The Clockwork Crown (12 page)

She smelled the fragrant cinnamon of Alonzo's clothes, knew his familiar song. Goodness, but that uniform fit him in a delightful way.

“As
your
Clockwork Dagger, then, I must argue against this venture to the vault. 'Tis a climb into a roc's nest.”

“Then what do you suggest? Really? Where do we go?”

“I do not object to going to Mercia, though I know you will detest the place most thoroughly. We may lose our pursuers for a time. Survival is our true goal, you must recall. Afterward, we could go far north to Frengia, or travel across the sea—­”

“When would we be able to stop worrying, Alonzo? Ever?”

Indescribable sadness flickered across his face. “What do you truly hope to gain from finding the Lady, Octavia? And is something the matter with your arm?”

Octavia released her grip on her own arm. Both limbs ached and tingled like mad, and it almost seemed to grow worse at the talk of the vault.
“
It's nothing. As for the Lady . . . you said yourself that the search gives us a purpose, something beyond hiding. My powers have always been strange, but these past few weeks . . .” She shook her head. A tendril of hair lashed her cheeks. “I want answers.”
I need answers. The vault has answers. I know that, somehow.

“If we find the Lady, what then?”

She threw herself into a chair and leaned against her knees. “I don't know. I don't know what it will take to get Caskentia to forget about me, or how the Waste can get their independence and leave me alone. I still want to have a future, Alonzo. I want an atelier and a garden.” She squeezed her fingers together. “I want a home.”

“Like Delford.”

“Delford would be a beautiful place to live, but I loved the academy, too. The tulip fields. The woods. The feel of moss between my toes. Then there's the coastline—­I loved it when my parents took me there when I was young. Is it so wrong to want peace and a home?”

Alonzo crouched before her. “ 'Tis not wrong in the least.” There was a low undercurrent to his voice that reverberated throughout her body. Even more, she knew the shift within him.
Heart rate increased. Blood flow . . . oh Lady, why do I know such things?
His callused hand curved against her cheek. “I want you to have all these things, Octavia.”

“I'm scared about the Arena tomorrow. I'm scared I won't be able to save you if something happens.”

His heartbeat, the essence of his life, stroked a fast rhythm through the touch of his palm. On his song, she could float away as if on a mighty river. Her awareness increased as his broad and strong lips met hers, his sandpaper bristle scraping her skin. Her hand found his neck, her fingers in his magnificently thick hair.

The bottom dropped out from her world—­no, her world became his song. It rose in crescendo, blocking out the existence of the room, of the burbling city, of all the threats against them.

He pulled back. The music dimmed, the heat diminished, but her sense of him lingered. She still knew the surge in his body.
He wants me.
But this was Alonzo Garret, ever the gentleman. He stood and faced away, tugging down his jacket in the process.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If anything should happen to me, work your way to Leffen, to the Dryns. You know they will do their utmost to keep you safe.”

Adana and Kellar Dryn knew of his identity as a Clockwork Dagger and of Octavia's unusual powers as a medician. They secretly labored for the welfare of Caskentia's ­people.

“I don't want a backup plan to be necessary.”

“Wants and needs are separate things.” His voice softened. “You need to stay alive, Miss Leander.”

He left.

His scent was still like a cloud around her, his heat still on her lips. Finally, she stood to lock the door again. She worked up her left sleeve. The mottled brown rash now stretched from wrist to elbow. She touched it. The skin was still soft. The crackled lines did not bleed. She pinched her skin; it hurt, as it should. She stared at the full forearm, her resolve to find the Lady growing even stronger.

My arm looks like the branch of a tree.

 

C
HAPTER
9

Octavia's dear little gremlin,
Leaf, had had an adorable habit of springing off objects and floating to land on her shoulder or lap. When the same action was attempted by a chimera the size of a lorry, it was somewhat less cute.

The men in the hangar scrambled out of the way, yelling. Half-­buckled barding trailed like banners from Chi as she glided some twenty feet. Octavia remained utterly still as the gremlin-­mecha landed mere feet away. A violent gust of air rippled her skirts and hair.

At least Chi didn't aim for my lap.

“That's the longest glide so far!” crowed one of the men.

“Hello to you, too,” murmured Octavia as Chi trilled and lowered her head.

“I did not get such a welcome this morning,” said Alonzo. He walked toward her—­no, sauntered. No person could merely walk in a pilot's attire, not with the way the jodhpurs flattered the thighs and the coat hugged the shoulders.

“I'm not sure if she's really excited because of me, or if she smells this.” Octavia held up a round of hard cheese. Chi's nostrils flared. “Leaf expressed a great fondness for cheese, so I figured Chi might appreciate the same splurge. I paid one of Cody's guards to run down to the plaza for me.”

“Eh! Eh! We're not feeding the thing before the bout!” said one of the men, waving his arms as he approached.

Octavia stared him down. “Yes, and what a cockamamie plan that is. She's gone without food since at least yesterday. Both of her stomachs are empty. If you want her to have energy, I suggest she eat much more than a round of aged vellette. She needs bread, lots of it.” Octavia set down the treat.

The engineer gaped at her, face flushed. Alonzo looked impressed and amused.

“Do as she says.” Mr. Cody strode up behind them. He wore a snazzy suit of midnight blue with a metallic sheen, an unneeded monocle dangling from his lapel.

The man backed away, bowing, and several other servants went running. As Chi crouched to eat, a few other engineers crept up to resume their work on the chimera's armor.

“An interesting and specific diagnosis of her hunger,” Mr. Cody said, stopping beside her and Alonzo.

Lovely, I've piqued his curiosity and now he's fishing for information. Sometimes I need to keep my mouth shut, or at the very least, whisper.

“In the circle the other day, I had insights into her stomach capacity. Alonzo mentioned that she hadn't been fed.” A lie, but Alonzo played along and nodded.

“I see.” Mr. Cody seemed disappointed by the mundane answer.

Chi finished the cheese. Her long purple tongue lapped her lips to glean any crumbs. Trilling softly, she butted her chin against Octavia's shoulder. Chi's breath reeked of cheese with an acidic edge, and Octavia almost gagged as she took a step back.

“You're welcome, not-­so-­little-­one,” she said, laughing. It felt good to laugh, to be distracted. Tension thickened the air like cornstarch in stew, carried through every body, every flurried preparation. Maybe some of the energy seeped down from the Arena; ninety thousand ­people were expected to attend.

They want blood. No—­they want to win bets. Blood is an exciting bonus, even among these pledged pacifists.

Alonzo rubbed Chi between the ears, right where a metal skull plate began. The chimera chirped, eyes blinking. Octavia took in the full protective barding with her eyes and senses. The extremities and wings were already largely metal, and now most any flesh was covered with some sort of shielding as well. None of it was silver, of course—­most of it looked to be copper.

Servants set down bread loaves that steamed in the cool basement air. Chi bit down on a loaf with a soft crack, showing sharp teeth as long as Octavia's hand. Light footsteps tapped on the floor behind them, the song familiar.

“Alonzo!” Tatiana cried as she ran up to her brother. He met her with a tight hug, twirling her around.

“ 'Tis good to see you again.” He grinned as he set her down. Three men followed Tatiana, each dressed in long jackets and broad pants as befitted a spectacle in the Arena.

“I hired guards, Alonzo,” Tatiana said, lowering her voice. “Mr. Cody referred me to a firm. He said they had to pass his requirements, too.”

“Good. I am glad.” Alonzo nodded to the men.

She looked past him, her blue eyes going wide. “Oh. Is that what all the rumors are about? Is that really a gremlin?”

“In part.” Mr. Cody approached and bowed to Tatiana. “It's been a few years since I saw you last, sweet child.”

“Two years at winter solstice,” she said, her attention still on the chimera. “Alonzo, you're going to wear armor, right?” She didn't sound too worried, which surprised Octavia.

“Yes. I will don it in a few minutes. Tatiana, Miss Leander is here, too.”

Tatiana offered a part grimace, part smile as she curtsied for Octavia. “I heard you healed someone in public yesterday. There's a great deal of talk.”

“As we are already aware, Tatiana,” said Alonzo. He shot Octavia a look of concern, as if she required a reminder of their need to swiftly exit the region.

A bell dinged on the far side of the hangar. “Time! Time!” called out a chorus.

Alonzo gave Tatiana another quick hug. “I am glad to see you this one last time.”

“What? This is it?” Emotion choked her voice.

He pulled back and looked to Octavia. He began to bow, as was proper.

“Piffle on that,” Octavia said. She stopped him by wrapping both arms around him. He was stiff for a second and then seemed to melt against her.
His heart races. He's nervous and scared.

He pulled back enough to study her face. His blue eyes looked pained.
His song increases in tempo. He's not simply scared for himself. “
I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I will take care of Chi. Do not worry for either of us.”

“That's a ridiculous thing to say and you know it.”

A smile softened his lips. “Nevertheless, it must be said.”

“Keep in mind that if you
are
maimed, I'll be rather cross with you.” Octavia stepped back, her hands gliding down his arms.

“For that reason alone, I will take care.” His fingers squeezed hers. His thumb rubbed a quick circle before he let go.

“Gear up! It's time!” said Mr. Cody. He clapped twice in quick succession. Wide doors on the far side cranked open to reveal an electric-­lit passage. He turned to Octavia and Tatiana, his smile threatening to outdo the sun. “Let's head up to the suite, shall we, ladies?”

Lady, be with Alonzo and Chi. Help them survive, help them help each other. Please.

Octavia clutched her satchel to her hip as they rode a lift upward. Tatiana and Mr. Cody's men occupied most of the space.

Tatiana glowered at her as they rattled past several floors. “You have a new surcoat.”

That's almost an effort at niceties. “
Yes. I'm borrowing it from Mr. Cody's household.”

“Green looks good on you. The black dress beneath is far different than your . . . than the other dress.” The word “medician” had been dropped from the sentence like an implied expletive.

“Thank you,” Octavia murmured. It wouldn't do to tell her that the full medician uniform was on beneath the thin black gown. The layers made her look especially thick around the waist and hips, but that didn't bother her vanity too terribly. Practicality overruled fashion, especially after two weeks of assassination and kidnapping attempts. She did adore the green coat, though. It was the sort of thing she would have once coveted but never in a hundred years possessed. Tamarania set all the fashion standards. “The orange of your dress suits you well, too.”

“You do seem overly fond of headbands. Do they not wear hats in your part of Caskentia? Is cloth so rare?”

That insult was so poorly veiled that one of the guards even shuffled and cleared his throat. Octavia touched the headband out of reflex. She had overlapped a green ribbon on the white, but Tatiana was right. It looked pedestrian compared to Tatiana's fascinator or likely any of the other accessories worn by southern women.

“This headband has sentimental value for me,” she said.
Not a lie. It keeps me from curling up in fetal position and screaming my throat raw, so I am rather fond of it.

Tatiana managed a slight smile as her eyes went to the satchel and parasol. She didn't need to say anything. Octavia managed a toothless smile in return, almost daring the fashion assessment to continue.

“Have you two spent much time together?” asked Mr. Cody, too happy to be aware of the venom between them. They shook their heads. “Well, this should be the perfect time to remedy that! Some fine entertainment, good food. An ideal resting day.”

“Mr. Cody, sir,” said Octavia, fidgeting with her satchel strap. “Don't you worry about what will happen down there?”

He blinked. “Two days ago, I was desperate to have a contestant in the bout at all. The work you both accomplished with that mecha—­I am still in awe. No, I'm not worried, not anymore. Mr. Garret and that chimera work in strange symbiosis. Whether they win or not, the audience is going to eat it up like churned cream, though at this point I do have complete faith that they will dominate the pyramid.”

“You're not worried either?” Octavia asked Tatiana.

­“People don't get hurt
that
often. I'm not worried about
his
health.” Tatiana looked away, sadness flashing across her face. “Anyway, Alonzo's always been a good pilot.”

Octavia nodded. “He is. Takes after your father, from what I understand. Have you ever tried piloting?”

Tatiana arched an eyebrow, the gesture so like Alonzo it was eerie.

Mr. Cody burst out laughing. “A girl pilot? Well, it could happen, I suppose. Ah, here we are.” The doors parted and he walked on.

Octavia matched Tatiana's pace. “Everyone always tells Alonzo he's like his father. You have the same blood. Why not consider it?”

Tatiana pursed her lips and seemed to consider Octavia instead, then walked on past. Her entourage followed.

The suite was what one would expect of a man of Mr. Cody's status, all plush fabrics, dark wood, and riveted metal. Laughing ­people mingled, champagne flutes in hand, notes of indigestion and inebriation growing bolder in their bodies' songs.

A different melody stood out to Octavia. She walked past the buffet to a large golden cage in the corner. The gremlin within was the largest she had seen, easily the size of a bird dog. His wings folded close to his body, and unlike any other gremlins she'd seen, his wings and arms were separate. The seams in his flesh had healed poorly and resembled patches on a quilt, shades of green varied in each segment.

A small sign was bolted to the base:
PRIME: THE FI
RST GREMLIN.
Near his feet were bits of silver that had been warped by his touch. She wondered if wealthy ­people had tossed old jewelry his way, like folks throwing dry bread crusts to ducks.

“Hello, little one,” Octavia said.

“You medician.” The words were a croak.

She stepped back, startled, even as she reached out with her senses to analyze the body in more detail.
A complete mishmash of parts. Cat, dog, bat, horse—­a human larynx.

“You've been healed by a medician before, recently,” she murmured. She felt the scars where tumors recently resided, as if they were divots beneath her fingertips.
The body fights against itself.

“Yessss.” A pause. “You smell like tree.”

Octavia looked at her arms, then around. No one stood close. The gremlin must be a permanent installation in Mr. Cody's suite, and one far less popular than the bar. “Do I?”

The gremlin leaned closer. The snout was longer than on most gremlins—­more canine. “Like chimera.”

Herald trumpets rang out from the Arena. Thousands upon thousands of voices flared and then faded. Octavia's gaze didn't shift from the old gremlin. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Miss Leander!” Mr. Cody grabbed her by the arm. “Come! Have a drink, watch!”

Even as he walked her away, she studied the gremlin. Those beady black eyes didn't blink.

The heart of the Arena stretched out in a massive rectangle, all sides surrounded by multicolored flecks of humanity. Their balcony granted an advantageous view of the metal pyramid. The man-­made mountain was about a hundred feet in height. Switchbacks and platforms made some routes clear, though steep slopes and cliffs wouldn't impede some entrants, depending on their abilities.

She shivered at the sight of so many ­people, suddenly grateful for Mr. Cody's suite. It provided a buffer of privacy that dropped the combined songs to a low murmur.

A champagne flute was shoved into her hand. “Are you aware of how the rules differ from a standard playing board?” asked Mr. Cody. She shook her head. He leaned back on the railing, clearly relishing his role. She made sure to stay several feet away from the edge, the risk of defenestration still very much on her mind. “The Warriors' boards found in your average tavern rely on basic magic, magnets, and luck. The men place their bets and hope their chosen mecha creature makes it to the top first. Here, of course, we have intelligent pilots.”

“Sometimes,” cut in another well-­dressed man. The others laughed.

Mr. Cody acknowledged this with a smile. He used his swelled gut to help support his glass. “The bout is thirty minutes. We use five contestants. A mecha must claim the peak for ten minutes to win, or hold it at the end. Some say you can nap for twenty-­nine minutes and wake up for the good part.”

“The good part. Blasts of fire, concentrated aether, geologica burrowing.” She rubbed both arms against her torso.
I cannot understand these Tamarans and their standards. I save a woman and a babe's life, and as I leave the train, ­people hiss and slash their arms. Here, magic is all good and well if it's used for violent entertainment and monetary profit.