Geared for Pleasure (37 page)

He saw a slender drawer beneath the one he’d just opened. He wrapped his fingers around the pearlescent lotus-shaped knob and tugged. The drawer was empty. He looked closer. More than empty. It looked… incorrectly made.

He reached inside, running his fingers along the back seam of the drawer’s bottom, and felt a cold latch or key of some kind. He gripped it, pulling blindly, and heard something click into place, like the catch on a large door.

The entire bureau started to slide from its position against the wall and he stood up, stepping back in shock. How had he not known this was here?

It had moved across the floor to reveal what appeared to be a steel strongbox built into the wall. The mechanism on it was complex and unique, with brass wheels and strange symbols he did not recognize. Cyrus hadn’t the first clue how to get it open. “Any insight into unwinding
this
riddle?”

He sighed heavily in the silence of the room. “I am conversing with a bug.”

It must have heard him. The Khepri’s fascinating scarab buzzed over his shoulder and attached itself to the top of highest brass wheel, spinning one after another into its proper place before his eyes.

“You have my thanks.” Cyrus shook his head at the insanity of the situation, looking over his shoulder cautiously as the automaton continued to work. He walked out to the sitting room and tilted his head. He heard nothing. No one. But that would not last long. Surely the shield guards on the Hill had been alerted by now. And if they’d been informed that the Queen’s Sword had gone rogue… it would not be an easy task to get Seraphina and escape.

Who was behind this? What member of the Theorrean Raj or noble had this much reach? Had sway over desert cults and common city criminals? Dare had told him another was involved. This noble Berhnard had mentioned? This lord?

He had an overpowering desire to cause someone pain. But who? It was difficult to focus his rage when he did not know where it belonged. And he needed to focus it, use it to find his queen instead of letting it control him.

Though he had to admit, he had a much stronger handle on it since Dare and the Deviant had first stumbled across his path.

Since Seraphina.

When had her betrayal stopped stinging so intensely? Why did he, despite all personal evidence to the contrary, trust her? Why did he already desire her again?

The sound of the seal on the heavy iron door unbolting lured Cyrus back into the queen’s bedroom. “You did it. Now let’s see what we have found.”

Cyrus opened it farther, unsure of what he would discover. When his eyes focused on the object in the vault, he was at a loss. The dagger was here. Somehow the false queen and her accomplice must have found Queen Idony’s hiding place and used it to their own end.

Who would be fool enough to leave this behind after going to so much trouble to take it? Unless he had been the only true target, and the dagger merely a trophy.

The scarab hummed as it flew lazily nearby, no doubt drunk with victory. The flapping wings, however, did not conceal the new noise coming from the shadows of the steel box. A clicking sound. Or the hissing of steam. Perhaps it was a timer. Cyrus bent closer, lowering himself to see the flame of the dagger so close to his hand. He reached for it before the door could close again, in case there was a timing device attached.

Two greenish-blue points of light appeared beside his hand an instant before he felt the bite. Sharp needles like fangs sunk into his skin.

He dropped his sword and grabbed the dagger with his other
hand, cradling the wounded hand to his chest. The pain was excruciating, and his only distraction was the revelation of a strange snake unlike any he had ever seen.

It was not living. An automaton like the scarab, but nowhere near as innocent in appearance. It slithered out of the box, its segments pushing it forward on the floor, giving it the appearance of gliding. Of grace. The top of its head flattened like a crown or hood, its glowing eyes and brass fangs were hypnotic. Staring at him.

The scarab dove at its head, and Cyrus was their stunned audience of one as they fought. The snake made a move to bite the large bug, to strike it with its tail, but the flying machine eluded the attacks.

Finally, in an apparent act of self-sacrifice, the scarab attached its legs to the snaked head and clamped on, its wings beating faster, causing a static charge to fill the air. The light around it grew, the mechanical hum growing louder until Cyrus rolled away from the struggling pair, covering his face with his arm as their theorrite power sources overloaded.

Not fools after all then. Cyrus was grateful to the Khepri’s now lifeless helper lying on the floor beside the equally powerless snake and shook his head, trying to clear it. “I am sorry, little bug. I will tell them you died with honor. Which will be more than I can say for myself.”

Black spots were swimming in his eyes. Seraphina. He got to his feet and took a few staggering steps before looking down at his hand. The pain was gone. It was numb. The skin around the wound was raised and the veins turning dark with sickness, but he could not feel a thing.

This was no way for a Wode to end. Killed by fake snakebite. A toy of destruction made by someone too cowardly to face him man to man.

Phina. He had to get Seraphina out of here and safely aboard the ship with her sister and Dare.

Cyrus tucked the dagger into his belt, left the pistol on the bed where he’d set it, and lifted his sword. He had to find her. He tripped around the bodies of Muller and Berhnard and into the hallway.

He could hear the clash of swords down the hall and headed in that direction. She might need him to save Nephi. Nephi, the queen’s lady maid. She’d always covered herself from head to toe, keeping her face lowered when he came in the room. Did she look like Phina? Beautiful Seraphina.

A frightened male voice cried out, “You won’t take her away from me, demon. She is mine.”

The words helped him focus.

He arrived in a guest room full of rogue Wode. They were surrounding a bed, protecting the man he assumed was Raj Ellsworth and a terrified Nephi.

Seraphina was hacking through them like a bloodthirsty warrior. “Need any help?”

She huffed out a breath as she slashed the closest guard with a dagger. “What took you so long?”

The poison was spreading quickly through his system. He had to push past it, make sure she was safe. Not even she could handle all of these men alone.

He held his sword in the hand that he could still control, using the flat of it to fell the Wode coming up behind Seraphina.

“I finished my mission and grew impatient waiting on you,” he huffed heavily. “Thought you could use a hand.”

A hand. He laughed raggedly at his private joke, knowing he had a perfectly useless hand to spare. One that was blackening with venom even as he killed two more of his fellow Wode. It seemed he only needed one hand for this.

He could see the Raj growing paler with each guard that fell. “Ellsworth? The Queen’s Sword charges you with crimes against
Theorrey. Unspeakable crimes that can only be paid for in blood. Unless you release the Felidae into my custody at once.”

The rogue Wode paused at his words, as did Seraphina. Some remnant of their inheritance, their training must have recognized his authority. He focused on standing tall, unwilling to allow the men to see him weave. “I am the Arendal. I am taking this man into my custody.”

One of the men shook his head slowly. “We no longer follow your command.
We
are the queen’s protectors. Her Arendal and Senedal are dead. If not, they are traitors to the throne.”

Cyrus swung his sword outward so they could see the design on its hilt. “And you believe the queen would allow this injustice to stand in her palace? You are a fool, and no one calls me a traitor.”

They rushed him, their figures blurring before his eyes, but he could still see. Could still fight. The moves were instinctive. Years upon years of training until fighting was as natural as breathing, as necessary.

These men were already dead; they simply had yet to reach his blade.

When he finally heard the voice calling his name, he realized the floor was covered in bodies. Luckily, none of them were his own.

“Cyrus? Cyrus, you’re hurt.”

Was that Seraphina? He could not tell for the pounding in his ears. He looked up and shook his head. No, it couldn’t be her. This woman had black streaks and blood covering her face. Blood on her clothes. Red blood everywhere to match her hair. Red hair. Green eyes.

He lifted his arm, wondering where his sword had gone. “Phina?”

“You killed them. Ellsworth tried to get away but with no one to protect him he was no match for me. He’s dead, Cyrus. He is dead and we need to get out of here now before more Wode arrive.”

The bloody Felidae was speaking. He heard her words but he was having a difficult time comprehending what they meant. Leave? Yes, they needed to leave.

“Damn it, you
are
hurt.” She’d grabbed his hand, the one he couldn’t feel. The dark lines of poison had traveled halfway up his arm.

“But you are safe. And Nephi. And I’ve been bit by a cursed windup toy,” he muttered.

He felt her drag him back toward the queen’s sitting room and heard the phrase, “Nephi, we’re going to need rope.” Then he watched as she lifted his palm, biting into his wound with her sharp teeth, making him shout at the pain. He finally felt it.

There was nothing after that but blessed darkness.

A few days’ journey from the palace he watched the sunlight glisten off the pristinely white peaks of the mountains as they moved by him on the starboard side of the Deviant. They were following the Yazata Range north, letting Centre City fall away behind them. If he crossed the deck, he knew he would see the shimmering black sand of the Avici to the west. Not far enough away for his liking, but then, it never would be again.

The captain was flying hard to make up time. The engine pumped at full steam, and he could hear the Deviant’s propellers chopping at the thin air. They were moving so swiftly, the wind was wrestling with what Dare had called an aether cocoon, causing it to ripple in reaction.

He could get used to this mode of travel.

“Someone is looking out for you, my brother. And I think she has a tail.”

Cyrus looked away from the scenery at Dare’s words and over his
shoulder, catching only a glint of brilliant red hair and corset lacings before she disappeared below decks. Again.

She had been avoiding him since he woke up. Seraphina had saved him, the dagger
and
her brother and sister while he had been bitten by some inventor’s idea of fun.

The mighty Queen’s Sword had a penchant for getting poked with needles and falling like an ironwood in a storm of late. A weakness that was unacceptable to him. A weakness she could no doubt smell with her keen Felidae senses.

At least he’d managed to kill a few of those Wode.

Dare pinched his arm and he looked down at her in shock. “What did you do that for?”

She glared up at him defiantly. “I never realized how idiotic men could be. You, Wulfric, even Freeman. Idiots.”

Cyrus grunted and looked out at the scenery once more. “I notice you conveniently left Bodhan’s name off that illustrious list.”

Her voice was smug. “I did. Bodhan knows how to treat a woman. He admires and respects them for their abilities, even thanks them for saving his life.” She lowered her voice to ensure none of the passing crew would hear. “He
understands
that a woman with a difficult past may need a different kind of protection. Particularly when that past comes back to bite them, then leave again at the first port.”

She was talking about yesterday. The captain had descended and Bodhan’s cousin Hadi had gotten off, taking Nephi and Jobi with him as they headed for the mysterious Aaru. They had both been offered sanctuary. Safety. And they’d taken it.

To be honest, Cyrus was glad Phina’s brother Jobi was gone. That was one mean Felidae. Angry at the world, and crueler to his youngest sister than he should have been allowed to be. If he hadn’t been wounded, Cyrus and Freeman had an unspoken agreement that they would have politely taken turns beating him bloody.

Nephi had been as sweet as he remembered. As shy. She had also been badly beaten, he assumed by Raj Ellsworth. The
late
Raj Ellsworth, according to Seraphina.

A member of the Theorrean Raj was dead. Justifiably murdered by Seraphina herself. If Cyrus had not been struggling against the poison, he would have killed the bastard himself when he’d gotten through with the treasonous guards.

He could not recall a time in history when that had occurred. A Raj killed. They usually held their own lives too sacred to risk them in any fashion. Ellsworth’s obsession with Nephi had obviously been stronger than his obsession with life. He’d made a deal with the wrong side, supported the false queen, just to satisfy his twisted need for the innocent Felidae. He’d paid with his life.

“I would thank Seraphina if she would let me.” He gazed down at Dare, noticing a few strands of gold were appearing in her indigo curls. “Dare, what’s happened?”

She touched her hair self-consciously. “You are changing the topic so we don’t have to talk about you and Phina ignoring each other.”

Cyrus shook his head. “You can berate me all you like, so long as you tell me if you are ill or not.”

She bit her lip and studied him, her hand going up to touch a button near the neckline of the fitted jacket that had become her new uniform. “I told you before that I could feel the queen. That I saw her and felt she was in danger, but it was not immediate.”

He remembered. “I have always been in awe of your ability. I had no idea until you told me that it extended beyond sensing the feelings of people who were in your close, physical proximity.”

“It doesn’t.” She hesitated. “That is, it never had before I got what the Khepri sent me.”

She pulled a chain from beneath her jacket to reveal a necklace with a small charm. A theorrite charm. “What’s that inside it?”