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The only light was from the Nightglass and the moon, which allowed her to see the silhouettes of trees against the sky, and a few stone steps up to where Cyrus was securing his boat.
It rocked a little as he jumped back down, but then steadied as he came back into the cabin.
“You can let go now,” he came to her side and slipped his arm around her, giving her a hug. “You make an excellent first mate.”
She chuckled. “Thank you. A rare compliment, I’m thinking.”
He shot her a glance. “In case you’re wondering, there have been no other first mates. In fact, you’re the first woman to ever board the Nightglass.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Really.” He took her hand. “Let me show you around.”
“Uhhh... all right.”
There were doors beside the wheel, but Maelin hadn’t realised they were actual doors leading below decks. In her experience that had been for storage and engine access.
Clearly the Tidehold mariners had a different boat builder than Lord Cyrus Drake.
She followed him down, curious now, and fascinated by the elegant room she found herself in. The ceiling was quite low, but it was glass, black glass from the outside but clear from within. She gazed up at the stars, surprised to find Cyrus at her side offering her a glass of mistwine.
“This is...” She sat down on a large couch. “Cyrus, this is so lovely...”
He sat next to her and touched his glass to hers. “I think so. It’s quiet, relaxing, somewhere I can think clearly without the daily barrage of noise that is Caelemar.”
“Mmm.” She sipped. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“So I should tell you about my day and then you can tell me about yours,” he said, putting down his wine and taking her hand.
“Yes,” she sighed. “Best to get that conversation out of the way.”
“Well then, I’ll start.”
She listened intently as he told her of Primrose, her grimoires, and what he’d learned. The discussion of spells, of blood, of bones, seemed unreal, given that they were gently floating in their own private paradise.
But her story correlated with some of his. And after telling it, both of them fell quiet for a time, trying to come to grasp with it all.
“So,” said Cyrus finally, lying back and stretching out his legs. “We’re agreed on the fact that the only solution to the killings is finding whoever is trying to recreate a Rhovan machine.”
“It certainly looks that way,” said Maelin quietly. “But how they can do that when there’s no definitive description of a Rhovan...the way they are described as never the same...”
“It’s their power, Mae,” Cyrus took her hand in his. “The Rhovan were the ultimate killing machines. The human part of them, the mechanical part of them, and...in my opinion...the part of them that someone or something controlled...”
She looked at him and frowned. “You think they were all under another’s control? That they didn’t think independently?”
“It’s merely a consideration,” he answered slowly. “But the more I turn it over in my mind, I have to ask myself whether that many mechanically augmented humans would be able to work together in concert and rip a world apart, or would they need a leader. Someone or something telling them what to do.”
Maelin thought about that for more than a few minutes.
Finally, she sighed. “That’s a deeply troubling idea, Cyrus. Because if you’re correct, then there is someone—or something—working right now in the Gloamtide, looking for the component parts so that they can re-create a Rhovan. And control it.”
“Is that worse than having Rhovans control themselves, I wonder?”
“I can’t even begin to answer that question.”
She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her at these ideas. She’d learned more about the Rhovan atrocities than she probably should have, so her reaction to this discussion was one of deep concern.
“I’ve scared you,” he said quietly, pulling her closer.
