Dureau nodded in Wyatt’s direction. “He’s got plenty of clarion crystals for you to cut.”
Caris pushed away from the worktable and went to the other one, slipping onto another stool a few feet away from Wyatt. She looked at the diagrams he was using as reference, eyes tracing the patterns the clarion crystal needed to be cut into. Not a style she’d ever used, but then, she would have never dreamed up a death-defying machine.
She picked up a crystal-cutting tool, pulled a diagram sheet closer to her, and reached for a rod of clarion crystal, determined to lose herself in work. It was better than thinking about what her parents were going through.
She lost herself to the task of cutting clarion crystals, listening to the crystalline hum that she’d always been able to hear in moments like that but which no one else had ever been able to. The rod of clarion crystal in her hand was a smoky gray in color, with minimal occlusions. The design of the shape on the diagram could be cut from the rod in her hand, but every line she made into the crystal left discordant song notes in her ears.
“The crystals aren’t meant to be used this way,” Caris muttered as she carefully rotated her wrist to adjust the angle of the handheld cutting saw she was using. “They don’t like this shape.”
“Clarion crystals aren’t alive. These designs were the only shapes that have worked for the transmutation process,” Wyatt said offhand.
“That should have been your first clue it was a terrible idea.”
Wyatt didn’t respond, but his shoulders rose a little toward his ears. Caris pressed the edge of the cutter to the clarion crystal, intent on ignoring the way her handwantedto move in favor of cutting it how Wyatt and that bastard Fletcher had designed when the door to the garage slammed open, making her jump in her seat.
“Caris,” Blaine called out. “The duchess wants you. There’s something you need to see.”
She snapped her head around, carefully setting the clarion crystal and cutting tool on the table without looking. Blaine’s voice was tense in a way that reminded her of when they’d been in the thick of the riot with danger all around them.
“Do we have to leave town?” Caris asked as she hurried across the space to him, Dureau a mere half step behind her.
Blaine shook his head. “No, not yet. But—well, you’ll see. Follow me.”
They stepped outside, the sun directly overhead, indicating hours had gone by since Caris had stormed out of the library. Her stomach growled, reminding her she was due to eat, but it could wait. Whatever had sent Blaine racing after her couldn’t be good.
He led her back into the estate, their rapid footsteps against the hardwood floor echoing in the halls. Voices up ahead were indistinct until they weren’t as Blaine stepped into a doorway that led into a windowless study. Caris peered over his shoulder and let out a sharp gasp, one hand coming up to clutch at the ring hanging from the necklace around her throat.
Standing in the study with a rough linen shirt unbuttoned to show off a bare, unmarked chest was—impossibly—Nathaniel.
He broke off mid-word, gaze finding her unerringly. The expression on his dirty, tired face twisted, disbelief stealing across his eyes before turning to wonder. “Caris? You’re really here?”
The world went blurry in an instant, and Caris covered her mouth with her hand, leaning against Blaine’s back for support. “You were—Nathaniel,how?”
“He was one of the last stragglers through the gate before the revenants reached the city wall,” Raziel said from where the warden stood near the wall, out of the way. “We wardens had to clear everyone just in case after we dealt with the revenants. When he said he needed directions to the duchess’ home, I figured I should escort him.”
Caris couldn’t quite swallow back a sob, the sound muffled against her fingers. She ducked around Blaine, darting across the room to throw herself into Nathaniel’s arms. He caught her like she knew he would, rocking back on his heels. Then his arms wrapped around her and held her close in the way she’d ached to feel since fleeing Amari.
“How?” Caris rasped out, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, shaking fingers clutching at the edges of his open shirt. “How did you get free?”
“I was forgotten in a paddy wagon during the riot. When I was found again, I managed to escape. I hid and was smuggled out of the city by a cog and passed through the chain,” Nathaniel said, his lips moving against her hair.
Her lips trembled, breath hitching on a sob, but she still found her voice. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Caris lifted her head and unclenched one hand so she could press her fingers to Nathaniel’s cheek, feeling the heat coming off his skin from who knew how many days on the road. He smiled at her in a cracked sort of way, taking her hand in his to press a kiss to the back of her knuckles.
“I’m here now,” Nathaniel promised. Caris tucked herself in close to him, taking a selfish moment just for them. She closed her eyes and held on, listening to the murmur of voices rise around her. A faint, almost crystalline hum reached her ears as she stood in the circle of Nathaniel’s arms, the sound easily ignored in favor of the way he said her name. “I won’t leave you again, Caris.”
Eleven
HONOVI
TheKatabaticsettled in its anchor berth with a judder, secured in place by the lines thrown over the railing by the airship crew to those on the ground. Honovi blew out a breath and stepped away from the controls, reaching up to loosen the straps of his flight helmet.
“Let’s get through the paperwork as fast as we can. I have orders to head straight for theComhairle nan Cinnidhean,” Honovi said to his deck master, who was standing in the doorway to the flight deck.
“You want me to handle everything in your stead?” Ingvar asked.
Honovi smiled tightly and tossed his flight helmet on the navigator’s table. “No, I’ll sign off on everything.”
