Dominion Rising Bonus Swag

by Gwynn White

  “You’re very confident.”

  “Yes.”

  She turned to Eli and gave him a nod. He didn’t look happy about it, but he walked over to untie Grayson’s bonds. Once free, Grayson rose to his feet, rubbing his wrists.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Eli told him, his voice low.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, friend,” Grayson answered. At least on this boat, isolated from the iron rich world beyond the banks of the canal.

  Eli glared at him. “You’re not my friend.”

  “If you two are done posturing,” Briar cut in, “there’s a tiller to be fixed and a cousin to elude.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Eli grumbled.

  “Where’s the trunk you stole?” Grayson asked her.

  Briar eyed him, apparently debating whether to tell him.

  Grayson sighed. “There’s a tool kit in the bottom.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I packed the trunk.” That was the truth.

  “You really are Mr. Martel’s valet?”

  “Do you want me to fix the tiller or not?”

  “Eli, please show Mr. Grayson to the tiller deck.” She gave him a frown, then left to fetch what he had requested.

  “Come on,” Eli grumbled.

  Grayson didn’t argue. For the first time since he walked onto this boat, he wasn’t bound. He intended to make the most of it.

  * * *

  Grayson hung off the back of the boat, studying the broken rudder. It was a very basic assembly. The wooden rudder had come partially separated from the post that linked it to the tiller on deck. Judging by the dents in the wood and the scrapes on the post, it was clear that the break had had some human help, but with the tool kit Briar was bringing him, he would have no trouble fixing it.

  Eli called a greeting to his captain, prompting Grayson to return to the deck.

  “Where’s—” She didn’t get to finish as Grayson climbed over the rail to stand before her.

  “Ah, good. You found it.” He nodded at the bag she carried. He’d already doffed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, ready to get to work. “It’s not as bad as I feared.” He accepted the bag from her.

  “You can fix it?” She didn’t look like she believed him.

  “With a forge and some quality steel, absolutely. With what I have here, I can get us to that forge.” Actually, he could fix it permanently with what he had here, but he didn’t want to awaken any more suspicions.

  He opened the bag and made a show of digging through the contents as if searching for something. He slipped a piece of soul iron into his palm, relishing the feel of it after his forced abstinence.

  “Bullshit,” Eli grumbled at his claim.

  Grayson didn’t look up, focused instead on reshaping the soul iron. “Would you like to make a wager?”

  “Enough,” Briar cut in.

  Grayson now help a clamp and selected a few nuts and bolts to go with it.

  “That doesn’t look like iron,” she said, staring at the glossy silver metal he held.

  “It’s an alloy. It’s stronger and more versatile.” He selected a wrench and passed it to her. “Hand that down to me when I’m ready?”

  She accepted the tool, but continued to frown. “What’s an alloy?”

  Grayson took a seat on the rail and toed off his boots, then removed his socks. “Commonly, it’s a combination of two or more metallic elements. Steel, brass, and bronze are examples.” He rolled up his pant legs and swung one leg over the rail.

  “And what’s that?” She nodded at the soul iron.

  He flashed her a grin, then dropped over the end of the boat. “The Briar Rose?” He read the name painted on the transom.

  She leaned over the rail. “Yes.”

  He looked up. “You named your boat after yourself?”

  “No. I’m named after the boat.”

  He studied her a moment, not sure what to make of that. He turned to his work, aware of her watching from the rail. The clamp he’d designed was close, but he had to make a few adjustments, reforming it to fit while he worked. Briar didn’t seem to notice. Had she been ferra, she would have.

  In a matter of minutes, he had the clamp in place, calling to her for the wrench to hide that he had molded the metal into the very fiber of the wood. A few moments later, he shouted up to Eli to give the tiller a try—more to annoy the big man rather than test his own handiwork. He knew it was sound.

  Finished, Grayson climbed back up and took a seat across from Briar. He handed her the wrench.

  She looked surprised.

  “I figured you wouldn’t want me to carry around a potential weapon,” he explained.

  “Do you often use a wrench as a weapon?”

  “Not often.” He watched her as he spoke. If she wasn’t ferra, then how could she command his construct?

  “And what—”

  The familiar tingle of another ferromancer’s probe alerted him to a presence and Grayson twisted around to glance over his shoulder. There, in the street, a hired coach had stopped. Solon.

  Grayson leapt from the rail, and grabbing Briar, pulled her down to the deck beside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to hold her in place.

  “What the hell?” Eli demanded.

  “Look,” Grayson whispered, pointing between the posts supporting the rail that surrounded the tiller deck.

  Briar looked where he pointed and pulled in a breath. Along the street, not a dozen yards from her boat, Solon stepped out of the hired coach.

  “Miss Briar?” Eli was reaching for her. “Did he—”

  “Eli, get us out of here. Quickly,” she whispered.

  Eli didn’t immediately comply. Instead, he glanced back toward the street.

  “That’s the man Andrew was meeting,” Briar said. “Move, Eli.”

  He stepped away from the rail and, taking the newly repaired tiller in hand, shouted to the boy with the mules.

  Grayson left the moving of the boat to them, while he watched Solon. The distance made it hard to judge accurately, but it didn’t seem Solon had changed dramatically in the years since Grayson had seen him last. He might have picked up a little gray at the temples, but he didn’t appear to have devolved. At least, not physically.

  “He can’t…sense Lock from there, can he?” Briar whispered.

  “No.” Grayson kept his eyes on the man.

  “Then what caught his attention?” she demanded. “Or do ferromancers routinely stop in the middle of the street to stare around?”

  Grayson smiled at her wit despite himself. He wanted to dislike her, but there was something about her bold determination that intrigued him. He wished they’d met in different circumstances.

  With a lurch, the boat started forward. The mule driver’s shouts of encouragement to the team echoed back across the water.

  “Hope this tiller holds,” Eli said, his contempt clear in his tone.

  “Insulting,” Grayson muttered.

  “You can take your arm from around the captain,” Eli added.

  “Eli’s right,” she said.

  “My apologies.” Grayson took his arm from her shoulders. “Captain.” He spoke the title in jest, mocking Eli’s reverent use of the term.

  She frowned at him. “Why do I feel like everything you say with that snooty accent is a joke at my expense?”

  “You kidnapped me. You’ve given me no cause to address you with anything except derision, snooty accent notwithstanding.”

  “If you would take the tiller, Captain,” Eli spoke up, “I can tie the dog in the bunkhouse once more.”

  Grayson good humor vanished. “I fixed your ship.”

  “Boat,” she corrected. “Because it benefited you.”

  “And you.”

  She started to get up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder. “A few minutes more. That red hair is distinctive. It might catch his attention.” Especially if Solon was looking for the audacious girl who had kneed him.
<
br />   Grayson looked back at Solon. He was still looking around, but not toward the canal. Once again, Grayson considered the advantage of using the boat to escape Solon’s notice—even if the situation did make Grayson’s skin crawl.

  But Solon was no idiot. If they didn’t get out of here soon, he might figure it out.

  “Can’t this heap of waterlogged timber go any faster?” Grayson demanded. They were moving, but just barely.

  “Four miles an hour is as fast as any boat is allowed to go,” Briar said.

  “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Any faster, and the wake would erode the bank.”

  Grayson stared at her. And she thought the canal industry superior to the railroad? He might admire her mettle and determination, but the girl was daft.

  “What’s going on, Captain?” Eli asked.

  “See that man standing beside the hired coach?” she asked. When Eli agreed, she continued. “He’s a ferromancer. The real thing. He even has a hand made out of metal.”

  To Grayson’s amusement, the big man paled.

  “And he’s meeting with Andrew?” Eli asked.

  “Yes,” Briar answered. “I don’t know why. It gets worse.”

  “How can this get worse?”

  “I kneed him.”

  “You do have a gift for trouble,” Eli muttered. He spoke the words in exasperation, but Grayson could also hear the affection behind them. “Stay down, Captain. We’ll be out of the city shortly.”

  “I just don’t understand what got his attention,” she muttered as she watched Solon.

  Grayson wasn’t about to admit that Solon had felt him manipulating the soul iron when he fixed the rudder. It had just been bad luck that Solon had been close enough to sense it.

  Abruptly, Solon turned and climbed back into his carriage. A pause, and it rolled off, back into the small tangle of streets around the canal.

  Grayson released a breath and heard Briar do the same. She climbed to her feet and he rose beside her.

  “Captain? You want to take the tiller?” Eli asked.

  Wordlessly, Grayson offered his wrists.

  A frown shadowed her green eyes and he could see that she wasn’t comfortable with this. She studied him for one long moment, and just when he thought she might relent, she turned and took the tiller.

  Grayson considered arguing, but decided to remain silent. Perhaps he would let her conscience do his arguing for him. He didn’t like being bound, but at the moment, this boat was carrying him away from Solon.

  Maybe Briar would reconsider and give him his freedom. After all, he wasn’t going anywhere without his construct or his plans.

  He glanced back, but she didn’t watch Eli lead him away.

  THE END

  * * *

  About the Author

  Becca Andre lives in southern Ohio with her husband, two children, and an elderly Jack Russell Terrier. A love of science and math (yes, she’s weird like that), led to a career as a chemist where she blows things up far more infrequently than you’d expect. Other interests include: chocolate, hard rock, and slaying things on the Xbox.

  Becca is author of the highly rated Final Formula Series. Filled with action, magic, humor, and romance, this unique urban fantasy tells the story of amnestic alchemist and her quest to recover her lost past. The first book, The Final Formula, is free everywhere Becca’s books are sold.

  * * *

  Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed seeing this scene from Grayson’s point-of-view. If you would like to continue reading the Iron Souls Series, please click the link below.

  http://beccaandre.com/continue-reading/

  * * *

  For release news, giveaways, and other goodies, use the following link to sign up for Becca’s newsletter.

  http://beccaandre.com/newsletter/

  Rift Cursed Coloring Page

  Margo Bond Collins

  Interview with Skip Sutridge

  Made by Ted Nebula of the Galaxy Express

  A bonus tie-in with Infinite Waste by Dean F. Wilson

  UNPUBLISHED & MARKED 'CLASSIFIED'

  Ted Nebula (widely speculated not to be his real name) of the Galaxy Express sat down with Skip Sutridge, Captain of Gemini Left, one of the twin rockets coupled together on a daring mission of discovery and conquest out on the Edge.

  Ted turned on his ocular implant and tapped through his datapad to find his prepared questions. Even as he did, he heard Skip clear his throat noisily. Patience wasn't known to be one of the Captain's virtues.

  NEBULA: Skip. May I call you Skip?

  Skip smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  SKIP: Sure. May I call you Ted?

  NEBULA: I prefer Nebula, but it seems others prefer Ted.

  SKIP: Ted it is, then.

  Ted grumbled.

  NEBULA: Let's get down to it.

  SKIP: Let's.

  NEBULA: I'm going through my list of titles you've been given over the years.

  SKIP: You might be a while.

  NEBULA: Yes, indeed. Captain Exquisite, General Extraordinaire. I haven't been able to find any official documentation of those titles or roles in the Pan-Galactic Marines.

  SKIP: And?

  NEBULA: Well, some readers might think they were … perhaps, I don't know … made up.

  SKIP: Like your name, you mean?

  NEBULA: No.

  SKIP: The Emperor assigned those titles to me. That makes them real.

  NEBULA: But not within the Marines.

  SKIP: The Pan-Galactic Marines serve the Pan-Galactic Empire. If the Emperor says something, then that's the rule of law. You've seen the posters, surely?

  NEBULA: Well, yes. I've even got some here on my datapad.

  Ted cycled through several posters of Skip Sutridge, posing heroically before a backdrop of city skylines, starships, and troops. Some of them had him standing upon the bodies of the Empire's enemies. It seemed that more of these posters were showing up across the Empire's territory every day, especially since Skip re-emerged after his unexplained disappearance.

  SKIP: I take it you're a fan, then.

  NEBULA: I'm a journalist, Skip.

  SKIP: And that means you can't be a fan?

  NEBULA: It means I'm a neutral party.

  Skip laughed boisterously.

  SKIP: You should tell Admiral Mendan that. He could do with a laugh.

  NEBULA: I'll be interviewing him later. Let's get back to yours. There's little doubt that you are the most talked-about soldier the Empire has seen in a long time, since perhaps Mendan himself. In fact, many believe you've largely eclipsed the admiral since his … mental difficulties.

  SKIP: Since he started spouting off about the Umbra, you mean.

  NEBULA: Well, let's not get into that again. I can't print that. My editor has a blacklist of words, and 'Umbra' is at the top.

  SKIP: That's because they belong in children's stories, not newspapers.

  NEBULA: Getting back on topic, though, do you feel that your celebrity has hindered your ability to carry out your duties effectively?

  SKIP: No. I'd say it's enhanced it.

  NEBULA: How so?

  SKIP: Well, I guess it's good to feel … recognised. Your enthusiasm doesn't wane.

  NEBULA: Do you not think it kind of denigrates the role, though?

  Skip let out a sigh.

  SKIP: No. I earned this.

  NEBULA: I'm not disputing that. It's just—

  SKIP: No, but you are. I worked hard to get to where I am today. I came from virtually nothing.

  NEBULA: Do you think other people born on asteroid colonies find inspiration in your story?

  SKIP: Yeah. At least, I hope they do. I moved to Alpha Prime very early on, but I was still treated like a Rockborn. I don't think anyone would have imagined someone like me getting to where I am today.

  NEBULA: Do you regret it?

  SKIP: Regret what?

  NEBULA: Being … sorry to use the term … 'Rockborn
'.

  SKIP: No. I think it strengthened me. I think maybe I wouldn't be who I am today without it.

  NEBULA: Changing tack a little. There's been talk of a 'man behind the man', so the speak, in terms of your battle strategies. I've heard a few names bandied about, but one that keeps coming up is a Lieutenant Fellow. Is there any truth to these rumours?

  SKIP: It's not a rumour. I consult with Lieutenant Fellow whenever any particularly troublesome choices need to be made. He has a brilliant mind, and I wouldn't be General Extraordinaire if I didn't consult with brilliant minds.

  NEBULA: That brings me to Commander Maggie Antwa.

  Skip sighed.

  SKIP: Oh, her.

  NEBULA: Well, she is your equivalent on Gemini Right.

  SKIP: She's not. Captain outranks Commander. And she shouldn't even be Commander. She's a criminal. It's not a punishment. It's like they're rewarding her.

  NEBULA: Well, that aside, she has full control of that vessel.

  SKIP: Not if I use an Executive Star.

  NEBULA: How often do you use them?

  SKIP: We get one each a month. She hoards hers. Don't think she's even spent one yet.

  NEBULA: And you?

  SKIP: I spend them the day I get them.

  NEBULA: How does she find that?

  Skip shrugged.

  SKIP: She has her science projects. As far as I'm concerned, this is a military vessel. That means I should be in charge.

  NEBULA: You two don't get along, do you?

  SKIP: Let's just say we're two very different people.

  NEBULA: Okay, one last question.

  SKIP: Fire away.

  NEBULA: Your disappearance.

  SKIP: I don't want to talk about that.

  NEBULA: I understand, but it's something on readers' minds.

  SKIP: It's something on mine too, and I'd rather it wasn't.

  NEBULA: There's a year gap where you just seemed to … vanish. The Empire claims you were off fighting wars for the good of the Empire, but you've done those before, and we were able to broadcast the battles. What changed?