inexplicably haunting resonance. Shance had dismissed the voice of his dragon savior as well as he could, especially since he never imagined seeing her again. He certainly hadn’t expected her to take the form of a brunette, with amber eyes lit with the warmth of firelight and a softly curving figure that even a sack-like skirt and blouse couldn’t completely disguise. Especially not with that neckline. From the arch of her brows to her deft fingertips, she was entirely exquisite.
Still, she was a dragon, and she was dragging him to a wooden booth barely lit by a few flickering lamps. She flung him into the corner with surprising strength. Behind her, a dark figure coalesced out of the shadows. The dragons took seats on either side of the booth, sequestering him inside.
Sharp reality slammed down on his musings.
Dragons in the Scepter of Commerce. How had they gotten past the guards?
They hadn’t faced the guards yet. The clearance at the end of the dock specifically checked for the energy signatures of dragons with a mild electric pulse. A clever toy from the Scepter of Industry.
No need for clearances. Apparently, he had his own way of attracting the enemy. “Dragons?”
“Quiet.” The command came from the male, calm and deep. The dim light vaguely outlined his brown, angular face and black hair. “Your words are not necessary.”
He glanced at the pretty woman. A subtle interplay of emotions showed on her face, from sheepishness to anger to a stubborn pout that did wonders for her pale pink lips. Shance shoved the observation aside and glanced at the man. His expression didn’t change much at all, except around the dark blue eyes, but it was enough to confirm Shance’s suspicions.
Of course. Dragons used telepathy. It explained the tight, intricate formations they used in battle.
He cleared his throat. “For the non-mind reader here, can you at least tell me what you’re doing?”
The male leveled his gaze at him. “Why should we?”
Shance didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Fair enough.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Again you speak of ‘fair.’ What do you mean by that word if not justice?”
“Have you never heard of it? Where are you from, lovely?”
“Why did you—none of your questions make sense. My name isn’t lovely.”
“Then what is it, may I ask?” Shance edged closer to her, aware of the male dragon’s eyes on him. As fortune had it, his lady companion
was more willing to share information that Shance could take straight to the Congruency. Although the idea settled uneasily in his stomach, making him feel like the seasick one.
A Windkeeper spying on a dragon could never be honest. But did the old family code apply to dragon spies in wartime? He studied the female’s face as she communicated silently with her partner, and he could find no evidence of malice. Only an openness and a sun-kissed beauty that captivated him, from the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose to the rose in her pale cheeks. Adorable. The exact opposite of what anyone would expect of a dragon in human form. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was sent.
She was utterly disarming. Enough to convince anyone...of anything. Hope replaced the tension in Shance’s gut. It was a ridiculous idea. A stupid idea.
Which meant it might work, if only they’d cooperate.
“Nightstalker.” The male dragon spoke again. “My name is Nightstalker, and my partner is Ironfire.We are here to investigate the explosion on your ship. Ironfire detected unusual features from the green smoke, including the scent, and we are trying to locate any production facilities or information.”
Shance leaned forward on the table. “So that explosion wasn’t you? We assumed it was.” Well, the others had. A thrill flitted through Shance at being right.
The male dragon shook his head. “You must be aware that dragons loathe the use of mechanical or chemical devices in warfare.”
“True. And you’ve never come so near a Scepter.”
“We’ve also questioned why the Congruency would harm their own vessel on a maiden voyage,” Ironfire added, playing with a loose lock of hair. “We suspected—”
“Rebels. The Lawless.” Shance’s voice turned grim. The anarchists held strongholds in every city. The Scepter of Knowledge even permitted their dissent in public debates over policy. “It seems we have a common enemy. Perhaps we can help each other.”
He felt the weight of two sets of dragon eyes settle on him, slit-pupiled and focused. It chilled Shance, though not enough to back down on his plan.
Nightstalker spoke, “How so?”
Now came the stupid part. Incredibly fool-brained, even for him. But Shance’s gut told him these two were trustworthy. The winds agreed; they’d been quietly circling the table this entire time.
Hopefully family lore was right. In any case, he’d have collateral if this plan went hull-up.
“Anyone with the clearance to get a bomb onto an airship like The Silver Streak would have to be high-level. Someone within High Command, which is currently located within the Central Market. As it happens, I hold quarters within High Command.”
Nightstalker narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting you could get us inside to investigate?”
“Not both of you. Only her.” Shance nodded toIronfire. “I can get her inside. The rest is up to you.”
The dragons shared a glance, then the woman tilted her head to the side. “You would do this in exchange for what?”
Here came the pinch point. Shance cleared his throat. “I need an escort—a companion, if you would—for the next two weeks. Someone who could attend public functions with me and accompany me around the Scepter of Commerce. It would allow Ironfire additional access to others of high rank, and would extricate me from a rather troublesome social situation.”
Nightstalker studied him carefully. Shance held his gaze, despite every inclination to look away from the cobalt stare. “In what capacity would she accompany you?”
“As my betrothed. A declaration of upcoming marriage, a human social custom of bonding between males and females. Do you have something similar?”
“Nightstalker and I are fleetwings. Lifelong tactical partners, separated only by death.” Ironfire’s delicate brows wrinkled. “Is it something to that effect?”
“Yes, something like that. Only different.”
She leaned forward. “Different how? Are marriages not permanent?”
Shance shrugged. “They can be. It doesn’t always work out that way. And marriage involves love. Hopefully.”
“What is love?”
The rumors were true then. Dragons were as cold as their reptilian forms suggested. Shance searched for a definition. “It’s when your heart beats for the other person. When, if you could choose to be around one person, it would be them. When you spend as much time as you can with them and take care of them above yourself.”
“Oh, so it is like being tactical partners. Except that I can talk to Zephryn, and sometimes human women aren’t allowed to talk.”
Was it the same? His heart sank. It couldn’t be. Such a lovely woman, out of reach. Shance shook his head. If Zephryn and Kesia were bound in some way, it would make this all the easier. Two weeks of pretense and then Shance could cut her loose without a single thought or regret. It was only a convenient arrangement. Nothing more.
“Are there any other conditions?” asked Nightstalker.
“No one kills anyone. You share any reconnaissance with me, and that includes recon that you do in the city. At the end of two weeks, we part ways. No one mentions this to the leadership of either side. As far as our superiors know, we both just happened to make very good espionage connections and used them well.”
Ironfire nodded. “Nightstalker and I will want to reconvene on a regular basis to share our findings and assess the situation.”
“Fair enough. Excuse me, I mean, a just and reasonable request.”
Nightstalker smirked. All right, at least one of the dragons seemed to have a larger command of vocabulary. “Very well then, we agree.”
“Swear on the stars?”
They looked at him blankly. Shance sighed. “You don’t have those? Oaths?”
Ironfire paused, a curious look on her face. She shut her eyes for a moment, as if reading something deep in her memory. “By the All-Maker. My parents used to swear by an All-Maker.”
Her fleetwing looked at her in obvious surprise, and they fell silent for several more minutes. More dragon mind-speech. Finally, Shance cleared his throat. “All-Maker sounds close enough. I usually swear by Fiarston and Viorstan myself. Sky god and wind god.”
Ironfire tilted her head to the side. “Why are two gods needed for that job?”
Shance shrugged. “No idea. Okay, by Fiarston and Viorstan and this—”
“All-Maker. All are his.”
“That works.” Shance held out his hand to Kesia. She stared at it curiously. “You are supposed to grab hold of it and move your arm up and down.”
She pursed her lips. “If you say so.”
Her hand was warm, and her grip almost broke his fingers. But the handshake was made. And she still looked beautiful.
Repeat the action with the fleetwing. Bones crushed a little more.
Shance rubbed his fingers. “It’s a deal then. Let’s get out of here before High Command puts us all in cells.”
Chapter 8
Zephryn could barely breathe.
The Scepter of Commerce was a maze of claymesh buildings and populace-clogged sidewalks, mired with fumes from the squat ground-cars that scurried along the streets like gleaming silver beetles. The visual noise, combined with the thick, heavy air, made him wish for the open skies of the Cloudpeaks.
It was of no consequence. By some great chance, he and Kesia had managed to secure far more than he could have imagined. She would be able to infiltrate the highest ranks and discover the truth about the green smoke, and then they would escape. In the meantime, he could scout and research information in the city’s underground to find the best place for them to hide, never to return to the Pinnacle.
The sentiments pulled at the loyalty born and nurtured deep in his heart by his parents, figures who were now but vague memories. He swatted at the nagging guilt as if it were one of the spray-gnat clouds that had pestered him aboard the ship. Yes, Zephryn held a prized lineage, but what good was a title without power and support to claim it? And even if he found enough support for h
is own claim, Kesia would still be branded as a criminal. The other dragons had been conditioned for years to despise her. And she was more important than anything.
Even more reason to try and make new plans during their time here.
The human known as Shance Windkeeper halted in front of them, ducking into a side shop. A noxious mixture of odors assaulted Zephryn’s nostrils, and next to him, Kesia covered her nose with her sleeve. He followed suit, only to find the raucous music filling the air to be just as bothersome. If that weren’t enough, every shelf and display rack in the stuffy shop was filled with brightly colored fabrics, layered so it was impossible to discern direction easily.
Windkeeper waved them to a back corner, where the sounds and scents were strongest. Kesia gave Zephryn a wan smile, and he returned it. The overload made it difficult to think properly.
“I’m not sure if we’ve been followed, but most of the spies and street officers around here have some kind of sensory Talent. This shop should stifle most of their abilities—and for the future meetings, we should keep places like this in mind.”
“Wise.” Zephryn only managed that word before another cloud of scents numbed his olfactory senses. “Where are the exits?”
The airship captain nodded. “There are two out the back. One is for receiving shipments and the other is for the girls.”
Kesia tilted her head up. “The girls?”
Windkeeper spared her a sly look, then shook his head. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?”
“The owner here, Zilpath,” he gestured toward an old woman barely visible behind a long wooden counter, “takes in girls from the neighboring jungleland tribes as boarders. They work as seamstresses or in other businesses in the area. One of them is how I first discovered this place, although—” Windkeeper flushed for reasons Zephryn couldn’t discern, “—apparently Zilpath has strict rules on tenant behavior.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, I couldn’t stand the five perfumes the girl doused herself with. Some tradition from her tribe south of this Scepter.”
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