“Ready to meet the family?” Maldynado let his arm drop from the backrest to drape around Yara’s shoulders.
“Touching,” she said, though she kept her voice low.
“Yes, I imagine we should do quite a lot of that tonight,” Maldynado whispered, “though with lips instead of hands, don’t you think? To make our relationship look realistic.”
Maldynado hadn’t had many women growl at him, at least not outside of the bedroom, but the noise that escaped Yara’s throat sounded like it qualified.
“Now, now, my lady,” Maldynado said, aware that the guards could probably hear by now. “You know it’s only proper to save the growling for… later.”
Two men in crimson-and-black uniforms, those of some private guard service, stepped up to Akstyr’s chosen docking spot and turned up gas lamps perched on the poles. The brighter light nicely illuminated the rifles cradled in their arms. Maldynado did a double-glance. They were repeating firearms. It seemed Forge had been busy supplying its allies with the latest models from their secret weapons manufacturing plants.
Sespian lowered his face. The beard and new clothes disguised him well, but avoiding scrutiny was a good idea. He ought to loosen those white knuckles too; he was gripping the oar like he might turn it into a cudgel at any moment. He must hate having his fate in a Marblecrest’s hands. Maldynado would show Sespian that he was trustworthy.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he drawled to the guards.
“This is a private island, comrades,” one man said. “Unless you have an invitation, you won’t be permitted to get out of your boat.”
“I’m here on family business.” Maldynado waved toward the castle-turned-resort. From this lowly angle, trees blocked the view of most of the structure, but a couple of lit towers stood out against the night sky. A wide, well-lit cobblestone road wound its way up the hillside. “My sister-in-law, Mari Marblecrest, was supposed to arrive today. Did she make it safely? I would be remiss if I didn’t come to see her.”
The guards exchanged looks. One fingered the trigger of his rifle.
Maldynado stood, so he could take action if he needed to, but also so they could see his fine garments and the arrogant chin tilt he assumed. He hoped they’d believe him warrior-caste based on looks alone. By law, commoners who weren’t soldiers or enforcers with orders to do so were forbidden from lifting a hand, even in defense, against aristocrats.
“What’s your name? My lord.” The guard tacked the latter on, no doubt covering himself should it prove to be true.
“Maldynado Montichelu Marblecrest,” he said in his most pompous tone, then removed his hat and offered a slight bow, not the deep one a man might issue to a colleague or a lady, but the type that was considered a gesture of respect when given to commoners.
“Aren’t you disowned? My lord?” the man in charge of talking said after another exchange of looks with his colleague.
“He runs with mercenaries and outlaws, doesn’t he?” the other one whispered and eyed the rest of the “boat crew.”
Ugh, not good. “Ah, you’ve heard about my exploits down in the capital? I hadn’t realized that my tales had traveled this far downriver. I’m done with that life though.” Maldynado waved toward Yara, hoping to get the guards looking at her, and that oh-so-lovely bosom, instead of at the men. “I’ve been told that my father has invited me to rejoin the family and that Mari has the details. Do be a good lad and run along to let her know I’ve come, won’t you? My fiancée is eager to meet her.” He kept his hand extended toward Yara, and the guards’ eyes were indeed lingering on her, and not her face either. Fortunately Yara’s growl was too low for them to hear.
After another shared glance—Maldynado was beginning to think those two might share a brain as well—one of the guards said, “Go check,” and the other scampered off the dock.
Maldynado took this as an invitation to climb out of the boat. This drew a frown from the remaining guard, especially since Maldynado stood a half a foot taller than the man, but he stepped back without a word. Still trying to figure out if Maldynado deserved warrior-caste respect perhaps. Or maybe he knew that other guards stood at the base of the pier and would have plenty of time to shoot if anyone tried something. And then there were those additional men on the steamboat.
“My lady?” Maldynado offered a hand, inviting Yara to join him on the dock.
She stood, frowned at the hand, and proceeded to climb out herself. She tried to, anyway. The brass-tipped slippers Maldynado had chosen to match the dress lacked the sturdy soles of enforcer boots, and one of her feet slipped in a damp spot on the dock. Though she probably would have recovered her balance before she pitched sideways and fell into the river, Maldynado caught her about the waist and kept her upright. He needn’t have pulled her against his chest to achieve that goal, but opportunities to have a woman feel one’s pectoral muscles couldn’t be ignored.
Alas, Yara shoved him away before she had a chance to feel much of anything. “Men,” she said in a tone that made it clear it was a curse. “Not only do they buy you clothes designed for the benefit of their eyes, but they consider it a coup if those clothes also make it more likely that you’ll need their help.” She glared at the guard, as if he had colluded with Maldynado to bring about the moment.
The guard skittered back, apparently more alarmed at risking her ire than that of Maldynado, warrior caste or not. He decided it wasn’t bad walking beside a woman who could quell men with a glare. If she’d just stop sending that glare his way so often…
“It’s a nice dress, ma’am,” the guard finally managed.
“Do you like it?” Maldynado withdrew the stacks of business cards the shopkeepers had pressed onto him. “Save up and visit Madame Mimi’s Fashion Boutique. I’m sure you’ll find something nice for your lady.”
The guard gaped at the card in his hand, a perplexed wrinkle to his nose. So long as the man didn’t find them suspicious.
A soft clatter arose from the direction of the road. None of the guards reacted, and, a moment later, a bronze-and-wood sphere on a tiny cart rolled out of the darkness and onto the dock. The knee-high contraption hissed and spat smoke from a tiny vent pipe on the top. Maldynado’s hand drifted to his rapier hilt. He’d suffered enough at the hands of magical devices of late.
In the back of the boat, Akstyr’s head perked in interest for the first time. When Maldynado met his eyes, he used Basilard’s hand code to sign,
Magic.
Lovely complication.
The guards didn’t blink at the sphere’s appearance. Given how scarce—and utterly forbidden—magic was in the empire, that must mean they thought it some steam-powered automata.
The closest guard bent, opened a door in the sphere, and pulled out a scroll tied with silk. Maldynado tried not to be obvious about peeking over his shoulder as the man read. Most of the writing was too small to make out, but he spotted Mari’s flowing signature.
“You can go up,” the guard said, “my lord.”
Huh.
“Naturally.” Maldynado snapped his fingers at Basilard. “Gather our bags, boy.”
Basilard’s eyes widened, and his hands moved together, as if to sign a few choice imprecations, but Sespian cleared his throat softly. After a quick glare at Maldynado, Basilard fetched a trunk. Maldynado had found it in the junkyard and done his best to refurbish it, figuring Mari and her cronies would think it odd if he arrived without any luggage, especially when he was traveling with a woman.
Basilard plopped the trunk onto the dock, nearly catching Maldynado’s toe beneath the corner. Maldynado moved his foot in time.
I thought I was going to be the bodyguard
, Basilard signed.
Bodyguard, lackey, it’s all the same to someone in the warrior caste
, Maldynado signed back when the guard wasn’t paying attention.
One wonders how hard bodyguards try to save their clients from harm.
“You boys, tie the boat up and mind these security fellows. We’ll be back later tonight or in the morning.” Maldynado flipped the emperor a coin, hoping Sespian wasn’t the type to order public floggings for impudence.
Sespian kept his head down, but he caught the coin with a quick snatch and pocketed it. “Yes, my lord.”
“He’s the best actor among us,” Maldynado muttered to himself, then raised his voice for the guard’s benefit. “Do we have to walk up? Or are there carriages?” He waved at the message-delivery sphere still hissing where it idled. “It seems there’s some technology on this remote rock.”
“Sorry, my lord,” the guard said. “No steam carriages, but there are porters available if your lady is disinclined toward walking.”
“The lady can walk just fine.” Yara strode off the dock at a brisk pace, wobbling only slightly in the slippers.
“Come, boy,” Maldynado said and hurried to catch up to her.
Had Basilard the ability to mutter under his breath, he surely would have been doing so. But, in silence, he hefted the trunk over his shoulder and followed after Maldynado and Yara.
As soon as Maldynado passed the trio of guards waiting on the road, he pretended to trip on the cobblestones.
“Blast, this is a rough road,” he said. “Poorly lit too. Torches would be brighter than these twenty-year-old gas lamps.” Two of the guards carried lanterns, and, without asking, Maldynado plucked one from the hands of a fellow who didn’t appear particularly alert. “I’ll see this is returned to you, lad.”
“What? I—”
One of his comrades elbowed him. “Yes, my lord.”
Maldynado jogged and caught up to Yara. She said nothing about his delay. The woman wasn’t much of a conversationalist.
Bumps and clanks followed them up the hill. At first, Maldynado thought it was something in the trunk, but Basilard wasn’t the one making the noise. The message-delivery device, trembling and hissing from the strain of rolling up the bumpy road, had decided to trail after them. That could prove problematic, as Maldynado had planned to create his distraction as soon as they rounded a bend and trees hid them from sight.
“You two see Akstyr’s warning?” Maldynado asked, keeping his voice low in case the device could somehow report their goings on to its master. He wagered it did more than deliver messages. When Yara gave him a blank look, Maldynado remembered she wouldn’t have understood the sign if she’d seen it. He tilted his head backward. “We seem to have picked up a spy.”
“Does it matter?” Yara asked.
Not sure she understood the device’s magical significance, Maldynado said, “If it’s here to observe us, probably.”
She gave him a sharp look. Yes, she understood now.
Maldynado supposed he could leave Books and the others to figure their own way onto the steamboat, but he
had
promised a diversion.
Basilard stopped and set the trunk down with a thump. He shook out his arms and rubbed his lower back. It wasn’t that heavy, so Maldynado knew it was a show.
He signed,
Idea?
Basilard considered their surroundings. They were winding their way up the hill and had left the trees to walk across the open face of a cliff on the back side of the island. Its steep walls rose above and dropped below them. The guards couldn’t see them anymore, thanks to the topography, but the steam device clanked to a stop behind Basilard.
He finished his rubbing and stretching and bent to pick up the trunk again. He pretended to stagger under its weight, and stumbled a couple of steps to the rear. The wheeled sphere started to roll backward, but not quickly enough. Basilard stumbled again and
accidentally
punted the thing off the road and over the cliff. Never mind that a star brindle-ball player would have struggled to launch a projectile so far.
The device clunked on a boulder at the base of the cliff and bounced into the river.
Oops
, Basilard signed with a wink.
“Nice,” Maldynado purred.
He opened the trunk and pulled out the tattered, grimy clothes people had been wearing before he resupplied the group with more suitable attire. After dousing them in lamp oil from his satchel, he wadded them up. He tied the bundle into a nice knot, lit it with the lantern, and tossed it onto a promontory below. It landed in the branches of a tree. Perfect. The rocks separating the promontory from the mainland ought to keep the rest of the island from catching on fire, though he supposed that’d make an even more engaging diversion.
He dusted off his hands. “Just enough of a problem that a few guards will need to check it out.”
Yara regarded Maldynado and Basilard with pursed lips. “When I first met you people, I thought Corporal Lokdon was the crazy lunatic who’d used her charisma to talk you men into haplessly following her. I see now I was mistaken; you’re all crazy lunatics, and you deserve each other.”
Basilard asked,
Should we be offended?
“Careful,” Maldynado told Yara. “Basilard says he can do that with people too.” He pointed over the cliff at the spot where the device had disappeared into the river.
Basilard punched Maldynado in the arm.
Yara snorted and continued up the road, again striding ahead, showing no interest in waiting for her “fiancé.”
“Whoever marries that woman is going to have his hands full.” Maldynado lifted the trunk and helped Basilard hoist it back onto his shoulder.
Or
her
hands
, Basilard signed with his free fingers.
Maldynado scratched his jaw as they started up the hill again. “You suppose that’s the case? I
have
been perplexed by how resistant she is to my charms.”
Basilard did an impressive job of balancing the trunk without his hands, so that he could sign,
I did catch her giving Amaranthe a speculative look when we were on the dirigible.
Maldynado stumbled. It was a good thing
he
wasn’t carrying anything. “You
did
?”
Normally, he wouldn’t mind the notion of two women running off together—indeed, in the past, he’d been known to encourage such activities so long as he could be involved in some way—but the idea of Yara being permanently unavailable chagrined him for reasons he had a hard time identifying. Before his chagrin set in too deeply, he noticed the mischievous glint in Basilard’s pale eyes.