by Karen Kincy
Enemy territory.
Pines bristled below like the pelt of a black wolf. He touched his fingertips to the cold glass, searching for signs of war.
“Falkenrath.”
Konstantin flinched. “God, Himmel, what did I say about startling me?”
Lingering by the windows, Himmel clasped his hands behind his back, skin linked with steel. “A storm is headed our way. If we gain altitude, we might be able to evade the turbulence.” He spoke in a brisk professional way.
“You haven’t come to talk about the weather, have you?”
Himmel stared at the toes of his polished boots. “Join me in my quarters.”
Join? In his quarters? For?
Konstantin sucked in a breath and tried not to babble. “May I ask why?”
“I need you to take a look at my arm.”
“Of course.”
What a fool he’d been. Himmel would hardly demand that. Technomancy, though—that was something he could handle.
Konstantin raised his eyebrows. “What seems to be the problem?”
Himmel beckoned him and walked toward the nose of the zeppelin. They entered the captain’s quarters, furnished with lightweight wicker upholstered in blue. The sheets on the bed were made with military precision. Konstantin caught himself staring at the dent on the pillow, imagining Himmel sleeping alone.
Damn, those were dangerous thoughts. He fiddled with a pen on a desk.
Himmel took it away from him, his fingers rough with calluses. “Konstantin.”
“Sorry.”
Himmel gave him a funny look, like he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. “Could you adjust the wrist mechanism?”
“I would need my toolkit, but yes. Why?”
Himmel held out his mechanical arm and rotated it clockwise. The gears whirred before jamming and jerking counterclockwise.
“That’s not good.” Konstantin headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
As he strode to his cabin, his mind clicked like a thousand tiny gears. Being in Himmel’s cabin wasn’t scandalous. The crew wouldn’t talk. Would they? He grabbed his toolkit with sweaty hands and hurried back.
Himmel sat on his bed, his head bowed, staring at his mechanical hand as he flexed his fingers. He looked oddly sad.
Konstantin cleared his throat. “Would you mind removing it for me?”
Using his teeth, Himmel loosened the straps and buckles, better at that task already. When he removed the gauntlet, he revealed his crippled hand, his fingers curled like claws ever since the airship accident.
Konstantin’s heart squeezed, but he didn’t say a word. He placed the arm on the table, pulled up a chair, and opened his toolkit.
“Well?” Himmel stood far too close behind him. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I haven’t had a chance to find out yet.”
Armed with a screwdriver, he loosened a plate of steel from the delicate wiring and clockwork within. The brass gears looked dull and darkened by grime, like they had been in contact with something corrosive.
“Seawater?” Konstantin said.
“Pardon?”
“Have you been exposing this arm to seawater?”
“I may have exposed it to one or two tide pools.”
Konstantin looked sideways at him. “It’s not completely waterproof.”
“I’m a Navy man.” Himmel laughed, a wonderfully rough sound. “I’m going to get wet.”
Konstantin swiveled in the chair and peered up at him. “Were you performing naval maneuvers in a tide pool?”
“Hardly.” Himmel snorted. “Trying to catch a crab.”
“What?”
“I hadn’t seen a crab that big. Königsberg was a boring city. Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t judge me.”
Konstantin smiled. “I’m allowed to judge you if you ask for my help.”
“Fine.” Himmel rolled his eyes. “Can you fix it?”
“With a bit of oil. Lubrication solves a lot of problems.”
“It certainly does.”
Was he referring to a rather indelicate act? Konstantin stared at his knuckles, his face burning, and pretended he hadn’t heard.
Himmel cleared his throat. “Thank you for your help.”
“Any time.” Konstantin squeezed a few drops of machine oil onto the clockwork. “There, try this.”
Himmel buckled on the arm before rotating his wrist again. “Perfect.”
Konstantin smiled. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
When their eyes met, his smile faded. A moment hung between them. If he wanted, he could pluck it like a fruit.
A forbidden fruit.
Konstantin stepped back, distancing himself from Himmel and the need in his eyes. Or maybe the need in his own heart was stronger. This unknown force couldn’t be questioned or quantified by a tidy scientific theory.
“Allow me to apologize,” Himmel said. “I should have been a gentleman from the start.”
Words choked Konstantin’s throat, until he didn’t think he could say anything at all. Himmel stood and walked to the door. His message was clear—their time together was done. For now, or forever, it didn’t matter.
Konstantin walked through the door and left the captain to his quarters.
Though, more than anything in the world, he wanted to stay.
Six hours until St. Petersburg.
Fiddling with his cufflinks, Konstantin hovered at the threshold of the dining room. Himmel wasn’t here. Of course, the captain dined with his crew; how ridiculous to hope otherwise. He walked to an empty table.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Archmage Konstantin?”
“Baron von Bach!” Konstantin said. “Care to join me?”
“Yes, please.” The ambassador claimed a seat and flagged down a waiter. “The menu?”
The waiter slid across a paper neatly typed with tonight’s dishes. “I recommend the Rhine Salmon a la Zeppelin.”
Von Bach chuckled. “I wasn’t aware salmon were flying fish.”
Was he supposed to laugh? Konstantin faked a smile.
“I’ll try the salmon.” Von Bach waved away the menu. “With a glass of red wine.”
“Yes, sir. And you, sir?”
Konstantin had no idea. He grabbed the menu and pretended to give it some thought. “The salmon as well, please.”
“Anything to drink?”
Konstantin shook his head, already flustered around the ambassador. Drinking would undoubtedly make him redder in the face.
“Don’t suppose you already speak Russian?” said von Bach.
“No.” His heart skipped with an unpleasant thump. “Why would I?”
Von Bach stared at him with watery blue eyes. “You do understand our destination is Russia? You at least have a phrasebook?”
“I don’t.”
Von Bach’s mustache twitched. “Well.” After the waiter poured his wine, he took a deep drink. “We have translators.”
Himmel probably spoke Russian. He wouldn’t look like a fool in St. Petersburg.
“Remember,” von Bach said, “this is a diplomatic mission.” He tapped the table twice to punctuate the words. “As my scientific attaché, you will observe and advise me on matters relevant to magic and technology.”
Konstantin straightened in his seat. “Specifically?”
“Look, but don’t touch.”
He grimaced. “I meant what sort of technomancy might we encounter?”
“Whatever the Russians won’t keep hidden from us. Our diplomatic immunity only extends so far in St. Petersburg.”
“How far?”
Von Bach drank more wine. “If you poke around where you shouldn’t, you might be shot. Or shipped off to Siberia.”
He sounded so casual. Fear stabbed Konstantin’s stomach like an icicle.
“That would be rather unproductive, wouldn’t it?” Von Bach smiled. “Good God, man, relax. Russians aren’t so terrifying.”
“
I’ll take your word for it.”
The waiter served their salmon. Konstantin ate the fish mechanically, barely tasting the buttery sauce or parsley garnish.
How long would the ambassador keep him in Russia? Why had he ever agreed to this?
If he even had a choice.
Konstantin excused himself before dessert. After dinner, he paced along the starboard observation deck as sunset reddened the clouds. He didn’t know where they were. Russian wilderness rolled below, snow and mountains and endless trees. A village glimmered by a river before vanishing into the shadows.
Pacing was unproductive, and he hated feeling so useless.
Konstantin returned to his cabin and cracked open a textbook on his pillow. Lying on his stomach, he squinted at the words.
The magical conductivity of electrum varies, depending on quality, and may not always be suitable for technomancy. For instance, electrum with a certain proportion of gold and silver may be ideal for metalworking applications; but it is possible to create a non-magical alloy from these elements. The proportions of naturally occurring electrum should be referenced when manufacturing the alloy in a laboratory.
The word electrum certainly had evolved since ancient times. To the Romans, it referred to both the alloy and amber.
Himmel had electrum eyes. Gold so pale it looked silver in the light.
Christ, concentrate! Konstantin glowered at the words, though the textbook was innocent. With a growl, he tossed it aside and turned off the light.
He wasn’t accustomed to sleeping on airships. The massive engines droned in his ears. Wind buffeted the zeppelin and jostled the gondola. He tugged the blanket over his head and pressed his face into his pillow.
Slowly, the heat of his body warmed the sheets.
Konstantin opened his eyes to Salzburg, Austria. Snow sugared his hometown, candles glowing in his cottage’s windows.
When he unlocked the door, Himmel waited for him. “Late again?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
Himmel kissed him as he dragged him inside, his lips silencing his excuses, his hands scorching his cold skin. “You’re frozen.”
Konstantin laughed. “You’re not.”
“Let me warm you.”
This sounded sensible enough, considering—
God, Himmel’s hands. He slid them under Konstantin’s shirt, his fingers branding him, and reached lower. Unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his trousers. Konstantin backed into the room and fell onto an armchair.
“Careful.” Himmel’s tone invited him to be reckless.
Flames crackled in the fireplace, reflected in his eyes. His chest heaving, Konstantin waited for him to make the next move.
Himmel kneeled before him. “What do you want?”
Konstantin wished the captain would relinquish control. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
He tilted his head to meet Himmel’s lips. He opened his mouth to let his tongue taste him and moaned at the thrill of it.
He wanted more.
His fingers shaking, Konstantin tugged Himmel’s shirt over his head. He skimmed his hands over hard muscles, scarcely believing he was touching a man this beautiful, too breathless to stop. He explored Himmel’s skin with his fingertips, the captain’s eyes simmering with restraint. Konstantin kissed him again.
A little lower, this time.
Rewarded with a gasp, Konstantin smiled against his flat stomach. “You sound surprised.”
“Surprise me more.”
t ended abruptly, like all good dreams.
Konstantin woke with a gasp, his heartbeat hammering, and kicked off his blanket. Air cooled his sweaty skin, but his blood still burned in his veins. He gripped fistfuls of sheets and swallowed hard, trying to forget how Himmel’s skin felt. He had seen him shirtless before, of course, but never while alone—
This wasn’t working. Thinking about the dream made it worse.
A cold bath would help, though he doubted the zeppelin had one. The zeppelin did have Himmel, who obviously wasn’t an option. Now if only he could convince his body to obey his mind, he could go back to sleep.
His pocketwatch ticked on the nightstand, doing nothing to help his insomnia.
They wouldn’t arrive in St. Petersburg until early morning, and he grimaced at the thought of lying awake until then. This felt improper, almost illegal, though how could it be? Nobody knew who inhabited his dreams. He thought of Himmel as he quietly touched himself. When his frustration peaked, his mind blanked in a moment of bliss; he stared heavenward until sleep dragged him into the darkness.
Konstantin leaned against the railing of the forward observation deck. Below, the zeppelin’s shadow flitted over the streets of St. Petersburg. Only a few years old, the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood gleamed in fairytale splendor. Domes like marzipan candies, blue and green and gold, topped spun-sugar architecture.
Russians scurried through St. Petersburg on important business. Konstantin supposed this was important business, meeting foreign dignitaries in the capital city. Then why did the mission sound so boring? He hated diplomacy. His fingers flexed on the railing, itching to take something apart and put it back together.
“Falkenrath?” At least Himmel announced his arrival this time. “Are you ready?”
Konstantin spun on his heel. “For what?”
“The ambassador has promised an exciting evening.” Those last two words were pronounced with the driest skepticism.
Konstantin grimaced. “Likely some horrid dinner requiring appropriate attire.”
Though he wouldn’t mind seeing Himmel in his dress uniform, which may have figured into his imagination last night…
God, don’t blush.
Thankfully, Himmel seemed not to notice his discomfort. “I wonder where we fly next. The Nachitgall is too beautiful to stay grounded.” He caressed the curve of the railing, unaware of how distracting his hands could be.
Konstantin forced a calm face. “Pity we lost the Wanderfalke.”
“Agreed.” Himmel leaned on his elbows. Were all men in the Navy so muscular?
“Any idea how long the ambassador wants us in St. Petersburg?”
“None.” Himmel shrugged. “Perhaps we should ask.”
“Sounds prudent.” Though he was imagining highly imprudent things.
They found the ambassador in the dining room, enjoying a cup of coffee by the windows. Himmel saluted. “Sir.”
“At ease.”
The captain kept his shoulders squared. “We arrive in twenty minutes. Should I radio them and reserve an airship shed?”
Von Bach’s mustache bristled as he sipped his coffee. “That would be splendid. Spare no expense to keep her shipshape.”
“Yes, sir.” Himmel dipped his head. “Will today require formal attire?”
“Oh, don’t overdress.” Von Bach added a tablespoon of sugar to his cup. “We have been invited to tour a workshop in the House of Fabergé, escorted by members of the local nobility. There should be dinner afterward.”
Konstantin clasped his hands behind his back. “That sounds excellent.”
Von Bach added yet another spoonful of sugar to his coffee. “Archmage, I expect you to take notes and deliver a full report on their technomancy trinkets. I doubt they will show us anything of military significance, though these Russians do have a tendency to brag. Don’t be afraid to show some enthusiasm.”
Konstantin broke into a grin. “Not a problem.”
“Good, good.” Grunting, the baron braced himself on the table as he stood. “Gentlemen, I shall see you on the ground.”
Konstantin would have skipped away to his cabin, though he was hardly an overeager schoolboy anymore. He tidied his things and brought his suitcases to the door, where porters whisked them away. Jittery, he returned to the forward observation deck, where he watched the zeppelin land in St. Petersburg.
The engines hummed at a quarter power, holding the Nachtigall steady over the airfield. Men on the ground caught the la
nding lines and towed the airship into a shed, which wasn’t quite as nice as the one in Königsberg. Cobwebs clung to the steel girders. Clearly St. Petersburg didn’t often receive visitors from the air.
Baron von Bach strutted down the gangway and descended the stairs, Konstantin and Himmel at his heels. A handful of Russians waited on the ground. The tallest among them caught Konstantin’s eye, a pale man with cornsilk hair and glacial blue eyes. His hand rested on his saber’s pommel with casual confidence.
“Good evening,” said the stranger, his accent subtle yet undeniable.
“Baron Von Bach.” The ambassador bowed with considerable pomp. “These are my men, Archmage Konstantin Falkenrath and Captain Theodore Himmel.”
“Honored to meet you. My name is Alexsandr Dmitriev. I will be your guide tonight.”
“Your German is very good, Mr. Dmitriev,” Konstantin said.
“Please, call me Alexsandr.” When he smiled, his eyes warmed. “And thank you.”
Alexsandr shook his hand, quick and hard. His eyes betrayed more than charm and civility; without a doubt, he would shadow their every move. Not to worry, Konstantin would flatter a few secrets out of him. Or so he hoped.
“Please,” Alexsandr said, “let us not be late.”
He brought them to a sleek black auto. Once they climbed inside, it accelerated from the airfield and rumbled into the heart of the city.
So this was St. Petersburg. Horses clopped over cobblestones, shying away from steampowered wagons huffing like black dragons of iron. An organ grinder cranked out a tune, his monkey dancing in a violet vest and baring its teeth at anyone too close. Konstantin pressed his fingers to the glass as he peered down the street, certain he had seen an elephant of articulated brass trumpeting in a fountain.
Alexsandr said something in Russian and Baron von Bach laughed. Blushing, Konstantin didn’t ask for a translation. He already felt hopelessly lost, like he did every time he traveled to a foreign land. Sometimes he wondered why he left the mountains and meadows of Salzburg, where he could have lived happily ever after. He fidgeted in his seat, his knee brushing against Himmel’s, who edged away from his touch.
