The Champion (10 page)

Jacob lay flat on the scaffolding, angling his head and shoulders over the dome’s parapet. He shifted and fired, the shot echoing under the dome. Nadira pushed the clinking metal shells into place, her hands numb, refusing to work. One at a time, one…

The sound of pistol fire crackled. Bullets peppered along the copper.

She heard Jacob fire again, then stop.

Blood misted in the breeze. Nadira blinked, touching her cheek and finding it wet. Looking up, she watched in horror as Jacob dropped the rifle.

“Jacob!” She leapt across the scaffolding, dragging him away from the gap in the doors. “Jacob!”

He was dazed, his teeth clenched in pain, his hand gripping his left shoulder. His entari was soaked through and dripping red at the collar. Finding the hole in the fabric, she tore it open, finding a larger hole in the skin to the left of his neck, the wound welling with blood and bright with a shattered fragment of bone. His left arm hung limply beside her.

“Jacob,” she cried in desperation. “What can I do? What can I—”

The pistol fire stopped. Men began cheering outside.
The blood. They know. They know he’s hurt, or dead.

“The door,” he said, trying to push away from her.

Nadira shook her head.
I have survived too much. I will not allow us to die now. I will not let them come in here and take us, kill us in the way they want to.
Gritting her teeth, she picked up the remaining rifle and climbed higher on the scaffold, shoving the bolt forward, the way she had seen Jacob do.

Moving into the sunlight, she caught her breath, looking out over a vast gathering of soldiers, a great tide of rage boiling beneath her. They filled the ancient buildings and swarmed around overturned statues and pyres of burning scrolls, their fists held high, clamoring for her death.

She took aim, somewhere, anywhere, and pulled the trigger, feeling the rifle throw her shoulder back. It felt good and she did it again, answering their rage with her own, knowing that it was all she had left, knowing that they would blow open the door at any moment.

The crowd beneath her parted, soldiers rushing for cover, screaming in panic. She paused, confused, aware that the rifle shot was not nearly enough to scare them like that, barely even heard above the—

Looking up, she stumbled back, a large outline appearing from the sunlight over the wall, a torpedo-like airship with engines at full throttle, metal and glass blazing. It tilted on one side, banking sharply on a roar of thrust, its rounded nose glinting silver.

Nadira staggered back, watching it sweep over the dome, its engines swiveling, its enormous rudder blocking the light.

Pistol fire rang out, the soldiers firing at it, bullets pelting the dome.

The airship swung around and hovered, despite the danger. A door on its undercarriage unlatched and swung wide. One of its windows shattered, spilling glass onto the catwalk.

Bullets sparked from its metal gondola.

“Gilda,” Jacob yelled at it, his teeth red with blood. “Move!”

Gilda?

A sack dropped from its door, landing with a hard crack on the catwalk. Then the airship’s engines tilted downward, pushing the craft high into the sky above them, out of pistol range.

Nadira stared at the sack in confusion.

“The diamond,” Jacob said, his voice strained. “The machine.”

“The machine will kill us.”

“There is a chance, if you are above the magnets on something that will not fall. The catwalks surely will.”

She glanced at the structure in desperation, seeking some way to be on top of the dark column of batteries and magnets, finding only the metal ring under the lens cradle, a slim seat at best, and only for one.

The outrage in the courtyard grew louder, men screaming for her head, for God’s vengeance, their pistols cracking in the air. Grimacing, she climbed onto the catwalk, crossing over shards of glass to retrieve the sack. It came within reach and she lifted it from the grate, drawing the diamond from its dark folds. The stone glittered darkly in her hand.

“Go,” Jacob said. “Go.”

“Not without you.”

“Without,” he argued, losing his breath before he could say more.

“No, Colonel.” She crossed the distance, angrier now than she had ever been. “I do not accept your surrender. I do not accept this!”

Grabbing onto his entari, she hauled him upright. He coughed, grasping for her shoulder, trying to push her away. “Na…”

“No!” she screamed at him, pulling him so close she could smell the blood on his breath. “I will not wear your bracelet. I will not honor you. I will not speak well of you. Fight with me! Fight!”

He held her gaze, his eyes a brighter blue for their pain, and nodded. Nadira dragged him up as best she could and felt him lean against her, trying to move with her as she guided him to the catwalk.

A deep thud rocked the metal grates, trembling the dome above them.

“The door,” he rasped. “They’re in.”

A blast of hot air billowed up the tower. The sound of metal screeching, men yelling, grew close, echoing from the walls.

The machine’s crown came within reach and she lowered Jacob down beside it, leaning over the rail to place the diamond in the center of the lenses. It locked in place, the sunlight glowing through its crystal facets. The lenses caught fire. The air went white.

She winced through the haze, reaching for Jacob on the grate beside her. Finding his waist, she untied the sash of the royal guard and threaded it under his shoulders, ignoring his harsh rasp as she knotted it tightly at his chest.

The magnets at the base of the machine began to snap, threads of blue light dancing on the beams between the surrounding mirrors, flaring up through the metal grate.

“Through hellfire,” she whispered, knotting the other end of the sash around her waist.

Jacob looked at her, his expression lost in a prism of light. He raised his right hand to her cheek, the fingers cool and weak, and she kissed his palm. Drawing a panicked breath, she turned and leaned over the catwalk, reaching for the safety of the machine's metal collar.

The air turned liquid underneath her, exploding in blinding arcs as she caught the metal ring with both hands and swung out underneath it. Her feet dangled high above the column of magnets, the light beneath her coiling, burning.

Curling upward, she found footholds in the braces, using them to climb onto the ring. The air began to hum, the hair rising on her arms, up her neck as the beams between the mirrors intensified. She could feel its energy surging in her blood, thickening in her ears until it became immense. It pulsed outward in a burst of rolling light strands.

The catwalks collapsed. Jacob dropped free, his weight dragging her partially off the ring as the sash caught him. She yelled through her teeth, feeling her grip on the metal slip, the burden at her waist unbearable.

Not frail. Not weak. I can hold you…

The air warped against the thick masonry, then blasted outward, the walls of the tower swept away on a tide of light. The open dome collapsed, its retracted doors dropping past her in a solid rush, crashing to the floor of the vault with a deafening gong.

The top of the column cracked apart, screeching as the cradle and the ring broke loose. Nadira tumbled down onto the raised surface of the fallen dome, covering her head as the machine’s lenses spilled onto the metal, breaking into shards around her. The world became silent, the air hot and foul smelling.

Jacob.

She felt herself shutting down, her body numb and floating free, her consciousness slipping into the bright sky, drawn to the looming outline of an airship against the hopeful sparkle of sunlight.

O
ld Isban missed nothing, the world around him magnified by thick glasses, his bushy eyebrows peaked with interest in all things great and small. He shuffled across the dressing room to stand behind her, caught in the mirror’s reflection like an adoring father, his features softened by the oil lamps.

“Is that how you do it?” he asked. “I should think the clay would go dry after a single hour.”

“I add oil to it,” she murmured, rubbing the mixture together with powder to set overnight, beyond caring if it matched the previous shades. The Sultan made mercifully few appearances these days, so let him be colored differently every time.

“Not for much longer,” Isban assured her. “The Senate of Ruman is almost complete. Soon, they will choose the Sultan Elect and you will be free. As acting Vizier, I have secured a respectable dowry for you, larger than what was given to the other members of the Harem for their new marriages. You will have an estate of your own by the sea, with a garden. I would be honored if you would allow me to suggest husbands, negotiate for your favorite.”

“I do not want to marry.”

“You are young, Nadira, and you have done great things.”

“That is not a reason to marry.”

“I want to see you happy. I owe you my life.”

“You were lucky to survive, smart enough to run through a gate and take cover while your captors were distracted. I cannot take credit for that.”

“It was you who distracted them,” he pointed out.

Was it?
She pressed her lips together, searching the face of the woman in the mirror and finding someone older, a woman who had seen the truth of her dreams and let them go.

“The delegation from New Europa arrived today to discuss the alliance,” Isban prodded, sensing her melancholy. “They asked about you.”

“Ah.” She smiled bitterly. “How polite.”

“Just because
he
was not among them, does not mean that he did not wish to be. He is still the servant of a king, after all.”

“I grow tired,” she said softly.

“Of course.” Isban straightened, turning to shuffle toward the door, gesturing at the air with frail fingers. “Rest well. And take heart, all of our souls have met before in other worlds. How we all find each other again, in this one, is anyone’s guess.”

She released a slow breath as he disappeared, waiting to move until the doors were closed behind him. Rising from her seat, she crossed to the balcony, the recent rain still slick along the open screens, water glistening from flowering vines. On the horizon, the storm clouds had drifted apart, their edges frothing with moonlight.

Nadira hesitated, catching a glitter of blue from the stone balustrade. It deepened as she approached, revealing the facets of a large stone, shards of color dancing in its depths. The diamond.

“Jacob,” she whispered.

“I had hoped to find you alone,” he said.

She turned to see him standing in the room behind her, leaning slightly on the handle of a polished cane, a pressed uniform barely visible under his cloak. He took a step forward. “I trust you have not settled on poor Isban. He might have the patience, but one wonders if he has the stamina.”

A joke. Nadira stared at him. “How did you get in here?”

“I still have some evasive skill, it seems.”

Her heart ached with the words, the soft tone of resignation he could not hide. “You are not fully recovered.”

“It is a slow process. The bullet, the fall, both took their toll, but I am alive and nearly as capable as I was.” He came closer, standing over her like a dark spirit. “My heart never stopped beating.”

“Mine did,” she replied, watching his eyes warm, their blue glint finally familiar. “For months, I have dreamed of nothing but seeing you alive. They left us guards and took you away, bleeding, unconscious…”

He raised his hand to her chin. “To speed me to a surgeon, and rescue a certain duke left on a mountain top.”

“I was desperate to know where you were, and your diplomats would say nothing, only that you were receiving the best care. There was not a moment that I did not wonder what that meant, if you were in pain…”

“I am here, Nadira,” he said. “I was always here.”

“I needed to care for you. I needed to touch you and know that you are still alive, and I couldn’t.” She clenched her teeth against the flood of emotion, relief, anguish, possessiveness…too much to bear. Reaching for the clasp of his cloak, she released it, watching it fall from his large shoulders.

She heard his breathing change, felt him lean closer, his lips parting as she loosed the buttons of his jacket, starting from the collar, ignoring medals and ribbons, unthreading his jacket belt with impatience, parting the starched fabric to find his shirt, his skin.

She stroked her hand over his bare stomach and he closed his eyes.

“They did not touch you this gently,” she said.

“No.”

“They healed you, but they did not comfort you.”

He didn’t reply to that, lost in the feel of her fingers sliding up his chest, kissing them lightly as she raised them to his lips.

“I need to see you,” she murmured.

“A command,” he noted softly, setting the cane aside and balancing gingerly on both feet. Sliding his jacket off, he drew the shirt over his head, revealing the purpled skin over his collar bone, crossed with scar tissue and the pale tracks of removed stitches, the shape of sinew now forever altered.

Stroking over his arm, she kissed the wound, feeling his hand cover her hair, caress her neck.

“All of you,” she insisted. “Everything that was broken, everything that was left whole, everything…”

He made a harsh sound under his breath and followed her as she led him away from the balcony, his movements graceful but pained. She urged him down on the bed and he complied, tilting his gaze toward the ceiling, shutting his eyes as she removed his boots, his dark trousers.

The leg wound had been larger, the scars crossing in desperate directions above his knee, as if the bone had broken through the skin, and more than one surgery had been required to correct it.

She smoothed her fingers over the angry red lines, exploring the muscle around them, lowering her mouth to kiss the warm contours. He drew a sharp breath, reaching for her, finding a strand of her hair and slipping it between his fingers.

Nadira nuzzled her way up his thigh, kissing the tender weight of his testicles, the swelling length of his cock, feeling him tense, and groan, and arch gently toward her. His vulnerability touched her, soothed her, the spark her own desire flourishing in its warmth.

She slid off her robe, her silken caftan dress, until she was as naked as he was, until they were both nothing more than moonlight and shadow.

He stroked her neck, her hair, her cheek. “I thought of you,” he said. “Unprotected here. It drove me mad.”

“I was not unprotected. Isban is well respected. He takes great care—”

“Not as much as I do,” he said, the words edged with emotion.

Lifting her by the waist, he dragged her beneath him, cradling her in his arms, the hard weight of his chest held above her. He kissed her with the slow, beautiful rhythm that she remembered, his body patient and waiting.

She replied with her tongue, with the arch of her back, wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing the folds of her sex against his shaft until he sucked air through his teeth, trembling and ready under her fingers.

“Jacob,” she murmured his name as if it were a plea.

He kissed her, his tongue gently seeking, teasing. Nestling his hips between hers, he entered her with a long, slow stroke, filling her body and her heart, making her blood sing. She gripped his shoulders, surrendering to the feel of him, enjoying every thrust, every open-mouthed caress, until heat became release.

He held her close, held her safe, loving her as the moonlight slipped away and the dawn chased the shadows from the room, leaving only two lovers, lost in silk, and folded together like peaceful hands, oblivious to the sparkle of a sunlit diamond.