His heart clenched with joy. His city, his home, had thrived in his absence.
And then, inevitably, he looked for the Honding family palace.
It spread up the steep slopes of the city’s largest firemount, set further forward than the rest of the city, the district at its feet a patchwork of beauty in architecture. Its grand spires were hemmed in by walls that were more decorative than functional. And, from its many airdocks, a fleet like none he’d ever seen before took to the sky.
Auntie Honding had spared no expense in the defense of her city. A great wall of ships lifted, staggered throughout the sky in such a way as to make their numbers difficult to count. His stomach sunk, seeing the Valathean banner flying from many a mast, and he knew just where his auntie had allocated much of the funds – straight from the empire’s coffers.
She wouldn’t have had a choice. Even with their selium surplus, they could not bend time to make so many ships before Thratia’s arrival. They’d have to borrow them from somewhere. And yet, he’d hoped…
Thratia squeezed his hand. She leaned forward against the railing, her other hand gripping the smooth metal, her gaze avid as she flicked it over the opposing fleet. There was a hunger so deep in her it unsettled him. The very defense his auntie had mounted enticed her, pleased her. Here was a woman so in love with domination that to see her victim squirm and lash back gave her deep-rooted pleasure. He suppressed a shudder.
“Boarding flags!” A crewman called out.
“Let them close,” Thratia commanded.
Detan squinted through the mass of ships. A larger vessel pulled away from the rest, cutting the sky with delicate ease. Four figures stood on the prow of that ship, a mirror to Detan and Thratia’s own position. Detan leaned forward and released Thratia’s hand so that she would not feel his heart thundering through his palms. Dame Honding he knew at a glance, but the others… Ripka? Tibal? He was not sure he could stomach admitting his betrothal to Thratia Ganal with those eyes watching.
The ship sped closer. Detan took a halting step back, making a low keening sound in his throat. Misol and Aella pressed the space behind him instantly, Aella’s power flowing over him like a balm – he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out his senses.
He could not yet see the face of the woman standing next to his aunt, but the shape of her was forever burned into his memory.
“What is it?” Thratia asked and, skies curse the woman, there was genuine concern in her voice.
“Ranalae,” he said.
She hissed and turned back to watch the ship’s approach, while Detan stood stock-still, a slow pain spreading in his chest.
“Breathe,” Aella whispered.
He did. The pain eased.
“Keep me leashed,” he begged, and she nodded with such serious concern he could have hugged the little witch.
The ships eased alongside each other. Each thud of a gangplank snapping into place was a nail through Detan’s heart.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ripka arrived first of the group. Latia had drawn her curtains, but still a warm, homey light escaped around the edges. Ripka wanted nothing more than to drag herself to that door, to pound on it and throw herself on Latia’s fussy ministrations. But it was a bright day, and Latia had drawn the curtains. Whatever was going on inside those walls, she wanted no one to see.
Enard and Honey could not have possibly made it to Latia’s house before Ripka, hampered as they were by Honey’s injury, and Tibal would not risk knocking on a stranger’s door. Which meant that something else had happened. Something Latia did not want the average gravel of the city to see.
Ripka leaned her back against the wall of a closed tavern and caught her breath. Silence pervaded the neighborhood so early in the morning, its bohemian residents still in bed or off to see to more mundane chores. The scarce population was a false wind, so far as Ripka was concerned. There were fewer eyes to note her presence, but she stood out like rain on a summer day. Especially standing about in her hotel robe with hints of blood beginning to seep through around her thighs and hips.
Footfalls alerted her to a passerby, and rather than being spotted she ducked down into a service alley that ran alongside the tavern. It stank of stale ale and fouler things, but Ripka’s watcher training had long ago bashed any squeamishness out of her nostrils.
She angled herself to see who approached, and nearly cried out with relief when she spied Tibal strolling alongside Enard, Honey supported between them.
“Here,” she said, stepping out of the alley.
“Ran across these two on my way in, and weren’t many eyes around to see us,” Tibal said. She couldn’t blame him for assisting, even if a group of three was more conspicuous. Honey’s cheeks were pale enough to have turned beige, her lips wrinkled with dehydration. Despite her assurances that she knew what she was doing, the woman was still in need of care. Crazy didn’t make you invincible.
Honey looked at Latia’s house and said, “Something’s wrong.”
“I know.” Ripka explained for the guys, “She usually leaves the windows wide open during the morning. She’s a painter, and loves the natural light. We don’t have much choice, though. We’ve got to have her help. Ready?”
Honey nodded, curls hanging limp around her cheeks, and the four set off at a hobbling, stunted pace. Ripka steeled herself, and knocked.
The door flung open. A red-cheeked Latia glared out at them, mouth half-opened in defiance, then recognition caught up with her, and her jaw dropped all the way open.
“Sweet skies!” She flung the door wide and stepped aside. “Get in, get in. You see?” She hollered over her shoulder. “Told you there was a good reason she didn’t show!”
Dranik stood in the frame of Latia’s patio door, jaw agape as he watched the four pile into Latia’s small sitting room. Dranik could wait.
“Honey’s injured.” Ripka put some command into her voice, and Latia jerked as if someone’d yanked on her arm. “Skies! A moment – I have fresh cloth around here somewhere. Dranik, make yourself useful and boil some water. How bad?”
Latia became a whirlwind of activity while Ripka helped Enard ease Honey onto one of Latia’s many lounge chairs.
“It’s shallow. She’s just put too much weight on it, too soon.”
Enard and Tibal wisely stepped back from the rush around Honey, putting their backs to the curtained windows while Latia and Ripka peeled Honey’s robe away and set about stitching and binding her wound. Dranik came scurrying into the room moments later, a steaming kettle of water hissing in his hand.
“What in the pits happened?” he demanded, as he knelt alongside Honey and offered the hot water to Latia to clean the wraps before binding Honey’s thigh.
To this, Ripka had no good answer. She hesitated only a moment, then decided to err on the side of truth. If they were going to work together, they had to trust one another, and Ripka couldn’t very well expect him to let her into his inner circle if she lied to him now. She couldn’t think of a convincing lie, anyway. The truth would be enough of a stretch.
“We were detained overnight in the Hotel Cinder by the Honding family guards. Honey’s injury allowed us an opportunity to escape this morning. I am sorry I missed your meeting, Dranik, but–”