Caris had no answer to that question because the idea of war had seemed so abstract to her until she’d become a cog in the Clockwork Brigade. Now, she knew it was inevitable, but the role she’d thought she would play had drastically changed.
She was little more than arionetka, just lacking the scars, but the strings? Oh, Caris felt those wrapped like a noose around her neck, her road no longer her own.
Eight
HONOVI
The prairie around the town’s airfield was green-gold, grass bleached by the summer sun. The land was flat as far as the eye could see, the horizon broken only by scattered trees. They were too centrally located in the continent to see any mountains, and the vastness of the sky not interrupted by peaks looked different from the ground than on the deck of an airship. The view always made Honovi miss home.
“I suppose this is goodbye until our roads cross again,” Blaine said. He stood next to Honovi on the dock leading into the hangar that housed the airship. Despite the Ashionen clothing he wore, he’d opted to converse in E’ridian. They were far enough away from any airfield worker to hear them.
Honovi knew better than to ask his husband to join him in the sky. “It’s never a goodbye between us. You know that.”
Still, Honovi had lingered in Ashion long enough. It was time to fly.
Honovi’s crew had stayed on the airship to guard it, knowing that, even with the changes they’d made to the paint job—literally on the fly—it could still possibly be recognized. The broadsheets hadn’t been shy about printing copious amounts of photographs of their descent into the riot to rescue Blaine, Caris, and Lore.
Given the choice, regardless of the risk, Honovi would do it all over again.
She wasn’t theSkyborne, but theKatabaticwas a rock-solid airship, powered by an engine that Blaine had checked over during their flight to Veran. If Honovi couldn’t have his husband by his side, he’d take the fruit of Blaine’s labor any day.
TheKatabaticwas properly anchored in a berth, though she’d be leaving it shortly. The stripes of colored paint close to the railing gleamed brightly against the darker shade covering the hull. Honovi could see where wind had made a hand unsteady, but the swirls helped hide the mistakes made while in altitude. Lore’s bloodline ties had meant no one questioned them much when they’d landed.
The crew was busy filling up the cargo hold with supplies that would feed them on the flight over the Eastern Spine. The duchess had offered to pay for it all, but Honovi had declined, not willing to put himself in debt to her more than he already had.
He would be facing a reckoning once he landed in Glencoe; of that, he was certain. While theKatabatichad no identifying marks to tie it to Honovi as an owner, and its docking records had been falsified, one could always tell an E’ridian airship from others. It was in its flight capabilities and maneuverability, as much as it could be about its design. Their flight in and out of Amari had been repeatedly remarked upon in the press, with some articles stating that the Ashion parliament had reached out to E’ridia, demanding answers.
What had come of such efforts hadn’t been reported on, at least not publicly. Honovi knew his father and the rest of thecinn-chinnidhwho made up theComhairle nan Cinnidheanwouldgive no statement to foreign press. It would be handled through diplomatic channels, but since he wasn’t yet within his country’s borders, Honovi couldn’t explainwhyhe’d disregarded Ashion air space and fired on a crowd of revenants. Until he returned, E’ridia’s silence on the matter would continue to fan the political flames Daijal was coaxing into burning.
Even with Karla ferrying home news of therionetkas, he’d placed his country in a precarious situation. Honovi could only hope that the explanation of Siv being arionetkawould be enough to soothe theComhairle nan Cinnidhean’s initial anger. Honovi wouldn’t know until he stood before them, and he’d stand there alone once he finally made it to the capital after several years away.
“At least promise me you’ll get some rest up in the air? Let your navigator fly until you hit the mountains,” Blaine said.
Honovi turned to look at his husband, seeing not the beloved face he’d grown up with but a stranger’s. The veil Blaine wore gave him brown hair and dark eyes, a nose just a shade too large for the features woven over his own. The visage was a lie, but it meant safety, and Honovi would always choose that first during this dangerous time. Meleri might believe her servants were loyal, but that loyalty could not be ascertained by the town.
So Blaine wore a veil because the warrant out for his arrest could buy a person’s way into the nobility genealogies. It was enough money to change a person’s life while destroying Blaine’s. Despite the risk, Blaine had been insistent he’d see Honovi off. They’d kissed their goodbyes in their borrowed room that morning, and the taste of him still lingered on Honovi’s lips. Home would always be wherever Blaine was, and leaving him behind cut deep as surely as it always had.
“Sitting idle is not the job of an aeronaut captain,” Honovi said.
“It can be when you’re still healing.” Blaine frowned, the concern in his eyes familiar even if his face wasn’t. “Don’t push yourself. Your skin is being held together by magic at this juncture. Let it heal so you don’t split the wound open.”
Honovi pressed a hand to his right side, feeling the lingering heat of the bruise through his shirt. Itachedand would for a while yet. Forced healing through spells and potion, paired with the more mechanical means of healing by way of sutures performed by a doctor, meant the bullet wound was closed up.
He’d be completely healed by now if he had stayed put in the hospital and let the magicians and doctors assigned there assess him more thoroughly. His rank would’ve seen them treat him with no expenses spared. As an ambassador andjarl, Honovi had the means to pay that fee, something few people outside the nobility genealogies could afford.
Honovi had pushed for a quick healing, despite the situation and what was owed. One that knit flesh together enough that he’d stopped bleeding and could walk. In hindsight, he was glad he’d chosen to leave because it meant he’d been there when Blaine had needed him. In the end, the pain was worth it.
“I’ll be tended to when we land in Glencoe. It’ll be a straight flight east now that we won’t have to double back. We’ll have strong winds, if the Dusk Star is benevolent,” Honovi said.
“May she be benevolent.” Blaine sighed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his day jacket. The outfit was new, the lightweight fabric perfect for the summer heat. “I’d go with you if I could.”
“I know, but you’re needed here.”
That knowledge was less bitter this time than he’d thought it would be. It was either growth or acceptance, Honovi couldn’t be sure which. Blaine’s duty was to the Dusk Star and a young woman who would be queen, even if she didn’t want the crown. He had to finish walking that road before he could return unencumbered to Honovi.
Honovi’s duty was to his country and, through that road, his husband. Ensuring no one in a seat of power back in Glencoe was arionetkameant there’d be a place for Blaine to come hometo. Honovi was under no illusions that Blaine was a target just as surely as Caris was. He could stand as her witness, after all, and argue her right to have her name be written down in the royal genealogies. Without him, there would always be those who wouldn’t believe in the future she represented.
Honovi knew a future with Caris ruling within her own borders was a far better one than that which Eimarille was after.
