“Then stay with me here in Veran.”
After a moment, Caris gave a reluctant nod. Lore let out a soft sigh that Honovi barely heard over the sounds coming from the surrounding airfield. “You’ll be there in spirit if not in person. If it eases your mind any, I’ll go with Honovi to Foxborough while you work with Meleri to solidify support with the bloodlines.”
“You’d have me be a figurehead,” Caris said.
“You always were.” Lore spoke firmly, not unkindly, but Caris still flinched. Then she drew in a breath and slid the travel case off her shoulder, handing it to Honovi. He took it and the clarion crystal that she pulled off her necklace, cradling both in careful hands.
“Thank you,” he said.
Meleri clasped her hands together as she stepped back. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it, then. Ashion citizens will have to choose sides, and I chose mine years ago. The Ashion army is mustering in the eastern provinces, and we have representatives in the Urovan court asking for aid. We will work to defend Ashion from Daijal.”
Ksenia shook her head. “Call your people back from Urova. Every submersible used in the attack on the island came from that country. If Eimarille has Urova’s Isar as an ally, they won’t be yours.”
Meleri pursed her lips, appearing tired in the face of that unexpected news. “I’ll pass that information along. Right now, we’ve a battalion bivouacked throughout Veran. Half of them can be mustered as your reinforcements within an hour. The rest must remain here for defense purposes. There’s a steam train waiting at the station that can carry people west, but it won’t match the speed of your airships.”
“It doesn’t need to. Our best bet for the least amount of casualties is a nighttime arrival. Wardens are legally allowed entry past the time a city gate is locked. The army can come through that way,” Honovi said.
Ksenia nodded agreement. “I’d normally not advocate such deception, but these are not normal times. We wardens will assist as needed.”
“What weapons and supplies does the Ashion army have?”
Meleri frowned. “Nothing for a siege.”
“That isn’t our intention here.”
“I was informed by the quartermaster that the battalion came equipped with Zip guns, automatons, and military vehicles. Not all of those can be shipped off with you. We need some to remain here.”
“Do they have any racing carriages?” Caris asked, causing Nathaniel to glance at her in alarm.
“Transport and attack vehicles, mostly. Veran has a few racing teams, though.”
“Let me speak to the owners and see if they’ll let us borrow a few racing carriages and allow for some modifications. You’ll want fast vehicles to chase after whoever has Blaine.”
Honovi wasn’t going to argue with her. He’d heard from Blaine all about Caris’ inventions when his husband had still been working under the false identity of a professor. Caris knew her way around an engine. That she knew her way around a racing carriage was a bit of a surprise, but he had to believe she knew how to modify one.
“Let’s talk to your military,” Honovi said, looking at Meleri. “My air force captain will want to coordinate with the commander of the ground troops who will be going west with us.”
Meleri gestured toward the distant gate at the end of the airfield pier. “The officers are waiting past the wall to speak with you.”
Honovi could only follow his country’s tentative allies down a road none of them had ever wished for.
Five
TERILYN
Terilyn pushed open the door leading to the hidden basement room built inside a well-to-do home in a Foxborough neighborhood populated by rich merchants. It was owned by a transplanted Daijalan family whose loyalty to the Daijal court had never been in question. Their daughter had gone into the Star Order and been summarily inducted as a Blade. Terilyn had used their home many times over the years, safe in the knowledge the family was sworn to secrecy.
The basement wasn’t a laboratory. It wasn’t a place for theKlovodto conduct his gruesome operations. But it was a place where particular people were brought to extract information.
The room Terilyn entered was little more than an underground cell, the concrete floor and walls stained from moisture and other things. A single gaslight hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh orange glow over the prisoner when she flicked the switch.
The man sprawled on the floor didn’t flinch away from the light, eyes closed, face flushed from the onset of fever. His right wrist was secured by a metal cuff, the chain leading to an anchor bolted to the middle of the floor. The protocol for transporting prisoners was to cuff both hands, but seeing as how he was missing his left arm from just below the elbow, she could understand why that standard hadn’t been adhered to.
“He’s alive,” Captain Kendrick Gladstone said. The Daijalan army officer sported a bandage on his forehead and a splinted right wrist from the attack on the Warden’s Island but was otherwise fine.
“Not in the best of health,” Terilyn mused as she stepped inside the room. She crossed the short distance to the unconscious man and knelt, eyeing a face she’d seen once before through a torn veil.
The warrant put out by the Collector’s Guild for Tristan Arquette had quite the bounty on it. They’d been after the man since the fight in the pub when Caris had first become a threat, both of them unknown adversaries until that moment.
