by Anna Bowman
“How mad will you be if I throw your friend off?”
She thought she heard laughter but couldn’t be sure.
“I presume by friend you mean Minuet?” The ship jerked upward, and Rayn fought to keep her footing. “You’ll have to get in line.”
Rayn trudged back to her cabin. Rocks and sways of the airship didn’t bother her as much as they had at first. The medallion felt heavy in her pocket, and she pushed it to the back of her mind.
Minuet. What a stupid name!
✽ ✽ ✽
With three days’ time to kill, Rayn could have spent some of the time working on the gun in the airship’s clandestine armory. The tools and supplies she needed to repair it were packed in the crates loaded in the cargo bay. She had only to go pry them open and get what she needed. However, Minuet’s presence made her want to lock herself in the cabin, until the walls seemed to close in. Eventually, the room felt like a cage worse than any encounter with the other woman would be. Besides, she thought, why should she be hiding away while Minuet prowled around free?
Flying at a steady pace, the airship was not difficult to traverse. Solomand must have put it on autopilot. Rayn gripped the railing, making her way down the stairs to the cargo bay.
Son of a…
There she was, looking prim and proper, her perfect nose tilted up in a stuck-up way as she spoke to Zee. The girl sat on a crate, looking up at Minuet with disdain.
“Have some respect you dirty, little refugee.” Minuet was saying. “You shouldn’t even be here, you know. Once your precious Captain no longer finds you useful, you’ll be on a slave ship bound for Argos.”
She flounced past the girl in a huff. Her cheeks were flushed as she squeezed past Rayn without a word, her skirts drawn up in one hand.
Rayn gave her a grim look and continued down the stairs. Jank, from a seat in the corner, walked over to Zee and she buried her head in his neck, her shoulders shaking. Her fists were balled up as she hugged him.
Jank’s arms closed around the girl. Anger rose inside Rayn seeing Zee’s tears. Her hand clenched at her side, and she spun on her heels.
“Where are you going?” Jank asked, his eyes raised at her when she looked at him.
“Where do you think? I’m going to go rearrange that b—” She cut the word short. “I’m going to rearrange her teeth.”
“Don’t.” Jank shook his head slightly. “She’ll make trouble for us, dead or alive.” He gave her a look like he knew what she was thinking. “Don’t tell Sol either. If he knew she talked to Zee like that…best he doesn’t know.”
Zee wiped the tears from her eyes.
“It’s alright,” she told Rayn. “I told her she looked like a horse with rouge on.”
A devilish grin crossed her face.
Rayn chuckled.
That sounded like something Solomand would say.
Except, for whatever reason, he wouldn’t say it to Minuet.
Her hand relaxed. “Alright. But let me catch her off this airship!”
Zee hopped onto the floor, her eyes bright. “Only if I can watch!”
“Of course.” Rayn offered a conspiratorial smile.
Jank shook his head as the girl skipped away.
“Don’t encourage her.” He started toward the engine room.
“I don’t think it matters whether I do or no—hey, where are you going?”
Jank paused, glancing back. “Stay away from her, if you can help it?” It was a request.
Rayn didn’t want to answer, but she still felt guilty over getting him in trouble with Sol. “Alright,” she agreed with a sigh.
✽ ✽ ✽
She had really meant to keep her word, but that evening, on her way down the hall, Minuet was again displaying her shrew-like behavior.
Flipping through the pages of a leather-bound sketchbook, her head tilted to the side, she was shaking her head.
“Give me that you—”
Jank lurched for her.
“Ah-ah.” Minuet held the book out of his reach. “Is that any way to speak with a lady? Not that a Mud Rat like you would know anything about ladies.”
She clicked her tongue.
Jank’s face was red, his body rigid as she poured through his most personal belonging. Rayn could see the anger and dismay in his eyes.
“Such dark, brooding drawings. They’re not very good, though for all the time I imagine you’ve spent on them. Pity you didn’t have a proper education, then you might have developed real talent.”
Her lips pursed together, Rayn stalked forward and snatched the book out of Minuet’s hand. Startled, Minuet’s eyes narrowed into a lofty glare at the pair of them. Rayn handed the book back to Jank and kept walking.
I promised.
The reminder stopped her from whirling and sending the other women flailing over the railing.
✽ ✽ ✽
The kitchen was draped in the sort of stillness that precedes an impending violent storm. Solomand did not seem keen on substituting autopilot at all and shut everyone out of the cockpit, except Zee. Rayn didn’t blame him. She kept herself either in her quarters or locked in the engine room, playing bluff with Zee and Jank. Now, they happened to all be in the same place this last morning before they were due to reach Blackpool.
The circles under Solomand’s eyes were dark, and he didn’t look like he’d shaved since they left Lubafell. Minuet entered, and everyone cringed. Tension hung in the air.
“Is there any tea?” she asked in a cheery way unfitting for the atmosphere. “I cannot stomach that sludge you call coffee.”
Figures.
Rayn sipped loudly while pretending to be busy reading a long-expired newsprint. Solomand sighed, slumping over the table.
“If there hasn’t been the past two days, what makes you think there would be any this morning?”
And what’s the point of wearing makeup every, single, day?
Rayn’s eyes stabbed at Minuet for a moment before returning to the jumble of words she wasn’t reading.
What an insurmountable waste of time!
She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear.
Minuet shrugged bare shoulders.
“I don’t know why I would think there would be anything civilized on this airship.” She gave Solomand a meaningful look and wrinkled her nose at burned bacon and overcooked eggs before picking up a piece of blackened toast from the tray.
“Be sure to lodge a complaint, will you.” Solomand took a gulp of his coffee and slumped back on the table. “I’ll be sure to avoid reading it before I throw it away.” His voice was muffled as he talked into the table.
Minuet stuck her nose in the air.
“I shall return to my room where the company is better.” She banged the door on the way out.
“That toast will ruin your figure?” Rayn muttered.
Jank choked, spewing chewed eggs across the room. Solomand laughed raising his head. “Rayn, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you didn’t care for Minuet.”
“Really?”
Rayn snatched up a piece of bacon and bit a chunk off of it.
“She’s…” She chomped on the food, trying to think of an appropriate word to describe Minuet.
Jank had finally recovered.
“A Coalition prostitute?”
Rayn put the newsprint down and turned to Jank, acknowledging him with the wave of her hand.
“There you go. Good a name as any.”
Solomand reached across the table for the pot of coffee and refilled his cup, sloshing some on the table.
“Who knows,” he said. “Maybe you an’ her were best friends an’ you’ve forgotten.”
He looked forlornly at Jank’s plate of food, which was un-scorched in comparison to everyone else’s.
A friend like her?
Rayn shuddered, preferring her memories be lost forever. She scoffed.
“As if. What’s she after anyway?”
Solomand’s finger
s drummed on the table before he sat up and cleared his throat.
“An insurgent who called himself the Black Recluse.” He took another gulp of his coffee, staring at her over the rim of his mug. “He caused a great deal of trouble for the governor of Corcyra and his men during the war. And even though the bastards won, he was made too much of a fool to let it go.” He yawned, waving his hand in a dismissive way. “He’s probably dead already, though.”
“Black Recluse.”
Rayn let the name bounce around her head for a minute. She started to take a sip of coffee, then stopped.
“Seems like he could have come up with a better name than that.”
Solomand’s eyebrows raised.
“Really?” He leaned back, tilting his chair with him. “Such as?”
“If he’s supposed to be deadly, even a black widow would be more appropriate. Recluses are rarely ever seen.”
She blew into her mug sending a puff of bitter steam back into her face.
“Is that so?” Solomand shook his head. “I’ll bet you think the praying mantis is a glowing example for women everywhere too, huh? Gives a man one roll in the hay and then eats his head off!” He made a swiping motion across his neck.
“Well, now that you mention it.” Rayn’s eyes narrowed into an annoyed glare.
Jank snickered, leaning over his sketchbook but stopped, clearing his throat, when Solomand glared at him then turned his eyes back to Rayn, settling in that searching stare that made her uncomfortable.
“What did this Black Recluse do that they are still wasting time on him?” She asked.
Solomand shrugged.
“The usual insurgent type shit, I’d imagine.” He sighed, realizing this answer wasn’t good enough for her. “For starters, he’d track their every movement. Intercepting messages and decoded ‘em, found out where a squadron would be. Next thing you know, they’d all be dead. Blown up by explosives, or their throats were slit or downed by a sniper’s bullet. That sort of thing, you know. Made a general nuisance of himself.”
His face clouded over, and he let the front legs of his chair fall on the floor, his face drawn. He shuffled away, raking a hand through his hair and looking so cheerless that she felt her heart clench. Then, she wondered why.
The medallion and the name S. L. rang through her head, and Rayn felt dazed. Completely missing the glance Jank was giving her, she rose and wandered into the hall and back to her cabin.
“There you are!” Minuet’s voice was about as pleasant as a gun blast going off right in her ear.
The ship spinning beneath her feet, Rayn wanted to lie down, not have a conversation with the person she liked least in the world.
“What do you want?” Her hand turned the latch to the cabin door.
Minuet tilted her head back.
“You needn’t sound so hostile, my dear. I’m only here to help you.”
She seemed to have missed the signals Rayn had been giving off that she wanted nothing to do with her.
“With what?”
Rayn felt a cold rush rising to her head, signaling she was going to pass out. Minuet’s face was starting to blur.
“Solomand Black is not what he appears to be.” Minuet’s singsong voice sharpened.
“You mean a clumsy, jackass masquerading as a smuggler?”
It was a strange image to want people to believe if you didn’t fit the description.
Minuet’s jaw tightened as she stuck her nose in the air.
“Joke about it all you wish, but Solomand Black is dangerous.”
Maybe to himself.
“If he’s such a dangerous criminal, why don’t you arrest him and be done with it?”
Her shoulder pressed up against the door.
“Because, Rayn, respectable people follow the law—unlike the crew of this ship.” Her voice lowered. “The truth is, I’m not after Solomand.”
Uh huh. And we’re the best of friends.
Rayn edged the toe of her boot inside the cracked door now.
“I’m searching for someone important to Governor LeFrost—someone the insurgents took from him.”
“And Solomand is supposed to be a part of these insurgents?”
Minuet’s skirts rustled as she drew closer. Rayn wanted to gag on the overwhelming flowery odor of her perfume.
“He’s no good, Rayn.”
Solomand’s eyes, desperate and cold entered her mind, at the other end of a revolver. Rayn breathed slowly, and the white lights faded with the cold, tingly sensation.
“I hear he once cut a man’s eye out for looking at that child who tags along with him.”
Rayn realized she was talking about Zee.
“What’s your point?” she asked. “Jealous he won’t give you attention?
Minuet’s cheeks flushed, and she let out a cold laugh.
“I’m only trying to warn you, Rayn. I would stay away from Solomand Black if I were you. The war is not over in his book, and if you stick around sooner or later, you shall have to decide where your loyalties truly are.”
She gathered her skirts up in one hand and flounced away.
Rayn made a point to slam the door before throwing herself down on the bare cot. Where my loyalties are?
What the hell’s that supposed to mean?
She hoped that was the last of any chat she would have to endure from Minuet.
Chapter 21
Will
Will was always up before the sun, running at least three miles on the wooded trails which wound through the valley, then three miles back. Glistening in sweat, and barely winded, his single eye transfixed off in the distance as the first light of day rose above the treetops. Had he never left his home city, Olbia, his training would have grown more intense. An eight-mile run, at least, in the dusty plains outside the city, followed by sparring and grappling until the last lights of the day ebbed away.
Will wiped the sweat from his face on the front of his shirt, imagining he wouldn’t like the life of an Olbian mercenary soldier now. He was content being the level-headed odd man out to Solomand’s somewhat high-strung crew. The Olbians had no concept of family. They were warriors who knew no weakness, and friendships were nothing more than a liability. This was not a bad policy, Will realized, as there was little he would not do to protect the friends he now had. They were his family, and he could never be an Olbian Iron Warrior again.
A wind cooled him as he made his way back up the winding walkway and into the Castle. In the kitchen, he broke two eggs into a skillet and turned the stove on. Absently, he twirled the broom handle like a bow staff as he slapped a slab of bacon into the pan and turned on a pot of coffee. Ignoring the cooking food, he continued to go through drills with his makeshift staff, expertly avoiding the cups and dishes stacked on the counter. Everything felt familiar, like a weapon, in his hands and Will practiced like some people might bite their nails.
The kitchen filled with the smell of burning.
One more strike.
Will felled his invisible opponent, set the broom down, and—waving smoke from his face—he moved the pan from the flames. He scraped its contents onto two plates and added two slices of stale bread. Hands resting on the countertop, he considered the blackness of the bacon, which was almost indistinguishable from the eggs. With a slight shrug, he determined it was edible enough and poured two cups of coffee to go with it. Taking one plate and cup, he first went to Tristan’s room.
He could hear coughing through the door. Tristan made less of an effort to hide his condition when Solomand was gone. Will shifted the plate on one arm as he opened the door and went inside. Tristan was doubled over, in bed, thick quilts drawn to his chest. His face looked strained and pale as usual.
“Good morning, Will,” he said.
“Morning.” Will set the plate on Tristan’s bedside table. “Breakfast.”
“Ah.” Tristan raised an eyebrow at the contents of the plate as he took the cup of coffee from Will’s hand. “Thank you. I m
ay not be quite ready to eat yet, I’m afraid.”
He sipped the steaming liquid, both hands curled around the mug.
“Sorry.” Will gave him an apologetic half-grin.
“Oh, it’s fine.” Tristan set the cup down. “I’m not in much of a mood to eat, anyway.”
Will nodded to the plate.
“The bread, at least. Sol won’t like it if you die before he gets back.”
Tristan sighed, his shoulders slumping in a resigned way.
“Yes. Well, that would complicate his plans now, wouldn’t it?”
Will offered no answer to this but crossed his arms. He would stand there all day if he had to.
“Alright.” Tristan nodded. “Later, though. Have you taken Ivan his breakfast yet?”
Will shook his head.
“I’m about to, as soon as you eat.”
Tristan sat up and leaned forward. The blankets slid down, and an open shirt exposed white, scars twisting across his upper chest. His eyes closing, he tapped his fingers in the air, calculating.
“Leave the Furi out today…and from now on.” His back straightened as he stared at the wall. “Yes. I think that will do. And Will…” He cleared his throat, turning his cool, blue eyes to meet the Olbian’s gaze. “I’m going to ask you to give him the passcode very soon. I know Sol won’t like it, but you must trust me on this. It is the right thing to do.”
Will frowned. Solomand would do more than not like it, but Tristan was usually a good judge of such things. Will hoped his judgment had not started to lapse with his body.
“Alright.” He gave Tristan a nod.
“Thank you.”
Tristan looked more at ease. He scooted himself to the edge of his bed and picked up a fork. “You know, I am rather hungry after all.”
He winked, scooping up a forkful of burned eggs.
Will shook his head slightly, a faint grin forming at the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll be back,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder as he left. Tristan was still eating.
Chapter 22
Rayn
A lamp burned in the window. Rayn lay on her bunk, wide awake, ten-years old in this dream. He said he wouldn’t be long. The door burst open, and the shouts filled the cabin. She recognized one of the deep voices.
