The guard’s eyebrow twitches. “Keeping everyone in their quarters was necessary for safety. The size and increased speed of the airship combined with the storm require we have as few individuals as possible in the main areas.”
And what about in the ventilation pipes? I’m tempted to ask.
“And my men? I’ve not seen them since boarding.”
“As I assured you earlier, they are being attended to with the utmost care.”
“Of course they are.” Rasha pats his cheek. “You’ve too friendly a face to treat them otherwise. Right, Nym? But I’d still like to see them.”
This time his lips twitch, as if he’s trying not to be flattered. “My apologies, but that’s not possible at this time. They’re rooming on the ship’s lower level.”
He steps out of my room and she follows. “So you’re saying you have no access to the lower levels?”
“The weather and speed combination require us to maintain balance in each section. It would be unwise to allow any of the delegates into other sections while we’re out over the sea.”
I follow them into the narrow passage and bump into the two Faelen soldiers I saw the other night when Myles took my knives. “You and Myles got to keep your bodyguards. Well, at least two of them,” Rasha says.
She sniffs. “Although I suggested he assign you an entire brigade.”
The two men nod at me. In the light, one looks strikingly like Tannin, so much so that he could be his brother. Did they hear the boy and I talking last night? If so, they don’t hint at it.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell them before shadowing Rasha to where the Bron soldier is knocking on what I presume is Lord Myles’s door. He’s met by a loud groan of, “Go away,” from within.
“He’s been in there for hours. Apparently, airsickness.” Rasha grins as the guard turns back to lead us down the short hall and out a metal door into a good-size dining area made up of stark metal walls, thin red carpet, and lanterns hanging from the ceiling. All focused around a long, thin, metal table at which the three Faelen delegates are seated. My stomach coils. I glance around but Eogan’s not here.
“By the way,” Rasha whispers in my ear, “Myles informed the other delegates that you’re here at his request and King Sedric’s permission. However, one of them’s not, uh . . . too thrilled.”
Glancing up, I catch the polite curiosity displayed on the faces of Lord Percival and Lady Gwen. Both of whom I recognize from attending Adora’s parties. The third, Lord Wellimton, is openly ignoring me.
“Impressive, yes?” Lord Percival says to Princess Rasha, his eyes wide on mine. “A dining room that actually flies.”
I turn in a full circle to take it all in as they stand to greet Princess Rasha. The airship must be the size of a glorified common house. On one side, two windows give a heart-gasping view of the sea, and there’s even an outside deck. Clearly this is a royal airship rather than the battle ones we so recently sent running. Not exactly luxurious, but definitely impeccable in its simplicity—formidable even.
I look at the Bron guard and don’t have to wonder how he feels about that. About losing the battle. And us.
“Where’s Eogan?” I ask.
“King Eogan regrets he will not be joining the group at this time.” The guard stiffly indicates the table laid out with mainly fruit and a type of gummy substance.
“It tastes like bread and keeps you chewing until it dissolves,” Rasha whispers as the guard moves to stand with my two Faelen soldiers against one of the walls, which is reflecting a sliver of afternoon sun coming through the windows.
I nod at her and then stride over and peer through the thick panes at the stormy sea and gray sky pierced with yellow rays. The expanse of ocean is endless, and we’re above it, soaring beneath the interspersed cloud covering. This must be how it feels to break free from the dust and flit away to inhale the sky. Like the bluebird carved into my arm.
The impact of that thought nearly pulls the breath from my lungs.
Abruptly, the cut in my arm warms along with my insides as the emptiness in my veins remembers it can no longer feed off the sky’s static.
I join Rasha and the others before the sensation collapses me.
“And what of Lord Myles?” Lady Gwen asks Rasha.
“He’s currently admiring the inside of the water closet.”
Lord Percival nods. “Ah, seasick. Or airsick I suppose it’s called.”
“Have you enjoyed your time so far?” Lady Gwen reaches for a larkfruit, which as I recall from Adora’s High Court parties is one of her favorite foods. An odd thing to remember except she’s one of the few women on the High Council and, like Adora, comes from a long line of politicians. Although, unlike Adora, I’m not convinced she’s ever wanted the job.
“Not particularly,” Rasha says. “You?”