The War (Blood and Destiny #3)

by E. C. Jarvis

  “What’s going on?” Larissa asked Holt when he came close enough.

  “There was a fire,” he said, his face as staunch as ever and voice the usual monotone.

  “I figured that out,” Larissa said, trying to match his unemotional response. Her stomach wound up in knots as she desperately wanted to throw her arms around his neck and never let go. As people still ran around in a state of chaos, it hardly seemed the time. She did feel a pang of jealousy when she noticed that Elena had sidled right up to Cid and gripped his hand in hers. At least someone was having a romantic reaction.

  “How did you get out?”

  “Later,” he said curtly.

  She didn’t bother to hide the eye roll his response invoked. “Did you start the fire?” she asked.

  “It began in Covelle’s cell.” Holt bent down towards her, his dark eyes glinting in the light from the chandelier above them.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, looking over to the stairwell where the smoke was thinning.

  Before Holt could answer, a shout came from outside the room. People ran across to the tall windows. Larissa froze on the spot—the pirate airship, her ship, was rising up into the sky from the courtyard. She didn’t need to move closer to the windows to see there were no longer any soldiers on the parapets. They had presumably been called from their posts to deal with the fire.

  “Bastard. He’s got my engine in there,” Cid muttered from behind her shoulder.

  “Only you could worry about the mechanical side of things in this situation, Cid.”

  They watched the ship rising into the sky and the soldiers rushing to their posts to try to attack. The sounds of gunfire filled the throne room, followed by an enormous thundering sound of a cannon launching. The airship disappeared from view quickly, the fast engine powered by the Anthonium fuel.

  Then the guards who remained inside turned to Larissa and her group, immediately raising their weapons.

  “Stop,” Elena screeched, then proceeded to yell at them in Eptoran, her hands flailing wildly. Cid was trying to put himself in front of Elena—a gallant attempt at protecting her. Kerrigan shouted back at the guards, and even level-headed Holt barked something at them.

  “Enough!” the Empress screamed from behind her wall of guards, and the entire room fell silent. She stepped forward, her face flushed red beneath the olive skin. “I have had enough of you people.” She then switched over to yelling in Eptoran.

  “What’s she saying?” Larissa whispered to Kerrigan.

  “I’m not sure. She either called for an executioner or the Chief of the Military.”

  “I don’t think it bodes well for us, either way.”

  “If you have a plan, now would be the time,” Holt whispered.

  “I don’t have a plan.”

  “How can you not have a plan?” Cid said. “You always have a bloody plan.”

  “I’m sorry, Cid. I’m not accustomed to escaping from an Eptoran Palace surrounded by guards and soldiers who all want to kill me. I take it none of you three have a plan either?” She looked at Holt. His gaze was fixed on the Empress, as was Kerrigan’s. The two men could have been related from the way they both stood to attention, probably thinking the same thing. Cid, on the other hand, stared down at her with a scowl on his face.

  “The only form of transport that might have been of use to us is already gone,” he said.

  “We may be all right after all,” Kerrigan said. He opened his mouth to offer further explanation, only to be interrupted by the Empress.

  “You will leave. Immediately. All of you.”

  The familiar and unfriendly Scowl Faced man returned with a troop of soldiers behind him. He marched into the room and brandished his sword in Larissa’s face.

  “Chief Tlomel will ensure you board the pirate ship Covelle came in on and escort you to the border. After that, you can go back to Daltonia, where I presume that man is headed. On one condition.”

  “And that is?” Larissa asked.

  “Stop your father from doing whatever it is he is planning.”

  A pause filled the room. Larissa wasn’t entirely sure she was hearing things correctly—were they just about to be allowed to go free? The notoriously bloodthirsty Eptorans weren’t in the habit of letting prisoners go without good reason. As soon as she processed the thought, she noticed a shimmering at her feet. Imago had appeared, poised and ready to strike. Perhaps he was indeed sent by the Gods.

  “What I don’t understand,” Holt said, breaking the silence unexpectedly, “is why you let Covelle in the country in the first place.”

  “That is not any of your business,” the Empress replied with a scowl.

  “Forgive me, Empress,” Larissa said, “but if we are to put a stop to his…scheming, it would be pertinent to know as much about him as possible. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even know he was alive, so anything you can share with us would be of use.”

  The Empress muttered a few words at Chief Tlomel Scowling Face, who gave her a polite bow before leaving. “My father allowed your father into this country. There was an agreement between the two. Your father would find the Anthonium source and research the ancient methods for creating powerful Rifar people. In return, my father would give him a new identity. There were many people in your country who wanted him dead. When my father died and I took the throne, I tried to have Covelle removed. I was less trusting of his motives. In return for my favour, he began investing in our infrastructure and our scientific research, but I always knew he would show his true colours one day. I’m not sure how that will help you, but I hope it does. Chief Tlomel is arranging for your ship to be restocked. The Colonel and Mister Mendle will remain in custody here. You may have a team of soldiers to escort you.”

  “No,” Larissa said. The group fell silent. The Empress straightened her back. Larissa felt a rush of adrenaline prick at her temples. Never before would she have considered asking anything of someone in such a noble position, let alone making demands, yet here she stood. If the Empress wanted her cooperation, it would come at a price, and it would be a small price to pay in relative terms. “I will put a stop to Solomon Covelle, whatever he is planning. I will stop the President from going to war and make him accountable for his actions. I will do whatever is in my power to do in order to make things right, but I will not do it without my friends. We all go together or not at all.”

  The Empress squared her shoulders and cocked her head slightly. A wry grin seemed to appear beneath her steely lips. “There she is,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The future Empress of Daltonia. You make such wild claims of things beyond your ability, and yet I believe you. Fine. Take your friends, take the ship, and get out of my country. If you do all the things you have promised, then you will have my respect, and if you can bring your country to heel, we may avoid a war.”

  “Peace?” Kerrigan said, his eyes looking over Larissa anew.

  “Let’s just see if we can make it across the ocean in one piece,” Larissa said as the weight of her elaborate promising settled on her shoulders.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A door slammed shut down the hallway, yanking Saunders from a peaceful slumber. The smell of stale ale, piss, and cigar ash assaulted his delicate pre-dawn senses, reminding him where he was. The painful crick in his neck from sleeping on a wooden bench with no pillow followed, and he slowly twisted into an upright position. Simms was laid out on a bench opposite, still sleeping sweetly, his arms folded across his chest. Saunders rubbed his hand across his stubble-ridden chin, scrunching his nose up at the sensation, then cleared his throat. Simms didn’t react.

  Before Saunders could do any more to try waking his slumbering comrade, the door at the back flung open and his cousin Sandy strode in. “It’s opening time,” she said as she stomped past them and headed towards the rickety front door.

  “It’s not even light out, Sandy. Whatever are you doing opening at this time of day?” Saunders asked, h
is voice gravelly. Simms snorted.

  “I always open this early, cos the fishermen go out at the crack of dawn. They often come in here first and drink some piss-ale to get rid of the taste of prostitute from the night before,” she said as she unbolted several large locks.

  “Ugh, sorry I asked.”

  “Besides, I need to get prepared if we’re leaving today. We are leaving today, aren’t we?”

  “That’s the plan. Has Eddy brought the ship over yet?”

  “You left him in charge of that?”

  “He’s a capable soldier, even if he’s not so refined around the edges.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Simms snorted once again and woke himself up. “What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “Early.”

  Simms groaned and thunked his head back against the wooden bench.

  The door creaked, opening inwards, and a thin man with a long white beard down to his navel stumbled in. He gave Sandy a brief nod and pulled the dark green knitted hat from his head, trying to tuck it into his waistcoat pocket but instead dropping it onto the floor. Sandy picked it up and set it on a table as the man slumped into a chair. She headed over to the bar and tugged on the pump to draw a draft of ale. Saunders watched as she headed back to the old fisherman and plopped the glass on his table, and the man immediately swilled the liquid.

  “Can’t imagine a guy like that needing to wash off the taste of prostitute,” Simms whispered.

  “You heard that, huh?”

  “I sleep light.”

  “Clearly. When you’re done attempting to imagine old men doing disgusting things, I want you to go find out where Eddy has gotten to.” Just as Saunders finished speaking, the unmistakeable sound of whirring propellers filled the bar.

  “I don’t think you’ll need to go far,” Saunders said. Simms gave him a nod and headed out. He stood up and walked over to Sandy. She had replaced her skimpy robe with another heavy cream-coloured robe that was far less revealing. He was tempted to thank her for covering herself up. Not only would it help to stop Eddy from being so lecherous, but more than once, he’d found his own eyes wondering towards inappropriate ogling—something he wouldn’t want to do with his cousin even if he didn’t have a girlfriend. Sandy had pulled her long brown ringlets back into a bun, and if he didn’t know better, he might have mistaken her for a Dolanite Priestess.

  “How’s the thing coming?” Saunders said.

  “Thing?” She ducked down beneath the bar and rattled some glasses around.

  “The thing you’ve been working on. You know, to disguise the ship.”

  “Oh. It’s a long way from being ready. I thought I’d told you that,” she called from below.

  “You did, but I mean do you have everything you need? Materials and things?”

  Sandy popped up with a flat stone in her hand and a smile on her face. “Found it,” she announced before heading towards the door leading out the back.

  “Is that little stone going to make an entire ship appear Eptoran?” Saunders asked as he followed.

  “Don’t be stupid. This will disguise the door to the back of the building and ward it off so no one can go poking around back here while I’m gone.” She headed back to the old man sitting at the table and handed him a set of keys on a chain. “He’s going to watch the place for me.”

  “You trust that guy to look after the place?”

  “He’s surprisingly useful. Besides, all he has to do is serve drinks, look after my barmaid, and refill the barrels on occasion.”

  “Refill them with piss-ale?”

  “You catch on quick.”

  She placed the stone beside the door to the back room, then headed out to her workshop. The fire pit in the centre was cold and the collection of tools had been tidied away. To anyone else, it would appear there was nothing of interest to find back here.

  “You’ve done a good job cleaning up,” he said.

  “Ooh, special commendation from the Lieutenant. Praise indeed. Will I get a Tidying Up medal?”

  “If you were in the military and you responded to a senior officer with that attitude, you’d get a smack around the ear and latrine-cleaning duty for a month.”

  “Good thing I’m not in the military then, isn’t it?” She ducked down behind a table pressed against the far wall at a jaunty angle, then emerged holding a large brown leather suitcase dotted with rusty studs. She dropped the case on the floor with a thud, then shoved the table back against the wall.

  Saunders headed over and picked up the case for her, finding it surprisingly heavy. “What in the name of the Gods is in here?”

  “Everything I need.”

  “Perhaps you should join the military. You need to learn a thing or two about traveling light.” He dragged the heavy case outside. As they passed the stone by the door, Sandy touched it and the entire doorway turned into a solid-looking wall. The simple trick bolstered Saunders’ confidence as he headed outside.

  The airship hovered nearby, low in the sky just above a busted jetty in the harbour. Whatever confidence Saunders had just gained from Sandy’s trick melted away when he saw the ship he’d just purchased in the light of day. It was a rickety old bucket, nailed together from bits and pieces. Nothing matched, the panels of wood differing in colour and quality. Some planks had more knots than actual wood, others were so split it was impossible to guess how long they would actually last without falling to pieces. The balloon canopy was made of a patchwork of fabrics and colours. It would have looked more in place as a haunted ghost-dirigible at a children’s fairground than as an actual vessel worthy of travel. One propeller was made from metal, the other made of wood.

  “Your girlfriend likely to approve of that purchase instead of a wedding?” Sandy asked, pointing at the monstrosity.

  “I have no intention of telling my girlfriend anything about this. I think I’ll just tell her I got mugged on the way to booking the Citadel.”

  Eddy’s head popped into view above the rail at the stern and he waved to them. Saunders looked around. Despite the early hour, the sun only just starting to break through the dark skies above, there were quite a few people along the waterfront, and all of them were paying careful attention to the airship spectacle.

  “Best get going before we draw too much of a crowd. This is supposed to be a stealthy mission.”

  “Something tells me that stealth is going to be a stretch too far,” Sandy said.

  “Sadly, I can’t help but agree.” Saunders lugged the heavy case over his shoulder and hobbled on his good leg down to the pier. Simms climbed a rope up to the ship. The bells on the small fishing boats clanged gently in the morning breeze, offering them an audible farewell, and not for the first time since the day he marched into General Gott’s office, Saunders wondered why there wasn’t a platoon of soldiers and a fleet of ships heading out on this mission. A final off-tone clang from a nearby bell gave him the only answer he was likely to get.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Cid tugged on his trouser belt. His new attire, generously provided by the Empress at the behest of Elena, did not fit well. Eptoran men seemed to be generally shorter and stockier than Daltonians, at least more so than him. The fabric flapped wildly around his lanky legs and the length stopped at least an inch short of where they should reach, exposing his ankles and showing off one of his new scars from the plane crash. No amount of fidgeting with the bull-hide belt bunching the material around his skinny waist could help to make them fit any better. He looked at himself in the mirror of the room into which he’d been shoved. The freshly shaven face looking back at him was cleared of all grime, but the Gods-awful yellow silk shirt made his reddish-brown hair look ginger and did not match well with his pale complexion.

  “Are you going to stare in that mirror all day?” Colonel Kerrigan called out from the washroom.

  “Why, do you want a turn? Curse the Gods for shoving me in the same room as you. This bloody palace must
have a hundred bedrooms if it has one. Why couldn’t we have had a room each to get dressed in?”

  “The guards probably think it’s hilarious.” Kerrigan stepped out from the washroom. He had managed to acquire a plain white shirt and dark blue trousers that were just the right length, no white ankle poking out the top of his socks on show for everyone to laugh at.

  Cid scowled on the inside, then noticed his expression in the mirror. The internal scowl was not as internal as he’d intended. He tried in vain to wipe the expression from his face and just about managed to turn it into something akin to a grin when Kerrigan’s gaze met his in the mirror from across the room.

  “Are you smiling at my outfit or at your own? Because I’m not sure which would worry me more.”

  “Piss off.”

  “Believe me, I would if I could.” Kerrigan ran his fingers through his wetted hair, slicking back the black mop and somehow managing to resume the look of a military man despite the lack of uniform. “We’d better get going,” he said.

  “Agreed.”

  A knock at the door made Cid jump; his nerves were now so on edge after all the crazy events from the last few days, weeks, and months, even a slight tickle with a feather would probably give him a heart attack.

  “Calm down, old chap. I don’t think they’d go to the trouble of dressing us up just to bump us off. Come in, we’re decent.” Kerrigan thumped Cid on the shoulder. Just as Cid was about to retort that decent wasn’t really the right word to describe what he looked like, the door opened, revealing the two burly guards on sentry duty outside and Elena.

  “Princess,” Kerrigan said with a bow.

  Cid frowned, then bowed awkwardly as the large belt buckle jabbed in his stomach. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Leave us, Colonel,” Elena said as she stepped into the room, her voice cool and commanding. Kerrigan gave another bow and headed for the door, raising his eyebrows at Cid as he left.