Chapter 4 #3
I opened my mouth, many offers on the tip of my tongue: I will give you gold.
Jewels. A patronage. I will name a ship for you.
I will let you rebuild my castle out of clockwork.
I will arrange a marriage with the Prince of Foria and make you their queen if you come with us and live to see daylight again.
“If you’re going Below, so am I.” She stared at me, chin raised high.
“You need a Master Artificer. Well, here I am, and not to gloat, but I am damn fine at my work. Anyone in the Collegium will tell you the same—and, to be fair, there’s only so many of us with a Mastery.
One of my colleagues did this, and they will answer for it. ”
The words froze in my mouth, unspoken.
“These are my people. I promised Anto and Letti I would do everything in my power to find them. So I’m coming with you.”
I gazed into her eyes, magnified so that every speck of brilliant amber stood out against those velvet dark irises like molten gold, boring into me with a determination bordering on insolence.
Women. Who did she think she was, demanding I bend to her whims? How dare she preempt my generous offer with commands?
I grinned at her, showing all my teeth. “Is that so? This expedition will be going places most men don’t return from.”
“Even so.” Those huge eyes flicked to my teeth, and goosebumps rose on her exposed throat. “I made a promise.”
“Only people I trust without reservation will be a part of this. What would you be willing to give for a place?” I stepped closer, dropping my voice into a growl. “I met you yesterday. There are Artificers I have known for far longer, and I trust their expertise. I know nothing about you.”
She swallowed, loud enough that I heard a click in her dry throat. “I’d give just about anything. If I make a vow, I mean to hold to it. And you can ask any one of those Artificers if I’m any good. They’ll swear before the Lady of Light that I am.”
I stared her down, watching those thick lashes blink as I drew closer and closer.
“For your place in this expedition, you will owe me a year of this expertise once we’ve seen it through.
You will live in Owlhorn for that year, in my service, and whatever devices I ask of you, you will create.
If I ask for a clockwork pig that runs under unwanted guests’ feet, you will make a pig.
If I ask for a watch that tells the seasons instead of time, you’ll make a watch. If I ask for—”
“I understand!” she snapped. “If you want Artifice that fries eggs or mops your floors for you, I’ll make it! You can have the year and I’ll even kiss your ass if you’d like, so long as you swear that I have a place on the crew.”
Fel Arron held out her hand to shake on it. Her burned, scarred, untrembling hand.
Oh, what a bold creature. She had no idea what she was asking, and now she’d learn a hard lesson. It would be my pleasure to deprive her of the safety of the sun and watch her realize her colossal mistake.
In the dark Below, she would have no time to smile at handsome men-at-arms. Ha.
And if she lived…I would have an entire year to keep her at my beck and call, grinding the lesson in deep.
“We’ll discuss the ass-kissing at a later date.
” My smile widened. Ancestors, she smelled delightful this close.
It had been far too long since I drank fresh blood from the vein.
“A year, then, as agreed. Now pack up this Artifice. You’re coming back to Owlhorn with us to prepare as best you can.
You might be willing to sell a year of your life now, but I promise you: every night of this journey is going to be the worst night of your life.
You’ll look back on this moment and wish you had run screaming. ”
I took her hand, strong despite its fragility, firm despite her frail bones. She didn’t quiver, shaking it heartily and nodding to me.
“We’ll see,” she said coolly, and broke away, striding off with the Fae device cradled in the crook of her arm.
I scrubbed my hand across my face, taking a surreptitious breath. She smelled of milk-and-honey soap from the Sisterhood’s hives, a breath of orange blossoms, and the tang of machina oil, with a sea of sweet blood beneath. My mouth watered, with more than simple thirst.
A whole year to torment her. To look into those warm eyes and watch the familiar hate grow. To break that proud tilt to her chin.
Bram looked at me, shaking his head.
“What?” I snarled.
He waved a hand, moving towards the gates. “Honestly, Wroth, sometimes I despair of you.”
“Please.” I snorted. “Like every other noblewoman in this wretched place, she demands and expects to get her way. For once, I shall get something out of caving to a woman’s whims.”
I passed under the gate, taking in the sight of the grey-haired man-at-arms cradling the device like a fragile baby while the woman dug through her saddlebags for something to wrap it in. He stood too close to her, quite familiar for a commoner to a noblewoman; perhaps he was her lover.
I couldn’t stop my lip curling at the sight, but I could simply stop looking. I stalked past her towards the fisherman’s bridge, a simple but sturdy wooden bridge crossing the Nicla.
The river was relatively calm, and I knelt to sniff at the boards. Many were new, replaced before the spring storms came, but under the scent of sap I picked up the scents of dozens of different people.
Perhaps not just the caravans, but the residents of Lonmire.
I followed the scent across the bridge, to the docks where the fishermen brought in their take, and to a field beyond.
Lonmire was in the midst of a vast nothingness; the traders’ caravans from Port Coran in the north had worn a route into the long grasses, but beyond the copses of trees, and the occasional faerie mound, there was nothing of note.
I eyed the closest mound askance. It was covered in moss, nestled in one of the copses; wild brambles had grown over its dome.
Fortunately, the people of the Rivers possessed their own superstitions.
None would touch one of the hundreds of faerie mounds in this hold, not for love nor money; thus, they had no reason to know that most of them covered entrances to the Below.
Beneath their feet was the vast network of caverns that my people had lived in for centuries, and over time, my people had found many exits that culminated in dead ends, were blocked with occult traps or Fae charms, or were otherwise covered over by a mound and thousands of pounds of stone.
I kept to the trail, following the freshest scents, and one led straight to the mound in the copse. It was fifteen feet tall, the stones mortared with mushrooms and moss, and the brambles had been torn away.
My brows drew together as I crept closer. Could the person responsible for this have discovered a way to open a door?
I leaned in close enough to touch the stones, aware that just below me was a tunnel leading into the nethermost reaches of the earth, and breathed deeply.
The same hand that had placed the chthonium lungs had touched here. I reached out, digging a claw into a wide crack between the stones where the moss had been peeled away. There was the faint gleam of metal; a Fae door?
I prised at it, and something clicked. A burst of white dust flew out of the crack and up my nose.
Which began burning, erasing everything but the agony of my own senses being scorched to ash, destroying my ability to find even the slightest trail.
I plucked the tiny piece of steel Artifice from the crack, turning it over in my claws as a gout of blood gushed from my nose, dripping over my mouth and chin to stain my fur red.
Oh you fucking whoreson, I am coming for you.