20. Smokescreen.
Smokescreen.
HARLOW
A sob escapes my lips as Jayce disappears behind the smoke on horseback. If Kuroki…
“He’ll be alright,” Gia says, grabbing my hand. Tears are running down her face, tracing clear paths over her ash-covered cheeks. “Jayce will make sure he’s alright.”
“We need to sew the balloon back together,” Wilbur says, his voice louder than I have ever heard it.
“I’ll get my tools and grab the spare dragonhide.
We need to check the hull and see if the primary structure held during the crash.
” His eyes are terrifying, wide open and shell-shocked, and his mouth pressed into a hard line as he walks by me to get below decks.
It looks like his self-control hangs by a thread.
I don’t know what will happen if it breaks.
“You heard him,” says Alara. “Let’s get to work! Captain’s orders.”
The three of them fall into a sort of potent focus, while Gia and I scramble to help, and I remember they lived through the Crimson War and lost many of their friends to fire. They learned to make it through the worst times, and deal with worry and grief later. I can only follow in their footsteps.
Dragonhide is incredibly thick and resistant, but Wyrn managed to leave three long gouges in the balloon with her claws.
Alara and Freddy stitch it back together with giant needles before covering it with an additional layer of hide and heat-resistant glue.
At last, they paint it in dragon blood, and the drops—like black ink in the darkness—fall on the upper deck.
Around us, the fields have stopped burning—the fire has devoured everything—but the night sky still glows red and thick with smoke. My hair sticks to the sweat on my forehead and neck. How many lives have been lost in the dragon attack? And how many will spend the winter hungry?
Wilbur finishes repairing the liquid-fire burner made to inflate the balloon, and we try our work.
The air still comes through a gap between the stitches, and we have to deflate it again to close it while Wilbur cuts us loose from his parachute.
We all understand that we don’t have a spare, and our next fall from the sky will be deadly.
But Wyrn is nowhere to be found in the smoky sky; she has moved on with her blazing fury.
A messenger on horseback finds us in the early morning, a letter from Jayce in hand.
Alara reads it out loud for us, voice thick with emotions.
He found a doctor, and Kuroki’s condition stabilized.
His arm will never work the same, but with some care, he’ll live.
Wilbur drops to his knees on the upper deck, relief giving way to his exhaustion, and there are tears falling on the dark wood.
We were all mistaken. He cares for Kuroki more than we thought. Kuroki will be happy to learn all about it when he’s healed.
Wilbur isn’t usually keen on touch and intimacy, but I still kneel in front of him and grab his hand, just like Gia did for me earlier.
“He’ll be alright,” I say. “I know what I’m talking about. He’ll be in pain, but he’ll push through and be insufferable about his battle scars.”
Wilbur keeps his eyes closed, shallow breaths stuck in his chest as if he’s trying his best not to cry openly, but he surprises me by squeezing my hand. Gia, Freddy, and Alara gather around us protectively.
We’re all sticky with sweat and ash, the tragedy of the night heavy on our shoulders, and so we don’t notice the slick airship cleaving the smoke above us until the ropes fall on the upper deck, and we are getting boarded.
Freddy and Alara are the first to react, instincts honed by years as pirates and fire scroungers.
They take down four men before we are overwhelmed and held at gunpoint.
Wilbur turns into a mad beast, swinging a wrench like a sword with impressive force, knocking a few more of our enemies from their feet.
It takes five of them to subdue him. And even then, he keeps trying to murder every one of them, and they knock him with a blow to the back of his head.
Gia screams in anger, but she’s as powerless as we are.
I wish I had a weapon. The Spitfire is stored somewhere below decks.
The slick airship lowers to the ground, and a ramp slides from its underbelly.
The man from the Mermaid’s Ire walks out.
He’s tall, with dark skin and a fancy black suit, so at odds with our surroundings and our ashy faces.
Clean-shaven and hard-jawed—handsome if not for the emptiness of his gaze as he surveys us.
Gold earrings decorate the curve of his ears and glint in the light from the liquid-fire lamps on the deck.
“Pardon our rough manners,” he says, eyes landing on me. “But we’re in need of a dragoner. Ours took a regrettable… stumble overboard.” His voice is surprisingly deep and soothing, and I want to gouge his eyes out.
So the crew member Wyrn dropped was Alfred, their dragoner. I can’t say I’m sorry. He joined the wrong crew.
“Why? So I can help you steal dragon eggs?” I say, anger simmering. They’re to blame for the crash and Kuroki’s injury. For the burning fields and all the deaths.
The aristocrat’s eyes widen slightly, surprised I have caught on to their schemes. “Yes. That’s exactly why we need you. Come without resistance, and we’ll spare your friends.”
I share a glance with Alara. Her icy rage burns in her gaze, and her mouth is stuck in a snarl.
What choice do I have?
“I’ll come,” I say. “And you’ll leave my friends here unscathed. If you break your bargain, I won’t help you with your foolish and destructive endeavor.”
The man nods impatiently and turns his back on us to walk to his ship, in the careless way only people used to hold power do.
I wish I could bury a knife between his shoulder blades.
His crew follows his lead with no need for orders.
They take me over the ramp and into the belly of the enemy airship.
Before going in, I spare one last glance at my friends. Freddy and Alara watch us, and she points a finger at me in a promise. We will find you . Gia is kneeling by Wilbur’s side, checking his head; he’s still unconscious.
Then I lose sight of them as I’m ushered through narrow passageways to the upper deck of the soulless airship. The shiny metal walls are cold to the touch and reflect the sconce light like a blurry mirror.
The crew ties me to an ornate chair at the stern, and they all but forget me as they steer the peculiar airship away from the ground and through the thick cloud of smoke.
I have a moment of panic as it burns my eyes and lungs, but then we reach the gray sky above.
Dawn is upon us, and I haven’t slept in two days.
Hours pass, and I eventually fall asleep on the chair, physically and mentally exhausted, until a crew member wakes me with a hard poke on the shoulder, and I gasp, pulling at my restraints.
“Fuck…” I mumble, blood rushing to my aching hands. Rope burns already encircle my slender wrists.
“The captain wants to see you.”
I let the man untie me before taking me to a large cabin at the bow of the airship. Gold and silver gild the door, and the room beyond is more luxurious, yet tasteless, than Jayce’s quarters. Where his is warm colors and wood, this one is the cold, modern decor favored by the rich in Dragonest.
The two aristocrats I met at the Mermaid’s Ire sit around an enormous table laden with food and drinks.
There is the dark man who kidnapped me, and his pale companion…
The first time I saw him, I thought he was drunk, but in the bright light of the liquid-fire chandelier above us, I realize he looks sick.
His face is thin, his cheeks hollowed out, and his blue eyes rimmed with purple.
Even his blond hair appears faded and washed out.
An image comes to mind: a sun-bleached bone on the forest floor, the creature it came from long dead.
“Have a seat, Mr. Harlow Prince,” the dark and handsome aristocrat says.
“You know my name.” I stay on my feet.
“Of course. Alfred held you in high esteem. He said you were a gifted student at Dragonest University. The valedictorian of your year.”
“And you are?”
The man smiles. His teeth are perfectly straight and white. “Of course. Where are my manners?”
“In the gutters,” I cut him off. “Considering you almost got my friend killed, then kidnapped me at gunpoint.”
His gaze hardens. “Yes. I’m Lord Hunter Darrington, and this is my husband, Clarence.”
The sickly man, Clarence, gives me a feeble smile. I want to bury his face in the pot of soup in front of him.
“I can’t say it’s a pleasure.” I grab a glass and pour myself what looks like juice. I’m parched, and I don’t really give a fuck about table manners anymore.
Clarence’s little smile stays on, even as I shake my ash-covered clothes and rub my blood-tainted shoes all over their pristine carpet.
“We’re heading for a new lair,” says Lord Darrington. “We know the rough location, but that’s it. You’ll help us find it and steal the egg.”
“Why?” I ask, throwing the empty glass over my shoulder. It breaks on impact, and this time, Clarence winces.
Lord Darrington’s eyes turn cold. “Or we’ll go back to finish off your friends.”
“No. That part is clear. I want to know why you’re stealing eggs. You can’t tame dragons.” I pace the room.
“You’re a fire scrounger and dragoner, Mr. Prince. You know more than anyone the uses of dragon organic matter.”
“Are you selling the eggs? Aren’t you rich enough?” I gesture at the surrounding airship.
Lord Darrington looks like he’s annoyed at how slow I’m being. “No. We’re not selling anything. The healing properties—”
“I’m dying,” Clarence cuts him off. “There’s no point beating around the bush,” he says when Lord Darrington gives him a saddened look. “I’ve been dying for years. The dragon egg yolk has healing properties. It’s keeping me alive. For a time…”