Chapter 11
Eleven
The air along the southern docks was redolent with perfume. It couldn’t quite disguise the earthy flavor of the Thames, slightly riper now that it was summer. Here and there, ladies bought scented pomander bags to their noses and some had even stitched them into their fans.
Metaljackets lined the platform that had been erected along the docks, each standing at strict attention, the blue illumination in their eye slits dulled to a neutral glow.
Gaslight flickered over their burnished gold breastplates; the Imperial squadron was comprised of only two hundred automatons, but they were impressive.
Used mainly for ceremonial purposes, circular throwing blades attached to their arms made them highly dangerous as well.
Nervousness raced along Lena’s skin. The enthusiasm of the crowd was contagious, but Lena couldn’t quite summon a smile. Most of the Echelon was in attendance, dressed in glittering jewels and bright silks. Any one of them could have been the blue blood in the tower.
A hand pressed against her spine, a cool whisper brushing across her ear. “Relax. He’s not going to attempt anything here. Not if he wants to keep breathing, anyway.” Leo stepped up beside her, his hand warm on the curve of her back.
Colchester. She’d almost forgotten about him.
“I know. Not here. Not in public view, anyway.” She glanced to the side. “You’ve heard nothing of…of Will?”
It had been three days. Leo had had Will’s wardrobe delivered, but he’d only sent her a note saying that he was busy with something. Their words the other day had touched a nerve. For both of them. Lena had busied herself with the transformational clockwork, trying not to think of him.
Easier said than done. It didn’t matter that she was only dealing with the internal cogs and gears at this stage; sooner or later she would begin to solder the iron sheeting of the exterior into place, forming the roughened physique of her clockwork warrior.
Even in clockwork—the one place she’d always been able to switch off her busy mind and simply put together the puzzle pieces—she couldn’t escape him.
“He’ll be here.” A statement, not a question. Leo’s dark gaze raked the crowd of gaudily dressed blue bloods. “I’ll have to join the Council when the Scandinavians arrive. But I won’t leave you unattended.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Leo searched her gaze. Then nodded. “Stay here. I’ll keep an eye on you from the platform.”
Above the river, the sky suddenly exploded. Gasps flavored the air and people cheered.
A pinwheel of whirling pinks and blues tore through the velvety sky, punctuated by the scream of rockets. An orange fireball bloomed, destroying Lena’s night vision.
“Here they come,” Leo murmured. “I’d best be off.”
As Lena blinked, a hint of a dark outline showed on the river. It glided across the oily waters, as sleek and sure as a serpent. The laughter and cheering died to a hushed whisper as the dragon-ship appeared. The only sound was the whine of the fireworks launching.
Almost two hundred feet long, it faintly resembled the longboats of its ancestors.
A sinuous serpent head served as a figurehead, and enormous canvas wings were tucked in tight against its sides.
The metal hull gleamed with gold paint, and jeweled shields lined the sides, each gem sparkling in the gaslight.
Two others flanked it, their helium envelopes deflated and stowed away.
They could be used both in the air and on water, and were dangerous on each.
Tall warriors lined the decks, clad in dark blue regimentals with gold military frogging down the chest, and helmets with tall black feathers.
The gaslight on the docks glittered off the amber shine of their eyes.
“Look at them,” a woman whispered nearby. “How barbaric.”
“I am looking,” another woman murmured behind her fan and they both laughed.
Fireworks exploded with frenetic enthusiasm. The sky was washed with gold and blue and pink. Lena couldn’t help herself. She looked up, her gaze torn from the silent ships on the river.
She felt his gaze long before she saw him.
A tingle on her skin.
The faint, earthy anticipation of her body recognizing danger—even as it thrilled at it.
Will.
Breath catching, her fingers tightening on the fan, she looked down. Blind spots danced in her vision but she hunted for him. The crowd didn’t matter. Nor the approaching ships. Not even Colchester.
She’d been in a state of agitation all day, unable to settle. Unable to do more than toy with her food or read a paragraph of the Times. His words kept playing through her mind. Then we’ll see if your words are worth anythin’.
Lena shivered. She could feel him watching her.
Murmurs started behind her. The crowd shifting.
A prickle at the back of her neck. As she turned, fanning at herself in agitation, the crowd parted, skirts swishing out of the way like the Red Sea.
For a moment she couldn’t see him. Only a man dressed in crisp black, who stepped into the wake of the crowd with arrogant disdain, striding as if he belonged there.
She glanced past the elegant cut of his coat, buttoned strictly up the left side of his breast. And then her gaze shot back to him, her eyes widening.
Oh, my God…
Lena actually stopped breathing.
She’d never seen him in anything other than a loose shirt and coat. The sight of him dressed for the evening was utterly devastating. The stark black of his coat drew attention to the dusky gold of his skin, and his hair—the beautiful amber locks that her fingers always itched to touch—was gone.
The fan stopped moving, the ghostly tips of its feathers dancing over her breasts.
Will stepped out of the shadows, gaslight highlighting the stark bones of his cheeks and brow, the burnished bronze of his eyes locked on her with an intensity no bystander could mistake for anything other than interest. Pure, predatory interest.
He had to stop looking at her like that.
Lena turned away with a jerk, frantically sucking in a breath. If they saw the intensity of his gaze, her reputation would be ruined.
Which was exactly how he predicted she’d react.
Her shoulders slumped. He’d practically dared her to deny her association with him. And though mockery had laced his tone, there’d been a hint of hurt in his eyes.
As if he knew he’d never be good enough.
Head bowed, she turned toward him, aware of the malicious eyes watching them. If only he wasn’t standing there silently, waiting for her to make the decision either to cut him or to forever forsake any chance of joining this glittering world.
But how could the Echelon ever accept him if she didn’t?
Will offered her his arm, as smoothly as if they’d practiced it a thousand times and not mere dozens. There was a devilish gleam in his eyes. A dare. “Shall we?”
Despite her gloves, she could feel the unnatural heat of his body through his sleeve as she accepted. Murmurs started as they strolled toward the platform and the smile on Lena’s lips died.
“I’m not supposed to be up there,” she whispered. Above her, fireworks blazed to life, the shrill scream of the rockets stealing her words.
Will leaned closer. Now that he was in profile, she could see that his hair had been gathered back into a tight queue, the velvet strands of the ribbon brushing against his nape.
“I thought you cut your hair,” she blurted.
“You sound relieved. Thought me hair were unfashionable.”
Not even a hint that he was as stricken as she. Lena ground her teeth together. “It is.”
“Then I’ll cut it.”
At her shocked look, a smile curled at his lips. Her gaze locked onto it. Dangerous. The little tick of her heartbeat fluttered in warning.
“All of it.” He smoothed a hand over his scalp. “Annoys me anyway.”
“Do what you want,” she lied, “I don’t care.”
The smile he gave her was answer enough.
“Here we go,” he said, staring up at the platform. There was no sign of the prince consort or the queen, but all seven of the Council waited.
Will took a deep breath and for the first time, Lena realized he was nervous. She squeezed his arm. “Have you never met others of your kind before?”
“Never.” His gaze swept over the river, lingering on the naval officers that lined the deck of the dragon-ship. “Spent most of me life in that cage, then trapped in Whitechapel by the price on me head.”
Something tightened in her chest. Lena slid her hand into his, hiding it against her skirts. All eyes were on the river. She squeezed his fingers and he looked down, considering it for a moment before he squeezed back.
“Truce,” she whispered. “Just for tonight?”
“Truce,” he agreed.
A breeze stirred her hair as they climbed the stairs, bringing with it the rich, cinnamon scent of Lady Aramina’s perfume. Lena stepped into place beside the duchess and tugged her hand from Will’s.
Beneath the noise of the fireworks and the murmur of the crowd grew a strange, throbbing hum. A froth of water churned a hundred yards behind the last dragon-ship, and the sleek dark head of something surfaced.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A kraken submergible,” the duchess replied, her brandy-colored eyes intently watching the wave. “The stealthy killer of the Scandinavian naval forces. It’s the only thing that’s ever brought down one of our Dreadnoughts.”
Surprised that the woman had answered, Lena dared ask more, “I thought the Dreadnoughts were invincible?”
“You cannot fight what you cannot see,” the duchess replied. “And it’s only in the last minute that you can feel the throb of their propellers coming. Caught alone, even a Dreadnought can be sunk by their steel tentacles.”
The throb echoed through the air, almost humming against Lena’s skin. She could only imagine the force needed to create such a disturbance.
“They don’t usually venture so far from their waters, however,” Aramina mused. “They must be trying to impress us.”