She falls silent, but I feel her nod beside me as a few feet away, the delegates’ anticipatory chatter grows deafening.
Myles bumps me, and when I glance up, his expression is a mixture of what surprisingly appears to be legitimate sympathy and that slimy, persuasive offer. I blink and refuse to acknowledge it—and instead go back to staring at the coast as the drizzle lessens into a fine mist.
The rain stops altogether as soon as we’re flying above the warboats and the host of downed airships behind them. Which, mercifully, don’t look as mangled as I’d expected. A few appear battered and waterlogged, but most show signs of having been purposefully landed in their current, if random, positions.
Lord Percival gives a quiet whistle. “Nicely done, Nym.”
I don’t respond. Nice isn’t the word I’d use. Necessary maybe. Although something in my raw heart lightens a bit. I didn’t kill as many men as I feared.
We pass over them, and soon the beaches turn into tan dirt that stretches out into a bland-looking landscape just as the clouds ahead part to reveal the last death throes of a late-afternoon sunset.
“Look at that place.” Lady Gwen points at the silver city spreading out in front of us.
It shines like an engraved metallic button on a brown coat of earth. The nearer we get, the more intricate it becomes, with everything about it looking intentional, efficient, like one of the round gears on a horse cart, with a river running through the middle. Even the buildings resemble miniature axles crammed together alongside clusters of towers, which are topped with pointed copper domes. Near those, giant pipes rise up from the underbelly, pumping out smoke or steam as if the city’s whole foundation is on fire.
Myles shoves between me and Rasha to stretch over the railing and look down. A moment later the whole line of us has followed his example to take in the city’s surrounding wall. It’s enormous, with holes where the tributary is pouring forth on the far side into a river that sparkles like the city beneath the cloud-cloaked sky. Aside from rust-brush dotting here and there around the banks, the landscape looks devoid of plant life—of any life for that matter beyond the smattering of strange houses with flat roofs and few windows.
My heart winces for Eogan. What a depressing place to grow up in. The look on Rasha’s face says she’s thinking the same.
A metallic scraping sound is followed by the entire ship suddenly shuddering around us. Then we’re coming in fast and the city is looming, big and metal with streets jutting out from the center like spokes on a spindle wheel.
Lady Gwen shrieks that the airship’s going to scrape the highest building when it makes another loud shifting noise and tilts and lunges toward the side, forcing us to keep our grips on the railing. We descend toward the long, wide streets filled with people. Thousands upon thousands of them, all the beautiful black color of Eogan’s skin, and Kel, and the Bron guards around us, all dressed in red, all moving and waving together like some rich carpet, covering the walkways and blending in with the red-and-black Bron flags hanging from the sides of the metal buildings.
The sight of them curdles my stomach. Draewulf’s going to destroy everything. My people. Your people. Oh hulls—what have I done? How do I choose him over them?
“It’s a party.” Myles promptly smooths his hair back and adjusts his oversized cravat.
The ship drops into the shadowed straightaway of the first street, so fast and low it’s a wonder we don’t squash the crowds or scrape the buildings rising up beside us. A fine red dust begins filling the air in front of us, breezing into us. People are sprinkling it down from the highest windows. It smells sweet—like flowers and fruit—and clings to our skin before slipping down to the ship floor and then off onto the masses clamoring in the street below.
“If only my grandfather were alive to see me here,” Lady Gwen whispers. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a parade for their new king,” Lord Percival says.
A new king who isn’t a king at all but a monster who will murder this city with abandon.
Welcome to the beginning of your end.
Lady Gwen is fluttering one hand while keeping a death grip on the railing with the other. “A positive show of support for us despite the fact Nym almost destroyed their entire armada.”
“Let’s hope what they remember is the fact that she didn’t destroy it,” Myles says.
I tug my white braided hair back and tuck it beneath my shirt so it’s mostly out of sight as Lord Wellimton looks over. “Let’s hope her being here doesn’t cost us these negotiations. So I’ll remind you that this is the part where we wave and make them love us. So smile, everyone.”
They smile.
And wave.
Although the more spindled streets we turn onto and the more people the delegates smile for, I’m sure I’m not the only one noticing the inflating tension in the place. A sense of wariness.
The crowds are putting on a show too.