Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (25 page)

The head she looked out of shifted, the body rolling on its side to crumple a pillow in its arms and rest its face in the crook of an elbow. Even from this perspective, she knew that sprawl anywhere. Syri had done it!

Kane?

The body jerked, and a wave of seasickness passed through Toria’s own body when Kane surged to his feet, giving every corner of the pavilion a wild survey.

Don’t do that. Slow is good. Please.

“Toria?”

Kane’s frantic searching halted, and her stomach calmed. In a lower voice, he repeated, “Toria?” With a thump that threatened to collapse the cot, he sat back down.
You’re in my head?

It would seem so.

How?

Syrisinia. Elven girl. You know her?
She sent a mental image of Syri as Kane might have known her, sinuous movements in the middle of the Twilight Mist’s dance floor.

Waves of love and worry and happiness and sorrow crashed over her, and she sagged under the weight.
Kane! It’s okay. Calm down, love.

Sorry. It’s just...it’s been tough the past few days.

Are you hurt? Where’s Asaron?

Silence. The room blacked out again, and Toria worried she’d lost connection. But then another wave of love rolled over her, and she realized Kane had shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared down at his bare upper body. No, his left wrist, encircled by the loose fingers of his other hand and resting on his crossed legs. Strips of pale cloth that contrasted with his dark skin wound around his wrist. Even in the dim light, Toria could see the red stains soaking through.

They won’t give him anything other than pig’s blood, or cow’s blood. He can’t survive on that. But we’re doing the best we can.

No one knew how many millennia ago vampires had evolved to be humanity’s natural predator. For all their versatility, they were still a very specific breed of creature. They could exist on the blood of another animal in a pinch, but not for long. Human blood alone contained all the essential nutrients needed to make a happy vampire.

Brilliant, in a twisted way. The Romans kept the vampire underfed, who then kept the mage weak—otherwise impossible without a powerful magic user of their own.

Where is he now?

They let him outside for a few hours during the night. They do the same for me every morning.

A flash of memory that wasn’t hers unfolded in her mind through the link. Kane stood in the center of the ring, blocking a hailstorm of twigs and small stones with his arms. Now she noticed the masses of small bruises and cuts decorating his skin.

If I try to escape, they kill Asaron. If he tries to escape, they kill me. If he tries to eat anyone, they’ll cut off all blood and he’ll have only me to feed from. If I try to use magic, Asaron isn’t brought back inside at dawn.

Despite the even tone in which Kane recited the rules he now lived under, the horror of their situation dawned on Toria. She cursed Max for not helping her. She could have saved them from this nightmare.

Don’t be mad at Max.

Why the hell not? I wouldn’t have failed today if he’d come with me.

Why? What happened today?

With another transfer of memory, Toria imparted all she had been through in the past few days. Waking by the river to discover her partner gone, Zerandan’s diagnosis, her second failed rescue attempt, and her meeting with Octavian. She glossed over the more difficult parts, but she never could hide anything from Kane.

He fixated on the mental image of Octavian over Toria, grabbing her and touching her. Threatening Kane, in worse ways than he faced now.
I’ll fucking kill him. He comes to check on us once a day. I can take him out.
His imagination had always been better than hers. The images of a broken and bloodied Octavian lying at Kane’s feet startled her, despite her longing to exact the same form of vengeance.

I hate to be the voice of reason, but what about Asaron? You just said he’d die if you used magic.
She could feel the frustration welling up in Kane. Despite the jolts it gave her insides, she did not complain when he stood to pace the length of the pavilion.
Mama and Max and the head of the council should be there now. They went to meet with Octavian to try and get you guys out.

Too bad they won’t give us up.

You’re both members of the Guild. The Romans have to let Mama ransom you.

But we know too much.

What, the location of the camp? We know that anyway. Numbers? Armaments? Those aren’t good excuses to deny ransom.
She was pretty sure she shouldn’t be reminding Kane of these facts. He’d always paid better attention to Max’s lectures unless they involved direct combat.

A shadowy image overlaid Kane’s immediate surroundings.
This.

A cylindrical object perhaps half the length of Toria’s town-car and as wide around as the trunk of a horse lay on the canvas flooring. Despite the fuzziness of its details, Toria noted the metallic shimmer of its surface and the small keypad and computer screen set in the top.

Clearer image?
All of his other memories had been picture-perfect.

Best I can do. They blindfolded me before they brought me to wherever it’s being kept. But it radiates power. Awful, disgusting power. Nauseating. So much that this is what I could see through the scarf.

Magic?

I don’t know what it is.
Kane sat up once more, swinging his legs up onto the cot.
Not any type of magic I’ve ever felt before. But I’m the naturalist. You’re the techno-junkie.

I’m sorry. I’ve never seen anything like it either. But it looks like a machine. Why did they bring you to it?

Octavian wanted me to see whether I could feel anything. I didn’t tell the truth. Just that I could feel warmth on my skin from its direction. Which was true, but not all of it.

And that’s why he said you could never leave?

That he couldn’t risk it, yes.

She could feel Kane’s memory of nauseating discomfort returning the more he maintained the image, so she studied it hard. The object’s fuzziness didn’t help much, but she memorized every possible detail. Was that striping on the metal? No, it looked like a series of numbers or letters printed down one side. One of the cylindrical ends was rounded to a point, while the other remained cut off at the edge. She couldn’t make out the symbols on the keyboard, but it looked no larger than the one on her own computer. The screen was small, though, perhaps two hand spans wide and no more than one tall.

Movement on the screen? Despite the straining of her mental vision, it never resolved itself. But she did detect the faint hint of constant change coming from the screen. Like someone typing, but the rate was too regular. Or a...

No. Oh, no. It can’t be. They can’t.
In the real world, her stomach twisted even more than it had during Kane’s pacing.

What?

The question came in unison, from both her physical and mental companions. Her fear and tension must be bleeding through the double link with Syri like a waterfall.

Once upon a time, she’d made it her mission to catalog all the books in the manor’s library. Jarimis died before she was born, but she felt like she knew the man based on the books he’d collected and done research on. History was his passion, and once upon a time, she’d been determined to follow in his footsteps. So she’d read all sorts of obscure things.

Such as books called
Weapons of the Last War
, and tech manuals for things like nuclear missiles. Toria pulled up a mental schematic, as much as she could remember, and compared it to Kane’s hazy memories.

You really think that what I saw was a nuclear weapon, Tor?

What else could it be? I found a treatise by a European mage a few years ago on nuclear power plants, and what you felt matches everything she recorded about her experience with radioactive materials. The heat, the nausea.

Then this isn’t good. This is worse than not good. Because I don’t think Octavian knows what he has.

Ice gripped Toria’s heart, but Syri asked the obvious question.
What the hell do you mean?

He thinks it’s a regular missile. His pet mage isn’t too powerful, which is why they called me in.

And if they use that to hit Limani—
Syri’s mental voice came to an abrupt halt, and Toria could feel her horror seeping through the mental link.

They won’t just be destroying the city so they can come in and take it over more easily.
Toria forced the next words out, knowing they would be true despite her unwillingness to accept them.
They’ll be ruining it. For a long time, longer than anyone except Dad and Mama have. Limani will be gone forever.

“Admit it—that could have been a lot worse.”

The rattling of the window at every rut in the road did nothing for Victory’s headache. Perhaps she should remove her head from its current resting place against the pane of glass, but that required movement. “Whatever you say, Max.”

“We didn’t end up as prisoners,” Sethri said.

Not a total failure, but a failure nonetheless. Now Victory rolled her neck to the side and rested her head against the backseat headrest. Better, but not by much.

“We’ll rescue them, Victory,” Max said.

She noticed his stare in the rearview mirror, but knew the shadows hid her from close examination. “Whatever you say, Max.”

“We’ll either rescue them,” he said, “or they’ll bust out on their own. They’re not helpless.”

“Then why wouldn’t they have already?” Sethri craned his neck back and forth between them.

“Because the Romans are smart,” she said, gathering the energy to sit forward and rest her chin on the shoulder of Max’s seat. “They allow vampires in their territory, and they’ve got as many mages as any other country. The military knows how to keep such power contained.”

Though she did hope their methods had improved over the past two hundred years. Hard to believe at times like these that she had once been a Roman citizen in the mortal life she could not remember. So had her sire and daywalker. Limani herself was a colony of immigrants, with more descendants of Roman and British expatriates than the original Greek settlers.

A week ago, the Romans were amicable neighbors and trade partners. Now their government had gone to hell, they insisted on dragging Limani down with them, and the British were nowhere to be seen.

That reminded her. “Sethri, have you sent—”

Max cut her off when he jerked the steering wheel to the left, slamming her into the seatbelt. “What the hell?” she managed to gasp out after regaining her balance in the backseat.

“Not me! Shit!” Max hit the brakes, hard, flinging Victory forward.

Sethri got the worst of the blow, and two sickening cracks merged together from the impact of his forehead and the fracturing windshield glass.

A second shattering sound, this time right next to her. Had she been sitting all the way back in the seat, the bullet would have hit her temple. Instead, it whisked behind her back, a hair’s breadth away from slicing up her favorite coat.

“Incoming!”

She had no idea how Max managed to unbuckle his seatbelt, draw a gun, and get out of the truck in the space of what seemed like less than a second. After a few painful struggles with her own seatbelt, she kicked open the door.

The door hit a solid object, sending it flying away from the truck. Victory drew her sword when her feet touched the ground. She paused a beat, taking stock of the situation.

A situation that, for the moment, seemed to consist of one man with a large branch staggering back from the impact of the truck door, and Max wrestling with a second unknown assailant on the ground, his gun discarded near Victory’s feet.

She brought her sword to bear when her own opponent looked ready to charge her again. He halted before acquiring a second mouth below the chin, raising his hands away from his body.

In her peripheral vision, Max had gained the upper hand. She heard more than saw him lay out his adversary with a solid blow to the side of the head. The man went limp, and Max hauled himself to his feet.

“Gun’s next to the truck,” Victory said, never taking her attention from the man in front of her. Max stooped to retrieve it, checking the weapon and taking up position next to Victory.

She didn’t have Toria’s innate ability to read people, but she didn’t smell anything inhuman about the man. A deep breath confirmed none of the wild scents she associated with werecreatures. Round ears undisguised by his short hair, so elf was out. And he had a heartbeat, so no vampire.

Human. She assumed his friend was, too. Then that raised the question—

“Who the hell are you?” Max brought up the gun to aim at the man’s chest. With the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through his body, he looked ready to pull the trigger. Since their other attacker was out cold, that wouldn’t do at all.

“Max, go check on Sethri,” Victory said, deflecting his attention. “I’ll handle this guy.” Before the words were all the way out, Max whirled back around to the truck. It took great effort to keep her eyes on the man in front of her and not rush to check on Sethri herself. “Now answer the question. And drop the stick.”

He didn’t move. Victory took a small step forward and pressed the tip of her sword against his throat. The branch fell from his fingers and landed on the road with a clatter.

“Good,” she said. “Talk. Now.”

“We’re stopping you,” he said.

“Congratulations. Stopping us from doing what?” Why couldn’t she hear Sethri reassuring Max he was okay? Why couldn’t she hear Sethri at all?

“From contacting the Romans.”

She lowered her sword, ignoring the drop of blood welling from his neck. Self-control was a wonderful thing honed over the centuries, despite the bloodlust the twit had stirred within her by the attack. “Did you not notice that we are driving
back
to Limani?”

But he even had an answer for that. “Then we’re preventing you from bringing news back to your false council.”