Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles (21 page)

O
VER THE COURSE
of her life, Daphne had walked directly into situations that weren’t in and of themselves safe. The most recent having been setting foot in the tavern in Palermo, searching out a notorious rogue Man O’ War to take her to the Arabian Peninsula. But circumstance had forced her to it. Safety meant staying curled up beneath her desk at the Accademia, hoping that the perils of the world might simply pass her by.

Safety also meant stasis. And the ceding of power. Neither option was acceptable.

Outrageous as Mikhail’s gambit was, she knew it was their best hope for success. So, wordlessly, they took the jolly boat to the very edge of Khalida’s encampment. The moment the vessel lowered to the ground, heavily armed men and women surrounded them. Sunlight danced across pistols, rifles, and swords, all of them pointed at her and Mikhail. The faces of the people encircling them were likewise hostile.

Both Daphne and Mikhail lifted their hands.

She said, “We’ve come—”

“Silence,” a man in a blue headscarf barked. He jerked his sword and immediately, three men stepped forward and roughly removed all weapons from her and Mikhail’s possession. There went her revolver, her knife, and Mikhail’s ether pistol. Her satchel was searched, as well. They were now completely unarmed. Though Mikhail himself was a weapon, a fact revealed by the wary gazes of the encampment’s guards whenever they glanced his way.

Much as she expected this reception, cold fear congealed in the pit of Daphne’s stomach. When crossed, tribal warlords weren’t quite known for their tolerance or sense of humor. She could only hope that Khalida proved the exception to this custom.

“Did you think you could walk into our camp and go unrecognized?” Blue Headscarf sneered. “Our guards spoke of an Englishwoman and a giant man who looked like a djinn.” He grinned viciously. “I should present Khalida with your heads as a gift,
ferengis
.”

“And deprive her of the pleasure of killing us herself,” Mikhail answered.

“The man of metal talks sense, Hassan,” said a woman wielding a curved
jambiya
knife. “You saw her last night when she learned the astrolabe had been stolen. She swore to cut their throats and drink their blood.”

The grisly image turned Daphne’s pulse into a frantic tattoo. Yet she said, “Think how angry Khalida would be if we haven’t any blood left to drink.”

Hassan didn’t look pleased by this logic, but he was clearly more concerned about his chieftain’s wrath than getting vengeance. “Bind their wrists,” he commanded, and several of the guards hurried to obey.

Daphne bit back a curse as her arms were ruthlessly pulled back and her wrists manacled. Mikhail looked unimpressed as one of the men snapped fetters on him. Clearly, he could snap them as if they were made of pasteboard, but he seemed to be humoring his captors.

Awkwardly, Daphne was dragged out of the jolly boat by some of the guards, and she stumbled slightly before gaining her balance. Mikhail suffered no such indignities. He stepped easily out of the vessel, and as he stood to his full height, he dwarfed everyone around him. Mutters rose up from the guards. Bound as she was, Daphne still felt gratitude that Mikhail was on her side. More or less.

Escorted by their well-armed guards, they were led through the encampment. It was the largest of its type she’d ever encountered, blending the ancient and the technologically innovative in a complex fusion. The bleats of sheep mingled with the hiss of wheeled, steam-powered ovens tended by elderly women. A child watched them from atop a mechanized donkey. Some of the people hurled insults, while others simply stared with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

They reached an enormous tent. Five guards were posted outside, and Hassan snapped at them to step aside so he might present their chieftain with a prize. The guards hurried to obey, one of them pulling back a gauzy curtain to permit them to enter.

It took several moments for Daphne’s eyes to adjust from the brightness of outside, but when they did, she barely held back a gasp. She’d seen well-appointed, even sumptuous tents. Simply because one led a nomadic existence didn’t mean that one couldn’t have luxuries. But Khalida’s tent far surpassed anything she’d witnessed before. Silks of every hue, shot through with gold, draped from the central support posts. Thick, ornate carpets covered the ground, and atop those were low couches strewn with pillows. A mechanized silver fountain, studded with jewels, stood to one side, and there were ornately inlaid tables heaped with every delicacy Daphne could name, from honey-soaked pastries to roast pigeons to ice cream in chilled goblets.

She and Mikhail were herded toward the far end of the tent, where a woman reclined upon a divan. Despite the fact that she’d never met the warlord, Daphne recognized Khalida at once. She appeared to be somewhere in her mid-forties, with henna designs painted on her cheeks and forehead. Silver embroidery richly covered her black robes, and her hair was covered by a dark wrap, held in place with a leather fillet. A jeweled, curved blade jutted from the silver sash at her waist, and bandoliers crossed each of her shoulders. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were sharp and merciless as a hawk’s as she watched her visitors approach, a slight smile curving her mouth.

Half a dozen young, handsome men sprawled nearby, many of them with their robes partially open to reveal muscled chests. One of the men handed Khalida the stem of a hookah pipe, and she drew on it as she continued to study Daphne and Mikhail. It was not unlike being contemplated by a lioness, wondering when the predator would strike.

Daphne carefully kept her eyes trained on the ground, though she observed as best she could through her lowered lashes.

Hassan made a deep obeisance. “
Lalla
, I have brought you—”

“The Emperor and Empress of Japan.” Khalida exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I know who they are, Hassan.”

He flushed and bowed again. “Humblest apologies,
lalla
. Shall I fetch your goblet of gold and amber, that you might have a vessel to collect their blood?”

The warlord waved her ring-adorned hand. “Later. For now, I want to simply look at the two … lunatics? Imbeciles? I cannot decide what they are, only that it was decidedly foolish of them to steal from me. Most foolish, indeed.” The softness of her tone instilled far more terror in Daphne than if Khalida had yelled and raged. “My gravest concern is how I will kill you, for I have so many ways that would be excruciating, and it is difficult to pick precisely the right one.”

“We’re here of our own free will,” Mikhail said.

“Perhaps you
are
imbeciles,” spat Hassan. “Or wish to spare yourself the agony of wondering when and how my chief will end your lives.”

Mikhail barely spared Hassan a dismissive glance. “I’ve got an airship, Khalida. I could be halfway to Iceland by now.”

“That would’ve been the wiser choice,” the warlord said drily. “My assumption is that you did not come here to return my astrolabe.”

“Al-Rahim has it now,” Mikhail said.

At the mention of her rival’s name, Khalida’s face twisted, and she spat upon the ground. Fury blazed in her eyes as she shot to her feet. “You stole my prize for that camel’s turd?” There was a hiss as she drew the knife from her sash. She strode to Mikhail and put the dagger to his throat. “Man of metal or not, you can still bleed.”

“It’ll take a stronger blade than that,” he answered.

“Let us test that,” Khalida snarled. She pressed the blade tight to his neck. At first, nothing happened, but she gave the dagger a hard shove, and a droplet of Mikhail’s blood finally appeared. Khalida grinned brutally. “This may go slowly, but I’ll enjoy it more.”

Daphne could no longer keep silent. “Al-Rahim has my parents captive, and the only way I could secure their release was by stealing the astrolabe.”

Without removing the blade from Mikhail’s neck, the warlord asked, “And this concerns me how?”

“Because,” Mikhail said calmly, “al-Rahim knew that you’d lose face with all the tribes if someone took the damn thing. And having a British citizen be the responsible party would strain the alliance you’ve got with those tea-drinking bastards. He gets the prize, comes out top dog, and you’re left with the crumbs of former glory, alone with your useless playthings.” He flicked a dismissive glance toward the handsome young men, who sulked in response.

“Hassan,” Khalida said, “fetch me the sharpest scimitar. Let’s see how much punishment this metal man’s neck can take.”

Hassan eagerly darted away in search of the weapon.

Was Mikhail deliberately goading Khalida? There was brash and confident, and then there was mad.

“Or,” he continued, “you can finally cut al-Rahim’s balls off and take your position as the rightful leader of this territory. The
only
leader of this territory.”

Interest gleamed in Khalida’s eyes, but she seemed to deliberately bank it. “Lovely idea—but in the desert, wadis are sometimes high with water, other times dry as bones. My own supply of water is ebbing away, and all because of an astrolabe. If I wanted to drown al-Rahim, I wouldn’t be able to do so. Not now.”

Mikhail’s grin flashed. “But now you’ve got a Man O’ War as an ally.”

Slowly, Khalida lowered her dagger. She narrowed her eyes. “You?” Her voice dripped with skepticism. “So generous with your worthless declarations.”

“We wouldn’t have come here if we didn’t mean it,” Daphne said. When Khalida turned her piercing dark gaze on her, she continued, speaking quickly. “What did we gain by bringing ourselves to you? None of us are stupid, Khalida, especially not you. Captain Denisov spoke the truth. Consider it: had we wanted to, we could be on the other side of the globe by now. But we chose to come here, to you.”

She glanced at Mikhail, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.

“The people need a leader, Khalida,” she went on. “They need someone who will act swiftly, with a show of force the likes of which has never been seen in these lands. Join forces with us, and we’ll take back the astrolabe and decimate al-Rahim.”

Khalida frowned in contemplation, which Daphne decided to take as an encouraging sign. “Al-Rahim has two men of metal, whereas there is only this one.” She nodded toward Mikhail.

“I know the Man O’ Wars’ weaknesses,” he said. “And they haven’t my skills in combat.”

“One sage is far more valuable than two fools,” added Daphne.

Khalida gave a soft snort. “You speak well, for a
ferengi
.”

“She’s damned intelligent,” Mikhail said. “Between her brainpower and my strength, you’re not going to find better allies.”

Pleasure throbbed in Daphne’s chest, hearing Mikhail’s praise. Perhaps it was only meant to convince Khalida, yet it gratified Daphne just the same. She’d once feared his scorn because it meant that the mission to free her parents would be jeopardized. Now, his contempt wounded her deeply. His respect meant something to her.

Hassan ran back into the tent, carrying a large and wicked scimitar. Bowing, he presented it to Khalida. “As you requested,
lalla
.”

“Today is a day of disappointments for you, Hassan.” Khalida turned away and strode back to her divan. After tucking her dagger back into her sash, she stretched out on her couch. “I’ve decided to keep these two alive for a little longer.”

Indeed, Hassan stifled his look of regret as he held on to the scimitar.

Khalida drew on her hookah again, then exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke. “If we were to ally, there can be no room for hesitation, no ill-conceived plans for battle. And we must succeed. We have to strike against him once, and once only.”

“Cut the head off the snake,” Daphne said, which made the warlord nod with understanding.

“Only a fool takes to the sea without being able to read the stars,” said Mikhail. “No one knows the sky better than me. And for this voyage,” he added with a grin, “I’ve already plotted our course.”

Khalida’s laugh was low and throaty. “Are all men of metal as cocksure as you?”

“There’s no one like him,” Daphne said before he could speak.

He didn’t look at her, but she saw the flex of muscle in his jaw.

“Let’s hear these schemes of yours,” the warlord said.

“Free her first,” he answered, jerking his head toward Daphne.

Khalida held herself still for a moment, and Daphne wondered if Mikhail’s commanding tone had pushed the warlord too far.

Then, at last, Khalida nodded. One of the guards stepped forward and undid the manacles around Daphne’s wrists. It was difficult to resist a groan of relief when the fetters came off, and she rubbed her arms to soothe their ache.

“Don’t you want to be freed?” Khalida asked Mikhail.

In answer, Mikhail simply flexed his arms. The manacles snapped off his wrists and fell to the carpeted floor. Mutters of shock circulated through the tent, and Khalida’s entourage of handsome men shifted uncomfortably, surreptitiously testing their biceps.

Khalida took another contemplative pull of her hookah as she stared at him. “Yes, I can see why you might be useful.”

“You won’t regret joining forces with him,” Daphne said to Khalida. She turned to Mikhail, her gaze meeting his. Nothing else existed in that moment, the warlord’s tent fading away, the desert itself disappearing. It was only her and Mikhail. Together. And she let him see this, for she might not ever have another chance to do so. “I never have.”

O
NCE THE MANACLES
came off, they were treated to Khalida’s hospitality. Allies now—though warily so—and the warlord seemed determined to show her generosity. Tea and roasts and bread and pilafs studded with dried fruit and cakes perfumed with rosewater.

Mikhail could be a good guest. He devoured everything, his hunger monstrous. It was a surprise that he hadn’t much felt it until this morning, since it was with him always. But Daphne had kept him distracted from the needs of his body.
Certain
needs. Others had demanded satisfaction.

And they still did. He and Daphne sat upon cushions on the floor, eating, discussing plans for tomorrow’s assault. He paid no attention to the women who would bring him more food, more tea, more curious and flirtatious glances. It was the
professorsha
, and only her, that drew his attention. He was always aware of Daphne, of the movement of her fingers to her mouth, the soft glow of silk-filtered light upon her skin.