“You did what you had to,” Merrick said, holding her quite still in his grasp. It was entirely inappropriate for a man—even if he was Presbyter—to hold the Empress in any way at all. “When Derodak worked on your brother for months, he got his claws deeply into him. You cannot blame yourself for that.”
Her jaw tightened slightly as she straightened. “I spent all my life looking out for Kal, Merrick. I thought I was doing a good job, but I didn’t move quickly enough when I suspected something was wrong with that man. I’m not ever going to forgive myself for that. Never.”
Zofiya would hold on to that until her grave; it was what she was like. “Then you must learn to live with it,” he replied softly, “because it is not just your brother who has endangered the world.”
“We have no time for this,” the Fensena, who had been mercifully silent until this moment, said, getting to his feet. His ears pricked forward. “You need to tell the Empress about all this, but we must be off immediately.”
Zofiya’s saber was out of its sheath and in her hand in a flash. “What is that? Another talking beast?” Her gaze fixed on Merrick accusingly. “Another geistlord?”
The coyote did not help his cause by folding one front leg and performing a bow like some well-trained dog. “Indeed. The Fensena.”
Her brother would most likely not have recognized the name, but Zofiya had spent hours learning about the dangers of Arkaym. “The Broken Mirror? The Widow Maker?” She turned slightly on Merrick, but kept her eyes and weapon pointed at the coyote. “Are you the new Derodak then, Merrick? Would you make pacts with geistlords as he did?”
A headache began to form itself at the base of the First Presbyter’s head. He’d known that this meeting would not be easy, but he did not want to argue with the new Empress. “The Fensena is not to be trusted—”
“I am right here you know,” the coyote broke in dryly.
Merrick shot him a dark look and continued, “But he is as invested in this world as we are. On the Otherside he was one of the weaker geistlords.” The coyote growled but held his peace. “He knows more of this than even a Deacon can, and he says that Derodak is planning to contact the Maker of Ways.”
The Empress blanched and reluctantly sheathed her saber. “Why would he do that? If the Otherside came through, there would be nothing but chaos and death.”
The Fensena answered before the Deacon could. “Derodak has lived in this realm for hundreds on hundreds of years. He was both the first Deacon and the first Emperor. He thinks his knowledge and power is limitless, so when the Otherside spills into this world he imagines that he will control the geists as he has the ones here.”
“He is a fool!” Zofiya spat, kicking a rock out from under her boot.
“Indeed,” the coyote said, shaking himself as if he’d received a sudden dunking, “but he thinks he knows best. All will look to him, and he will be their father. However, when the Maker of Ways comes, Derodak may have cause to remember the true horrors of the Otherside.”
Merrick watched his lover out of the corner of his eye, because he did not want to interrupt her thinking. When she spoke, there was more than a touch of weariness in her voice. “I have spent the last weeks fighting and negotiating my way around Arkaym. Even the false Rossin woman has been dealt with. I think I have mended much of what my brother did, but now you tell me it is all in vain—that the geists are coming and there is nothing I can do about it?”
“Nothing.” The coyote sat up tall, his brindle head at the height of her chest. “Nothing except get those who you can to Vermillion.” He regarded her with his tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth. “I expect you remember the tunnels and vaults under your palace?”
Zofiya looked for a moment as if she might strike the beast, but eventually she nodded. “Yes, I remember very well. Is that where the breach will happen?”
“It was where it happened before.” When she looked aghast, the coyote made that peculiar yipping noise again, his version of a laugh. “Humans forget so easily! Important things too, like the fact Vermillion was built by Derodak in his early days as protection against the geists.”
Zofiya took the scolding with good graces and nodded slowly. “Then let’s get your new Deacons aboard, Merrick. You can tell me the rest while we make all haste back to the capital.”
It was not easy work to do. The seasoned Deacons that had survived the scourging of the Order were used to airship travel for the most part, but the newcomers were not so comfortable to climb up a swaying rope ladder. Merrick made sure to be the last to go up and held the bottom of the ladder as steady as he could manage. Several times it looked as though there might be a dreadful accident—but eventually they were all aboard. Most looked as unhappy as Raed Syndar Rossin on his first trip during their ascent though.
However, it was only when they had all climbed away from him that Merrick considered what was to be done about the Fensena. He was a large beast. Perhaps they could throw down a net?
He need not have worried. By the time the First Presbyter had held the rope ladder for the last of his Deacons and turned around, there was a naked man standing on the stones next to him. He was older with gray in his hair and beard, but he did not look ashamed of his state of undress.
Merrick blinked. So did the man. For an instant it looked as though a shiver of gold passed through the stranger’s eyes.
His voice croaked a little when it came out. “As you see, Presbyter, I am true to my word, the folk I travel with do not burn and die when I can help it. As you can see, it is sometimes most useful to be able to use hands rather than paws.”
While Merrick was still bemused, the Fensena used said hands to climb the rope ladder as quickly as a monkey. The First Presbyter did not look up for obvious reasons, but once the rope was clear, climbed up to the
Summer Hawk
himself.
Captain Revele was standing next to the Empress talking to her in an undertone. Merrick felt a surge of awkwardness; he knew Revele had harbored some feelings of attraction toward him. However, he only knew it because Sorcha had pointed it out to him in no uncertain terms. The little flick of her eyes toward him and then away made him realize that his partner had been right.
And now Revele had presumably found out from gossip about his relationship with Zofiya. Still, these were petty, childish things when laid next to the arrival of the Maker of Ways.
The captain of the
Summer Hawk
gave a snap of a little salute. “Reverend Presbyter, it is good to see you well.” He knew he looked different from last time they had spoken. The warmth of the fur on his back reminded him of that.
“Thank you, Captain. It is good to see you and your ship have survived the recent tumult.”
“Captain Revele has been a loyal and valiant servant of the Empire,” Zofiya said. “She and her ship have been invaluable in the fight . . . but now it is time to return to Vermillion.”
Revele took the hint, saluted her Empress and retreated back to the bridge of her airship. Soon enough, sailors were setting about their tasks, reeling in the ropes and starting the propeller that would power them on their way.
“I would talk with you, First Presbyter,” Zofiya said loudly, and spun on her heel. The Fensena looked up at Merrick with burning gold eyes, and the Deacon could have sworn that there was a hint of amusement in them.
Still, despite the look, Merrick really had no choice but to follow Zofiya. In the captain’s cabin, Merrick had just closed the door before the Empress in all her finery was slamming him against the door.
As her mouth pressed against his, Merrick barely had time for surprise. That he was now embracing the Empress—though not yet crowned—of Arkaym was an event he had not foreseen. Zofiya pulled back from him and stared him in the eyes. “Do not think of it,” she whispered. “I am the same person, and this crown means about as much as one made of paper at the moment. The geists are coming, my love. We do not have much time.”
When he looked at her, Merrick knew she was right. The breach could be opened in a matter of days, and then there would be no Empire for her to rule, just a lot of terrified people. Everything would break down after that. Airships, and all the trappings of civilization would be lost as the world descended into the grip of the geists.
So Merrick kissed her back, because it was all he had to offer. Her mouth was soft and sweet—just as he had remembered it. In all that had happened, he had still managed to miss her.
Zofiya unbuckled his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, and then pulled apart his shirt. The jacket she wore was stiff and covered in braid and military honors. It scratched his skin, but her mouth soon followed to act as balm.
A fine swinging bed occupied the corner of the captain’s cabin, but the Empress seemed to have no thought of that; she instead pulled Merrick down with her onto the fur cloak that she had only just crumpled there. Outside, he knew that there were soldiers, Deacons, and members of Court that would all be waiting for them, but there were also days to go until they reached Vermillion.
As Zofiya’s hands unbuckled his belt, Merrick abandoned worry, or rational thought. Just for a little moment. Just to remind himself what the struggle ahead was for. Life was precious and could be remarkably short.
When they finally had spent themselves on each other, Zofiya rolled over onto the fur cloak. Her fingers idly traced through its lushness.
“A beautiful animal must have died for this,” she said, resting her head on Merrick’s shoulder.
He nodded, for a moment content not to move. In fact, he was afraid if he did that the tiny bubble of time they had stolen would be whipped away. “Raed gave it to me,” he replied, kissing the top of her head, “so most likely it did.”
Zofiya sighed. “The Rossin Emperors were not a kindly bunch.” She wriggled her head back and forward like a child trying to get comfortable. “Do you think I shall be remembered as Kind Empress Zofiya?” Her tone was deliberately light.
Merrick knew that unless they stopped Derodak there would be nobody to remember anyone, but he also knew that was not what his love wanted to hear in this naked, intimate moment. “You shall be as kind as you can be. You will do all you can to be a good ruler because that is your nature. You are a good person, Zofiya. Remember that.” He placed a kiss on the top of her tousled head.
They did not have time for more, and considering all that had happened, not much energy for it either. So they slowly climbed to their feet, washed off with water from the pitcher hanging from the chain, and got dressed once more. They shared a moment of unintentional laughter when they had to untangle Zofiya’s gold braid on her jacket from Merrick’s shirt buttons.
“That wouldn’t do, would it,” she whispered to him. “Imagine the gossip?”
It remained unsaid that their world was narrowing to one where gossip was a luxury. He smoothed back her hair and kissed her lips once more before they left the cabin. In the meantime, the Deacons had all been tidied away into cabins and to temporary accommodations in the hold. Sailors were about their business and even Captain Revele was not on deck.
“It is a beautiful day,” Zofiya remarked, and she was right. The
Summer Hawk
had the wind at her back as she traveled east, and there was nothing to indicate, in either the sky above or the rolling green hills passing below, that they were flying toward death and danger.
“Vermillion is three days away?” Merrick asked.
Zofiya nodded slowly. “Yes, but only if we burn precious weirstones to get there.” When she looked up at him, a slow smile dawned on her face. “I guess in this world they are really not that precious . . . after all we could all be dead in three days.”
It was not a happy thought—but perhaps a profound one. Merrick chose not to answer it, instead clasping the Imperial hand as covertly as possible as they sailed toward the end.
TWENTY-FIVE
A Necessary Spectacle
When Raed took back the flesh that he’d been born with, it was a shock to find himself, leg to naked leg, with Sorcha. The only warmth and comfort they had in the cell was each other—which had always done good service for him. He nestled down and drew Sorcha as close to him as he dared. There was no pillow on this cold stone, but they had lived with much the same before.
The truth of it was, he wanted more time with Sorcha . . . he was greedy and only regretted that they had not met sooner. When the end came, in whatever form Derodak had planned for them, that would be his only regret.
“Raed?” Sorcha’s voice came out muffled as she turned to him, naked skin dragging against naked skin. “How are you here with—”
“Just lucky I guess,” he said, and in many ways it was true, he needed to be with Sorcha—and even in this situation he was glad of it. He would not have wanted her to go alone into this darkness. “Either that or Derodak wants both of us just as much.”
He felt, rather than heard a sigh go through her. “I imagine he thinks once he has control of the other geists he will be able to take the power of the Rossin too.”
Raed nodded. He’d already thought of that. “But what does he want from you?”
Sorcha licked her lips. “It has something to do with the Wrayth. They were trying to breed a person . . . a thing really . . . that could connect all the humans to their hive mind. Apparently they came close with me—but not close enough. So Derodak thinks he can use me to help the Maker of Ways.”
They both shivered in the darkness and contemplated that possibility.
Raed rubbed Sorcha’s shoulder; a blind human gesture of compassion that he knew was little to hold up against the dark. She snuggled in closer.
“You won’t do it,” the Young Pretender whispered to her. “You won’t do what he wants.”
Her breathing became, for a moment, very ragged. “I can say that all I like, Raed, but how can I stand against the whole geist world—against all of the Otherside?”