Gears of Mischief (The Valhalla Mechanism Book 1)

by Kendra Moreno

  Copyright © 2020 by Kendra Moreno

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author at kendramorenoauthor@gmail.com, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Ruxandra Tudorica of Methyss Design

  Editing by Dani Black of Black Lotus Editing

  Proofreading by Cynthia Krietz

  Formatting by The Nutty Formatter

  For Tom Hiddleston

  We should totally be friends.

  ::finger guns::

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  TO CONTINUE ON WITH THE JOURNEY…

  Acknowledgments

  About Kendra

  Also By Kendra

  Prologue

  I stepped off the humble airship, my large, slanted eyes staring in wonder at the city before me. In my hands, I held the only item I owned, a worn suitcase with the initials O.Z. emblazoned in worn paint. I had never known what the ‘Z’ stood for, had never been told, but I knew the ‘O’ stood for Ottilie, the only name I had been able to keep at the orphanage on the other side of the world. I never thought I would get adopted, having been raised there, and, at only five years old, I had already developed the rebelliousness that a woman shouldn't have, let alone a child. So when the letter had come, a request to adopt me specifically, I had been just as surprised as Madame Brogley. Who adopted a child from another country by name? How had the woman, who signed the letter ‘Lady Kingsford’, even heard about me?

  I tilted my head at the airship jockey who offered his hand to assist me off the gangplank, but in my traditional rebellion against all who thought me weak and inadequate—just as my parents must have—I shook my head and teetered down the ramp myself. I barely kept my balance with the large leather suitcase bumping against my thighs, just managing to step onto the port without stumbling.

  A woman dressed in the finest of clothing, her waist corseted in intricate stitching, her skirts spotless, stood at the bottom, waiting. Her hands were clasped together in front of her and even with the bitter London cold, her eyes sparkled in excitement. A man held a lace parasol over her head, whether against the non-existent sun or the drizzle that threatened to fall, I did not know. Either way, I thought Lady Kingsford was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

  I had managed to slip the letter Lady Kingsford had sent from Madame Brogley’s desk, though it was never meant for my eyes, and I had been proud that I had been able to read the elegant writing on the paper. Part of my rebellion included throwing myself into studies of any subject I could get my hands on. I had far surpassed the other orphans quickly, reading things far beyond my years. It had been something Lady Kingsford asked about in the letter, as well as mentioning her interest in adopting me in the first place.

  From the letter, I had learned that Lady Kingsford was not adopting for simple reasons. She was a young widow, her husband dying far sooner than expected from some illness. The beautiful woman had been born into her own money, but upon her husband’s passing, she found herself with considerably more. Since her husband had died before she could have a baby, her decision to adopt had been easy. She had lost her “greatest love” she had written, and could not bear to marry another man, but she wanted a child, and she had noticed that I was “gifted”.

  I had been proud, too, I had been hand-picked out of so many children in the world to be this woman’s child. It hadn’t hurt me in the slightest to leave the orphanage behind. The only person I would miss would be Madame Brogley, the one person who had taken the time to teach me whatever I asked. The rest of the children had always been afraid of me, so I left no true friends behind, only bitter enemies and jealous rivals.

  I paused at the bottom of the ramp, my knuckles tightly grasping the suitcase in my hands, as Lady Kingsford turned her brilliant green eyes on me. She was beautiful and graceful, and she had no business adopting a little girl from another country that had been called “difficult”, “problematic”, and a “disgrace”. I was all those things and more, and I suddenly feared Lady Kingsford would quickly grow tired of my rebellion, decide she no longer wanted me, and throw me away, just as my own parents had.

  Lady Kingsford tilted her head, studying me, before leaning over to say something quietly to the man holding the parasol. Then she stepped forward, the epitome of sophistication—Madame Brogley had taught me that word! —and knelt before me as if I was someone to merit such measures. Even with the corset cinching her middle, Lady Kingsford moved smoothly, easily, as if she was more powerful than the steel-boning at her core.

  “Hello, Ottilie,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve waited a long time for you.” When I didn’t reply, my voice sticking in my throat, Lady Kingsford smiled gently. “Are you afraid?”

  I nodded my head, just a little, ashamed to admit I was. I bit my lip and met the bright green eyes of the woman who dared to kneel in front of a child.

  “The world is a dangerous place, Tillie, so I understand your fear.” Carefully, Lady Kingsford reached into a small purse at her side, the bag hardly big enough to carry more than coin, but somehow, she pulled out a slim knife. My heart stopped as she pressed the blade into my hand, the weight of the metal heavy in my small fingers. I glanced up at her, confused. What did a knife have to do with being afraid?

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” Lady Kingsford offered. “And you should always be aware of the danger, but that’s why it’s your job to make sure you are just as dangerous.”

  Her words sunk in and I smiled. “I can be dangerous?”

  Lady Kingsford reached out and stroked her hand down my cheek, a fondness in her eyes that I had not expected. How could she be fond of me already? I had done nothing special. “You can be anything you want to be, Tillie. If you are the scariest creature in the city, then you will never have to be afraid again.”

  And so I took her words to heart, and I vowed that I would not fear anything. . .

  No matter what my new home threw at me.

  Chapter One

  TWENTY YEARS LATER

  I should have been worried about the man currently attempting to woo me with tales of his assets and conquests, but instead, I could not even remember his name. Another lord, another pompous twit, another arsehole. They were all the same and though it was part of my job to remember, it was easy to dismiss the ones who were not threats as nothing more than another faceless memory. Never had I wished I was somewhere else than I did right then.

  My mother and I had been invited to yet another ball by Lady Caroline. Neither of us had ever met the phantom woman—though I had discovered she did, in fact, exist, at one point—but she always sent an invitation to her parties. There were many
rumors—that she was a ghost, that it was a front by her husband to remember her after having chopped her into little pieces—but nevertheless, everyone always showed up, only to be told Lady Caroline was not feeling well or some sudden matter had come up. I’d checked into it, my curiosity getting the better of me since secrets were my specialty. Lord Jeffrey, Lady Caroline’s husband, wrote the invitations because his wife had died, though not by his own hand. The poor woman had passed of tuberculosis three years prior, and throwing the balls allowed the depressed man to feel closer to her. She was celebrated for her parties. It was sweet, in an odd sort of way.

  The dress I was wearing chafed at my ribs, the corset and extra lace tighter than normal, a play by my mother to make my waist even smaller. It was a wonder I could still breathe at all with the yards of fabric around me, the petticoat, and the steel-boned corset.

  “I have actually acquired a large amount of ships by buying out smaller businesses—”

  I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes at the man, at his incessant need to discuss what he owned. Didn’t he know that women cared for other things than that, that they wanted rich conversations, not tales of acquisitions and money?

  “I also have three large vessels that I managed to sneak—”

  Apparently not.

  I was tempted to flip out one of the knives I kept stashed on my body. Perhaps, I could go for the one hidden in my bosom? No, that would be too easy. I glanced around at all the other guests, their noses too far in the air to smell anything other than their own upper lips. If I were to do such a thing, I would make a show of it, kicking up my skirts and grabbing the short sword I kept strapped to my thigh, mocking their false delicate minds while drilling the blade down his throat. Maybe then I could enjoy some blissful silence.

  “Just the other day, I was talking to the port master, and there is a new company that popped up that I know I must purchase if I’m to remain as the top businessman on this side of town. I’m rather proud of myself for—”

  The man, whose name I still did not care to remember for the life of me—had he ever asked for mine? —droned on and on. I already knew his true story, but his blasted name eluded me. He was simply not important enough to search in my memory for. He was just another suitor paraded past me, another man drawn to the slant of my eyes and the demure mask I wore around those in the society. The same type of man had been coming around since I was fifteen years old, not realizing I could slaughter them all where they stood if I wanted to.

  But that was not my main role in the world, even if it was something that came with my job.

  The man sitting at the table with me, not realizing that I had stopped paying attention long ago, had earned the majority of his money from his family name and nothing more. With the rate he was currently purchasing other businesses in the name of being the most “powerful”, he was scheduled to go bankrupt in a matter of months. Half of the business ventures were failing, and the other half were kept afloat by his father’s money. Pair that with the gambling addiction, well, he was not even worth more than the name he bore, even if I couldn’t remember the exact name.

  I had made it a habit to check into all of the eligible bachelors that would be present, simply so I could present my mother with at least five reasons each for why I could not marry them. Technically, at my age, I should have been married five times over, but much to my mother’s chagrin, I found faults with every bachelor, and there were so many. If only my mother would listen to logical excuses.

  My five excuses for this one would be arsehole, full of himself, gambling problem, broke, and insufferable. That should be enough.

  Finally, the man’s name came to my mind and I straightened. “Your grace,” I interrupted yet another story of soon-to-fail conquest, batting my eyelashes in an apology. “I’m sorry but I really must search for my mother. You’ve held my attention for far too long and it is not fair to other bachelors such as yourself.”

  Sir Phillip, Duke of Chessington, shifted in his seat, his face failing at my obvious dismissal. “Of course, Lady Kingsford. It has been a pleasure speaking with you.”

  Ah, so he knew my name after all. I’m sure it was such a pleasure listening to my silence, I thought as I kept the demure smile on my face. Sir Phillip stood from his seat and stumbled off into the throng of elite to find another victim for his exploits. Perhaps, he should find the phantom Lady Caroline. She would be a better listener.

  I sighed and let my smile drop the slightest, turning to the glass of amber liquid I was not supposed to drink at parties, but I tossed it back quickly anyways. I needed a spot of liquor after that long conversation, after I had imagined disemboweling the man in at least a hundred ways.

  The beauty of my profession meant I could be whoever I needed to be, a master at blending in, so if times got particularly rough, I knew the exact sort of woman I could be that would send the men running in the opposite direction. Once, there had been an Earl who hated feet, and so I had kicked off my shoes in front of him under the complaint that they were blistering my toes. I even went so far as to wave my toes at him in innocence. He had never returned after claiming he would fetch a drink for me.

  Those of the men who paraded themselves like cattle that were bearable for a short amount of time were only bearable long enough for boredom to set in. The downfall of my profession, of course, was that I was used to action, to cleverness, to challenge. The men in the room around me and in London offered none of those things.

  Because even if I was a lady, even if I had the title to go with it and the money from such a thing sitting in a vault somewhere, that was not all I was. No, I had a career, even in times when women were not offered such things. I held a prime position in Queen Victoria’s special sector, the Raven Wing Guild, which translated roughly into being a spy. I was a legacy, following my mother’s footsteps, and legacies became legends. In the eyes of the Queen, legends became enormously powerful tools. I was a bloody good spy, rising in rank quickly, and I would endeavor to always make my mother proud.

  A new man slid into the place Sir Philip had vacated. This one I knew, a Baron, and one who liked to prey on children. I had once been sent to spy on him, had been ordered to send a message. Since then, the Baron kept his desires out of the world’s eye, but if he slipped up, the Raven Wing Guild had been given permission to eliminate the target. I’d been looking forward to the slip, but he had yet to do so. He deserved all of it and more, and if it had been up to me, he would already be dead, but orders were orders. It had only been a few weeks since the threat, not long enough to make him forgetful. The man in front of me who suddenly launched into his own asset accumulation could not possibly know that I had been the one that dropped the warning letter on his bed, or that I had already imagined slaughtering him at least a dozen ways before we had officially met.

  He hoped to impress me with chump change and his looks, all the while truly desiring something else entirely. Yet another disappointing man. Was it so difficult to find someone who lived with a little excitement, who went on adventures instead of trips to overpriced gentleman’s clubs? I never discriminated over class or money, but no matter where I looked, I was never won over. The heart of a spy was a fickle bitch.

  Baron Von Graphton switched from his business assets to his physical ones, and I wrinkled my brow at him. He had not even asked my name, or allowed me to say hello, before he started his spiel. Rude and disgusting, I thought, preparing my escape just as he began talking about how he boxed for fun. I considered challenging him to an arm-wrestling match to entertain myself and put him to shame, but I thought better of it. It would be an easy win.

  “I’ve seen a definite increase in stamina—”

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupted, smiling so he thought I meant no insult. I meant all of the insult of course, but he would never know that. “Jimmy, was it?”

  “Joseph Von Graphton, Baron of—”

  I had known his name, but nothing irked men more than all their e
xploits labeled under the wrong name. “Yes, Joseph. I really must slip away, I’m afraid. I’m needed elsewhere and I really must find my mother.”

  “Of course. A lady must have responsibilities to keep her sane. Shall I look for you later?”

  Please don’t, I thought to myself, noticing that he never addressed me by name. Arsehole. Out loud, I replied, “that would be lovely. Good-bye, Jimmy.”

  “It’s Joseph Von—”

  I turned away, dismissing him, and I heard his huff of annoyance before he turned to the next poor woman and started launching himself into his rehearsed speech again. Poor fool was trying terribly hard to find himself a cover, the same as my mother wished for me. Of course, in my case, it was simply to hide my profession. In the Baron’s case, it was to hide illicit exploits. Too bad for him, he would not be alive long enough to see wedding bells.

  “I warned you the men here tonight would bore you,” my mother said suddenly from my side. How the woman managed to move as stealthily as she did in such a large dress, I would never know. Sure, she had been trained the same as I had, but I never wore dresses quite so poofy for that reason. I couldn’t move as quickly as I wanted to, but my mother moved as if it was nothing more than an extension of her. “It was easy to realize how much they would bore you before we ever arrived,” my mother murmured, keeping her smile plastered on her face as she beamed at those around us. No one questioned the authenticity because there were no clues to prove otherwise. I had learned my skills with the best teacher in the Queen’s employ, but I had learned my mask from my mother.