The Kraken King (36 page)
Maybe thinking of how many times she’d been taken. How many times she’d sat waiting for a ransom. Then she nodded, so faintly. Agreeing to trust him, but he felt no relief. Only the ache in his chest, because his wife was afraid, and there was nothing that could reassure her. Only the ache, and hot rising anger.
At the boarding platform, Tatsukawa greeted Ghazan Bator. Allies, for now. The man who’d exposed his mother as a spy, and the man who wouldn’t save her because she was of no more use to the rebellion.
But as often as Ariq had thought of killing the Nipponese admiral, the rage boiling in him wasn’t for his mother.
My heart is iron.
But they’d threatened his heart. They’d threatened his town. They’d killed too many of his people, and murdered too many others. Everyone aboard the airships they’d destroyed had become casualties in a war against Ariq that these two men had been waging in secret.
But they’d threatened his heart. They’d threatened his town. They’d killed too many of his people, and murdered too many others. Everyone aboard the airships they’d destroyed had become casualties in a war against Ariq that these two men had been waging in secret.
They wouldn’t win.
He waited for Ghazan Bator to come to him. Never would Ariq have done so before. The man was his elder, his commander. Both demanded respect.
Ariq couldn’t give it. Not anymore.
The general glanced at Ariq, his gaze settling on his bare chest. He frowned, then looked to the captain of the rebel team who had gassed Zenobia’s bedchamber. In another moment, a soldier approached Ariq with his tunic and belt.
Briefly releasing Zenobia’s hand, Ariq shrugged into the tunic, glad to be covering his arms. Whatever agreement was made here, better to be formal than bare—and better that any insult came from his mouth, not from his missing sleeves.
He reached for Zenobia again. Ghazan Bator looked to their linked hands as he approached.
“My wife.” Ariq introduced her in French so Zenobia could understand.
The general’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t often that he was surprised. In a quick scrutiny, he looked Zenobia over again.
“My congratulations,” the general replied in the same language, and the wry humor in the other man’s voice said that he knew the marriage must have been a simple agreement in the vault.
Ariq wasn’t amused. He’d have liked to court her. He’d have liked to bring her gifts. He’d have liked to give her more than just protection.
But it was what he had to give now. “You’ve brought us here. Why?”
“To see.” He pulled his spyglass from his belt and gave it to Ariq. “The island.”
That wasn’t what Zenobia had expected. With a sudden frown, she glanced up at Ariq, then out to the island. From this distance, it looked like a bare rock jutting out of the sea.
But it wouldn’t be. She hadn’t known this man as long as Ariq had. She didn’t understand how he fought.
Ariq did. So he knew what he would see when he raised the spyglass. Even prepared, the sight stabbed him through the gut, and the old, old rage spilled out. He didn’t let it show. Breathing evenly, he looked—because to look away was to disrespect every single life that had been taken.
It wasn’t a barren rock. It
hadn’t
been. Now it was. Whatever had been there, whoever had lived there, there was nothing left but charred remains and ashes.
hadn’t
been. Now it was. Whatever had been there, whoever had lived there, there was nothing left but charred remains and ashes.
Silently, he handed the spyglass to Zenobia.
“Eight thousand people,” Ghazan Bator said, and a pained gasp broke through Zenobia’s soft lips. “Their governor had asked the Khagan for independent sovereignty at the request of his people.”
And that was always the way. Ariq could not count how many similar scenes he’d been shown growing up. It kept the rage hot, the thirst for war strong.
“We have been fighting at the edges for too long.” The general took the spyglass that Zenobia blindly held out to him, with tears in her eyes and horror drawing her body in on itself. “We have to strike at the heart. To destroy him before another island, another village, is lost.”
But the heart of the empire was not the Khagan. It was her people. And Ariq was no longer a boy easily blinded by his anger. “If you use that machine,” he said softly, “the path to the royal city will look like that island.”
“This is his desperation. He knows his power is crumbling.
This
is to show that he still has control.” Though the general spoke as calmly as Ariq, he lapsed back to Mongolian, to familiar words that he probably uttered often. “You worry about a path when he will burn thousands more for the slightest resistance.”
This
is to show that he still has control.” Though the general spoke as calmly as Ariq, he lapsed back to Mongolian, to familiar words that he probably uttered often. “You worry about a path when he will burn thousands more for the slightest resistance.”
“Because your path will strengthen him again. Especially if that path is struck with the help of an enemy.” Ariq looked to Tatsukawa, who had joined them at the airship’s rail. The admiral’s face showed little expression as he listened, but his gaze rarely strayed from Ariq’s face. “Even those who would rather see the Khagan fall will support him, because he will say it is in their defense. He will reunite everyone under that banner.”
The general smiled thinly. “Then what is our alternative? Should we abandon our people to his tyranny, as you have?”
Ah, yes. He’d made certain to say
that
in French, so Zenobia could also be ashamed of her husband. But though she stiffened at Ariq’s side, she didn’t look up at him in dismay. Instead her eyes seemed to flatten as she regarded Ghazan Bator, and Ariq thought of what she’d said about her father, and how the man had shamed her appearance and her sex.
that
in French, so Zenobia could also be ashamed of her husband. But though she stiffened at Ariq’s side, she didn’t look up at him in dismay. Instead her eyes seemed to flatten as she regarded Ghazan Bator, and Ariq thought of what she’d said about her father, and how the man had shamed her appearance and her sex.
His bride didn’t think well of such tactics.
And he’d never been ashamed of his choice to leave. He’d regretted it now and again—wondering if he should have made another choice or stayed longer—and wished that he had accomplished more. But the only time he’d ever felt shame had been after following this man’s commands.
Now the general spoke as if there were no alternatives—as he always did—when in truth, he simply dismissed options that weren’t aligned with his.
But perhaps he didn’t know of this one. “Temür Agha is returning from the west. He marches with the rebels who had been incarcerated in the outposts.”
Not a flicker of surprise. He’d known. “With families. Old men and women.”
“They have just as much reason to fight as young soldiers do.”
Perhaps more reason. Not just anger or hate, but love.
“And how long will it take—three years? More? How many will die while we wait?” His eyes narrowed, and his face grew long, as if he’d judged Ariq and found him disappointingly naive. “Do you think fewer would die than if we stopped the Khagan now, with the machine?”
“No. Many will die, no matter how he falls.” Because there were many others who needed to go with him, or nothing would change. It would not be simple or easy. “But it is better that his remaining power crumbles because the ground is shaking from the impact of a hundred thousand marching feet, than to destroy him from above with one mighty fist—as if you are Tengri striking him down. That is what he has done to this island. You would be the same.”
Jaw clenched, the general shook his head, but it was Tatsukawa who replied first.
“You sound just as your mother did.”
Sharply Ariq looked to him, suspecting mockery, and if Ariq had seen any contempt he didn’t know that anything could have stopped him from ripping the man apart. But there was only admiration in the admiral’s tone, and a sheen of tears in his eyes.
Ariq hadn’t known the admiral had loved her. That he still did.
He hoped his every waking day was a living hell.
Zenobia abruptly pulled her hand from his. He glanced at her, and his heart clenched. Had she gone mad? With the fingernail of her right index finger, she scratched at the delicate skin on the inside of her left forearm, leaving a series of red rounded shapes and lines.
Not scratching.
Taking notes.
Taking notes.
Ariq folded his fingers over hers, stopping the rough scrawl, and she scowled up at him. Across the deck, a soldier stood with her glider contraption. “Captain! Bring that satchel. Give her the notebook inside.”
After a nod of confirmation from the general, the captain did. With her lower lip trapped between her teeth, Zenobia scribbled a few words before tucking it into her belt—and he would never forget how she looked at him with gratitude and relief, or the warm clasp of her fingers when she took his hand again.
He would never forget how the light in her eyes dimmed as Ghazar Baton said, “The time for talking is done. You will take Admiral Tatsukawa to the Skybreaker’s location.”
Just as Ariq had guessed. So he nodded, while Zenobia’s stiff spine and her shallow breaths tore up his chest. “Let me say farewell to my wife.”
There was no privacy at the side of the ship, so Ariq blocked her body from sight with his. He cupped her pale face in his hands, and kissed her, and stole a pin from her hair.
Her fingers bunched in his tunic, holding him close. Urgently, her jade eyes searched his. Her voice was a strained whisper. “If you can’t give the machine to him . . . if you can’t let him burn that path to the royal city, tell Mara and Cooper. Tell my brother. They can come for me.”
Ariq hadn’t known a man could survive so much pride and pain at once. Though she had no reason to care anything about his people, his wife would sacrifice herself to stop Ghazan Bator from claiming the machine.
His wife thought that
he
would sacrifice
her
.
he
would sacrifice
her
.
Gently, he kissed her again and said against her lips. “I am going to kneel before you. Place your foot upon my hand to the count of five.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“So that you know where my loyalties lie.”
And so that everyone would know that if he returned and found even a small bruise upon her skin, he would destroy them all.
Though her confusion didn’t fade, she nodded. Ariq sank to one knee and lay the back of his right hand upon the deck. Her bare foot was long and narrow, and she barely put any weight upon his palm. But she was smiling, as if now she was the one who thought he might have gone mad.
Behind him was a sudden silence.
Ariq rose swiftly when it was done. Her smile had vanished, and her eyes asked him
Why?
Why?
“You are my queen,” he told her, and clasped her hand to his overfilled heart. Though emotion roughened his voice, he spoke quietly. This was only for her. “I am your sword and your shield. I am your wolf and your steed. Mountains will tremble at my approach, for they know I will tear them apart if ever they stand between us. But you need not be afraid, Zenobia Fox, because my heart is iron and my will is steel, and before the new moon rises, I will come for you.”
Lips parting, she stared up at him, with a light in her face and a fire in her eyes. No fear.
Good. He kissed her and as he pulled away, he wasn’t leaving her. It was just the first step back to her side.
And he told her, “I’m coming for you.”
THE KRAKEN KING AND THE IRON HEART
On an ironship, somewhere north of Australia
May 29
Archimedes,
I hardly know what to write. I hardly know if there is even any purpose to writing a letter, or whether you’ll receive it. If you ever do, I doubt it is because my captors have put a message in the post for me. I’ve probably ripped this page from my notebook and given it to you in person. As you have likely guessed, I have been kidnapped again—but at least my abductors do not want gold this time. It’s somewhat flattering that my worth is equal to the worth of a giant war machine that could change the course of history. Whether that ransom will be paid is another question entirely. One day, perhaps, I will transform this all into an adventure. Lady Lynx will go in search of a kidnapped friend, but when she finds the ironship her friend was taken to, the only evidence that remains is a note crumpled and stuffed beneath a cot. At least I would not be forced to write the note in my own blood—though such drastic measures might not be far off. My pencil is worn to a nub and I doubt they will give me a penknife to sharpen it again. (Do not ask how I will draw blood to use as ink if I don’t even possess anything sharp enough to give my pencil a new point. Discussion of such details is best left to critics, and pathos always trumps plot.) Oh, how angry Lady Lynx will be when she reads that crimson plea for help! So many heads will be bashed; the adventure almost writes itself. As for me, I am quite weary of adventure. Never have I longed so deeply for my own desk, and my own bed—even the bitterly cold sea.
Held for ransom, again,
Zenobia
P.S. Hairpins! They could draw blood, yet could never sharpen a pencil. I could stab a guard with one, too.
Low clouds crowded the evening sky. Ariq had been waiting for them the past two days. To return for Zenobia, he needed a cloud cover, an island port, and blood. He could arrange for the latter two. The clouds were beyond his power, but the eternal blue heavens had favored him with a thick blanket overhead.
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