Is Kel watching from one of his ventilation pipes?
“Do you think they were forced to give thisss greeting?” Myles says to Rasha through his teeth.
“There’s too much noise for me to tell, but I suspect it’s a test of strength.”
Myles snorts. “Ours?”
“Of Eogan’s as their new king.”
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen streets we’ve travelled down when Myles leans over again. “You sssee that? The houses and buildings are almost identical. It’s their way of keeping order. They’ve made everything uniform so there’sss no competition. Very smart when you think about it.”
Rasha recoils. “But how do they distinguish themselves creatively? How could they feel unique and that they can succeed to something better?”
“They’re warriors, not philosophers, Princess. A sense of duty and unity keeps them a well-oiled machine. Quite literally, from the looksss of this city.”
She sniffs. “You sound as if you admire it.”
“Oh, I do,” he purrs. “Why do you think I wanted to come? Imagine the way I can use my gift on them.”
I turn him a look of disgust, at which he scoffs. “Don’t look so repulsed. If it makesss you feel better, it’s their purity of motivation I find refreshing.”
“And how often did you visit here when you were betraying your country?”
He bends so near a rush of chills scampers down my skin. “Careful there. My experience here could save lover boy and everyone else’s livesss.”
I clench my jaw and glance at a preoccupied Rasha. He returns to smiling and waving.
We’ve finished the thirty-sixth street when the airship crosses over one of the outer circular ones and turns onto a thin road that looks as if it will take us in one final curve around the entire city. Here, the buildings are neat and ordered, but their style is different, more intricate in their windows and archways. They’re older.
“Must be where the wealthy live,” Lord Wellimton murmurs.
“We don’t have castes here,” a Bron guard behind him says. He’s flanked by three others as well as the two Faelen soldiers. I wince with the sudden reminder that there should be another Bron guard with them. Do they know yet that Draewulf tossed him overboard?
Wellimton makes a sound of interest, so the man continues. “In our city, no one is wealthy or poor. Our citizens are simply segregated into jobs. This section is for the elderly and our teachers.”
“What about that out there?” I point to a large patch of land in the distance, terrameters beyond the circular city wall. It looks black, smoky in the late-afternoon light, like a carpet of crawling darkness.
The guard shrugs as if it’s of no consequence and turns his gaze. But not before I catch the flash of fear in it.
I look at Rasha who’s leaning over the edge, fluttering her hand at some children below. When I peer up, I see Myles, too, appears to have missed the guard’s reaction.
The airship follows the rim of the spindle all the way round the city’s edge until we’re abruptly facing the palace. Eogan’s home and place of his birth. Even with the sun down, the copper that covers every inch of the outdoor staircases and walls all the way up to the spires at the top is shining. As the ship moves into position over it, I can peer down into a giant, flat courtyard garden atop the main roof—the first real bit of green we’ve seen since entering Bron.
I frown. “Are the farms farther outside the city?” But no one seems inclined to give an answer, least of all the guards.
The ship shivers as it slows, groaning when we come to a stop over a giant stone-paved pad.
No crowds congregate here. Only guards, forty by my count, a few of which are the size of ten-year-olds, standing at attention on the platform, while five more hold the ropes for the lowering ship. Aside from the droning noise and the excited chatter of the delegates, there’s little other sound.
Just as I think the ship’s captain means to actually set the hull on the ground, the order is given and a plank is lowered into a slanted position. I turn to watch as two of the soldiers walk up it and stand aside, and Eogan appears from the cabin beside the dining room. The men slap their right fists over their chests in salute.
My eyes narrow but the monster inside Eogan ignores me and proceeds to descend the ramp.
At the bottom, an elderly man is waiting. He holds out his hand, which Eogan-who-is-Draewulf takes and places over his own heart, and the air deflates from my lungs at the reminder that he has been here before. With Isobel, when Eogan was a child, for a few years by my recollection of Eogan’s story.
He’ll already know their habits. And their weaknesses.
I look back at Myles and Rasha with a mouth tasting of ash. Rasha’s watching the old man intensely, but Myles’s mouth presses into a thin line as he stares back at me. Challenging me with the quiet question of what risk I’d be willing to take to fix it. To fix all of this.