It certainly seemed like Shance had done a lot of that. The defeat in his expression tugged at her heart. He needed to take time away from all women, and here she was, having to pretend to be in love with him. She definitely wasn’t, not according to what she’d learned about love.
Although she did feel something for him. What was it about him that made her skin prickle and her heart beat just a little faster? If she was meant only for Zephryn, wouldn’t that mean that no one else could tempt her?
Enough. Reconaissance missions were far easier to deal with.
After a trip in an elevator that left her reeling from the speed of travel, she and the two scientists entered a large room. The walls were made of glass held together with thick bands of steel overlaid with bronzework, and the ceiling was covered with a glass dome. It was almost like being outside, and her clayborer instincts wanted to fling her at the nearest pane and try for freedom.
Her dragon nature was tempted as well. When was the last time she’d flown? Felt the breeze beneath her scaled wings? Enjoyed the freedom of the heights, far above where humans trod the ground?
Kesia was halfway to a window before she caught herself. Instead of hurtling into the glass, she landed on it, the sticky bits on her legs clinging to the surface. Now, where had the scientists gone?
Fewmets! She should have been paying more attention. Carefully she zoomed down a little closer to a glass doorway. From what her multi-faceted eyes could make out, there was another laboratory there as well. The scientists were on the far end, examining some substance she couldn’t see. It looked like the redhead, Petre, was flinging something at Horton and laughing.
Why on earth would humans get drunk? It only seemed to cause them harm.
Her beetle eyes would be useless for reading anything. As it was, she could only see the objects in the room as vague outlines filled with color. It was time to change into something more useful. Dare she hazard skin form? She probably shouldn’t, but comprehending anything in other forms was much more difficult.
But she’d be naked. Perhaps there were more lab coats or even coveralls nearby. If nothing else, she could always shift back before someone showed up.
Might as well go for it.
Kesia landed in front of one of the corner cabinets and cast off the beetle form in exchange for her skin form. She pressed her fingers into the ground until the world came into focus, then she stood and took in the lab again.
Gray metal cabinets lined the room, reaching halfway up the glass walls. One cabinet stood taller than the others, and Kesia went to it, twisting the lock and easing the door open. White lab coats and coveralls hung in a neat row. She grabbed a pair of coveralls and glared at the zippers.
Thankfully, this time they worked.
Thus clad, Kesia studied the half-height cabinets. They were topped with various kinds of containers–cylinders, round jars, square jars—with all manner of glass and blonde copper tubing threaded between them. There was a wooden device that held smaller tubes. She pushed at it. Yes, it was able to spin, with a contraption attached that could make the spinning continuous.
So many things to learn about. If Zephryn were here, his mind-speak would be firing with all manner of wild and enthusiastic conversation. He rarely verbalized it, but Kesia had listened to his intellectual excitement for years. It was one of the things she appreciated about him.
There was no sign of any green chemical in the vicinity, smoke or liquid. She sighed and turned her attention to the pair of long tables in the center of the room.
They were filled with more glass containers, only these were systemized. Less experimentation and more practical work, she guessed. She traced her fingers over a box of neatly-printed labels for various chemicals she couldn’t decipher. There was an assembly line with a vat of some kind of softly simmering liquid at one end of the table that traveled down to the other end, the liquid undergoing various stages of processing: dripping, steaming, and finally coalescing and seeping into small vials.
Her breath caught in her throat. There was a greenish tinge to the liquid. Kesia crept over to the table and carefully picked up one of the vials, studying it closely. The green hue was barely there. But chemicals could change form and consistency, couldn’t they? She had learned only a little about that. It wasn’t a key part of metal-working, and it led to tasks too difficult and dangerous for a child.
She had already endured enough danger as a child.
“I’m feeling better, uncle.”
She stepped forward, closer to the door. Maybe today she could leave and never come back.
“Ah, dragonet, you are far from done with your treatment.” Garishton loomed over her, his brown eyes soft with concern. How could he be concerned for her when it was his treatments that hurt her? Did he really want to help?
Sometimes, he did. But then came the accusations. The beatings.
She couldn’t tell anyone, or her parents would suffer.
“Are you sure? Maybe I’m a really strong dragon now.”
“No, you aren’t.” He reached for a vial of green liquid on the table. “But I can make you strong.”
He picked up a second vial.
“Two doses?”
“You are very ill...”
Footsteps at the door.
Fewmets!
Kesia started, the vial almost slipping from her sweat-slick hands. Lands, she was getting to be as bad as Zephryn when it came to situational awareness. She carefully set down the glass container and slipped behind the desk.
Clayborer beetle.
This time the shift was nearly instantaneous. She launched herself onto the counter and hid behind the box of labels so she could see when the two scientists left. Just in time too. The door swung open, and Horton’s quavery voice clamored above her.
“I still don’t think it’s safe! And how dare you say the women were more interested in you? I’ll have you know that three of them gave me their addresses.”
Petre snorted, half falling over the counter nearest to Kesia. “Lemme see the paper.”
“Here.”
A loud braying laugh escaped Petre. “Viorstan’s blindness! This is nothing more than the address to the bakery at the corner of Midshell and 7th street. You, my friend, have been had. Wonder if the others are shop addresses too.”
Horton’s puffy face turned red. “It is not! She said it was her house.”
“She lied.” The red-haired man drew out the word like molten metal. “Like all the ladies do. At least around you.” He slapped his hand on the counter for emphasis, and his palm landed perilously close to where Kesia hid. It missed her and hit the vial of greenish liquid, pushing it toward the ground. She should shift to try to catch it!
It crashed to the ground and shattered, spewing thick clouds of sickening green smoke everywhere. Before she could flee, it descended upon her, filling her line of sight and squeezing every part of her body.
Her Talent. The green smoke canceled out Talents!
Unbidden, Kesia felt her consciousness violently thrust out of her beetle form and into skin form. She began coughing as soon as her lungs took over breathing.
“Eh! Horton, d’you hear that?”
Fewmets. She ducked below the counter, forcing herself to breath in the smoke and not cough. She’d survived countless treatments like this as a child. Kesia dug deep in her mind, calling on those memories, that strength. She allowed the smoke to sink deeply into her lungs, and then expelled it once more.
Her first thought was to rip the table off the ground and smash it against the wall, trapping the scientists in between. A regrettable loss of life, but this was war.
And risk giving your true nature away? Do you think human investigators that foolish? They will know. Ah, there was Zephryn’s voice back in her head.
No. She had to make this look like a human did it. Or, even better, like the fools had done it to themselves, which meant no deaths. Kesia crept around the corner on her stomach as silently
as possible, slipping past them.
Horton slapped his friend on the back of the head. “Petre, you numbskull! Now I won’t be able to use my Talent for a day.”
A day. She wouldn’t be able to shift or use her object shaping powers for a whole day. Wonderful.
“Oh well. It’s not like they’re that helpful. Mine only lets me signal to dogs.” Petre shoved himself up against the table, trying to gain his footing.
Just a little closer. Horton was almost in place as he stood with his back to her looming over Petre, his pasty face dark red with anger. “Don’t you understand? I was hired for my Talent! Now I won’t be able to scent-identify chemicals in solutions.”
Just a little closer.
“Tomorrow is the gala, you fool. Everyone has the day off—”
Kesia leaped to her feet and lashed out. Two hard shoves. Petre smashed his head against the edge of the counter and went down. Horton wheeled around unsteadily. She landed a sloppy right hook against his jaw, just enough to knock him out. He hit the ground next to his coworker.
One more loose end. She pushed Horton aside and bent over Petre, giving the unconscious redhead another right hook. It wasn’t perfect, but hopefully it was enough to convince others that there had been a drunken fight. She checked his pulse. He seemed to be breathing. She didn’t know anything else to do for them. Healing wasn’t her Talent.
She grabbed their keys and a vial of greenish liquid, slipped them into a small bag at the end of the assembly table, and headed for the door. It wasn’t a perfect break-in, but it gave her one valuable thing: proof of an alliance between the two sides of the war. The green liquid she had found made the smoke that had erupted from her father upon his death, and it was the same smoke that had exploded on The Silver Streak.
Which meant it wasn’t a fair fight. There was a conspiracy between the Congruency and the Pinnacle. Soldiers like her, Zephryn, and Shance were dying for nothing.
Her stomach knotted and anger flared within her, enough to make her want to smash the walls of the elevator.
Kesia studied herself in the bronze metal and frowned. The coveralls covered her bare arms and legs, but walking around like this would still attract attention. Especially without any shoes on her feet. So much for fitting in. If only she hadn’t taken in that green smoke!
She glared at the reflection, willing herself to shift back into clayborer beetle form. Her skin rippled, her body shrank, and an instant later, she buzzed through the open elevator door with clayborer wings.
Kesia’s nonexistent human heart hammered in her mind. How had she done this? The green smoke cancelled out Talents. She had breathed it in successfully but that had been discipline from the childhood experiments, when her uncle had forced her to inhale. Exhale.
A wall loomed precariously close. Kesia darted away, mentally gasping.
She had to stay calm or she’d splat herself onto the nearest flat surface. She could consider the ramifications of her uncle’s experiments later.
But one thought persisted in the corner of her mind.
Had her uncle turned her into another monster like her father?
Well, that was fortuitous.
Chapter 16
He was a walking stink bomb.
The odors of a hundred different perfumes clung to the clothing Zephryn had to wear to the gala. The entire process of fitting him with the black coat, high-collared white shirt, silk neck-cloth, and trousers had worsened when he’d realized Zilpath had no translator earlier that morning in the shop.
There was no reason why, other than a scribbled note saying Pryenil was otherwise occupied, as well as instructions for how to infiltrate the gala. A pity. He had wanted to ask her more questions. He’d searched for information on embermates and the Ironfire family, but as expected, the city library held limited information on dragons. Most of the material he found was of the “flying scaled beasts of death and doom who seek to devour all mankind” variety. Charming.
Zephryn tugged at the silk strip around his throat and glanced toward the front entrance. A line of guests stood there, arrayed in similar clothing. The outfits were surprisingly light and cool, despite the layers. Something to do with the fabric weave, according to his research.
The clothing was still constricting. Zephryn couldn’t imagine Kesia enjoying such discomfort. No dragon enjoyed tight restraints.
He glanced at his newly-acquired timepiece. Two hours past noon. That was the other information on the note; sneak in at two hours past noon through the side entrance. When he’d inquired as to why, Zilpath had rolled her eyes and glanced above her head, making one of her rude gestures. Perhaps one of her tenants? Why would they need to sneak to and from the Central Market?
Whatever the case, the gala celebration was to be held inside and outside, which meant for part of it the tepstone structure shouldn’t interfere. He and Kesia would be able to mind-speak like proper fleetwings, without the need to activate their pendants.
No. They were embermates. The next time Zephryn saw Pryenil, she would have to explain herself more clearly, just as he would need to share with Kesia the truth about her uncle. He should have spoken of it earlier, but the outpouring of fear and pain from her, the way she had disappeared from contact for a moment then avoided the topic—all of it suggested she hadn’t been in a logical frame of mind.
The knowledge she had conveyed still astonished him. Garishton Ironfire, the head of the Pinnacle, had helped her condition her body and mind to use two Talents. It should have killed her. Knowing what had happened to Pryenil and the agony she had endured at the hands of the S.P.U., Zephryn could only imagine the torment of Kesia’s childhood. But those imaginings were futile, for they only made him want to kill Garishton in the most painful way possible.
Redundant, really. Killing the dragon leader was already on his list.
Another glance at the timepiece. Two o’ clock.
Time to move.
He pushed open the door hidden in the steel and bronze wall that surrounded the gardens of the Central Market. It gave easily and smoothly, just as Pryenil’s note had indicated. He stepped into a large rectangular court twice as large as the sparring cavern. Trees and bursts of colorful flowers were contained by marble pavement threaded with gold and dark blue.
“Good afternoon, dear sir.” The rich, cultured alto came from his left. A woman stood there with deep brown skin and a glittering gold dress that draped the curves of her figure. She toyed with a tiny black braid hanging over her shoulder. “Countess Nula Thredsing. What is your name?”
Walking away was tempting. This woman was not on Zephryn’s agenda. But he needed to try to blend in. His Cloak could disguise his scales and nature, but using full invisibility wouldn’t be wise. There would be too many people to evade; individuals tended to become suspicious when they knocked into something they couldn’t see, especially in broad daylight. Instead, he took a step forward. “Count Zephryn Nighten.”
She parted her full lips. “Ah, quite a distinctive name.”
“It was none of my doing, I assure you.” It sounded ridiculous, but better a foolish surname than a dragon surname that could evoke suspicion.
“You could have bought it for a pretty price. But you aren’t the sort to do that, are you?” Countess Nula cocked her head to one side, her grey eyes calculating. “No, you are far too valuable for that. Although you haven’t accrued nearly as much worth as you will. If you survive.”
Zephryn’s jaw tightened. He recalled the place of every single weapon hidden beneath his coat. Where were Kesia and Windkeeper? “Is my survival under threat?”
“No more than anyone else who sneaks into this gala through a side entrance.” She chuckled at his glare. “Oh, don’t worry, Count Zephryn. No one else saw you, and I wouldn’t dream of exposing you. Yet. I am much more interested in why someone of your value is so concerned with hiding their presence. You see, I am a curious woman like that.”
A curious woman? As in the Curious
Intrigue? Something in Countess Nula’s eyes mocked him, daring him to reconsider using his weapons.
No killing. No killing.
“My business here is none of your concern.” Now was the time to leave. He began walking toward a staircase on the other side of the courtyard.
She kept pace with him easily. “Oh, but it is. I’ve already heard curious things about the new mechanic from the Scepter of Industry who has so quickly stolen Captain Windkeeper’s heart. Your presence here only intensifies the intrigue.”
“Countess, if you continue—”
Countess Nula placed her hand over where his had unconsciously reached for his hidden dagger. “Two options if you pull out that weapon. I could scream and expose you, or I could retaliate with my own Starven 300 pistol. I think it would be far more pleasant if we kept company, yes?”
The human was infuriating, but the set of her eyes revealed she was willing to do exactly as she said.
Fewmets.
She squeezed his arm. “I’m glad to see you are as wise as you are wealthy. Now, I think the happy couple is about to make their grand entrance, and only two hours late.”
Kesia.
Zephryn followed the Countess’s gaze toward the top of the staircase. There she stood. Kesia Ironfire, her soft brown hair pulled loosely away from her face and falling over her shoulder in waves. She wore a white dress that strapped around her neck, leaving her back and shoulders bare. A vine of green leaves and deep red flowers flowed around the edge of her corset and flowed down to the edge of her skirt. Like the other women here, she had favored a long, flowing skirt that was cut high in the front and draped, revealing her upper legs clad in a much shorter underskirt.
Countess’s Nula’s dress was similarly cut, but it was not nearly as distracting. Odd, since gold should be more distracting than white. It made as little sense as the flame that suddenly burned his throat when he saw Captain Windkeeper next to Kesia, clad in a dark blue and black uniform, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Something made her laugh—a genuine laugh that reflected in her amber eyes.
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