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I stumbled backwards, my breath caught in a hot lump in my throat. With a sob I turned and ran.

  The hallway was long, with doorways on the right opening to other parts of Reixham's personal quarters, and on the left a towering bank of windows overlooked Reixham's private gardens.

  An ominous crack of splintering wood sent a new rush of dread straight to my middle. Arramy was nearly through. Grinding my teeth, I kept going, desperately searching for anything that would tell me where Braeton had gone.

  I was so focused on what door would take me to Braeton that it was only by chance that I glanced out the windows instead.

  Both wings of Reixham's manor were on fire, the flames rising high and hot against a dying sunset, side-lighting the garden between them in flickering gold. It was a different sort of light that caught my attention, though, a brief flash of blue amid the dusky evening shadows. It was enough. I had found Braeton: he was in the garden, crouching low behind a sculpted hedge, a strange, glowing device in his hands.

  I staggered to a halt, staring.

  Another screech of wood had me glancing around. There had to be some way out. There were no doors on that side of the hallway, but the windows could open, and there was a balcony just below them. It was as good an exit as any. I rushed to the nearest latch, fumbled the hook off its peg, then shoved the windowpane wide and scrambled through the casement in a slither of skirts. My feet hit the ground, and I was racing for the balcony stairs twenty meters away.

  My only real thought was warning Braeton that Arramy was coming, but my shout died on my lips.

  Braeton was leaning carefully around the shrub, watching something I couldn't see.

  Or someone.

  On instinct, I dove for the paving stones, pressing myself as flat as possible at the base of the balcony railing. Bringing my head up a fraction, I peeked through the latticework.

  A line of people, six men and two women, were making their way down the broad pathway that cut straight through the middle of the garden, their steps rapid and purposeful. The Coventry. They had to be. They all had an air of importance, and they were coming from the direction of Reixham's private quarters rather than the ballroom. A group of their personal bodyguard was keeping pace with them, guns drawn, eyes on the manor.

  If I moved, they would see me. If I didn't move, Arramy would see me. I was about to look over my shoulder when a new grinding sound dragged my attention back to the garden, my body tensing like a coiled spring.

  There was no explosion, though. A section of the fountain pool was rising up out of the water at the base of the fountainhead. It stopped abruptly, split in two, and swung apart until a gap had opened at King Tieras the Great's feet. A gap with metal stairs that lead downward, disappearing into a dark hole.

  The bodyguards reached the sunken doorway and fanned out around it, forming a human shield as their charges began descending those metal stairs.

  As their numbers dwindled, Braeton slunk around the edge of the shrubbery, dashed forward, and ducked behind a statue of King Rindan. Then he did it again, running from cover to cover, working his way closer and closer to the fountain. He wasn't the only one I was focused on, though. One by one, the Coventry had all gone down the stairwell, and their bodyguards had followed – all but the last two, who were bringing up the rear, retreating backwards with their rifles still at their shoulders. The one on the right had me squinting hard. It had to be a trick of the light, that fine nose and handsome, aristocratic face. Penweather was supposed to be in Nimkoruguithu. Then he disappeared from view, and the pool began closing in a gurgle of water and a rasp of sliding stone

  At that exact instant, Braeton made a break from behind a topiary, tearing across the expanse of lawn around the fountain, carelessly out in the open, that glowing blue device easily visible. He might as well have been waving a flag. There was a shout from somewhere on the other side of the garden, and a rifle shot rang through the air, but too late. He had already reached the fountain doorway and was diving for the stairwell, vanishing just as the doors met with a gritty crunch.

  Stunned, I watched the water frothing and splashing as the fountain pool returned to bowl-shape.

  Another shout from the garden broke through my stupor, and my blood ran cold as several men in the royal blue uniforms of Reixham's manor guard spread out and began combing through the garden beds. I was trapped. It had only taken me a minute, two at most, to get from the hallway door to the window. I had been on the balcony for nearly that long. If Arramy had broken through, I only had seconds until —

  That thought hadn't even finished sliding through my head before there was a quiet scrape and thump on the balcony behind me. I didn't hesitate. I shoved myself up off the ground, lurching as my feet caught in my hem before I wrenched my skirts up around my knees and ran.

  Arramy swore and started after me.

  I didn't stop, my only goal to run until I couldn't, a mouse fleeing for a corner before facing the cat. There wasn't anywhere to go, there wasn't any way to win, but I wasn't going down without a fight. My fingers found the infuser tucked into the front panel of my bodice.

  I was just passing the top of the balcony stairs when one of the manor guards yelled something in Lodesian, and a round ricocheted off the face of the building ahead of me. There was more yelling. I caught the words, "need to go," and "fall back," before an ear-splitting siren began wailing, and a tremor rocked the balcony, sending me stumbling.

  The next instant, Arramy slammed into me, knocking the air right out of my chest as he tackled me to the ground, pinning me beneath him.

  The tremor intensified till the balcony was shaking. Pebbles from the mortar popped out and began bouncing and clattering over the surface of the pavers. One of the windows fell out of its casement and shattered inside the manor.

  Arramy's palm was between the right side of my head and the ground, and from under his shoulder I got a glimpse of the garden.

  The fountain of King Tieras was coming apart again, the statue folding down into the pool like a clockwork toy. Then the whole thing began moving, breaking into four neat quarters and separating. The ring of lawn around the fountain followed, cracking along the same quarters as the pool. The cracks kept growing, the fountain pulling apart wider and wider, the water draining away, the topsoil tearing in jagged lines and bunching up like a carpet before falling into the black gape of a massive hole.

  As the hole opened, the tremor became sound: the grind of gears and the clank of machinery, and a strange, throbbing hum that worked its way into bones and teeth and lungs.

  Images began blending, the edges blurring together, making solid objects go double. The balcony wobbled under us, heaving and pitching, and an involuntary cry tore out of my mouth as chunks of masonry began crumbling off the walls, smashing on the paver slates all around us. The whole world was coming apart.

  In the middle of the chaos, a massive object began rising slowly out of the pit, the sides dull black, reflecting no light from the fires still burning in the manor. It was coming up at an angle, nose-first; as it rose, the roundness of it became a sleek, almost shark-like shape, larger and pointed at the front end. What looked like the command deck of a new ironside ship appeared next, jutting from the top, complete with a front viewing window and rows of portholes. The body tapered, and then came a set of elongated fins. Below the fins, an engine glowed the same eerie blue as Braeton's device. With a jolt, I realized it was a ship, but it wasn't meant for water. This ship was made to fly.

  Arramy planted his left arm around my head, shielding my face as the back end of the engine cleared the edge of the hole. That awful throb suddenly became a full-throated roar, and the air was sizzling hot and full of dust. Choking, I fought for a breath beneath Arramy's arm while he held me tight.

  Then the roar receded into the distance. The shaking stopped. The siren cut out.

  Everything was absolutely, intensely quiet.

  42. Fire and Lies

  13th of Dema, Continued
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  With a ragged cough, Arramy pushed himself up onto his knees, then onto his feet. He didn't say anything. He just took hold of my arm and pulled me upright.

  I realized my hand was empty at the same instant I saw the infuser lying several meters away. I didn't wait to find out if Arramy was going to drag me off to the Coventry. With a savage kick to the side of his knee, I took off, just like he had taught me. I hadn't gone more than two steps toward the infuser before he grabbed me from behind, hauling me up off my feet, his arms like bands of steel around my middle, trapping my elbows against my sides.

  My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. With a raspy shriek I lashed out with my feet, writhing and thrashing, but I couldn't hit anything important, and I didn't have the leverage to inflict much damage. He just coughed some more and carried me down the balcony steps as if I were a disobedient child throwing a fit.

  "Put me down!"

  Arramy's answer was to clamp one hand firmly over my mouth and growl, "Keep quiet!" in my ear. He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, moving fast as he navigated what was left of the garden by the light of the burning manor. He stumbled once or twice in the dark but managed to get all the way around the rim of the gaping abyss in the ground, and then we were crossing the velvety close-cut grass of a strolling green.

  I stopped struggling, cold fury taking over as he strode toward the tree line at the edge of the green like he knew exactly where he was going. Because he did. There was some sort of stone maintenance shed beneath the trees, half-hidden in the gloom. The only reason I picked it out was because he was heading straight for it.

  Cursing behind his hand, I started kicking again, but he just grunted and hauled me up to the maintenance shed gate.

  It opened easily when his boot connected with it, and he slipped inside, juggling me to one arm while he grabbed a storm lantern from a hook on the wall.

  In the process he had to let go of my mouth, and I screamed.

  Arramy swore and gave me a glare I could see even by the distant light of the manor fire. Then he put me down hard on my feet and whipped me around to face him, his fist tight in the fabric of my dress. "Reixham's guards are still out there. We have two minutes before they blow that bunker. Shut up and move!"

  "Why should I trust you?" I demanded, glaring right back at him. "You're with them!" I brought my hands up to his chest and gave him a shove.

  He shifted his weight, as if I had actually caused him pain. He stayed that way for a moment before he turned me toward a set of curved metal railings barely visible in the shadows. "I said move," he rasped, voice dull. There was no denial.

  I seethed up at him, jaw jutting, then started for the spiral of metal stairs leading down into pitch darkness. "If this turns out to be an active sewer, I'm going to kill you," I muttered, groping for the railing, searching for the first step with my toes.

  "Faster."

  "I can't see anything," I pointed out, feeling my way downward.

  There was a cough above me, then the tread of heavy boots on metal grating.

  "So, I have a question," I announced. Calmly.

  Silence.

  I pressed on. "If they're going to blow up an underground bunker... Why are we going underground?" I passed a third bend in the stairs and then nearly crashed to my knees when the next step was solid floor instead of another riser.

  There was a 'gritch' as Arramy slid the striker lever on the lantern, the sound echoing faintly before a flame leaped to life, illuminating the rounded walls of a metal room. I had been half-right. The shed was apparently the old drainage maintenance access. The solid floor beneath me was a narrow metal platform. If I had taken even one more stride forward, I would have pitched headlong to the bottom of a ten-meter deep drainage collection chamber, and I would have hit the bottom because it was bone dry. There were several pipes that must have emptied into the chamber at one time, but they weren't emptying anything anymore, and all that remained was a rust-streaked cavern of riveted iron.

  Arramy gave me a push toward the top of a ladder that ran from the platform to the floor of the collection chamber.

  My stomach in knots, I gathered the train of the Midnight Goddess over one arm, then started down as quickly as I could in my dancing heels. If I looked like I was cooperating, he might lower his guard.

  Arramy waited until I was at the bottom, then slid down the ladder rails instead of using the rungs. He landed and nodded toward the riveted mouth of the gigantic outflow pipe. "In there."

  I ground my teeth and did as ordered, shuffling out of the way when he came in after me. Ducking slightly to keep from bashing his head, he reached up and began cranking away at a safety release in the ceiling of the pipe. A massive iron hatch cover began lowering out of a slot, and I flinched, expecting it to fall shut with a bang, but it dropped silently on well-oiled rollers, closing without any resistance. Then the lock wheel spun easily, and the bolts slid smoothly into place with barely a sound.

  My mouth went chalk-dry and I licked my lips. There was no way I could reach that release wheel.

  "Because it's safer in here," Arramy said, finally answering my question. He turned and held up the lantern. "These pipes aren't connected to the exhaust system for the bunker."

  As if to prove his point, there was a distant growl, as of prolonged thunder coming through a thick blanket. A powdering of rust fell from the rivets in the hatch, and the walls let out a groan that traveled the length of the pipe.

  Arramy glanced around, waited a beat, then gave me a sidelong look and gestured to the inky emptiness ahead of us. There would be no surprise-attacking him from behind. For the hundredth time, I cursed my lack of weapons and started forward, leaving footprints in the sandy grit in the bottom of the pipe.

  Mine weren't the only footprints. I frowned when I saw prints made by child-sized feet.

  "What is this pipe used for?" I asked over my shoulder.

  "Smuggling."

  I swallowed hard and kept going.

  We walked in silence for several minutes, moving in a little bubble of light. The air was cool, but not unpleasant, and a breeze whispered over my skin. Compared to what had just happened, it was oddly peaceful, and suddenly there was time to think. There wasn't any way to deflect it. Memories swarmed through my head. Raggan and his unquestioning kindness. All the people on the Galvania. The survivors on the Angpixen.

  It was the thought of my father that threw me over the edge. He would still be alive if it weren't for Arramy. Numb, I realized I didn't care what happened to me anymore. I was tired of waiting for the end. Tired of losing things. Tired of holding a sea of heartbreak at bay. And the cause was prowling along right behind me, acting like he was doing me a favor.

  "So," I cleared my throat. "How long have you known about this bunker?"

  He didn't answer at first. When he did, his voice was rough. "Six years."

  I kept walking. "Did you know they were making a flying ship?"

  Nothing.

  "Does it bother you at all? They've got people, they've got weapons, they can fly. Are you proud to be part of that? Oh. Maybe you haven't been real Coventry for very long," I said, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice. "Maybe that was recent. Are you a recent convert, Captain?"

  He let out a short breath, and the lantern swayed, sending our shadows dancing over the walls. Then his hand came down on my bare shoulder.

  I jumped as if burned, twisted out of his grip, and shot forward, only to be brought up short by his fingers around my wrist. This time I didn't fight it, my breath snagging on something sharp in my chest as he pulled me gently back into the circle of light from the lantern.

  Slowly, he let go of me. "I'm not going to hurt you, Bren."

  That was amusing. An odd, hollow laugh bubbled out of me. "You already have." My smile was cold as I turned around to look at him. "You have the blood of hundreds of people on your hands. You lied to me. Manipulated me. Made me think you were one of the few people I could trust,
but you were using me. The entire time."

  He stood there, head bowed, the lantern light casting his features in harsh lines. He winced at the words 'using me,' his brows drawing together.

  "Why?" I whispered.

  For several seconds he remained still. Then his brought his eyes up to mine, pinning me with a heated glare. "You think I wanted any of this to happen? You think I didn't try to stop it? That it doesn't eat me alive every time I look at you? You aren't the only one who has been used, kid. They have my brother locked up in an asylum on Naghirai. They had my mother too..." He paused, ground his teeth, then rasped out, "They beat her to death because I didn't turn you in."

  An image of Arramy in a long-ago tea-parlor flitted through my head, a quick flare of emotion when I teased him about his mother. I stared at him. Took a breath and let it out, but still didn't feel anything. All I could come up with was a flat, "So... what, no one else deserved to live, then?"

  The muscles in his jaw flickered again. "It wasn't like that. It was more, 'Find information on a stranger or someone you love will die.' I didn't know what they were going to use that information for."

  "The man I ran into outside the Porte De Darre Post. That was you. You stole my letter." It wasn't a question.

  He didn't break away. "I burned it. I only needed to be sure you were who I thought you were."

  "Then what? You followed me? Found out which ship we were on so you could turn us in?"

  He swallowed hard, then nodded. Once. "Yes."

  Braeton had been right. Arramy had been the one who told the Coventry my father was on the Galvania. Hearing him admit it didn't seem much like a victory, anymore, though, as if by owning it he had stolen all the heat from my fury. I crossed my arms over my chest. "What about after? On the Ang? On the Stryka?" I asked. Blunt. Cold. "You knew then. You could have talked to me. Made me understand."

  Arramy dragged in a deep breath and brought his hand up, gripping the back of his neck. He ground his teeth some more, his frown deepening before he looked at me. "You really want to do this now?"