CHAPTER 9
DAVINA
One month ago
I HAD TO RECONSIDER MY TAKE ON THE USEFULNESS OF PSYCHOKINESIS WHEN FORCED TO TRAVEL THROUGH THE STREETS OF KIPIRAMIDA PRESSED AGAINST CAPTAIN KENTAR’S MASSIVE BACK. It wasn’t a matter of ego, but plain, old survival instinct.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing hard as bile threatened to rise again when we took another impossibly sharp turn at what could only be described as an unreasonable speed.
The landpods were top-tier, I’d give them that.
Sleek, narrow, and surprisingly comfortable compared to the junkers I’d seen over the years.
The way Captain Kentar piloted his, though?
Not a fan.
Eyes screwed shut, I focused on keeping breakfast within my stomach, and my grip loose enough not to accidentally choke him.
I didn’t like my chances of surviving if I cut off his air supply.
His scent of earth and sand invaded my nostrils, and I focused on that with everything I had for the duration of the ride.
A sharp turn. Another. An especially brutal swerve that nearly dislodged my soul.
Eventually—finally—we came to a stop, and I inhaled my first full breath since we’d left the house, then made the most of it.
“Was it really necessary?”
He clicked his tongue, the sound vibrating against my chest as the pod lowered to the sand-dusted street with a clean woosh. “If you don’t like how someone else pilots, you should’ve gotten one of these.” The inked sap on the skin of his left forearm glimmered smugly under the sun.
With a smooth, seamless motion, he slid off the cursed machine.
“Or,” I said, brushing sand from my overskirt. A gust of wind blew the fabric away, revealing my leg underneath. “You could try being more considerate when riding with passengers, Captain Kentar.”
When I looked up at the captain again, I’d have sworn his eyes were a tone darker.
“Call me Zephyr.”
My brow furrowed. “That wouldn’t be professional.”
“It’s the least you can do after strangling me,” he countered, offering a hand.
Heat rose to my cheeks as I dismounted without taking it. “That wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t driven like the Sapless were on our heels.” Stepping away from the accursed death machine, I ran damp hands through my curls to tame the wind-scattered mess.
He smirked. “Centurion Lachlan—Davina, if I may.” I was caught off guard by the foreign sound of my name in that accent. “We’re going to be stuck with each other for a while. Skipping titles will save us precious time.”
I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced.
A deep sigh. “Can I at least call you just Lachlan?”
I considered it for a beat. “Fine.”
“I still ask that you call me Zephyr. My surname reminds me too much of my father.”
I briefly wondered whether the bitter tone was because it made him feel old or because he had something specific against the man who’d sired him, but before I could ask, Sergeant Yaa rounded the corner with Armand at his back.
Their land-pod moved at a refreshingly sane pace, gliding to a smooth, effortless stop beside ours.
“Took you long enough,” Zephyr mused. I shot him a glare.
“We’re not all reckless younglings, Zeph,” Kwabena countered, dismounting the pod with calm ease. There was a thread of reprimand in his voice that made me like him even more despite myself.
The captain let out a low laugh, and a breath got stuck in my throat at the sound. It was darker than I expected, echoing faintly along the quiet street. “Haven’t been a youngling in a while, Ben.”
On that, I had to agree with him.
I pegged Zephyr’s age near Armand’s. Five, perhaps six years older than me. And with his towering frame and thick muscles, a youngling he was certainly not.
A strange feeling bubbled in my stomach, so I turned my attention to our surroundings.
The street we stood on was even calmer than the ones we’d sped through earlier, the buildings even broader but of less height near the city’s edge.
Before us loomed a sprawling manor of dark metal and green glass, its column-lined porch casting long shadows on the tiled pavement.
Despite the wealth of windows, the house gave nothing away. Opaque curtains concealed every glimpse of its interior. We climbed the steps, and without a word, Zephyr pulled a key from one of his pockets to unlock the double-width front door and stepped inside.
The scent hit me first: liquor and books.
Parchment, leather, and old ink clung to the air, even in the foyer, mixing with the nutty notes of strong, expensive alcohol.
Other than that, not much greeted us: a skeletal coat rack in the corner, a large mirror, a floor lamp, and a few verdant plants.
A gas lamp was lit, held in Zephyr’s hand, and I followed its glow down a tall doorway marked by a beautifully carved arch.
Beyond awaited a vast living room.
A loud sound startled me, shattering the thick silence. A second later, sunlight streamed in through the newly drawn curtains. I realized belatedly that one of the Kobrants had used their psychokinetic skill to move the heavy fabric.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the curved exterior wall, made of small, bottle-green glass panes arranged into patterns, the most notorious one a huge circle in the center. In front of it was a sprawling leather sofa, set in a way that allowed for the one seating to admire the view.
And what a view.
Air rushed from my lungs at the magnificence of it.
The late afternoon sun, not visible from this side of the house, turned the lake at the edge of the city into liquid gold, small ripples making the water sparkle like a sea of jewels.
The house sat so close to the edge, it felt like standing aboard a ship.
Breathtaking.
“This is where the doctor’s body was found,” Kwabena said, breaking the spell. Then, in a softer voice, “May he rest in peace.”
I certainly hoped whatever awaited Dr. Sircelen after death held a candle to what it must have been like waking up to this view.
“Where, exactly?” Armand said.
Kwabena stepped forward and stopped in front of the ornate rug laid before the sofa. “Here.”
I walked closer, knowing any leads to be found there would have already been scouted.
“Is this also where the body disappeared?” I asked.
The sergeant’s face tightened. “It is. The soldiers who found the body hadn’t moved it yet when it was taken.”
Armand exhaled sharply through his nose. “How is it possible for a body to vanish from under the noses of trained soldiers?”
My exact thoughts.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Zephyr’s shoulders tense. “Let’s focus on whatever leads might still be here,” he said.
Three hours later, there was no clue to be accounted for.
The light was swiftly disappearing, and we’d not progressed a single inch.
In that time, I’d scoured a magnificent library and what seemed to be a bedroom.
In the former, I’d found countless books on Kobrant history and archaeology, some of them in languages so old I didn’t even recognize.
All the books had sat on tidy, spotless bookshelves, not a single one out of place to give a hint of what the doctor had been working on during his last days.
The bedroom had clearly been a spare room that didn’t seem to have been used.
All the furniture was clear save for a slightly dusty bed cover that implied whoever had taken such care of the bookshelves had not delved into that guest room for some time.
I gnawed at my bottom lip, various thoughts circling like hawks. No obvious clues in the last place the doctor had been . . . Not good.
When I entered the living room again, an acrid scent filled my nostrils. My brow furrowed, but the only thing out of place was Captain Zephyr Kentar, crouching beside a low vanity which had clearly been dragged away from the wall.
My heartbeat spiked. “What is it?”
He didn’t turn. “Found this, but I’m not sure it means anything.”
A fallen frame. The protective glass was shattered, jagged shards scattered across the floorboards. I crouched down, following Zephyr’s lead, and leaned in to get a better look. Dust tickled my nostrils, but my eyes widened as I understood what it was. A patent.
The patent.
The one that had made Silverion Sircelen rich beyond measure. The one that had put a limit to the abilities granted by the Evergreen Mahogany’s sap. The one that described the properties of its wood.
“I spotted a nail in the wall over the vanity,” Zephyr explained, his voice low.
I craned my neck, finding it instantly, still jutting from the wall at a downward angle. The frame had likely fallen from sheer age, the nail no longer able to bear its weight. A groan echoed from somewhere deeper in the house, as if to second that thought.
“Clever,” I murmured.
“I know.”
Arrogant prick.
His mouth tightened. “I don’t think it means anything. Just time doing what time does. Even the best-placed nail gives way eventually, if burdened for long enough.”
I rose to my feet. “You’re feeling oddly poetic.”
“And you’ve got a problem with that because . . .”
“We found nothing useful.”
His eyes narrowed on me as he straightened, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising in challenge. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
Dusk wrapped around us, the sky over the lake deepening into purples and dusky blues, and the water itself turning golden where it reflected flames. Shadows climbed the walls of the room, cloaking the captain in twilight. Tall and broad and looming, he looked like a villain from some ancient story.
He’s likely to be the villain in mine.
Before I could come up with a retort, a loud thwack broke the silence, shaking the entire house. My eyes widened in surprise, the hairs at my nape standing to attention. Then came Armand’s cry, and my blood iced over.
“The house is on fire!”