When Nilsine removed her hand, Blaine kept the star god’s secret of a surviving bloodline behind closed white teeth.
Two
CALLISTO
The spyglass with its double lenses was cool against the bridge of Callisto’s nose. Her keen eyes tracked an object through the night sky from her spot on top of a submersible, water from the Serpentine River lapping at the cold metal.
“Nilsine is heading east,” Callisto said.
Farren’s voice drifted up through the open hatch. “I can’t see a bloody thing. Not that I care to, with the way the city is burning. Come on, woman. Get below already. We’ve a schedule to keep if you want to make it to the Warden’s Island in time. The train won’t wait for us if we dock late.”
Callisto tucked the spyglass into the leather case attached to her belt, buttoning the flap. “I am reminded, almost hourly, of how much I detest traveling with you.”
“You just hate going by water. Makes you seasick. That’s all right, love. I’ve a bucket with your name on it if you would justget below.”
Callisto lifted one hand to her throat, fingers settling over the golden lines and starbursts of the Lion constellation inked into her black skin. It sat like an intricate shawl around her neck, drifting down over her collarbones. She swallowed, feeling the pressure against her fingers.
Even after thousands of years, some fears had yet to die with time. Her wariness of large bodies of water would always be an unwelcome companion of sorts. It had little to do with how poisonous the seas were and more about the vastness of the space between stars they’d come from.
“If we were to travel by land, you’d be in my same predicament,” Callisto said.
“Land sickness is best handled with a good whiskey, but the earth has never bothered me as much as the waves bother you.”
“You can keep them.”
“Gladly. Now, I will push to dive, don’t think I won’t.”
Her brethren’s impatience was as fickle as the sea they were the dual god and goddess of. Farren had never cared for the limitations of land when there were oceans to sail, carried across waves by Tovanian ship-cities. But here in Ashion, they were as landlocked as they could be, despite the submersible smuggled out of Urova.
Callisto climbed down the hatch, taking one last moment to look at the fire still raging through Amari’s streets. The glow looked almost like dawn, false light staining the horizon. It wouldn’t be the first time the capital burned, but itwasthe first time they’d deliberately struck the match in this Age of Progress.
Callisto pulled the hatch shut behind her, twisting the metal wheel until it clicked and locked into place. With the submersible sealed, she descended the short ladder to the cramped quarters below.
Farren twisted in the captain’s seat, long black hair falling loose down their back, hiding the Leviathan constellation tattoo that covered tanned skin stretched across spine and ribs. They blinked almond-shaped eyes at her, arching one eyebrow. “Done sightseeing?”
Callisto kept her gaze focused on their face and not on the highly filtered water flowing beyond the large glass panes of the front viewport. Traveling by water was never her ideal choice, but needs must during this difficult time.
“Get us moving.”
Farren jerked their head in the direction of the tight space behind their seat. “Good luck getting that one to sleep.”
They faced forward, feet pressing down on pedals and hands settling over the levers used for steering. The submersible jerked a little as the propellers churned in earnest, pushing the submersible below the surface and chugging forward through the Serpentine River. A single gas lamp jutted from the metal nose, their only light down here in the depths of the river.
Callisto knelt in the small space behind Farren’s seat, staring at the five-year-old boy she had smuggled out of Amari on Aaralyn’s orders. He looked back at her with gray eyes that held far too much fear in their depths beneath a thatch of unruly light brown hair. His nightclothes were stained from soot and smoke, and his feet were bare.
“I want my mama,” the prince whimpered.
Callisto settled into a cross-legged position before him, propping her chin on her palm. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm against the edge of her jaw, slow and precise. “Your mother is dead.”
He was old enough to know that meant his mother wasn’t coming for him but not yet old enough to understand why or comprehend what he had borne witness to at the palace. He still cried for her through his lingering shock, great heaving sobs that turned his small face red and blotchy.
Farren gave a derisive snort. “Oh, nicely done. I’m pleased to see your way with children hasn’t changed a bit since last century.”
“You are here for transport purposes, not conversation. Close your mouth and steer.”
“Be grateful I’m here at all. I could be hunting leviathans in the Gulf of Helia, not skimming over river bottom.” Farren heaved out a sigh. “The things I do for you and Aaralyn.”
Callisto ignored them, her eyes on the boy before her. She didn’t understand his pain, had long since considered that not to be a problem. When one lived as long as she had, emotions were useless things.
