Blood Bond (The Stones of Terrene Chronicles Book 4), page 8
Pistoia spun on her heel to face Niles, turning her back on Weston. He narrowed his eyes at the slight, but didn’t say anything. Not when it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for their working relationship. Pistoia pointed her wrench back at him, not even looking to make sure he hadn’t moved up within striking range. “His Highness wants to test out the parajumper pack himself.”
Why did that make him feel like a kid being ratted out? The tips of his ears burned, and he lifted his chin to Niles, embarrassment morphing slowly into indignation. “It’s not dangerous, and I don’t want to risk injury to someone else.”
Niles crossed his arms and broadened his stance, a hulking shadow in the close quarters. “If it’s not dangerous, then you aren’t risking injury to someone else.” He eyed the framework, visually tracing how the harness met the frame, and the frame melded with the enclosed turbines. “You confident that you got everything right?”
“Of course.” Injured pride sharpened Weston’s tone. “I wouldn’t want to test something I didn’t have faith in.” He expected it to work. He needed it to work.
“Good.” Niles circled around the workstation and examined the top of the frame before reaching out to grasp it at the base. “I assume I can lift it here?”
Pistoia made a noise of affirmation, and Niles heaved, smoothly lifting the entire pack as if it didn’t weigh just under three stones.
Niles narrowed his eyes at Weston. “If something goes wrong and you messed up, you’ll just have to work harder next time. We can’t risk losing your brains.”
Weston bit back his snarky reply and followed Niles out to the test yard. Niles set the parajumper pack on the snow-covered ground gently, and Weston busied himself adjusting the safety straps of the harness for Niles’s build. “Stand here,” he tapped the footplate with the toe of his boot. “We want to have these fitting snugly.”
Niles stood on the indicated place and settled his hands on the two hand gears. “So how does this thing work, exactly?” He lifted an eyebrow at Weston. “In simplified, non-engineering terms.”
Weston smirked and touched one of the hand gears. “Steering.” He pointed to the motor nestled next to a custom-shaped water drum. “Power.” He tapped the gauge. “How much steam it has, and how much time you have left.”
Niles gave Weston a flat expression. “So helpful.”
Weston lifted his hands and shrugged, grinning. “You wanted simple terms.” His grin eased. “Don’t squeeze the controls too much. Light pressure should be fine. Like driving a buggy––you don’t want to oversteer.”
Snow crunched under Pistoia’s boots as she gently pushed Weston aside to make room for her in front of the parajumper pack. She made quick work of double checking the fit of the harness. “Left handle will take you to the left, right to the right. Push forward, and you’ll go down, pull back and you’ll go up,” she explained, her manner efficient and no-nonsense.
Niles looked up at the blue sky overhead and then at Weston. “If this ends poorly, I expect you to send me a really good-looking nurse, Your Highness.”
A short laugh broke out of Weston. “Of course. Isn’t your mother still working at the hospital? I can always send for her––”
Niles groaned. “Your Highness? Don’t even finish that thought.” He took a deep breath, studying the controls one more time before craning the lever on his left. He watched the gauge while he worked.
Weston’s breath shortened with each crank. He scanned the frame and narrowed his eyes at the small motor. He’d gone over everything countless times—by himself, with Pistoia, with several of the other academics in the workshop—and all agreed that the math was solid. That it’d work. They’d accounted for the need of inertia during a cold start like this. They’d accounted for the various weights of their soldiers—men and women alike. In theory, it would be fine.
Still, his nerves vibrated under his skin as he waited for Niles to hit the button. What if they’d all made a mistake? What if Niles got injured on Weston’s project?
Unlike Everett, Weston cared about those who worked for him. And Weston would rather the potential risks be on his own self instead of a friend. There were no acceptable casualties by his book.
Niles stopped cranking and saluted at Weston and Pistoia, then pushed the green button. Steam flooded the yard and the pack leapt into the air as Niles loosed his own stream of startled profanity. He rose about twenty feet in the air and stopped there, hovering.
Weston’s lungs had to be lodged in his throat as he watched his friend test the steering controls. Immediately, the mechanism started spinning like a top, faster and faster. “Ease up!” Weston shouted. “Let go of the right handle!”
“Not like he’s going to hear you,” Pistoia muttered with no small amount of mirth in her voice. “He’ll figure it out. We did warn him. I wish I’d brought popcorn for this.”
Weston shot her an incredulous look, but, as she’d predicted, Niles slowly stopped spinning in the air, and the pack drifted toward the ground enough that Weston could clearly see his green face. Niles was going to be griping for days about this.
Weston grimaced. “We still need him to test the actual operation of directions.”
Pistoia lifted her hands to her mouth, “A little to the left, please!”
Niles glared down at her, but the craft shifted to the left as requested.
“And to the right, if you will!” Pistoia grinned at Weston. “Looks like it’s working, Wes.”
“So it is.”
Weston watched as Niles maneuvered the craft again, then started its descent. Weston shielded his eyes from the flecks of muddy ice on the ground that whipped up and into the air. It had worked. Now they’d have to fine tune it, test it off a building, then make as many as possible. And hopefully all today, as he still had to find men to train on the things, and fast. Titus had promised earlier this morning that he’d have a hand-picked list of soldiers to train by noon-meal.
The parajumper pack settled, and Niles cut the engine. He groaned and leaned his head against the frame. “Please tell me you won’t ever make me do that again.”
Weston smirked. “You asked to do it.”
Niles started to shake his head, then settled it back to where it’d been. “I have regrets.”
“Take a breather.” Weston started to move around the machine, careful to avoid the hot engine. “How was it? Anything feel loose?”
“Honestly, it was hard to tell. But I think it was good?” Niles fumbled to unstrap his harness. He pointed at Pistoia. “Next time, it’s you up there.”
Pistoia grinned, hands on her hips. “Never would’ve pegged you for someone who’d get airsick.”
Weston ignored the two, letting them banter while he checked the joints and welds. It really had seemed to work well. It was definitely a size that would be awkward for a soldier to launch himself over the edge of an airship, but that was easily worked out.
He had to send a hawk to Abigail tonight and let her know of the success. Last she’d written, she was still working to uproot Kaius’s traitors and had sent her regrets that Antius wasn’t able to help as much as hoped. But she’d expressed interest in his current project, so he’d send her schematics. Perhaps she could get some of her men working on parajumper packs down there, too.
The elation of a successful test run dimmed. He could also ask Abigail if she had some ideas on where an Elph on the run with a high-profile hostage would go.
Chapter Fourteen
Jade
Jade hunched over, fingers tucked under her armpits as she glared across the cramped airship personnel basket at Victor. Woven metal and canvas vibrated beneath her, and wind whistled through the small gaps and seams of the steamie. Pamela had been ordered to take them to Tastow, so she remained in the tiny two-soul captain’s compartment while Victor lingered near Jade. At least he seemed caught up in his own thoughts, leaving her be. He caught Jade’s glare and held it before slowly blinking in boredom. He remained utterly unruffled. Nothing she did seemed to get under his skin for long.
It rankled.
He’d been a friend. He’d teased her on occasion. He’d saved her life once!
Grief stabbed an icicle through her, and she curled over her knees, holding in a whimper. Her father. Slate. She’d started getting used to calling Brandon father, but to her heart Slate was still the one who held that title. And how had she dealt with his memory? She’d buried her sorrow and let herself get so caught up with Aerugo and her close-call with Weston and then the barrier falling, that she’d let the gaping maw in her heart remain untouched. And it was too easy for her imagination to conjure a ghost of Slate at that cavern of grief, waiting for her to finally admit to herself her own brokenness and self-directed anger for moving forward without processing what she should’ve.
And if Zak had been killed in Victor’s trap …
Her heart stuttered at the thought, threatening to crack like thick glass from receiving blow after blow.
They’d survived so much that tried to tear them apart, and now this.
And her father had given his life to keep the keystone working.
Then Victor had made Slate’s sacrifice be in vain.
“I hate you.” The words slipped from between her lips before she’d even realized they were there, but she didn’t regret it. Not when his head jerked back to her and she caught just the slightest flare lighting his eyes.
He shrugged slightly and turned to glance out the tiny porthole window. “No surprise there.”
“Was it all a lie?” She rubbed her cheek against her knee and blinked back the burn in her eyes. “Your friendship back then? You trained with us. You helped me.” Bitterness coated her tongue. “Was it hard for you, obeying my father’s orders? Knowing you were going to stab us all in the back, you whale scu––”
“Yes,” he snapped, rounding on her with a speed that made her scramble backward on the cold floor. Victor loomed over Jade, his scent of horses and stale sweat washing over her. “It was excruciating having to work under that bumbling drunk. Always drowning himself in his woes.” Victor spat, and the wad of spittle landed close to Jade’s hip. “As for our friendship,” his voice lost some of its edge, “I liked you well enough as a mechanic. Your bloodline is most unfortunate.”
He moved back to where he’d been by the hand-sized round window, and his words tumbled over themselves in her head. So what had been there as friendship hadn’t been a total lie.
A tiny kernel of hope lit in the bleak landscape of her despair. Maybe she could use that to her advantage. Somehow.
She kept her voice soft as she stared at the travel-worn leather of his boots. “Why?”
The creak of metal framework filled the absence of talking, and Jade traced her thumbnail along a ridge in the floor. It wasn’t comfortable for sitting. And there was a seat available, if she wished to sit closer to Victor. But for now …
“Your family took from mine.”
Jade startled and looked up to see Victor studying her with eyes as cold as the snow outside. He crossed his arms, casual, confident, and with all the energy of a poised snake. “The Doldras and Monomi lines both did. And now you’re of both families.” He lifted one shoulder. “Tell me, princess. Do you not feel the desire for vengeance? Vengeance for what I did to your father? To Zak’s brother? Your father’s friend? The hundreds whose blood I have spilled?” His words dripped like liquid poison. “Whatever hate you feel for me, I have felt for decades longer. And I will win.”
The venom in his words seeped past Jade’s bluffed armor and sank into her bones, dissolving the tiny speck of hope. There was no chance of reasoning with him. Not with the undiluted resentment radiating off him like heat from the Sapphire’s boiler room.
She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to ward off the sudden chill that crawled down her spine. Not even the thick coat the burly lady guard had given her could keep her warm enough now.
Tense silence idled in the air until the voice-pipe near Victor squawked: “Nearly there, sir.”
Victor barely glanced at Jade. “Stay where you are.”
Her arm burned as the order settled on her, pinning her to where she sat on the floor. He slipped through the narrow doorway to join Pamela, leaving Jade alone.
She leaned her forehead against her arm and tried to remember what bravery looked like.
* * * * *
She hadn’t known what to expect when they landed, but this breath-takingly beautiful landscape wasn’t it. A cream-colored palace nestled in the mountain range. It wasn’t sprawling and open like the Lucrum palace, nor broad and faintly box-like with Doldran architecture. This was square with windows that gleamed in the winter light, and four narrow towers with stairs spiraling on the outside, all five buildings topped with bubbled domes. Beyond, it almost looked like a shipyard, but with steamies, their lozenge shapes readily visible through the sparse trees.
Victor hunched his shoulders into the chill breeze and started toward the building, not even glancing back to see if Jade or Pamela were following.
Not that he had to, with his orders for them to stay by his side still sizzling in their bond.
He marched through the nearest door, and the guard there must’ve recognized him, immediately dropping to a knee, head lowered. “Master Enforcer Kalanask! We heard from the Winged Scouts that you would be arriving soon. Lord Sephirn is in his office, sir.”
Victor’s crisp stride slowed for a fraction of a moment. “Thank you.”
The guard stood at Victor’s acknowledgment, and his expression flickered with recognition at the sight of Pamela. He gave Jade a simple nod that she didn’t return.
He thought she was part of Victor’s team. Her palm itched for her dagger and the feeling of burying it deep into Victor’s back, but the haze of the bond predictably kept her hands in tight fists and away from the leather-wrapped hilt.
Their footsteps echoed in the hall, and every Elph who saw Victor had the same reaction as the guard: dropping to a knee, foreheads pressed into the other knee. With each person’s reverence, Victor’s back seemed to straighten a little bit more, his gait smoothing, until there was no hint of the dragon hunter that she’d known on the Sapphire. Now he was something else. Something foreign. An Elph sovereign in his homeland.
Cold sweat dampened Jade’s shirt. What was he going to do to her now? Was this his final destination for her? Why here? Her legs felt like lead columns, and yet they kept swinging forward of their own accord, whipped on by the bond.
At long last they reached a doorway indistinguishable from all the other doors, minus the simple crest of what looked like three rings of the tattoo bond circling a pen on paper. Victor paused, his hand poised on the doorknob. He glanced at her and the silent Pamela.
“You may take some time for yourself,” he said to Pamela, his gaze flickering over travel-worn clothes and oil-slicked hair. “Find a place to clean up, then do as you will until I return.”
Jade perked up. Would he let her have a chance to bathe? It’d been two days on the road, and she was uncomfortably aware of her own scent. No matter how bleak her future looked, it would be helpful to face it with some simple dignity.
His lips pursed as he looked Jade over, his gaze cold. “You clean up too. Pamela, find her a change of clothes.” He pointed at a splotched spot on the floor across from the doorway he lingered by. “And when you’re done, Jade, you stand there and wait for me.”
Jade nodded, excitement and longing for the idea of hot water overriding any sensation of the bond. She followed Pamela to a section of the building that had fewer gleaming floors and a more sparse, bare feel to it. Instead of freshly cleaned tile, the floor looked to be red-tinted concrete, and the somewhat elegant sconces had given way to boxy, practical lighting.
Pamela led with such a casual familiarity that Jade’s curiosity got the better of her. “How do you know this place?”
Pamela didn’t slow or acknowledge Jade’s question as she marched through a door and pointed to a short hall that had four curtained-off privacy chambers. “Pick one.” She disappeared around the corner, and the sound of cupboards banging echoed in the silence.
Jade scrunched her face up in the direction Pamela had vanished and muttered, “It wouldn’t kill you to reply to conversation.”
Pamela swore something low and vicious that echoed throughout the chamber, and Jade glanced back, shoulder blades tingling, waiting to see if Pamela’s anger was due to what she’d said. But when Pamela didn’t show up, Jade sighed and peeked behind a nearby curtain.
A quick glance revealed an empty tub, a small shelf for effects, a chair, and a lower shelf filled with a few soaps. A turn of the faucet and water started pouring into the tub. She started tugging on her boot laces, making quick work of pulling off the first boot.
“Do you need help?”
Jade squawked at the foreign voice and lifted a dirt-crusted boot, ready to wield it as if it were a wrench against a stubborn broiler bolt.
A blonde woman about her age blinked at her over the edge of the sole of the shoe. A bundle of clothing mounded in her arms. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
Jade lowered her improvised weapon, a flush of heat splashing across her cheeks. She had a dagger on her hip. Why hadn’t she thought to use that? It would’ve been much more intimidating than a boot. Either way, the stranger held still, not quite wary, but not open-faced and trusting by any means. Just … patient and almost resigned.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jade started on the laces of her other boot.
The woman sighed and dropped the clothing on the empty shelf, then stooped to pick up Jade’s discarded shoe. “I’ll clean these while you bathe.” Her sharp glance silenced Jade’s mounting protest. “I’m to help you prepare for your next destination.”
