by Anna Bowman
“You think I don’t know that?”
He took an uneven step toward Ivan. In turn, Ivan’s shoulders squared, as his chest rose and fell with every fiery breath.
“Why do you come here, Solomand?”
Sol massaged the deep ache in his left shoulder.
The weather must be shifting.
Whatever the cause, the pain was a welcome distraction from Ivan’s accusatory tone.
“I don’t need you to remind me of my mistakes, Ivan. I aim to set them right.”
Unblinking, Ivan sniffed.
“Why?”
He didn’t need to explain his question; Sol already knew. Their run-ins in Blackpool and anywhere else were like child’s play compared to what awaited them all in Corcyra. It was the one place none of them should ever go. Solomand, in particular, had been very careful to keep his distance from there for many years.
So why now?
He rubbed his neck.
“Because. It's the only choice we've got.”
He briefly told Ivan the real reason they were going to Corcyra—the reason only he and Tristan knew. The Slav’s reaction was expected.
He tilted his head back, nostrils flaring.
“Is stupid plan! Too much risk.” He stood, staring down at Sol.
“Would you shut your mouth and listen for once!”
Ice Man!
Sol kept the insult to himself. Ivan looked like he could put up a decent struggle at this point.
Ivan stepped toward him.
“Why should I listen?” His chest heaved. “You only care for you, or you would have found doctor already.” He jabbed Solomand in the chest with a finger.
Solomand’s tone darkened, anger clawing its way above the guilt.
“You know it’s not that simple.”
Ivan’s chest was against his now.
“You find a way for what matters to you.”
Sol’s hands trembled as he balled them into fists.
“I’m this close,” he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger, “to giving you back your knife.”
The vein in Ivan’s forehead bulged.
“Stley eta.” Do it.
Solomand slid one foot back and reached under his coat. He jerked a curved dagger with a polished bone handle from his belt. The blade was covered with a tan leather sheath. He threw it at Ivan’s feet, his heart pounding uncontrollably. It was the only thing Ivan said he brought from his past life: the blade of an Ice Wolf. He’d left it behind when he disappeared, and Sol had kept it from him until now. He knew it was wrong to provoke the lone Ice Wolf, but his temper would not allow him to stop.
His lip curled upward, Ivan crouched down, an unblinking gaze looking at Solomand as he took the knife in his hand.
“Oruziy visha.” Draw your weapon.
He spoke through clenched teeth, jerking the deadly blade free of its sheath.
Solomand tore his gun belt off and tossed it aside. The fury outweighed the tightness beginning to coil around his chest.
“I don’t need a weapon, khuizda(asshole)!”
He put up his fists.
Tristan shoved the door open as he yelled at them. He gave Sol a long, pained look that was sharper than any dagger Ivan could have cut him with. He dropped his hands, taking short, deliberate breaths. Tristan turned to Ivan.
“Ivan…damaychi(brother)…” He shook his head as he pointed at Sol. “Don’t do it.”
Ivan’s look of anger softened. Tristan looked paler than usual as he slumped against the doorframe.
Tris!
Solomand’s chest ached. He sprang to Tristan’s side and helped him to the bed. Ivan’s brow furrowed and his arms dropped. The knife fell to the floor with a clang.
What the hell’s wrong with me?
Solomand raked a shaking hand through his hair.
“I…I’m sorry.” He murmured and staggered out of the room, badly in need of a cigarette, leaving Ivan to have it out with Tristan.
Ivan was frozen with horror as he stared at Tristan. He could not bring himself to move at all as his friend spoke.
“For the record, Ivan, I agree with you. It is a rather stupid plan. It’s not worth the risk, either.”
Ivan’s eyes clamped shut.
“How much longer?” It was almost a whisper.
Tristan took a strained breath, and his voice was gentle. “It should have been a long time ago.”
Ivan’s eyes opened, and he forced himself to meet Tristan’s gaze. He would have a straight answer. Tristan sighed, smiling weakly.
“A few months more, I think.”
The Slav felt a churning in his stomach.
“There is no other way?” He sank to the bed next to Tristan, shoulders slumped.
“No,” Tristan sounded sorry. “The risk is still too great. But Sol will not listen to reason.”
Ivan cringed at Solomand’s name.
Zohpai! Bastard.
He did not want to forgive him.
Tristan looked tired.
“It’s not his fault, Ivan.” Against Ivan’s will, Tristan’s voice cooled the hatred raging inside him. “You don’t know how much pain you cause him.”
Ivan made a grunting noise, his hands tightened into fists on his knees. Tristan was wrong. Ivan knew all too well about pain and how to cause it. He didn’t care. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was an Ice Wolf—a heartless assassin of the Northland. Once one made that choice, there was no turning back on it. But his mind had begun to clear, and the lie was becoming harder to believe.
Faces of two girls, laughing and running in a forest as snow swirled around came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. A shiver crawled up his spine and his eyes closed, forcing the memory back into blackness until only the pain and hate remained.
“I will go to Corcyra.” He broke the uncomfortable silence. “This time, Solomand is right. Is worth the risk.”
He hated saying it out loud.
Chapter 32
Rayn
So, this was it. She was actually leaving. Rayn adjusted the strap of her bag, staring down into the valley. Her fingers tightened around the leather. Jank managed to repair a damaged skiff with salvaged parts. This is what they would be taking to Blackpool. Solomand didn’t dare take the bulky airship back after their previous escapade. He told her the skiff was faster anyway. Somehow that didn't make her feel better. Walking down to the dock, an emptiness grew inside her with every step. The sky was a perfect shade of blue to remind her of Tristan’s eyes. What would happen to him? And what of the others? Would they ever make it back from Corcyra? She tried not to think about it. Sol and Will were going to escort her to Blackpool. Jank was staying behind this time. Solomand insisted Will come instead.
Will, Solomand, and Jank stood next to the airship, smoking. The icy-eyed Slav was nowhere to be seen. Solomand’s coat was draped over his shoulder, the usually hidden revolver strapped to his side. He dug in the pocket and held out the piece of folded, embossed, paper.
“You’re ticket, My Lady.” He didn’t let go right away as she took it from him.
“Thanks.”
Without the heart to return a sarcastic comment on his greeting, Rayn tucked it into her vest, glancing around at the valley one last time. She wanted to stay longer, but it wouldn't do any good to say so. The whole reason she'd left Port Ashbury was to find who she was. Captain Black and his crew were a means of recovering her past, nothing more. She glanced up the hill to see Tristan limping towards them, relying on his cane more than usual. A navy overcoat swallowed his frame. Her heart shrank.
“Can I trouble one of you for a smoke?” Tristan asked, sounding brighter than he looked.
Simultaneously, all three of his friends extinguished their cigarettes and flicked them away.
“You’re not allowed.” Sol said, slipping on his coat on and turning up the collar.
“Oh, come now. I think twenty-five is quite old enough.” A devilish grin spread across his fa
ce as he straightened. “Not even as a last request?” Sol’s jaw tightened, and he glared at Tristan. “Sorry, Sol. Old habits die hard.” Tristan sighed, tipping his head back to look at the sky. His eyes seemed more piercing. “I really only came to bid Rayn farewell, anyway. That is if she’s quite sure she wants to leave us?”
He leaned forward and took her hand.
“I’m afraid so.” Truth be told, she had never felt more uncertain.
His clammy hands closed around hers.
“I shall bid you a safe journey, then. Until next we meet.” He held his head high. “Sounds so much better than goodbye, wouldn't you agree?” He winked and opened his arms. She hugged him, startled at the strength of his embrace. "Godspeed," he whispered in her ear, then let go, limping back up the path. Jank hurried after Tristan, and Rayn’s eyes lingered on the pair for a moment, the emptiness inside her expanding. If he'd have looked back once, she wouldn't have been able to get on the skiff. He didn't, though.
“Ready?” Sol’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Her hand closed around the medallion in her pocket, reminding herself once again why she had to leave.
“As I’ll ever be.” She tried to sound confident.
“That’s the spirit, then.” Sol clapped her on the back in an upbeat manner that made her begin to wonder if he really was eager to be rid of her after all.
“Thanks,” she mumbled as she climbed on board and secured her satchel of personal belongings in the cramped compartment below deck. Solomand strapped himself into the pilot’s seat, while Will tossed Rayn a cap and pair of goggles. She pulled them over her head and harnessed herself into the chair behind Sol.
Red and yellow lights flashed on the control panel.
“All clear,” Will called, giving Sol a thumbs up.
Solomand took hold of the controls as he pushed the throttle forward. The engines roared to life, drowning out the peaceful sounds of the valley. The skiff shook as they lifted off the support rails and Rayn gripped her harness, her teeth rattling. They drifted up with a burst of power until they had cleared the treetops. Rayn glanced down. The trees blurred together, the castle nothing but a lumpy carpet of vines that melted into the green mountains as the skiff hurdled forward like an arrow into the clouds.
A tingling sensation shot up Rayn’s spine. An involuntary smile formed on her lips as she let the exhilaration envelop her, strangling any other emotion. Her eyes closed soaking in the feeling of clouds on her cheek and wishing the trip would last forever. No matter how long it took, though, it would be over too soon, and she would be on a passenger ship surrounded by strangers, going to a place where people go to disappear. She imagined a dock full of Ivans waiting in Grishtanburg. It wasn’t long before the sensation of flying and hum of engines put her into a dreamless sleep, her stomach balled in a nervous knot.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Rayn.” Sol was shaking her. She opened her eyes and pushed the goggles to her forehead. Stars glistened, white diamonds in the inky sky. “I must have dozed off.” She yawned behind a gloved hand.
“End of the line,” Sol spoke under his breath. Rayn glanced around, unbuckling her harness.
“Where are we?” She stood up, stretching with another yawn.
“An abandoned dock outside of Blackpool.” He gestured to the warm glow of light in the distance. “I’ll take you to the main docks before we bow outta here.”
“So long, Rayn.” Will gripped her shoulder.
A lump rose in her throat. “Good luck.” She couldn’t bring herself to say more.
“Stay close.” Sol’s voice was a whisper. She nodded again and jumped over the side after him. The answers she wanted were in Grishtanburg. Her feet thumped through the high-grass alongside Sol, sleep still heavy on her eyes. Why do I feel so miserable? The cobbled streets rose up in front of them, and Sol leaned closer, hooking his arm through hers. “We’ll look less suspicious if anyone sees us.” She could feel his heart pounding in spite of his calm demeanor.
They stepped into the shadows of the neatly aligned buildings. “That’s your ship.” He nodded towards the lighted docks at the Zeppelin, a gigantic, dull mountain; like she expected it would look. “The Victoria. You have your ticket?”
Rayn’s mind felt hazy. She dug the brown piece of paper from her pocket to show him. “Good. No one asks about travel papers on that route. I've made sure it's all taken care of.” He slipped his arm from hers. “She leaves at daybreak. Once you get to Grishtanburg, I have a contact there who will meet you.” He squeezed her hand, breaking her from her daze. “It’ll be alright, Rayn. You’ll find the answers you are looking for once you get there.”
His head leaned in for a moment, and there was a depth of emotion swirling in his eyes she didn't recognize.
“I…I have to go now.” His hand was on his collar.
Don’t leave! She nodded as he pulled away. “Good luck in Corcyra.” Solomand’s fingers lingered in her hand. Footsteps shuffled up the alley to their left. “Thanks.” he disappeared into the shadows.
Rayn was alone. Muggy air draped itself around her like a gloomy blanket. She traipsed up the ramp and sat on one of the many benches that stood in rows in front of the waiting ships. Gas lamps cast shadows on the wooden planks and crickets sang in the distance. The entire city was asleep, and the airship Victoria rested there, ready to sail across the sea to the frozen continent at dawn.
She pulled out her ticket and stared at the foreign writing. The paper wrinkled under the grip of her fingers. She couldn't tell if she wanted to cry or throw up. Then, a scuffling noise in the shadows made her head raise. It was followed by what sounded like corks popping out of wine bottles.
A suppressed rifle. Rayn stiffened. No, it was nothing.
But she knew the sound, even if she did not know how she knew. She stood, hooking her bag on her shoulder.
Just wait on the ship.
She fought with herself for a solid minute, looking back and forth from the zeppelin to the shadowed path which lead out of town. She took a quick glance at the black sky and made up her mind.
I have time.
She stuffed the ticket in her coat pocket and darted back the way she had come.
Chapter 33
Solomand
Solomand always knew she couldn’t stay. Hours from now, Rayn would be well on her way to the North Continent, out of reach. This should have made him feel relieved. It was everything he intended. Governor LeFrost was nothing, if not persistent. He would hunt every last one of them down, and what would happen after, he didn’t like to think of. It did not matter, though. Hell would freeze ten times over before he let that bastard anywhere near Rayn.
It was this he dutifully reminded himself as he made his way back to the skiff where Will waited. They would return to Lubafell, carry out the plan and all would be well—or as close to well as it could be. Solomand dragged a hand down his face, his pace slowing until his boots scraped through the grass.
She’ll be safe.
He reminded himself over and over to stifle the overpowering urge he had to run back and take her in his arms…A low moan jolted him from his grief.
Pale, moonlight lit the surrounding fields, the buildings of Blackpool looming in the distance. Solomand took a knee as the pained groan sounded again, determining where it came from. Even as he pushed his way through the grass, searching the ground, a voice screamed in his head to turn around, get back to the skiff. There was something wrong here. But he kept looking anyway. It wasn’t until he found the child in the grass that he realized it was a trap.
“God!” he fell to his knees, rolling the small form over.
It was a boy of about six years old, dressed in ragged clothes, barefoot—an orphan most likely. Solomand’s hands came away warm and wet as he turned the boy onto his back. A clean cut, just under his throat oozed blood. Hands trembling, Solomand felt the small hand for a pulse, knowing it was too late to save him. It was just like all the others.
Solo
mand was there with Benjamin, the Insurgent leader, on that day, when Governor LeFrost gloated in his assured way, that the children had been his own idea. The 201st snipers would drug them, cut their throats in such a way they could still make noise when they awoke. Then, when the insurgents heard their distressed cries, the sniper hiding in the distance would take them out. Toward the end, Benjamin had found a young girl, which turned out to be the daughter of one of his men.
Trembling, Sol stared at the child, aware that his life was in danger, but unable to move. The child’s face grew paler and his pulse stilled. Tears stung Solomand’s eyes, and he broke free of the shock, sucking in a breath of air. Forcing himself to stand, he knew he had waited too long. He turned and ran.
I’m sorry, Ben.
It would never be over while LeFrost still lived.
I couldn’t save them. His thoughts strayed from the child and into a battlefield in another time. I couldn’t keep her safe.
The force that ripped through his shoulder came as no surprise and Solomand fell forward. Another shot cut through the grass over his head as he rolled onto his back. Gritting his teeth, Solomand reached down, pulling a knife from his boot. If that bastard Pelican thought he was going to go down that easy, he had another thing coming! Rolling onto his stomach, Solomand crawled in the direction the shot had come from.
Chapter 34
Rayn
Sweat trickled down Rayn’s back. Her overcoat felt heavy, but she managed to stay light on her feet as she crept along the grass.
The streets were silent, lamps in the street flickered, widening the reach of the shadows as she eased her way. Had she imagined things? Eyes scanning her surroundings she took a few steps forward, on the verge of returning to wait for the Victoria to open its doors. That’s when she tripped over the body.
Letting out a muffled cry she fell forward over the limp form slumped over a rifle. She rolled onto her back and scurried away, kicking at the man’s arm. Her breath caught. It was an Airman. Blood spilled from his neck where a knife stuck in it, forming a sticky pool in the grass. Rayn jumped to her feet and stumbled backward into the high grass. Her fingertips brushed something wet. She held them close to her eyes, her heart pounding faster.
