Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  “We’re not that far from Yellowbud,” Jimmy pointed out. The canal town of Yellowbud boasted several taverns.

  “I know,” she answered. “But you’ll all be unfit tomorrow, and I want to make it at least as far as Circleville.”

  “We’ll drink in moderation,” Jimmy promised.

  “Since when?” she glanced at Eli and he chuckled. Jimmy never seemed to keep that promise. “Let’s just have a quiet night here on the boat,” she offered.

  “Will you play for us?” Jimmy asked.

  Briar smiled. “I could probably be persuaded.”

  Jimmy grinned. “We’ve still got that bottle of bourbon. Maybe we’ll play some cards, after.”

  “Fine,” she relented. “Let’s tie up for the night, then I’ll go get my fiddle.”

  “You play violin?” Grayson asked. He had been quiet throughout the meal and cleanup. Though he had surprised her with his willingness to work.

  “Yes.” She frowned. “That seems to surprise you.”

  “It does.”

  She wasn’t certain what to make of that. “Do you play, sir?”

  “No. I don’t seem to have an aptitude for music.”

  “And here I was beginning to think there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do.”

  “There are a few things.” His cool tone was matter of fact. She had expected a smile. Was he angry with her?

  “No one can play like the captain,” Jimmy spoke up.

  “Jimmy,” she complained, embarrassed by the praise. “I’m sure someone as worldly as Mr. Grayson has heard better.”

  Grayson seemed to consider this, then turned to Jimmy. “What task would you have me do?”

  “We need to bring the mules in. Give me a hand with the bridge plank,” Jimmy said, then led him across the catwalk toward the stable.

  “Looks like he’s charmed Jimmy,” Eli said.

  “Would you give it a rest?” she demanded.

  Eli held her gaze, then turned and walked away.

  Briar watched him go. Maybe they should push straight through to Columbus and be done with this miserable task.

  “I really thought bringing down the railroad would be more enjoyable,” she muttered.

  8

  Tying off for the night went quickly as they all performed their work with the expediency born of repetition. Like her, every crew member had grown up on the canal. The surprising aspect was how well Grayson performed. Perhaps he’d had a similar upbringing. She wondered what kind of life he’d led to give him such a varied skill set. At their first meeting, she had thought him a pampered dandy with his fine clothes and disdain for her way of life. Perhaps that was just the appearance he gave. Maybe now that he was out from under his master’s thumb, she was seeing the real man.

  Night was fully upon them when they returned to the deck over the rear cabin. Eli retrieved the cards while Jimmy got the bourbon. The cards were for later, but the bourbon was poured before she finished tuning her fiddle.

  It had been a while since they had gathered like this. Usually, it was at the end of a profitable run, or in celebration of a birthday or some other event. Tonight, there was no reason. Well, maybe she was celebrating the fact that she had lived through her first encounter with the soulless.

  She glanced at Mr. Grayson who sat apart from the others. Zach had given him a glass of bourbon, but he wasn’t drinking it down like the others. Perhaps it wasn’t to his liking.

  His eyes met hers, and she realized that once again, she had been studying him for too long, trying to puzzle the man out.

  Feeling awkward, she drew her bow across the strings, letting the familiar motion pull her away from the moment. The fingers of her left hand worked their way along the fingerboard. An eerie little tune sang out from beneath the bow.

  The crew fell silent, and she stopped.

  “What song was that?” Jimmy asked.

  “It wasn’t one,” she answered. “Just a warm up.” She did that sometimes. It seemed the emotions she was feeling—like her uncertainty about Grayson—came through in an original tune.

  “What do you want to hear?” she asked, trying to get back to the familiar and out of this odd funk.

  “Cluck Old Hen,” Jimmy suggested.

  She nodded, then bent over her fiddle. The upbeat ditty burst from the strings, and the boys were tapping their feet and singing along in no time.

  The evening continued in that manner as the bourbon flowed and Briar lost herself to the music. She asked for fewer requests and played the tunes that spoke to her. Though the festive atmosphere had cheered her and the songs remained upbeat and lively.

  Sweat wet her brow by the time she finished the last refrain of Blackberry Blossom.

  The boys clapped and whooped, bringing a blush to her cheeks. Hopefully, they’d just think it from the warm temperature and exertion. Captains didn’t blush at every little compliment.

  “That’s it for me,” she told them, trying for a stern tone. “We’ve got to get back to work tomorrow. Can’t be staying up all night.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Jimmy agreed. “A quick game of cards it is.”

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling. After she’d agreed to the game, she knew nothing would deter him from it.

  As the crew sat down to their game, she glanced over to see what Mr. Grayson made of all this. The barrel he’d been sitting on was empty.

  Heart rate surging, she looked around. She was just about to point out his absence when she spied him sitting on the rail at the bow. Had he gone to the other end of the boat for some quiet?

  Taking a moment to pack away her fiddle, she picked up her glass—now only half full—and went to see what he was up to.

  Following the catwalk, she crossed to the roof of the bow cabin, but Grayson didn’t look up. He straddled the rail, his attention on the canal and the dark banks to either side. The moon wasn’t full and left a lot in shadow.

  “Are you standing guard?” she asked.

  He didn’t startle at the sound of her voice, so he must have heard her approach. “I don’t believe Solon knows where we are.”

  “We?” She threw a leg over the rail and sat down across from him.

  Grayson’s eyes met hers. “Yes.”

  The directness of his answer caused goosebumps to pebble her arms—even in the balmy air.

  “Why is he interested in me?” She hoped her tone didn’t reveal her unease.

  “You assaulted his person.”

  Even with Grayson’s phrasing, her cheeks heated—which was annoying. Why did she keep blushing tonight?

  “But the true reason is the construct,” Grayson added in the same matter-of-fact tone.

  She laid a hand over her pocket. “Lock?”

  He held her gaze.

  “You still refuse to call him by name,” she said, annoyed by the fact. “He answers to it, you know.”

  “I know.”

  There was movement within her pocket, and an instant later, Lock climbed out. A little whirr of what she took to be happiness, and he scampered across the few feet of rail that separated her from Grayson, and sprang up onto his shoulder.

  “He recognized the sound of your voice,” she concluded. “Or does he speak English?”

  “He neither speaks nor understands any language. He reacts to the whispers of your soul.”

  “What? How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know how you made the initial connection, but you went on to name him and care for him. There is great power in both.”

  She watched Lock rub his cheek against Grayson’s. “There’s a connection between the two of you as well.”

  “Yes.” Grayson seemed indifferent to Lock’s attention. Actually, he seemed indifferent to this whole conversation. It reminded her of what he was like the first night on her boat. Well, maybe not that cold.

  “How do you know so much about all of this?”

  “I’ve had an extensive education in many things. It is my adap
tability that has kept me alive.”

  She frowned. Was that what he was doing? Adapting? At times, he seemed so friendly, but now he was distant.

  “You look as if you don’t believe me,” he said.

  “Oh no, I believe you. I’m just wondering who the real Mr. Grayson is. You had seemed to be warming to us, but tonight, you are so distant.”

  “Stopping the soulless is…” he hesitated, as if he searched for a way to describe it. “Unpleasant.”

  “Yes, it was. You pulled a metal heart from his chest.”

  Grayson didn’t comment.

  “I saw other scars on him, and his eyes…they weren’t human.”

  “No, he had lost his humanity.”

  “Is that what ferromancers do? Replace a man’s organs with metal ones? Is that how they make the soulless?”

  “Yes.” Grayson’s matter-of-fact tone gave her chills. He seemed so different.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I told you. Stopping the soulless is not pleasant.”

  Lock cooed and pressed closer to him, trying to comfort him—or warm him. It suddenly occurred to her that Grayson had dispatched that soulless man in Portsmouth just before he was taken onto her boat.

  “It’s an affliction,” she concluded. “A side effect.”

  “I guess that’s a way to look at it.”

  “How can I help you?”

  His brows lifted. “You would help me?”

  She scooted closer. “You saved me tonight—at no small risk to yourself. Should I not return the favor?”

  His forehead furrowed.

  “Am I to take your silence to mean there’s nothing to be done? Or are you not sure how to respond to someone offering to help you?”

  His gaze once again locked with hers, and she had a strong suspicion it was the second answer.

  “Last time,” she continued when he didn’t answer, “you seemed to cheer up after I told you about kneeing Solon. I would be happy to do it again, but if he doesn’t know where we are, that seems a bit foolish.”

  The faintest of smiles touched his lips before fading.

  “Come on, give me something. There must be—”

  “Play for me.” His request was not what she expected.

  “The fiddle? I don’t mind, but I just spent most of the last hour playing.”

  “Not the folk songs you played earlier. I want to listen to your soul.”

  “My—”

  “Like your warm-up piece.”

  “Oh.” In other words, something she made up. Something from the heart.

  She glanced back at the crew. They were laughing, intent on their game, though Eli frowned in her direction from time to time.

  “You don’t want to?” Grayson asked. There was no animosity in his tone, just resignation, as if he accepted that he would have to ride out this malady.

  “I’ve never played like that for anyone,” she admitted, and damn if her cheeks didn’t heat once more. Hopefully, the low light hid it.

  “Sharing something created from the soul is a terrifying experience,” Grayson agreed. “But when the labors of your soul are appreciated, that brings the purest of joys.”

  “Spoken like a true artist.” She smiled. “What is your talent?”

  “You’ve seen it.”

  She waited, but he added nothing else. “You get very cryptic when you’re like this. If I want a straight answer, I guess I’ll have to play for you.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Shaking her head, she pulled her leg back across the rail and rose to her feet. Was she really going to do this? Maybe she could play some obscure ballad for him. After all, he wasn’t from this country, so he was unlikely to recognize every song.

  Feeling a bit better about the idea, she returned to the stern to fetch her fiddle.

  “Captain?” Eli called to her when she started for the bow. “What are you doing?”

  “Mr. Grayson killed a man in my defense today. It’s left him feeling a little out of sorts. I’m going to try to cheer him.” She gestured with her fiddle.

  Eli didn’t look happy, but he didn’t immediately reply.

  “That’s good of you, Captain,” Jimmy said. “I know he’s supposed to be our prisoner, but we’re all human, after all.”

  Not all, she wanted to say. Instead, she gave Jimmy a smile. “You’re right.”

  Patting Eli’s thick shoulder, she left them to their game and returned to the bow of the boat.

  Grayson had returned to studying the dark banks of the canal and didn’t glance over when she returned. A small lump just inside his open shirt collar and a glimpse of a silver tail marked Lock’s presence.

  She smiled at the little dragon’s antics to warm him. Setting her case atop the rail, she took a moment to rosin the bow, then pulled out her fiddle. She brought the instrument to her chin and drew the bow across the strings. Yes, still in tune.

  Now what? She had come this far with the conviction that she could play him some obscure tune and he’d be none the wiser, but that felt wrong. He had given of himself today. Could she not do the same?

  Closing her eyes, she drew the bow across the strings once more. The fingers of her left hand moved across the fingerboard, the progression of notes becoming a melody. She imagined the hopeful tune a balm to Grayson’s battered soul. A sharing of gratitude on her part.

  She released the music trapped within the strings—or more accurately, within herself. Expressing as she could never express in words, the terror she had felt before Grayson’s arrival in that alley in Chillicothe, and her relief once he joined her. But she couldn’t quite set aside the confusion and, if she was honest, unease he stirred in her. Who was he?

  The last note rang out, echoing over the still waters of the canal. Briar lowered the bow and released a breath.

  “Perhaps, one day, I will tell you,” Grayson whispered.

  She opened her eyes to find him standing before her, though strangely, his closeness didn’t make her jump. It was as if she’d been aware of him all along.

  “What will you tell me?” she asked, her voice just as soft.

  “Who I am.”

  Her heart sped up with her realization that he had truly heard her through her music.

  One corner of his mouth curled at her reaction. “And I’m glad I was close enough to lend you aid,” he added, growing more serious. “I do not want to think about Solon getting his hands on you.”

  She clutched the fiddle to her chest, so stunned that she didn’t know what to say.

  Grayson’s brow wrinkled, perhaps noting her distress.

  “Captain?” Eli was crossing the catwalk toward them.

  She gave herself a mental shake and stepped away from Grayson.

  “I appreciate the song, Captain,” Grayson said, his tone cheerful. “I’ve never heard such fine playing, neither in London nor Paris.”

  “You exaggerate,” she whispered.

  “I do not.” He turned to Eli who had stopped beside them. “Any bourbon left?”

  “Not for you.” Eli glared at him.

  Grayson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Then I’ll be grateful for what I got.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “Here.” He reached beneath his shirt collar and lifted out a heavy silver chain that held a medallion. Light caught on the surface, and she saw the depiction of a dragon. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  When she just stood there, Grayson dropped the chain over her head. The medallion slipped beneath her open shirt collar, the metal oddly warm as it settled against her breastbone. Lock.

  She looked up, meeting Grayson’s eyes.

  “Keep it close to your heart.” A wink, and he turned and walked away.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Eli demanded.

  She wanted to say she had no idea, but that wouldn’t sit well with him. “It’s a defense,” she said, feeling inspired. “Against ferromancers.”

  “Why would he
have something like that?” Eli frowned after him. “He works for one.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder about that,” she admitted. She lowered her voice and continued, “I think he might hunt them.”

  Eli’s thick brows lifted. “You think he might be part of the Scourge?”

  “It’s possible.” What if he hadn’t been working for Martel? What if he was hunting him? But how had he known the contents of Martel’s trunk? Ugh. Just when she thought she’d figured him out, another complication arose.

  Eli’s frown shifted to the back of the boat where Grayson was joining the others at the card table. “If that were the case, I would think killing a man wouldn’t bother him a bit. The Scourge was supposed to be a ruthless organization. Some say they were as bad as the monsters they hunted.”

  “You’re determined to dislike him.” She walked to her case to put away her fiddle.

  “And you seem determined to praise him. If I didn’t know better, I would think you liked him.”

  She snapped her case shut and turned to face him. “You over step yourself, Mr. Waller.”

  “Miss Briar.”

  “This conversation is over.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before returning to the back of the boat. “The rest of you finish up and get to your bunks. I want to make good time tomorrow.”

  A hail of Aye, Captains answered her pronouncement, except Grayson, of course. He’d taken a seat on one of the barrels surrounding the table, his expression far too amused for her taste.

  She turned away and hurried down the hatch to her cabin.

  The hatch thumped closed behind her and she released a breath. She set her fiddle case on the table, noting the way her hands shook. What had just happened?

  She took a seat on the edge of the spare bunk, trying to sort out the events of the last ten minutes. She had played an original song for Grayson—something she had never done—and he had understood every note. The connection she’d felt with him afterward had been so…intimate. Too intimate. And the way he’d slipped the medallion around her neck—

  “Oh.” She lifted the heavy silver chain over her head, pulling the medallion out to gaze at it in the better light of the lantern. The dragon etched on the silver surface was an exact depiction of Lock.