in the head during that landing.”
Yara came up beside him and peered through the hatchway. She was blinking and seemed to have trouble focusing her eyes. The whole team needed a doctor. And an alcohol-drenched vacation.
“Get your belongings,” Sicarius told Maldynado. “We can’t remain at the crash site.” His gaze tilted skyward.
“Is he second in command?” Yara asked quietly.
Maldynado rubbed his aching temples. “Dear ancestors, I hope not.”
Back in the cabin that he’d never had a chance to sleep in, Maldynado found his rucksack jammed under a bunk, the flap still tied shut. His rapier and utility knife were another matter. In the chaos, they’d separated themselves from their sheaths, and he had to crawl all over the cabin to retrieve them from amongst pillows, bed sheets, and blankets that had flown everywhere during the haphazard final flight.
Yara beat him out of the dirigible and already waited on the beach when Maldynado hopped into the water. He gave a sad salute to the craft as he slogged away. He noted its location, so he could tell Lady Buckingcrest where they had crashed her property. It would take a lot of hard work to win her favor again after destroying her prize dirigible, but maybe the craft-and their relationship-could be salvaged.
“Are you going somewhere?” Books was asking someone when Maldynado reached the beach.
Sicarius had shouldered his rucksack. “To find Lokdon. Where did she fall out?” This time, Books was the recipient of the icy gaze, as if Sicarius blamed him for letting her go.
“I’m not positive.” Books gnashed his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned the wetlands. Blood streamed from a cut beneath one of his graying temples, and the wrinkles creasing his brow seemed more pronounced than usual. He eventually pointed toward Lake Fenroot. “I think we were over the lake.”
“You think,” Sicarius said.
“Yes, think. At the time, our dubious pilots-” Books waved toward Maldynado and Yara, “-were hurling the craft to and fro. When Amaranthe slid through the door, I was struggling to keep from being flung out myself. I didn’t have time to peek out a porthole to triangulate our location.”
Maldynado propped his fists on his hips and was about to argue that there’d been nothing dubious about the piloting-there was only so much one could do when being shot at by a craft with superior firepower-but he noticed Yara standing a few feet away in a similar hands-on-hips pose, her lips curled as if also poised to retort. Something about the similarity disoriented him. He dropped his hands and said nothing. She looked at him at the same time as he was eyeing her, frowned, and seemed to forget her retort too.
The west side of the lake, Basilard signed, his pale-skinned fingers flying. We tried our best to help her, but it happened too quickly. It’s possible… When Sicarius focused on him, Basilard’s fingers faltered. He glanced at Books and ran a hand over his bald, scarred head before squaring his shoulders and continuing. We were high and near the shoreline. Shallow water. It’s possible she is… injured.
Maldynado swallowed. He’d been trying to stay above the treetops, so they’d been at least fifty feet up when the other craft struck.
Without a thank you or even a nod, Sicarius said, “I will recover Lokdon.” Then, as he started walking toward the lake, he added, “Sire, come with me. I can best protect you.”
The emperor, who had heretofore been quiet, blinked and stared at his back. “Uh, thanks, but I’ll take my chances here.”
Sicarius halted and turned slowly, pinning the emperor with his stare. Emperor or not, Maldynado expected the young man to squirm under those dark eyes-everyone else did. Sespian lifted his chin, though, and returned the stare. There was even the faintest hint of an eyebrow raise, as if to say, “That’s right. I’m refusing to obey you. What’re you going to do about it?”
Though Maldynado wanted to hunt for Amaranthe, too, he felt compelled to wink at the emperor and say, “Don’t worry, Sicarius, we can take good care of him. We’re fine pugilists.” If Sespian had been anyone else, Maldynado would have thrown an arm around his shoulders as he spoke, but there were protocols against touching the emperor. In battle, congratulatory shoulder thumps from trusted warrior-caste brethren might be appropriate, but, alas, Maldynado was neither trusted nor warrior-caste any more.
Sicarius’s face never changed-someday Maldynado wanted to see the man lose his temper, or at least sneer in frustration-but he did take a step toward the emperor, as if he might force the issue. He froze before he’d taken more than that one step though. His hand dropped to that nasty black dagger of his, and he swiveled, his eyes shifting toward the sky-or at least what they could see of it. The balloon and lingering smoke obscured the view.
“What is it?” Books asked.
“Trouble,” Akstyr muttered, pushing a snarl of hair out of his eyes. Dampness had flattened his usual spikes and made his mismatched clothing appear even baggier than usual. If he had to flee, he’d be lucky if his trousers didn’t drop to his ankles.
A likely guess, Basilard signed, and glanced toward the trees, as if seeking a hiding spot.
Though numerous minutes had passed since the crash, the birds hadn’t started chirping again. Maybe it was the smoke and the flames still dancing in some of the trees. Or maybe it was something more inimical. Maldynado found himself scouring the sky as well. Their attackers had prematurely left them for dead once before-in the tunnel cave-in. They might not be so quick to leave the area this time.
“Get off the beach,” Sicarius said. “Into the trees. Hide.”
Nobody decided to use that moment to question whether Sicarius was second-in-command or not.
Maldynado grabbed the end of the footlocker and waved for Basilard to help him with it, but Sicarius barked, “Leave the gear.”
Yara, Books, and Basilard sprinted for cover in the forest. The emperor hesitated, as if he meant to wait to make sure the others were safe before running.
Sicarius strode toward him, spun him toward the woods, and pushed. “Go, Sire.”
Maldynado caught up and ran at Sespian’s side. Emperor or not, the young man could use an ally, especially since Sicarius seemed to have-ancestral spirits save the boy-made “protecting” him his project. Even if it was well meaning, Sicarius’s attention wasn’t something a person should have to face alone.
“Here, Sire.” Maldynado hopped a stump and slid into a nook formed by a tightly packed copse of trees.
With his broad shoulders, Maldynado had to turn sideways to squeeze into the spot, but he wagered nobody in the air over the wetlands would be able to see him. He waved, inviting Sespian in beside him. Being of slighter build, the emperor slipped in without trouble. Sicarius paused behind him.
“Sorry,” Maldynado said brightly. “No room for three.”
Sicarius opened his mouth, but, before he could speak, a great cacophony shattered the stillness of the wetlands. It pounded at Maldynado’s eardrums, and a stunned moment passed before he could identify the noise as wood snapping, a lot of wood snapping. A tremor ran through the earth, and ripples shot across the nearby water. The smell of something burning singed the air.
Sicarius disappeared from view. Maldynado wanted to sink low in his nook and bury his head, but he peeked around the closest tree instead.
All around the beach, trees had been felled or were falling. So many branches and bushes burned that it seemed like one huge inferno spouting flames into the sky. Even in his protected copse, the heat battered Maldynado’s face.
Every trace of the dirigible, including the metal hull, had disappeared. Incinerated.
Maldynado groaned. “So much for salvaging the craft.” Not only would Lady Buckingcrest never forgive him, but she might even send men out to hunt him down.
Nothing but smoldering black smudges remained of the footlocker and abandoned gear on the beach. Beyond the crash site, a massive dark shape cast its shadow over the water. The solid dome hovered a few meters above the wetlands, its smooth, unadorned hull so inky black it appeared as if a semi-circular hole had opened up in the sky, revealing empty nothingness within. The craft seemed to be waiting.
“That cannot be good,” the emperor murmured.
Maldynado pulled back and leaned his forehead against fuzzy, damp moss growing up the side of his tree. “I hope Amaranthe was able to get out of the water and find a place to hide before they saw her.”
“They’re probably not looking for her,” Sespian said. “They’ll want me back.”
Back or dead? Maldynado kept the thought to himself. Sespian had enough on his mind. “If they stumbled
