Tethered (Novella)

Chapter 5



She couldn’t breathe.

She should have been able to. The hole at the top of her brass helmet let in air. But air wasn’t the problem—it was her chest. Her heart was giving out.

Ravenous growls filled her head. She chopped away at the zombies. The door was only a few feet away. Archimedes was trapped behind that rotten wood, bracing the entrance against the zombies’ attack. He just had to hold on. Only a few more were left, but she had to hack and hack and endlessly hack, and more were coming, and the wood…was cracking.

The sound splintered through her chest. The door shattered inward.

Her scream ripped like a knife from her gut to her throat. Staggering, she was hit from behind and then carried along as the zombies crowded, rushed through the door. She swung the machete, hacking, killing—but it didn’t matter, because she was dead now, too.

But…no. When she made it through the door, all would be right. She would look up and see Archimedes clinging to the rope, above the zombies’ reach—holding on, just as she’d told him to. Then sharp relief would wake her.

Except he wasn’t on the rope. And there was her heart, gone, gone, as the zombies surrounded him, tore at him, and he looked at her. There was nothing in his eyes. No love, no pain, nothing.

Her screams tore at her throat again, and she hacked, hacked. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t bear it even in a dream, she had to wake up, had to wake—

Yasmeen opened her eyes, her heart racing. With shaking hands, she reached for Archimedes, as she always did on waking from this nightmare.

He was gone.

She jolted up. Pain shot though her knees, still healing from the explosion that had destroyed her lady. Her relief at seeing Archimedes at the end of the bed only lasted a moment; sympathy took its place. Nude, he sat with his shoulders hunched and elbows braced on his thighs, his head in his hands. Despair and rejection traced every line of his body.

Ignoring the ache in her knees, Yasmeen slid toward him. His head came up, fingers wiping at his eyes. Throat suddenly raw, she slid her arms around his waist, lay her cheek against the back of his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“Not completely. But I will be,” he said, and she heard his smile in his voice, felt his determination in the long, shuddering breath that he drew. His palm cupped her left knee, fingers softly massaging the stiffness away. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“A few times last night…I was rough with you.”

That was all? It was true, the instability of his emotions meant that they’d gone a few rounds before exhaustion had finally worn them down, but nothing had been said or done that needed an apology now. Yasmeen gently nipped his shoulder. “And we’ve never been rough before?”

“Never with anger. Not out of jealousy.”

“And I deliberately pushed you to both, knowing that you would squeeze every bit of emotion out of them. Wasn’t that what you wanted after the device stole that from you?”

His answer was a kiss pressed to her fingers, and a grin. “I’m squeezing out every bit of shame now.”

“So you are.” And without needing her to push him to it. Some emotions had been easier to find in him than others. “Are you truly jealous of Scarsdale?”

“No. But I was, once.” He moved his attentions to her right knee, fingers gently working. “I am envious of how much time he has spent with you, the years he’s been your friend—but I don’t begrudge him that time.”

“You have me now.”

“And I often feel like crowing that fact to everyone I see.”

So did she. Yasmeen smiled, held him closer. His fingers paused on her knee.

“And your reaction when I restrained your hands? That wasn’t deliberate. I scared you. I’m sorry for that, too. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know, either,” she said. She’d been utterly shocked by her reaction.

Tension stiffened his shoulders. “I wasn’t myself.”

Oh. He still thought she hadn’t trusted him because of the device’s effect on his emotions. Even if he were enraged beyond reason, she would put her life in his hands.

She had more difficulty risking his life.

“I trust you,” she said. “But I don’t trust anyone else. When you held my hands, I was terrified by the idea that someone could come into the cabin, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

Though he was quiet for a long moment, his tension didn’t ease. “I would protect us both.”

“I know. But it wasn’t about knowing. It was more…instinctive.”

Archimedes smiled faintly, reached up to flick her tufted ear—the one ticklish spot she had. Damn him. She squirmed, refusing to voice a single giggle, and retaliated with the scrape of her claws across his chest.

He groaned. “Stop arousing me like that, woman. You’ve already squeezed me dry.”

So she had. She’d enjoyed every second of it.

But she hadn’t enjoyed everything that had happened the previous night. Her laugh ended on a sigh, and was echoed by Archimedes’. He was better, but trouble hadn’t left their home.

Archimedes hadn’t forgotten, either. “Where’s Bilson?”

“In the stateroom, recovering. He’s still unconscious.”

“Unconscious?” His brows rose. “How badly unconscious?”

“I broke his jaw. That put him out. Then I infected him with Anisa Stoker’s blood. He’s full of opium now. It ought to keep him down for another day.”

“And the device?”

Heaviness settled in her gut. “I didn’t find it.”

“And you can’t risk the crew looking for it.”

So he’d already realized the threat to her position. She’d planned to keep that knowledge from him, but he understood her ship too well now. “I’ll ask Vashon and Longcock to search for it, but to treat the search as an inspection. Anyone whose station or storeroom is out of order will receive scullery duties.”

Archimedes nodded, but didn’t appear hopeful. “It won’t be anywhere obvious.”

“No. But there are only so many places to hide it.”

“And if we don’t find it?”

“Then we fly to New Eden.”

“No.” He pulled away from her, stood. “You won’t risk your freedom and your ship for—”

“Don’t think to give me orders, Mr. Fox.”

Though softly said, she meant it. He knew it.

His mouth flattened. Frustration glittered in his eyes, a bit of anger—and something more. Fear? “How do you like it, Yasmeen, knowing that I’m your soft spot? That I’m your exposed belly, and that my friend is holding a knife to it?”

“Truthfully? I don’t like it at all.”

He froze. It was a long moment before he spoke again, his face rigid and voice hoarse. “Do you regret me?”

“Never.” It was a vow. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “But I hate that I don’t know how to protect you, except by giving in to his demand.”

A grim smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I hate that I don’t know how to protect you and your ship, except by giving in…or leaving.”

“Don’t leave. And I’ll protect myself and my lady. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Only if you don’t worry about protecting me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t ask me to do the impossible, either.” He dragged his hand though his hair. “Christ. As it is, I am behind on the protecting. I have to save your life a few more times just to pull even. I ought to be hiring men to line up and shoot at you so that I can jump in front of the bullet—but God knows, you’d likely get to them first and snap their necks, and I’d end up paying the poor bastards to die.”

Despite herself, she had to laugh. He could be so wonderfully absurd.

He flashed a smile, then took a deep breath. “All right. We’re not giving in—we’re delaying while we look for the damned thing. We’ll find it, and that will be the end. Yes?”

“Yes,” she said, but in spite of his declaration, lines of worry formed on his brow. “Archimedes?”

“He always has a plan on standby.” He drew the statement out, as if thinking aloud. “But he didn’t try to stop me when I left the ship last night. You could have flown out of range—or I could have walked out of range, nullifying the threat. And he has to know we might find the device en route. No, this was to secure our attention or to serve as a distraction, and perhaps to keep us in line or to protect himself, but—”

By the dawning horror in his eyes, the answer struck him the same moment that Yasmeen realized it, too. They wouldn’t risk everything for Bilson’s brother. But for Archimedes’ sister…?

“Zenobia,” he whispered. “Dear God.”

His stunned immobility didn’t last long. Always ready for action, he started for the door. Yasmeen scrambled across the bed, found his yellow breeches amid the sheets and flung them in his direction.

He snagged them out of the air and stepped into the legs as he went. “I’ll wake the navigator.”

“The course to Fladstrand is already laid,” she reminded him, yanking her shirt over her head. Where were her boots? She needed five minutes to finish her letter to Scarsdale and send the express. “Tell Vashon to pull up our tether and push the engines to full steam. Archimedes?”

He paused at the door, looked back.

“What will it take for Bilson to break?”

“He won’t.” His gaze was flat. “And if it needs to be done, I’ll do it. But I’m not sure it will matter whether we find his breaking point. If he has Zenobia, he’s already found mine.”

And Yasmeen’s. Not just because she was Archimedes’ sister—the woman was her friend, too.

“Will he hurt her?”

“He wouldn’t have to. He just needs to send her to New Eden.”

Sweet heavens. “Who would take her?”

“Someone who’d accept money to go, but who wasn’t good enough to get away.”

Goddammit. That smug bastard had all but told them how he would do it. She shook her head, saw the same anger on Archimedes’ face…and the same fear.

“We’ll get her back,” she told him. “We will.”

Grimly, he nodded. “Either that or I’ll die trying.”

Then they were definitely getting Zenobia back—because Yasmeen would kill everyone in their way before letting that happen.

* * *


It was late afternoon when Lady Nergüi flew into Fladstrand. Yasmeen didn’t bother to stop at the harbor, but sailed through the town, stopping directly over Zenobia’s home.

Archimedes slid down the rope ladder first, with Yasmeen close behind. Zenobia’s orange three-level house stood between two identical buildings, all of them painted in bright colors. Though he didn’t visit as often as he’d have liked, Archimedes loved her home, loved watching her put on a display of irritation every time he shoved his loud and ridiculous life into her practical, quiet one.

Now dread weighed heavy in his chest as he let himself in. The house was cold, the air already stale. The express they’d sent the previous night lay unopened, untouched since being shoved beneath the door that morning. He found a note on her writing desk.


Archimedes,


It seems that I am to embark on an unexpected holiday to New Eden. Please do not follow me. I have always wanted an adventure of my own. If anyone threatens you, please kill them as usual. Don’t stop to chat.

Your doting sister,

Zenobia

P. S. Lady Lynx and the Damned Deceitful Dolt

Dolt? His sister was far better at ripping a man’s character apart than that banal insult suggested.

“They must have been rushing her,” he murmured. “Or she was terrified.”

Beside him, Yasmeen nodded, her mouth a flat line. “The maids are gone, too.”

More people to bring back—but he was glad Zenobia wasn’t alone. “We use codes in our letters, sometimes. She didn’t in this one, so she must not have known the name of the airship.”

“Someone at the harbor will tell us. Fladstrand’s too small for a strange airship to go unnoticed.”

“Her letter includes today’s date.” Perhaps early that morning—before Archimedes’ express had arrived. Bilson must have sent a message to his mercenaries soon after he’d been invited to dinner aboard Lady Nergüi. “Can we catch up to them?”

Her hesitation told him before she did. “Only if we know their exact heading.”

That heading would be south, Archimedes knew. But only a degree’s difference could mean a separation of hundreds of miles by the time they’d traveled the same distance—and the bastards were already at least twelve hours ahead of them.

They’d soon be farther ahead. Lady Nergüi wasn’t prepared for a long journey. They didn’t yet have the necessary fuel and food, or the equipment needed to infiltrate New Eden. That twelve-hour lead would be thirty-six hours or more before they were ready to follow Zenobia.

Yasmeen touched his arm. “We need to go.”

Yes, they did. Zenobia’s note in hand, he started for the door. “How long before we’re in England?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

And the express letters she’d sent from Port Fallow would be arriving in London any moment now. “Will the Blacksmith’s people have time to make the autogyros?”

“For as much as we offered to pay his smithy? Yes.”

No. Archimedes’ jaw tightened. The Blacksmith wouldn’t jump at anyone’s command, not even for money. She must have been owed a favor, and no one called in the Blacksmith’s favors lightly.

For Zenobia’s sake, he couldn’t ask Yasmeen to reconsider that course…not that she would if he did.

Her gaze swept the gray sky when they stepped outside. Steel had hardened her eyes; no man looking at her would have imagined she had any weak points, any softness. Yet here he stood, a vulnerability exposed and used against her.

Truthfully? I don’t like it at all.

Archimedes liked it even less. Though strong, he was her soft belly.

Would she resent him for that?

God, the thought gutted him. He knew she wouldn’t abandon him for this…but perhaps it would be the start of regret. Losing one ship had hurt her so much, more than she probably admitted to herself. What if, in their search for Zenobia, she lost another?

He couldn’t let it happen. He’d find his sister.

But he wouldn’t risk losing Yasmeen in the process.

* * *


Every airship captain who made runs around the bottom knew to avoid Madagascar in the southern spring. New Eden didn’t often come within sight of the Horde-occupied island, but the steam-powered flyers traded with the merchants there. Those flyers didn’t have a long range. Wherever they roamed, New Eden couldn’t be far away.

And as soon as Yasmeen told Mrs. Fortescue their destination, it was obvious that the navigator thought that New Eden could never be far enough away. Her face was pale as she unrolled maps across Yasmeen’s desk and began plotting the course. Usually bold and flirtatious, now she was quiet, and within minutes she’d gnawed away the rosy stain on her lips. Beside her, Vashon’s tension was less visible, but still apparent in the set of her jaw, and the uncertain glances she cast at Yasmeen’s face, as if wondering whether she’d just signed on with a madwoman.

F*ck uncertainty. This ended now.

A crew that didn’t trust their captain was as worthless as a crew she didn’t trust. But goddammit, she’d been tested as they had. She didn’t rely on her reputation aboard her own ship—and in five months, she’d led them through dangers that other mercenaries wouldn’t have survived. She had no more time for this. They would trust her to do her duty by them, or they could stay behind.

She pinned her new quartermaster with a hard stare. “Would you have signed that contract if you knew we’d be heading straight for New Eden?”

At the table, Archimedes looked up from a journal, where he’d been searching for a colleague’s account of William Bushke before the man had built New Eden. His emerald eyes were haunted—guilt and worry were weighing on him. Earlier, they’d eaten a quiet dinner, and for the first time, the silence hadn’t been comfortable, or filled with more pleasurable activities. No, it had simply been too difficult to laugh or smile when they’d both been sliced open at the gut by Zenobia’s abduction.

Vashon cleared her throat. “Honestly, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t have. But now that I’m aboard your airship, I’ll stick with her.”

Yasmeen turned her attention to the navigator. “And you, Mrs. Fortescue?”

“I’m still thinking about it, ma’am.” Agitation had darkened the woman’s plump cheeks, but she held herself calmly. “You’re…well, you’re the notorious Lady Corsair. I know your reputation, and I’ve seen you wriggle us out of tight spots. And I knew this job meant that I’d be picking up a sword or a gun and using them; I knew I might die on these decks. But I can’t say I ever saw myself spending the rest of my life farming in a city in the sky.”

A fate worse than death, for some. Yasmeen couldn’t blame them for thinking so—she’d have felt the same way.

She couldn’t blame them. But she’d be damned before ever abandoning a ship and crew in the wake of such fears. If anyone would rather leave her lady, good riddance to them.

“We’ll arrive in Medway tomorrow, Mrs. Fortescue. You have until that time to decide.”

“Whether to leave?” She appeared briefly horrified. “It’s true I wouldn’t like farming, but there’s no question. I’ll stay, ma’am.”

Good. But all of them needed to decide by then. Yasmeen looked to Vashon. “Call all hands on deck. Not just the aviators—everyone. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As she turned, Yasmeen said, “I’ll see you up top, Mrs. Fortescue.”

The navigator nodded and made a hasty exit.

Yasmeen drew a deep breath, then threw back her shoulders. She buckled her jacket, straightened her sash.

“Are you primping?”

Archimedes sounded amused. A glance at his face told her that he wasn’t.

“I’m giving them the choice to go,” she said.

“Why?”

Because they’d be less likely to change their minds later or to refuse her orders. Because she’d have to kill anyone who did.

“I wouldn’t, if this was my old crew.” Or even if she’d had more time with this one. “I knew they’d follow me anywhere and without hesitation. Even if they thought I was mad, they’d trust me to pull through. My old crew…” Her throat tightened. “My old crew isn’t here.”

He came to her, caught her face between his hands. “I’m so sorry, Yasmeen.”

It wasn’t his fault. But she knew that trying to talk him out of that guilt would be useless. She tried to smile—and when she failed, tried to make him smile. “I want Zenobia back, too. Who else would immortalize my adventures? And I still have to convince her to pay me fifty percent in royalties.”

The tilt of his lips didn’t last long, and the humor never reached his eyes. “What will you tell them about Bilson?”

“Not that he’s hiding a device that can kill you and Anisa Stoker,” she said. “I’ll have to frame his presence in another way.”

“One that explains why you shot him.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot about that.”

Not truly, but she might as well have. Finding the device mattered. Zenobia mattered. When Bilson finally awoke from his opium-induced sleep, Archimedes and she would have to deal with the man…but he didn’t matter.

She looked up at Archimedes, saw the torment on his face. Though she knew he wouldn’t let go of this guilt easily, she had to try. “Stop blaming yourself for this.”

“Oh, I’ve progressed to blaming him.” His smile was short-lived, and that tortured regret appeared again. Softly, he added, “But you shouldn’t be forced into this. I’ll hire another airship at Medway. I’ll go after Zenobia alone.”

He wasn’t joking. Yasmeen stared at him. She wanted to laugh, but each word resounded in her ears, squeezed painfully at her heart. A sense of unreality descended; she shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’m having difficulty deciding whether I’m moved or offended by that suggestion.”

“Moved,” he said. “I love you. I can’t bear to risk you. And I can’t bear being the reason you might lose your crew.”

She would hate it, too. But by the lady, she hated this suggestion more, and as the sense of unreality lifted, she wasn’t moved or offended. She was hurt. He’d wounded her so easily. So carelessly.

“You know everything I am,” she said, and hated the strain in her voice, the betraying tremble. “For me to let you go alone to New Eden, I would have to be the same person that you are under the influence of that device.”

“God, no.” He reached for her. “Yasmeen—”

She pulled away. If he touched her now, it would be too much. She had to shut it all away, to steel her heart, or begin weeping, sobbing…directly before speaking to her crew. They wouldn’t follow her anywhere.

She wouldn’t blame them.

His voice raw, Archimedes tried again. “Yasmeen, I just want to protect—”

“Don’t. Don’t even suggest it.” She drew her dagger, held it out to him. “You might as well take this blade and shove it through my heart now.”

He didn’t take it. Of course he didn’t. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She knew that…but knowing meant nothing compared to the growing ache in her chest, the tightness of her throat. She had to go up top and pretend this pain didn’t exist. Had to pretend she wasn’t terrified that half her crew would decide she wasn’t worth following, and leave.

She paused at the door. Perhaps it was weak, but she needed this from him now. “You’d be risking Zenobia by hiring someone else. Someone not as good. Do you want that, instead?”

He closed his eyes. “No.”

Then Yasmeen could hold on to that, at least.

* * *


You know everything I am.

God, he did. Bred to guard Horde royalty, she’d grown up expecting to have her very life tethered to one person, to guard them or die trying. She’d escaped that life and made her own, but she hadn’t discarded everything from her training—she’d said that falling in love had been like tethering to him; her life was bound to his now. She took pride in standing beside him, protecting him…just as he did in standing by her.

He’d known all that—and he’d made a mess of it. He’d wanted to see her safe, and slapped at her pride and heart, instead.

But he couldn’t repair the damage right away. He could only stand beside her now.

On the main deck, everyone aboard had gathered amidships. The aviators had clustered in front, the engineers and senior crew to starboard, and the others scattered in between. Thirty men and woman—plus five girls and two boys. He knew their names now, most of their stories.

Yasmeen took the quarterdeck. Behind her, steam billowed in great clouds—the boilers at full, but the engines quiet for the next few minutes. The wind wafted thick tendrils of mist around the balloon, as if they were floating backward through a heavy fog. Archimedes stepped onto the quarterdeck, took his place behind her. Perhaps she didn’t want him there now; he didn’t know. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Even if she put a knife to his throat and told him to go, he’d never do anything but stand with her.

It was impossible to judge her reaction. Her expression appeared colder, harder than he’d seen in months—flint and steel, an angry fire waiting to be struck. The aviators quieted. Yasmeen’s voice carried over them.

“I am putting to rest the speculation that has run rampant aboard this ship since last evening, when I shot our passenger, Mr. Bilson—speculation that has increased since our hasty departure for Fladstrand this morning.”

She paused, as if in silent reprimand for their gossiping. Archimedes knew that she thought such speculations were to be expected, and mostly harmless. She only ever squashed rumors if they threatened to disrupt the order aboard her ship—and typically, the quartermaster or the mates squashed them, first. But she couldn’t mention their speculation without also correcting it, even if that correction lasted only the space of a breath.

A few aviators squirmed. That seemed to satisfy her. “Some of you remember Miss Zenobia Fox, who traveled with us from England to Fladstrand this spring. She is Mr. Fox’s sister, and the author of the Archimedes Fox adventures—and now the Lady Lynx adventures, as well. Last night, we discovered that Mr. Bilson had arranged her kidnap.”

A murmur passed through the gathered crew, a swelling of outrage and excitement. This demanded action, adventure—and undoubtedly, a fine reward. For many of them, this was probably what they’d hoped to find aboard her airship, and within a few months, she’d served it to them in spades. Escorting pilgrims to Mecca over Horde-occupied lands, encountering airship pirates in Venice and off the shores of the Canary Islands, carrying sharkhunters to the southern tip of the Americas, scouting for rebels in Castile, an unexpected run-in with smugglers at the Hapsburg Wall. Yes, they’d had adventures—enough even for Archimedes.

“Miss Fox has been taken to New Eden,” Yasmeen said. “Lady Nergüi is going after her.”

The excitement turned to disbelief. A discontented muttering began, heads turning as if they were all confirming what they’d heard.

Yasmeen held up her hand. Instant silence fell. “I recognize that to many of you, New Eden is a risk you wouldn’t want to take. That any airship wouldn’t take. And that you’d think any captain who tried is a fool.”

She said what they wouldn’t dare to…not where she might hear. Clever. On any vessel, whispers in the dark were the most dangerous. She brought it into the open.

And smashed it. “I’m not a fool. I don’t plan to fly Lady Nergüi near to New Eden, but only close enough to enter the city in another way. There is a risk, however, and you have until tomorrow at noon to decide whether you’ll leave this ship. If so, you’ll walk away with a full month’s wages and a season’s share in your purse.” Her cold gaze swept over them. “Let me be clear. New Eden poses no more threat than the Coiling Straits, the wall, or anywhere over Horde territory. There will always be danger aboard this ship. If you can’t face New Eden, then you aren’t suited for any other dangers we face—and you aren’t suited for my lady’s crew.”

A brief quiet fell, filled only by the sound of hissing steam and the wind. After a moment, Vashon spoke up. “I don’t need to wait until tomorrow, Captain. I’m with you.”

Fortescue and a few others nodded their agreement. Archimedes looked to the first mate. The quartermaster’s word had some weight, but not as much as she would have if she’d been aboard a longer time. His friend had that weight, but he wasn’t throwing it around yet. Longcock regarded the captain in silence as the mutters and declarations of loyalty swelled around them.

Yasmeen held up her hand, quieting them again. “Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Make certain this decision is your own.”

Longcock cleared his throat. “Captain?”

“Mr. Longcock.”

“I’m with you. But as the others make their decision, I’m certain there’s one thing in particular they’d like to know: If those flyers come for us, will you let them take us in or blow us up?”

“I’ll surrender,” she said.

Surprise slapped Archimedes; he stared at her, wishing he could read her expression. Beyond her, the aviators’ heads turned again, their faces uncertain. They hadn’t expected that from her. He hadn’t expected that from her.

She continued, “Then I’ll kill William Bushke and destroy his flyers, untether my lady from the city, and get us the hell out of there.”

Ah. That was more like he’d expected. Thank God she was never boring about it.

Pursing his lips, Longcock nodded. “That sounds all right to me,” he said.

* * *


She couldn’t lose him like this, she couldn’t lose him—

Yasmeen woke up, gasping, sweating. Gray, predawn light filtered through the portholes. Through a blur of tears, she searched for Archimedes. He lay beside her—and even in his sleep, he wore a troubled frown.

Not just worried for Zenobia, she knew. Worried for her, too.

She understood that fear, though she hadn’t always. She wasn’t accustomed to being terrified for the people she loved. Hurting for them. Steeling herself against that pain and fear was the only solution now, the only way to get through this without losing her friend, her crew, her ship…and her husband, too. But she couldn’t steel herself against him, however much Archimedes might believe she had.

By the lady, she couldn’t bear to lose him—and was almost afraid of the lengths she’d go to, making certain she didn’t.

The sound of the engines changed, slower, throatier. No longer driving at full bore. She felt the slight shift in their speed, the adjustment in their course. They were coming into Medway, then.

Turning toward Archimedes, she wiped the sweat and tears from her face. When they’d gone to sleep early that morning, there’d been distance between them. No anger, nothing hot—simply exhaustion and weariness. Now she was cold.

She curled against him, her back to his chest. Gingerly, she bent her legs, trying to loosen her knees without disturbing him. He might sleep yet. After discovering that The Kite—a mercenary skyrunner captained by Olaf Berge—had flown into Fladstrand early the previous morning, they’d spent most of the night bent over the desk with the senior crew and department heads, confirming inventory and drawing up lists of provisions. All of it would need to be secured and stowed today, stuffing her lady to the deckheads. Most of the expanded cargo hold would be filled with the extra coal they’d need; they’d burn up some on the journey, but it was impossible to know how long they’d be circling Madagascar or venturing farther into the Eastern Ocean, looking for the balloon city.

Perhaps luck would be with them, and it wouldn’t take more than a week or two…but it might take months. They could restock their supplies in Australia, but a wide expanse of ocean and Horde territory lay between here and there. Yasmeen didn’t want to run out of fuel and depend on the wind to bring them in, or risk fishing for sustenance in kraken-infested waters.

The stiffness in her knees subsided—not enough, but she couldn’t lie abed. Not when there was so much to do. With a sigh, she sat up.

Archimedes’ callused hand slid over her thigh. His head lifted, his hair a gold-streaked jumble, his eyes still heavy. “Yasmeen?”

“Sleep. I have to meet with Scarsdale.”

“I’ll come.”

“No.” She pressed her palm to his chest, prevented him from sitting up. Her refusal hurt him, she saw. But she was afraid of hurting him more if she didn’t work through the tangle of emotions that had been tying them up since Bilson had activated that device.

“Yasmeen.” He caught her hand, held it against his heart. Regret deepened the emerald in his eyes. “What I said about hiring someone else, that wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” And she also knew that he wanted to unravel this tangle, too. Something wasn’t right between them—and somehow, that f*cked over everything else. But she couldn’t see what it was yet. She needed to clear her head, to look with new eyes.

Slowly, she slid from the bed, turning back to collect her silver cigarillo case from the pillow. His gaze followed her, and she couldn’t bear the torment in his face. Bending, she kissed him. “I know,” she repeated.

He nodded, pulled her down for another sweet kiss. When he released her, his grin was familiar, perfect. “Remember that when you’re with your fancy earl.”

“But he has such fashionable waistcoats.”

“Fashionable? How boring.”

Yasmeen had to agree—and because she wanted to keep Archimedes close, she pulled on one of his shirts. Too big, but it carried his wonderful scent. She expected a comment, but when she looked away from the wardrobe, he was watching her with a frown.

“You’re all but hobbling, Mrs. Fox. You ought to have loosened up on me.”

Oh, but she’d have loved to. Riding him slowly, taking him deep. “Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Fox.”

“Perhaps tonight,” he said.

“I won’t be stiff then.”

“Scowl at me over dinner, and I will be.”

She grinned and shook her head, before covering her hair with a red silk kerchief and tying the ends. When she glanced back at him, his gaze had unfocused. Lost in thought.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s all too expected.”

“What is?”

“Bilson using Zenobia.”

Expected? “It surprised us yesterday.”

“Only because the device threw us into a spin. We expected him to go for her—we sent her that express.”

“He knows what matters to you. That’s not a surprise. It was clever.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, as if whatever idea had been forming in his head seemed to come together. “It is clever. But only until we rescue her and Joseph from New Eden. Then…”

“We kill him.”

“Unless she was never there.”

Ah. “That would be clever,” she agreed. “We fly to New Eden after her, only to find that it was all a ruse. Then he doesn’t reveal her true location until we take him and his brother back to civilization.”

And the more she considered it, the more sense it made. Bilson and his mercenaries couldn’t know where New Eden was with any more accuracy than Yasmeen did. In all possibility, Lady Nergüi would find the floating city long before The Kite did.

“Yes,” Archimedes said. “But it doesn’t help us now. We wouldn’t know the truth until we were there.”

No, they wouldn’t. If Bilson claimed that he’d sent Zenobia to New Eden, and then—under threat of torture—admitted that he’d tried to fool them, they still wouldn’t know whether he was telling them what they wanted to hear simply to stop the torment.

And he would still be playing some sort of game. “He can’t be holding all of the strings,” Yasmeen said.

“He has the strings.” With a broad grin, Archimedes leaned back on the pillows, arms folded behind his head. “But I have iron balls and a silver tongue…and a fortune.”

Oh, but she loved it when he was cocky. It was Archimedes Fox’s version of her blades and claws. She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“We’ll play along…and call his bluff. If Berge has Zenobia aboard The Kite, they’re likely waiting for word from Bilson. But if we’re supposed to be searching for New Eden, they can’t know how long they’ll be waiting.”

She caught on. “And they would need supplies. They’d need a place to collect messages.”

“But we can’t wait for an answer—not unless we find that device. So we’ll have to fly south, let Bilson think it’s all happening just as he planned.” He paused. “Would Scarsdale be willing to send the word out, and then send any reply to us?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll arrange it with him now.” The turnabout might take several weeks to come to fruition, but she was already anticipating Bilson’s dismay. Grinning, she buckled her jacket. “In the meantime, the autogyros ought to arrive by midmorning. Will you see that they are properly loaded?”

“You realize I won’t be able to resist taking one up?”

Yes. “They’ll need to be tested, anyway. Take Longcock, see if they handle the weight. We’ll have the maids with us, remember.”

“I will.”

“And if any of the aviators decide to leave—”

“I’ll kill them.”

She laughed, shook her head. “No. Send them to the steward for their pay and papers. I should return shortly before noon, so I’ll be available if anyone needs to have a word with me before making their decision.”

Archimedes frowned. “You’ll let them question you?”

“No. If they’re still undecided, I’d rather they go. So if they come to me with doubts, I’ll push them along.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you have doubts?”

In her ability to captain this ship? Not at all. In her ability to rescue Zenobia from New Eden, if necessary? Not many. Yasmeen believed they would be successful. But there were always risks. “Realistically, I have to recognize that there’s a chance I might fail.”

“Well, I don’t have any doubts,” he said smugly. “Not one.”

“That’s because you’ve never approached anything with an attitude that resembled ‘realistic.’”

“It’s true.” He grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

“Perhaps.” Slowly, her gaze slipped over the hard expanse of his chest, the lean muscles of his stomach, the breadth of his shoulders. “But that’s not the only reason, Mr. Fox.”

His laughter followed her to the door, and Yasmeen couldn’t stop smiling. Whatever had been tangled between them had begun to loosen, and already she felt lighter.

Archimedes suddenly stopped laughing. “Are those my daggers in your boots?”

“Mine.” Her fingers wrapped around the red handles. “Unless you know a good reason for me to give them back?”

“I’ll run after you naked, exposing myself to all of your crew until you return them.”

“I asked for a good reason.”

“They match my favorite waistcoat.”

She flicked the tails of her red silk kerchief over her shoulders, then tucked her fingers into the crimson sash at her waist.

He swore. “I will have them back, Mrs. Fox.”

“I’ll enjoy seeing you try, Mr. Fox.”

She was still smiling as she came onto the main deck. The sky was dreary, clouded. Drizzle pattered against the metal fabric of the envelope. The deck crew was already busy, readying the airship to take on the extra supplies. With the coal heavy in her lady’s belly, she wouldn’t fly as quickly, but she was fleet and the engines at her heart were strong. Even weighed down, she’d still make fine time on their journey south.

Her knees had loosened up a bit more, but Yasmeen descended on the cargo lift rather than risk the rope ladder. The steward had been busy; crates of supplies were already stacking up at her mooring station. The boards were slippery with rain. The naval docks at Medway were never quiet—but never as chaotic as unregulated harbors. Yasmeen hailed a passing cab. The steamcoach driver peered at her through the gray morning light, then blinked hard when recognition set in. She saw his brief moment of panic and indecision before waving her into the rattling carriage. Yasmeen grinned as she climbed in. Her reputation extended far, and still produced the response that she’d wanted.

She had earned that reputation, often lived up to it, and had carefully nurtured the barroom stories of her more ruthless deeds…because it was far easier and less time-consuming to let fear deter the majority of the idiots who might attempt to cross her than to actually deal with them.

That reputation would change, she knew. With Archimedes at her side, with Lady Lynx circulating two sides of an ocean, that change was inevitable.

But she didn’t yet know what sort of change that would be—or the effect that change would have. Bilson might be one indication of it. Instead of fearing her, idiots might attempt to take advantage of her feelings for Archimedes.

Why didn’t that bother her as much as it should have?

She cared that someone might threaten Archimedes; she didn’t care whether anyone knew she loved him, even though her reputation could burn on that one detail.

But she didn’t care if it did burn…and she couldn’t fathom it. For years, she’d labored to prevent vulnerabilities from softening her reputation. Why did it matter so little now? Her reaction was the opposite of what she’d expected of herself—and what Archimedes had expected of her, too.

Perhaps that was the root of the tangle. They’d both expected that her response would be different, and they’d both been reacting as if it had been. Because she should have cared.

How odd that she didn’t.

The steamcoach rumbled to a stop in front of Medway’s finest inn. Yasmeen flipped a coin to the driver and made her way to the door, where an automaton butler welcomed her in. God. These things were all the rage in the New World, but though its hat-taking skills and wax-recorded greeting were impressive, it slowed the normal speed of an entrance down a bit.

Beyond the entryway, the dining room bustled with activity. Well-dressed travelers laughed and chatted, all of them surrounded by an air of expectation. Obviously, none of them were headed to New Eden. A smiling woman in a sensible black dress and widow’s cap approached Yasmeen—the hotelier, she assumed.

“Which is Lord Scarsdale’s room?”

The woman’s gaze flicked up to Yasmeen’s kerchief, traveled down to her boots. Her pleasant expression froze in place. “Lady Corsair, how lovely of you to call. I will be happy to notify his lordship that you’ve arrived.”

“Don’t notify him.” The man was likely too drunk to wake easily; she’d be waiting until afternoon for a reply. “He’s expecting me. Just tell me where his room is.”

“I’m afraid I can’t—”

Yasmeen smiled.

The woman stuttered to a stop. Flustered and wringing her hands, she said, “He’s upstairs, ma’am. The third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The stairs made her wish that she’d spent the minutes in the steamcoach massaging her knees. Scarsdale’s door wasn’t locked—and no surprise there. His quarters smelled like an absinthe factory. She found him facedown on the bed. The poor bastard hadn’t even managed to get his boots off before passing out.

An ewer sat on the dressing table. She dipped her fingers inside. The water was cold. Freezing would have been better, but this would do.

At the sound of footsteps, she looked over her shoulder. Wearing a nightgown and a long floppy cap, Scarsdale’s valet was attempting to creep up behind her, a chamber pot raised high.

He froze with his arms straight over his head. His nightgown had lifted with the movement, exposing knobby knees. “Captain! It is so very good to see you.”

Better than bashing her skull in, at least. “What time did he fall asleep?”

“I’m not certain. He sent me to bed an hour after midnight.” The valet tsked, setting down the pot and stepping forward, his gaze fixed on Scarsdale’s boots. “The poor dear.”

Yasmeen dumped the ewer over the poor dear’s head.

Sputtering, Scarsdale reared up, batting wildly at his hair, pushing the sodden brown strands away from his eyes. Bloodshot, they focused on her. “Blast you!”

“Darling,” she purred, and tossed him a towel. “You look horrible.”

“I look fantastic.” He scrubbed at his face, then stopped to weave as if the vigorous moment had unbalanced him. Still, he managed to add, “As always.”

“I wake up next to ‘fantastic’ every day. You’re not even within leagues of him right now.”

“You’ve only yourself to blame. You bring me to Medway, Yasmeen? Good God. What is here but sailors and an oddities fair? This atmosphere sucks the life from a man, drains him dry, and the only thing to do is drink. You ought to have had the sense of meeting with me in Brighton.”

“Where supplies cost twice as much?”

He laughed suddenly. “Ah, well. That explains the price of my upcoming nuptials. I ought to have insisted on them taking place in Medway instead of Brighton. We could drink together, you and I.”

His marriage. Goddammit. So he was going through with it.

Maybe. “If you drink enough, it’ll be much easier to abduct you.”

“Is that your plan—to spirit me away aboard your lady?” He pressed his hand to his stomach, as if queasy. He probably was, and not just because of the drink. Heights terrified him. Even now, the shades over the windows were drawn—not to keep out the light, but so that he wouldn’t see the view from the second floor. “I’d rather be married.”

No, he wouldn’t. “Break it off. The people on your father’s estates don’t need you. They managed well enough alone for two hundred years.”

“They were under the boot of the Horde for two hundred years,” he said dryly.

“And the aristocracy is different?”

“It’s not tyranny.”

Yasmeen thought that everything but willing service was tyranny of some sort. “So you will swoop in and take back what they have earned, and the people on your lands have no choice in the matter.”

“Neither do I.”

Fair enough—and there was little more to be said. He would no more abandon the responsibilities of his station than she would her crew. But if this marriage would be hell, she would never abandon him to it. “Do you like her, at least?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “I like her very well. I will be content, Yasmeen.”

That couldn’t be enough—but that wasn’t her decision to make. “No kidnapping, then? Perhaps it’s for the best, since Zenobia Fox has just been abducted and taken to New Eden.”

Scarsdale froze. “What do you say? I thought you were after somebody’s brother.”

“We were at her home only yesterday. She’d been taken by Berge on The Kite as an added incentive to the brother’s rescue.” At the sideboard, Yasmeen poured him another drink. Zenobia and Scarsdale had become good friends the previous winter, inseparable in each other’s company. If Zenobia was not secretly as romantic-minded as her brother, it might have been a practical match. “We’re off to New Eden as soon as the supplies are aboard my lady. Did you speak with the Blacksmith?”

Slowly coming out of his shock, he took the brandy. “Yes. I saw the autogyros loaded into the locomotive car. So you truly are attempting this madness?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Despite his terror, he offered. A finer friend was difficult to find. “I need you here. Archimedes and I think her kidnap is nothing but a bluff to ensure Bilson’s return.”

She didn’t have to say more. Even drunk, Scarsdale was always shrewd. He nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“Lure the mercenaries out. Use the newssheets to advertise our offer. And we’ll need to know as quickly as possible if that offer is accepted.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then their lives are forfeit. Archimedes and I will hunt them down—and you can add that to the advertisement, as well. Use our names, so that the word spreads. A full-page advert ought to do it.”

“If it doesn’t, they’re complete fools.”

“Yes. I also need you to arrange the hire of a fleet to search for them, and give a reward to anyone who locates The Kite and relays our offer to Berge.” If the advertisement didn’t bring them in, the promise of a fortune would. “Fifty livre for finding him and delivering the message, and fifty more if Berge takes the one hundred we’re offering to him in the newssheets.”

“One hundred? You won’t need to hire the fleet. Berge will bring himself in for that.”

“He’d cut off his own cock for that. The fleet and the reward are to ensure that he learns about the offer as quickly as possible.” Yasmeen poured her own drink. “And you have to promise to come for us if we don’t return within six months.”

Scarsdale burst into laughter and lifted his glass in a toast. “And so here is the real reason you contacted me. You want me to send in a rescue if it all goes to hell.”

Only part of the reason. “Yes.”

“Ah, well. I’m glad it’s you that’s going, then. It means a rescue won’t be necessary. Bring that portfolio in the trunk, would you, Hopkins?” He rose from the bed as the valet disappeared into the adjoining room and returned with a leather-bound sketchbook. “On that table, that’s fine. I’ve drawn the layout of the city for you, as requested. But remember, Yasmeen, this was more than a decade ago. He’s added more ships since then.”

She joined him at the table. “That’s all right. The arrangement is probably the same in essentials.”

“Probably. Have you seen the city?”

“Only from a distance.” It had only been a spot against the horizon, and that had been close enough.

“It’s larger than you will expect. Frankly, I was astonished by its breadth, and it can only be bigger now.” He opened to the first sketch, a roughly circular overhead view of the city. His forefinger traced a large ring in the center. “These are the primary gardens. At the aft edge—”

“Aft?” The city was round. “Where’s the bow?”

He pointed to the farthest edge of the city, where he’d written “Bushke” in neat letters. “The city can fly in any direction—but typically, it flies with his quarters at its head.”

“All right.” It made sense. Using his quarters as a reference would be the simplest way to navigate around the city. “At the aft edge of the garden is…?”

“Where new arrivals are taken until they’re indoctrinated. Then they’re married off and receive their own living section in one of the outlying ships.”

So if Bilson wasn’t bluffing, that’s where Zenobia would be. “Under guard?”

“Two citizen volunteers, very lightly armed.”

“Then who has the heavy arms?”

“Bushke’s guard. Thirty to thirty-five men, and they’re fanatically loyal—they have to be. They’re the pilots on the flyers.”

And if they weren’t loyal, they’d simply use the flyers to escape. “And their watch?”

“Is around the clock.”

“The best way in?”

“From underneath.” He showed her another page, more roughly sketched and labeled with “hanger shed,” “engines,” “boiler,” and “stoker quarters.” Twenty flower-like symbols denoted the propellers. “This is the second level of the city, constructed on the framework that stabilizes the airships. There’s the surface and the gardens on the upper decks, the living quarters within the airship cabins and holds—and then this, below the ships. We didn’t see much of it from below, so the placement is an estimate, at best.”

They’d adjust as needed. “Why is this best?”

“It’s all open, for the most part. They’ve enclosed the quarters, the engines, and the hangar. The rest is just a framework of metal struts with access to the propeller shafts—and access to the surface levels.”

Her gaze sharpened on the sketch. He hadn’t marked any notable access points. “Where?”

“Everywhere. When they tether the ships together, their bowed sides don’t align perfectly. And there’s a cushion of space between the hulls to prevent them from smashing into each other during a storm. Most of those gaps are covered over, but there are many left open and used to dispose rubbish or to lower the fishing nets. Some lead down to the lower levels, too, and they have guards. But you won’t find a guard on a rubbish hole.”

Brilliant. The autogyros were quiet; they could fly up beneath New Eden in the dark, and be inside a few minutes later. She was almost sorry that Bilson was likely bluffing, and that she wouldn’t be infiltrating the city this way. After she told Archimedes about it, she thought he’d have loved a shot at it, too.

“Thank you, James.”

“It’s nothing.” Scarsdale closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “Truly, nothing. It’s easy to get into the city—getting away from it is another matter. Do you have a plan for that?”

“No good one yet, but we probably won’t build a glider.”

His smile was pained. “As long as you don’t let Trahaearn build it, you’ll likely do better than we did.”

He’d survived, so he hadn’t done too badly—but it had been exactly the wrong time for Scarsdale to survive. A few years earlier, his lover had been killed by hunters who’d deemed them less than men. Scarsdale had sought his own death after that, aligning himself with Trahaearn, a pirate who seemed bound to die in fiery blaze.

But when they’d been taken aboard New Eden and the glider they’d used to escape had fallen apart while they’d still been in the air, Scarsdale hadn’t been as ready for death as he’d thought. He’d been terrified of heights since fleeing New Eden. Though still one of the bravest men she knew, he couldn’t even climb aboard her airship without being blissed on opium or unconscious with drink.

She’d always been afraid that love would bring her to her knees, destroy everything she’d earned. She’d never wanted it. But she had love now, and she still stood. Stronger, perhaps, than she’d ever stood before.

But losing that love…Hell, it had brought a man as strong as Scarsdale to his knees. She wouldn’t do any better if she lost Archimedes.

She barely did any better simply thinking of losing him.

Belatedly, she realized that silence had fallen between them, with Scarsdale’s perceptive gaze monitoring her every expression. When she met his eyes, his smile mocked her. “You don’t ask about Bushke?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me.”

“He’s a kindly looking man with an iron fist.”

“Literally?”

“No. But it’s easy to believe that he’s weak, that he’ll have mercy.”

“Like General Truss.” During the Liberé war, even Yasmeen had been uneasy when she’d accepted a job from him. “Or Saint Marie from Archimedes Fox and the Pearls of Penitence.”

“Yes.”

A benevolent tyrant, then—one who never gave his people any choices at all. “Why didn’t you or Trahaearn kill him?”

“We meant to. After the glider was ready, we’d formed a plan to enter his quarters from the lower level—one of those access points is connected to the hangar and comes up right beside his ship…probably so that he can escape if New Eden is ever attacked. We were in position, we’d gotten past his guard on that entry, but Bushke was called away from his quarters. We had the glider with us; if we’d waited, if anyone had seen us, we’d have missed our opportunity to go.”

And killing Bushke hadn’t been a priority. She nodded and glanced down at the sketches. “May I take these?”

“You haven’t memorized them?” Laughing at her, he shook his head. “I’ve seen you plan dozens of missions. You’ve never been this distracted.”

Her smile was slight. It was true. Worry gnawed at her, as it never had before. She thought of Archimedes constantly.

“Is it Fox?” He watched her face, and within a moment, astonishment registered on his. “Unbelievable. I thought you were fond of him, at most.”

“At most, that’s what I should have been. So I declared anything more to be impossible…and it seemed that in the next moment, I was full in. He sneaked up on me.”

“He seems that sort.” Scarsdale’s grin betrayed his genuine delight. “And now that your belly is exposed, whatever will you do?”

Ah, Scarsdale. He always got right to the heart of it. “I don’t worry about my belly anymore. I worry about him. I didn’t know that would happen.”

“I’d have told you, but you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Probably not,” she admitted. Even when she’d first fallen in love with Archimedes, she’d thought she knew what it meant: that she’d have a friend, lover, someone she’d protect and who’d protect her in return. She’d never guessed how necessary he’d become to everything. “It’s completely different from what I thought it might be.”

Completely different from what Archimedes had thought, too. He’d planned to love her, but only until she inevitably broke his heart. They’d stumbled into forever, instead.

“Love, the great disrupter,” Scarsdale declared. “It ruins all of our grand schemes, destroys our reputations.”

So it had. She supposed that meant it was time to make a new reputation. But as for schemes…love hadn’t ruined hers.

Bilson’s scheme was another matter.

As soon as the newssheets printed that advertisement, Archimedes’ play was going to rip that damn game apart.

* * *


Archimedes had never paired his crimson waistcoat with his scarlet breeches before, but he had to admit the effect was oddly dashing. He didn’t own a red jacket—an oversight that he’d have to correct upon his next visit to the tailor’s—but the sun came out midmorning and shirtsleeves became a viable option. He was waiting on deck in all his monochromatic glory when Yasmeen returned. She burst into laughter upon seeing him, and drew the red-handled daggers from her boots.

“I concede defeat,” she said.

“No.” Not defeated. “Never that.”

“All right.” She slipped the left dagger back into its sheath. “You have one. I’ll keep the other. Between us, we’ll have a matching set.”

A perfect match. He accepted the blade, still warm from her thigh—and not half as warm as the emotion that moved through him when she smiled.

She looked round the decks, at the crew engaged in their work. “So how goes the sky, Mr. Fox?”

“Well.” He walked with her toward the companionway. “We ought to be finished loading by midafternoon. We’re only waiting on the second delivery of coal. And how goes your fashionable earl?”

“He sketched New Eden’s layout, and gave us a way in—if we need it. The advertisement will be at the printer’s tomorrow, and he’ll also be directing a fleet of airships to search for The Kite around the North Sea, which is Berge’s usual territory. He’ll find her.”

No doubt. But the hint of trouble in her eyes told him there was more. “And how is he?”

“Not well. But he hasn’t been for years.” She stopped at the head of the ladder, reached up to cup his jaw in her palm. Her gaze captured his, saw through him. “It’s…difficult, loving someone, and fearing you’ll lose them. I say I don’t like my belly exposed. You say you don’t want me with you when you rescue Zenobia. We don’t want someone to be hurt, so we try to protect them, and hurt them while we do it. It’s irrational.”

Irrational, yes. He smiled against her hand. “That’s why I’m so good at loving you.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

“I want you with me, Yasmeen.”

“And I’m not sorry my belly is exposed. Perhaps I’m more vulnerable, but it doesn’t make me weak. The opposite is true.” She lowered her hand, gripped his, and held him tight. “I lost my crew, my ship. I know what it is to lose and how much it hurts, and I’ll do anything to keep it from happening again. And so being vulnerable now means that I’m far, far more dangerous than I ever was before.”

“My God, that’s so arousing.” Her grin all but finished him off. “You’re a cruel woman, to tell me this while in full view of the crew.”

With a wicked tilt of her brows, she stepped closer. “You’ve been fondling your dagger since I came aboard.”

“Only because it was still warm from your sheath, Mrs. Fox.”

Her laughter faded; intense heat replaced the humor in her gaze. She inhaled deeply—drawing in his scent, he knew. All a tease, a delicious and exquisitely frustrating one that aroused her, too. Need quickened her breath, made him ache.

“Tonight,” he promised softly. “I’ll sheathe myself so deep. I’ll make you scream.”

“By the lady, you’d better,” she breathed, then closed her eyes. “Tonight.”

He had to force himself to step away, or tonight would begin within minutes at the head of the companionway. Her skin was flushed when she looked at him again, but she was every inch the captain.

“Has Bilson awoken?”

Archimedes nodded. “An hour ago. Still groggy, but mostly healed. He knows he’s infected with my strain of nanoagents.”

Her gaze turned speculative. “As soon as we’re under way, we’ll let him out of the stateroom and move about the airship as any passenger might.”

Clever. “And hope he speaks to the person with the device?”

“Yes. Longcock and Vashon know to keep an eye on him.” She took a deep breath, met his eyes. “How many of the aviators have decided to leave?”

“One, but not because of New Eden.”

“Only one?” Astonishment swept across her expression, and a pained emotion that wasn’t relief or gratitude, but somewhere in between. She’d thought it would be much worse, he realized. “Who was it? What was the reason?”

“It was Suskind, the third engineer. A letter caught up to him in Port Fallow yesterday, almost six months out. His wife is due to deliver their first child within a week or two now, and when he saw that we were bringing on three months’ worth of supplies, he asked for leave.”

“God forbid that it takes three months,” Yasmeen said softly. “Suskind? Goddammit. They’re already short by a shoveler. Has Farnsburrow said how he’ll split the third’s duties?”

The head engineer hadn’t made that decision yet, because he was waiting for Yasmeen’s. “I offered to take them.”

Yasmeen frowned at him. “You’re not trained as a stoker.”

“Not for the engines, but under full steam, the third will spend most of his time shoveling coal. If there’s a problem with the engines or pipes on my watch, I’ll call on Farnsburrow.”

“You can’t be crew.”

Because it would upset the order of authority on the ship—where he already possessed an odd standing outside of the normal rankings, as it was. He knew she worried that his presence in the engine room might put Farnsburrow in the awkward position of giving orders to the captain’s husband.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve told Farnsburrow that I wouldn’t be signing on, just helping out. Just as I’ve helped out on the deck before. None of the aviators gave me orders when something needed to be done; they gave me directions about how to do it.”

It was a small distinction, but an important one. Her frown smoothed and she nodded. “So they did.”

“So I’ll just be there to help shovel during the third’s watch—and I’ll need to do it,” he added. “We had to disassemble the pugilist machine to make room for the autogyros and the extra coal in the cargo hold. I won’t be off this airship for a while, so I might as well sweat at the heart of her.”

Her expression didn’t soften, but he saw the sudden understanding in her eyes. Books and journals would keep him occupied on this journey, but not enough. “You’ll sweat,” she said. “Did Farnsburrow tell you the third’s hours?”

Two shifts every day, one in the dead of night. He nodded. “I’ll survive.”

“He might feel obligated to give you the first’s hours. Don’t let him.”

“I won’t.”

“All right. Your watch starts in thirty minutes, Mr. Fox.” Her lips curved as her gaze moved down his length. “You’ll probably want to change your clothing before you begin shoveling coal into a furnace for four hours.”

He sighed. “The one drawback.”

She laughed and started down the ladder. “I suggest you wear the clothes you use to avoid the zombies. They’re already black.”

* * *


It didn’t matter which clothes he wore. By the middle of his second shift, he’d stripped down to his breeches, sweating from the heat of the furnace and the exertion, covered in coal dust and breathing the engine room’s thick air, humid with steam from the boiler. God, he loved it. Though not exciting in the slightest, the work pushed his body harder than the automaton had. His muscles would pay for it later, he knew, with soreness and exhaustion—and it would likely take a few days to become accustomed to this new schedule. During salvaging runs, he often went weeks on little sleep, but the constant threat of zombies kept him alert, aware of everything around him, and relishing the thrill of every foreign sound.

This offered a different sort of bliss—not from danger, but of shutting everything out. He stuffed cotton into his ears to muffle the deafening roar of the engines, and though his sweat belonged to the furnace, he had his brain to himself for a stretch of four hours.

His head was never a dull place to be.

Naturally, on that night Yasmeen occupied most of his thoughts. She was always a surprise to him. The most incredible surprise. And he’d always known that he’d enjoyed a fair amount of good luck in his life, but her love for him led to an inescapable truth:

Archimedes Fox was the single luckiest man to ever walk the Earth.

So it should be written…and as soon as they got Zenobia back, he’d ask her to.

His entire body was pleasantly aching by the end of his watch, and the hot water from the evaporators washed away the worst of the dust and sweat. The sound of the engines slowly quieted as he made his way to the captain’s cabin; after months on the ship, he rarely noticed the constant vibration through the decks, aside from the moments when they ceased or resumed.

Yasmeen wasn’t in bed. A lantern burned low on the table. Before his shift had begun, he’d left her on the cushions there, naked and glistening, her satisfied smile matching the purr from her chest. Since then, she’d apparently poured herself a glass of wine and fallen asleep reading Zenobia’s latest tale. Half of the pages were stacked neatly on the table, the others turned facedown beside her. Wearing a blue silk wrap, she slept on her side, curled up on the pillows and with her back to the door.

He hated to disturb her, but he would be glad to hold her. Intending to carry her to the bed, he crouched beside her, then paused. She wasn’t sleeping easily. A sheen of perspiration covered her forehead. Her fingers twitched. Each breath was a small, sobbing pant.

Another nightmare. He knew they’d come before, but never this often—and he hadn’t asked about them, hadn’t needed to. She’d been trapped in her cabin while her crew was slaughtered, and still aboard her lady when it had exploded. That ship had been everything to her.

And this was the third night in a row she’d woken from those nightmares…beginning when Bilson had activated that damn device, and all but stolen her ship with his demands.

“Yasmeen.” His chest tight, he gently stroked the long muscles of her back. He couldn’t erase the devastation that caused these dreams, but his touch soothed her. “Yasmeen.”

Her eyes flew open, met his, and the shattering fear he saw there undid him. With a harsh denial, he gathered her into his lap. Clinging to him, she buried her face against his throat. Hot tears burned against his skin.

“You won’t lose her,” he promised roughly. “I swear to you.”

She nodded against his neck—then lifted her head, eyes bright and lashes matted. “Her?”

“Lady Nergüi.”

Her lips parted, as if in confusion, before suddenly widening in a laugh. “Oh, Mr. Fox. Is that what you expected? These dreams aren’t about my losing my lady.”

“Your dreams are about me, of course,” he agreed. “The nightmares are losing her.”

“No. They’re about losing you.”

He wasn’t often lost for words. In the silence, she lowered her cheek to his shoulder, slipped her arms around him.

“You won’t,” he finally managed.

“I can’t.” Her breath shuddered against his neck. “It’s not what I expected, either. A year ago, losing my ship to New Eden was the most painful thing I could imagine. And if Lady Corsair ever fell, I swore I’d go down with her. But when the time came, I didn’t. It all changed when I lost my crew, when I saw them bleeding on the decks. They were more important to me than my lady was, and avenging them was more important than dying with her. So I don’t dream of losing my ship. That’s not the worst I can imagine anymore.”

Losing him was. Too overcome to speak, Archimedes’ arms tightened around her.

“The irrational part of it is that I should be dreaming of the explosion. It truly happened, and Lady Corsair was destroyed. The zombies breaking that door really happened, too…but you were fine. Not even a scratch. And yet, that’s what I see over and over. Just the threat of losing you terrifies me. You’ve become more important than everything else: my crew, my ship. Even my own life.”

He stiffened. “No. Don’t say that.”

“I’m not rushing to jump over the side, Archimedes. Trust me when I say that I’ll go to frightening lengths to save both of us…and I’m truly not certain whether I’d be saving you or myself. It would destroy me to lose you.”

His throat closed. Somehow, he rasped, “I’m supposed to be the romantic one.”

“Blame your emerald eyes, if you must. I’ve apparently looked into them for too long.” She was smiling as she lifted her face to his, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

He couldn’t answer. He captured her mouth instead, and abandoned everything to this kiss. Every promise, every thought, every feeling, they were all hers. Fierce and sweet, she clung to him, her lips tasting of wine and adventure, her hair smelling of tobacco and coconut, simply the most incredible woman God had ever created. By some miracle, she was his—and she was completely and utterly deluded if she truly thought that anything would ever take him from her side.

Her skin was flushed when he lifted his head, her breathing as sharp as his.

“You won’t lose me,” he vowed. “You could throw me off your ship a thousand times, and even if I landed in the mouth of Hell, I’d always come back to you.”

Her arms tightened around his shoulders as he rose to his feet, lifting her against his chest. “You have overtaken me as the romantic again.”

“If it pleases you, I will be the realist: after the hundredth time, I might come back as a zombie.” Her burst of laughter disarmed him. He couldn’t maintain a stoic façade. “But I swear to God in Heaven that even if my brains have rotted and my flesh falls from my bones, my heart will still beat for you.”

“Your brains are already rotted. You don’t have a bit of sense in you.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, my captain. I am everything that is sensible.” Though almost to the bed, he turned away from it, and started for the desk. “I will show you the solution to your dilemma.”

“Which one?”

“Your fear of losing me.” He swept aside a map and set her down, her delectable bottom on the desk and her legs dangling over the edge. “It’s very simple.”

Her eyes narrowed with amusement. “Is it?”

“It is. Here is one solid, undeniable fact: I will never leave your side. So all you have to do is sit here, forever.” He hooked the leg of his chair with his booted foot and pulled it close. “I will be right here. You’ll see that I’m perfectly safe, and all of your fears will vanish.”

He sat in front of her. With a grin, she rested her toes on his knees and let hers fall open. The shadows in the room became his greatest enemy, preventing him from seeing any of the luscious beauty between her thighs. Ah, well. He’d wage war on those shadows with his hands and tongue, instead.

She nudged him with her foot. He dragged his gaze back to her face. “And when I leave the cabin?”

“I’d still be at your side. But the practical solution is, of course, that you would never leave.”

“Oh, so practical.”

Leaning forward, he placed his hands on her knees. Her eyelashes fell to half-mast, her lips softening, parting. Anticipation. Already hard, his cock stiffened in response. The need to taste her was almost unendurable.

So he endured it, drew it out further. “I could make it easy to stay, too—there’s a simple solution for that.”

Her voice was low and throaty. “Tell me.”

Her command almost broke his control. He pushed at her knees, widening them, making room for his shoulders. Tell me. God. He was a man of endless sense and restraint, yet her words sent him toppling over into mindless need. His brain stopped functioning, and his responses piled up and tumbled out, all of them ridiculous.

“I could lock the door.”

She dragged her fingertips up the inside of her thigh, into the shadows. “I have a key.”

“I could hire a guard to keep you in.”

“I’ll tear him apart.”

God help him, he had to have her. “I’ll tie you to the desk.”

Not truly, not after the terrified reaction she’d had when he’d held her wrists together, but by God he could barely think of anything else at this point. There was no other practical course but touching her, nothing would make sense but tasting her. He leaned in—then froze as sudden tension shook her legs.

That wasn’t just anticipation.

He looked up. Her jaw had set. She stared at him, her eyes glittering with an unreadable emotion. Because he’d mentioned tying her…?

“I wouldn’t restrain you.” He ran his hands the length of her legs, soothing. “I wouldn’t.”

She seemed to struggle with her reply—then finally spoke, and surprised him all over again.

“But I want you to,” she said.

* * *


He hadn’t expected that.

Yasmeen hadn’t either. And in truth, despite wanting him to do it, she wasn’t certain that she would be able to…but that only made her more determined to try.

Archimedes must have seen her doubt. “I won’t.”

“You will.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Yasmeen.” His hands stilled on her knees, his gaze holding hers. The beautiful flush of arousal still darkened his cheekbones. “If it’s instinct, that’s all there is to it.”

Wonderful man. She had nothing to prove to him, because he loved her so well. Proving it to herself was another matter. “I won’t be ruled by instinct.”

“Or any other tyrant?”

He knew her so well. “Yes,” she said, but when he rose and moved to the wardrobe, retrieving two of her long silk kerchiefs, she couldn’t stop the shaking that suddenly overcame her. Heart pounding, she imagined them tightening around her wrists, holding her immobile—

He paused, watching her face. “Yasmeen?”

“Just my legs.” She could bear that more easily than her hands. Even tied to the desk, she could shoot, she could throw a dagger, she could rip and tear. “This first time.”

His jaw tightened. “There won’t be another time.”

Perhaps not. He’d touched her hundreds of times, thousands—but knowing that he would tie her, it took all of her control not to push him away when he sat again and clasped her right ankle, gently drawing her foot toward the desk’s leg. Her ankle touched smooth wood. She trembled.

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. “Yasmeen.”

“Do it.”

She had to gasp out the order, then hold herself still when she felt the light tug of silk. He sat back, his expression tormented.

“It’s done.”

And so loosely tied that if she pulled at the bindings even a bit, the knot would fall apart. Yasmeen stared down at the slack loop around her ankle. It was not restraining her at all; to stay bound, she would have to hold her leg immobile. In truth, she was restricted by nothing but her own determination to stay that way.

Perhaps that was for the best, this time. “The other leg now.”

He didn’t move. With a sigh, she slid her left leg toward the corner of the desk, scooting forward so that her ankle would reach. It wasn’t easy. The position spread her wide, stretching the inner muscles of her thighs. She paused at the soft hitch of his breath.

“Christ,” he groaned. The remaining kerchief crumpled in his fist. “Christ, Yasmeen. Look at you.”

She didn’t need to. The roughness of his voice told her, the erection straining at the front of his breeches. Silence fell, and there was only his harsh breathing, the soft vibration of the engines through the desk beneath her, the rapid thrum of her pulse in her ears.

Deliberately, she pressed her ankle to the desk leg. A shiver ran over her skin—not fear this time, though that lurked just beneath the desire.

“Tie me, Archimedes. Please.”

With another groan and trembling hands, he did—the same loose knot that forced her to keep her legs open rather than holding them open for her. His callused palm smoothed up the length of her shin, over her knee.

“Stay still, if you can,” he said. “And lie back.”

Yasmeen didn’t ask why. He’d done this difficult thing for her; she would do this easy thing for him.

As her back met the cool surface of the desk, however, she found it wasn’t so easy. Holding her legs open wasn’t a physical effort, but she’d never been this acutely aware of being exposed. So bare. Was he looking at her? She couldn’t see him to know. Lying as she was, with her head resting almost at the opposite edge of the desk, she could only see the rise of her silk-covered breasts, lifting rhythmically with each shallow breath. She fought the urge to pull free, to close her legs, to regain some sort of certainty.

She froze as a soft caress brushed her knee. His fingers? His lips?

His lips. The warmth of his mouth heated that spot as he said, “Untie your wrap.”

Leaving her more exposed, though the trepidation that accompanied that realization was being swept away by anticipation, by excitement. There was fear here, the need to pull her legs free, that battle against instinct, but it only served to heighten her awareness and every sensation. She yanked her wrap open and pressed her palms flat to the desk beside her hips.

Where was he? A cool whisper of breath against her heated sex told her. A shudder wracked her body and she immediately stiffened, desperately trying to remain still.

“It’s like your zombies,” she panted. That terrifying, wonderful thrill—and she might become as addicted to this feeling as he was. “Oh, sweet lady, help me.”

“This is like a zombie? No. Though I will soon devour you.” His laughing reply was punctuated by a nip to the sensitive tendon at juncture of her inner thigh.

That gentle bite all but devastated her self-control. She cried out, her back bowing. The flames of need that had been licking beneath her skin erupted into a rolling fire that seared every nerve and coiled with liquid heat through her core. His hands gripped her thighs, to support her or to help her stay still, she didn’t know, but as his thumbs slid inward, she needed the assistance.

His deep, hungry groan followed the first slick caress. “God, Yasmeen. You’re like a furnace.”

Burning. “Now. Now.”

And he did. Devouring, as he’d promised, lips and tongue and fingers everywhere touching, tasting, thrusting. He feasted, eager and abandoned, his rough jaw scraping delicate flesh, his moans laden with unquenchable need, suckling her *oris until she screamed her finish, and still licking, licking, as if he could never get enough.

She never would.

Leisurely, his mouth journeyed over her stomach, and now she saw him, his eyes glazed with violent need, his control visible in every straining muscle.

He rose over her, his hands braced beside her shoulders. “Like this, Yasmeen? Or do I untie you first?”

With her thighs still spread and her body still exposed, forced to remain almost motionless as he drove his cock into her again and again…The same trepidation reared up again—and the same thrill.

Anticipation wound her tight. “Like this.”

His face stark with arousal, he straightened and opened his breeches. He was vulnerable now, too. Exposed. Her legs trembled, instinct pushing at her to rip open the knots. If he was threatened, how quickly would she be able to move? Would it be fast enough?

Gently, he pushed at her entrance. Yasmeen sucked in a sharp breath, and the crowding questions fled. She waited in a silent frenzy of expectation, feeling only his blunt intrusion, the stretch of her thighs, the silk around her ankles. Seeing only his love and need, the ecstasy that rolled through his lean body as he pressed forward, filling her so slowly that she was keening with frustration and agonizing pleasure when he finally sheathed his cock to the hilt.

She would not survive this. Every instinct demanded that she free herself, wrap her thighs around him and set a faster, harder pace, instead of forcing her legs to stay bound. Instead of shaking from the effort of lying still, instead of crying out on sobbing breaths when he completely withdrew his heavy shaft before starting that endless penetration again.

There was nothing else. Only Archimedes, giving everything she’d asked of him and more, his hands fastened on her hips, helping her remain tied to the desk but tethered to him.

So sweetly, so deeply, to him.

“Yasmeen.” His emerald gaze burned. Her name was a feral command, everything stripped away but primitive need and demand. “Clamp down on my cock now.”

Because he loved that, loved how she squeezed him, teased him. God, she did, too. Panting, she clenched her inner muscles around his thick length, and cried out as everything intensified, became sharper, tighter. So much tighter, her taut legs trembling already, and now inside, where delicious friction became luscious resistance that made him force his way deeper, deeper. His body bowed in response, every muscle standing in stark relief. His groan was harsh, fingers digging into her hips.

“So sweet.” His head fell forward, his beautiful mouth drawn in a grimace of acute pleasure. “So unbearably sweet.”

But he bore it, though his heaving chest and tortured groans told her that he wanted to let go and pound harder, harder. He held on, instead, his gaze locked on hers and slowly riding with her to the edge.

And then she was done, writhing at the end of an infinite stroke, no control left—only the mindless rocking of her hips, taking in those last thick inches over and over again, her arms around his shoulders and his mouth fused to hers in a kiss that could never last long enough. Sweat slicked his lean body; he suddenly stilled and shuddered against her, inside her. She tasted it, tasted him, whispering words of love against his skin.

He groaned her name and collapsed over her, chest heaving. She held him until he suddenly raised his upper body away from her, bracing his arms and meeting her eyes.

“There’s only one practical solution now.” His expression was solemn. “We must buy enough desks to fill every inch of this airship.”

Her laugh lifted through her. “So very practical,” she agreed.

“Alas, I suppose it will have to wait until we return from the Eastern Ocean.”

“And hopefully that date will not be too far away,” she said, thinking of the weeks that stretched ahead.

To her surprise, she felt little dread. The tangle between Archimedes and her had been unknotted. They had a clear course of action ahead. There were still risks to her ship and crew—but so there would always be when flying over lawless seas, and she would never have it any other way.

“I must be mad, Mr. Fox. My lady has been commandeered by your bastard friend, his damned device is still a threat…and yet I think I might enjoy myself on this journey.”

He grinned and dropped a kiss to her mouth. “I know I will.”