Kesia blinked. “There are choices?”
“I'm the head fleet captain.” He flashed a smile and sprawled in the chair next to her. “There are a lot of choices.”
“I don't know. I’ve only had bread and dried meat when eating in skin form.”
“Really? Did you like them?”
“No. Too tough.”
“Not surprising. And you will need to be a little more aware of food than a dragon is,” Shance’s grin widened, “so we’ll try everything.”
Chapter 10
She was gone. That was a problem. It had been one for the last hour.
Zephryn lay on the narrow bed, mentally tracing the cracks in the claymesh ceiling. On either side of him were walls, almost within arm’s reach. A slack cord strung from the ceiling functioned as a clothing rack, and a three-legged table meant to have four legs perched next to the bed. That was the extent of the amenities.
When he’d thought to purchase a room, he hadn’t considered space to pace back and forth. He’d been mindful only of the need to preserve funds—and the need for security. This boarding house in the Low Quarter had been inexpensive, but it also had bars on the windows and highly armed guards.
All far better things. Despite his power and skill, he was only one dragon. And now, he lacked the assistance of his fleetwing because she was pretending to be the betrothed of a flippant airship captain with a name that seemed curiously familiar.
Windkeeper. Had his parents spoken of a Windkeeper?
Zephryn pinched the bridge of his nose to restrain smoke from leaving his mouth. He needed the other half of his mind on this task. His fingers found his voicelator pendant, and he activated the device with his heartflame.
No answer.
His heart sped faster. The walls seemed to suffocate him. There were a few logical reasons for her mental absence. Perhaps she had been rendered unconscious—but he’d felt no pain through their fleetwing bond. Not even tepstone could block physical pain. She could have been subjected to a mind-altering substance—unlikely, considering the mental stamina of dragons.
Then again, she was within the boundaries of a building lined with tepstone, suggesting traitors within the ranks of both the Pinnacle and the Congruency. Windkeeper could be one of those traitors. Hadn’t his family been merchants? Perhaps that was why Zephryn’s family had known them. Many merchants had come to the Cloudpeaks when his parents were alive; Zephryn remembered that.
But Kesia would be able to defend herself against any attack. She could shapeshift into any animal and hide for quite a while. She was a trained soldier and very resourceful. Even if Windkeeper was a double agent, Kesia could handle him.
If necessary, Zephryn could draw his Cloak about him and infiltrate the Central Market personally.
He palmed the entire pendant and sent another pulse of heat into it.
Kesia’s voice was warm and calm but slightly annoyed. All was normal. He sighed, his heart returning to a steadier beat.
Her irritation filtered through the link. He could almost picture her tail twitching back and forth, had she been in scale form.
He shrugged.
Zephryn stood, walked two steps forward—and was nose-to-plaster with a wall. He spun around to face the bed again.
Maybe if he closed his eyes he could imagine the room was larger and ignore his dragon need for open spaces.
Another rush of a warm emotion with an undertone of something sweet and fiery. It reminded him of the first moment he had seen Kesia in skin form. And every time after that. Such feelings didn’t matter right now.
Surely not.
Zephryn tilted his head.
More puzzles. Zephryn sighed and rubbed his eyes, then looked through the barred window. The sun had finally set. Shadows beckoned him into the street. He brushed the latest dust-rain from the ceiling off his clothing. A sudden thud from above caused another shower of flakes to descend in eddies.
He could picture Kesia’s innocent judgment, amusement dancing in her eyes.
He chuckled in the empty room.
It was time to seek answers. Preferably from an individual or two in this troublesome rebellion. The Lawless.
Zephryn exited the room, walking down two narrow flights of stairs and out onto the street. He had to step around a human crouched by the door, a handful of trinket rocks in one outstretched hand and a small bowl in the other.
“Mystery stones from the far north!” The old man licked his gap-toothed grin and increased his volume. “Come and buy a glimpse of your future! Mystery minerals from the base of the Cloudpeaks, where the heat of fierce dragon fire gives them special powers. Come buy the stones of power!”
Zephryn considered blowing a plume of flame on the stones just to prove the fool wrong. Then he pushed away the impulse and continued down the street, drawing his Cloak around himself. A useful Talent that had earned his lineage the name Nightstalker centuries ago.
And proved an excellent mask for other Nightstalker qualities. If the Pinnacle knew of those, they would have locked him up as tightly as Kesia.
He returned his attention to his surroundings, such as they were. The Low Quarter held little of interest. The lowest peddlars littered the streets. Apparently begging was illegal in the Scepter of Commerce. Only transactions were permitted, which meant even the poorest had to find some kind of object or service to sell, no matter how degrading or repulsive. The Pinnacle might be harsh and unyielding, but even the criminals were allotted rations and living quarters.
An image of Kesia’s cell surfaced in his mind, from the day they had first met. Barely large e
nough to hold her young scale form, manacles around her neck and ankles, wings tightly bound to her body. Her eyes shrouded in pain and a weary certainty of her fate in the mines.
At only a few years older, it had taken all his control not to rush in and rip the shackles from her. To free his destined tactical partner from her chains.
Zephryn stopped. Destined tactical partner. Such an odd phrase for the feelings that overtook his heartflame. What did the airship captain say was an equivalent? Betrothed? Engaged? Or was it one of Kesia’s words? Romance? Love? He certainly needed to conduct his own study of the words.
A short shape swathed in a long robe brushed past him. From a long sleeve emerged a thin hand which made a variety of gestures, all while the figure rushed down the street.
Zephryn’s nose registered the perfumes lingering in the figure’s wake. They were identical to the ones from the hideous clothing shop. Was it the shop owner—or someone else? What was she doing in the street? Where was she going? Either way, she was the first lead he’d found.
Granted, she could be leading him into a social gathering or some other useless human situation. But he didn’t have any other options.
He slipped through the streets behind her, careful to stay just outside of her view. It was easily done; the elderly woman seemed entirely focused on her destination. Either it wasn’t a secret meeting or it was too important for her to show discretion.
After passing a number of streets, she made an abrupt turn and vanished. Zephryn raced after her, not caring who noticed. People in the Low Quarter seemed far too interested in hawking themselves or their pathetic wares, and his Cloak would protect him.
He skidded around the corner and came face to face with the open end of a berringer pistol. Zephryn huffed in annoyance. Human weaponry guidebooks were plentiful in the Pinnacle. Berringers were poor weapons, using compressed wood bullets and tin shells instead of proper ones. Against his slate-sheened skin, the projectiles would be no more harmful than globs of feathers.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she made a few more hand gestures, pushing the barrel at his chest. Then she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her. Did she think that would make him understand her signs any better?
No, she was shoving him through a doorway cut into the patched claymesh. Never mind that Zephryn could have quickly killed her, useless weapon or not. A lead was a lead. If all her compatriots were equally armed, escape would be a matter of swift movements and dispatching any corpses.
Five steps into the room, and the shopkeeper yanked his arm to stop. They stood in a square space with a single electric bulb dangling from the ceiling. It illuminated two other humans, also in long, shabby robes that obscured their faces. The smelly shopkeeper joined them, drawing her hands into her sleeves.
It was akin to a meeting with the Pinnacle, or at least the Pinnacle as Kesia had described them. Zephryn was on more personal terms with the dragon leaders, whether he wanted to be or not.
The center figure spoke in a quiet voice. Male, softened with a slight lilt. “We know what you are, dragon.”
Zephryn opted to remain silent. Let the humans think themselves in control and speak themselves out. If these were rebels from the Lawless, the Pinnacle and the Congruency had less to worry about than they thought.
You presume their Talents are so innocuous, Midnight? Do you assume the same of mine? Even in memory, Kesia still covered his blind spots. She always challenged his narrow perspective with new ideas. Granted, some of them were absurd, but even those were refreshing in their lunacy. She was far too valuable to be merely the imagined escort of some careless airship captain.
The quiet male spoke again. “Zilpath has told us all she can about your mission here with your fellow dragon. Our goals and yours are not opposed.”
“I disagree. You are anarchists. From the Lawless group.”
“Yes, we are the Lawless. But we are not anarchists, though there are those among us who hold those views and would cause blame to fall upon all of us. In truth, we are only interested in the same thing you are: the end of this war. There has been too much discord and loss of life between the five Scepters.”
At that, Zephryn stiffened. “Five Scepters? There are only four, and they all attack dragons. We are outnumbered six to one on all sides. Why would you want the war to end? You have the advantage.”
The shopkeeper, Zilpath, emerged from her robe, fingers flying in a variety of word-gestures. The middle figure turned to her and nodded. “She says there were five Scepters. The fifth was your own Cloudpeaks, the Scepter of Justice, which mediated disputes between the other Scepters with fairness and mercy.”
“Ah, I see. According to this human history, were dragons the interlopers, as you have always seen us? Is that not what started the war—humans wanting the only piece of territory they had not yet claimed?”
Smoke spewed from Zephryn’s mouth with the words. There was little point in hiding his nature from these humans. They already knew the truth of that, even if they spread lies about everything else. It only cemented his desire to escape with Kesia, away from this war. Never mind his royal lineage or her convict past. There would be no sanctuary for them on either side of this war. Or among these rebels.
The final figure, who had not yet spoken, stepped forward, her voice deepening with a touch of resonance. “The dragons were the adjudicators, aided by humans who were sworn to impartiality and who lived in harmony with dragons in the Central Clouds.”
Her voice. It almost echoed as a dragon’s, though it lacked the depth of a true dragon. And the place she spoke of, the Central Clouds. It rang true and familiar. Zephryn had heard it from his own parents’ lips. Long ago, before they had been taken.
A place of peace, sanctuary, and justice. Where all of his family were meant to rule. Grief and longing squeezed his heart
Zephryn swallowed the emotions. “How do you know this? Who are you beneath the robes?”
The male shifted from foot to foot. “It is enough that we support you, your highness. Even if you do not believe it.”
“Humans have a very odd sense of support.” Anger burned in Zephryn’s throat, though he kept his tone level. He glared at Zilpath. “I have been captive in the Pinnacle for over two decades. Such gallant support.”
“We had no way of contacting you, your highness. Our resources are precious and limited.”
“Yet you never even attempted? No, you prefer to hide in robes and spout mysterious elements of history with no proof.”
Zilpath made a flicking motion that was certainly a curse, then her hands whirled in fresh words. This time, the other female translated.
“The proof is within the Congruency itself. Find your partner in the Central Market, and seek it out. Was that not already your goal? We only wish to help you.”
“Or lead me astray.”
“That’s always a risk, but you already trusted that—” the robed figure paused and cleared her throat “—that fool of an airship captain with no more sense than a dust-storm. At least we are actually helping you.” She paused again as Zilpath swiped out more words. “You don’t need to worry about meeting with Windkeeper and your partner. Zilpath can arrange everything at the proper time.”
A bold promise, but one he needed. If the Central Market was lined with tepstone, there was no telling what other dragon minerals they had on hand. The possibility of weapons that could pierce slatesheen could be a very real threat. “I see. Trust me with those plans, and I’ll remain in this room.”
Zilpath sneered, and her hands made the same flicking gesture. The translator hesitated again. “Eager to get back to that filth-nest on Twentieth Street?”
“It’s better than a shop drenched in five different barrels of vile toxins.”
Snickers emerged from the two robed figures. Zilpath only brushed her hands off on her robe, turning her back to them. The male spoke, “your terms are acceptable. Zilpath will contact you with further news.”
Zephryn raised his eyebrows. “You won’t tell me more yourself?”
“Like you, we have our own identities and secrets to protect. Finding answers within the Congruency will be a sign of good faith on your part. We will contact you when necessary.”
“Does Captain Windkeeper know of your allegiance?” That was directed at Zilpath.
She shook her head and made another dismissive gesture with a half-smile.
“He doesn’t need to yet,” her translator spoke.
The two robed figures bowed and turned to leave.
The female figure paused and faced him again. “Your highness, we would recommend more appropriate lodgings. According to city inspectors, that boarding house is in danger of collapsing. The claymesh structure is too heavy for the foundations.”
“Understood.”
Zephryn stifled the flames in his throat, this time from embarrassment. Kesia, after this mission is over, we are never parting ways again.
In the meantime, he needed to learn if the Lawless were worth anything or just another distraction from their escape.
Chapter 11
Step right. Step left. Step left.
Forward once. Back once.
Only instead of marble floor, Kesia’s heel sank into something thicker and softer. A boot.
Shance’s arms fell away from her shoulders.
“Fiarston’s bilge-soaked—”
“I’m sorry. These shoes are hard to move in.” 'Sorry’ was the word Shance had taught her for when she made a mistake. Remembering to say it was harder, but it was better than punishment from the Pinnacle.
Kesia rolled her shoulders back, sighing with relief. The movement was nearly pain free, which mean she could try shifting and investigating as soon as she had a spare moment. But Shance was on something called furlough while his airship was being fixed, which meant he was around a lot, ensuring she was prepared for the opening gala tomorrow. Apparently, mastering dance was a key part of this gala.
Shance winced and let out a slow breath, walking back toward the center of the front room. They had rolled up the rug and moved around furniture to make space for dancing. “All right, I have some feeling in my toes. Let’s try this again.”
Lawless Page 9
