Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2)

Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2) Page 18

He looked away, as if the truth of her words had struck him a blow. Then his eyes narrowed. “And what of you?”

“What of me?”

“How will you treat me?”

Lena shook her head, her mouth working silently. “I’m not quite sure I—”

His expression hardened. “You know what they’ll say. What they’ll think when they see you with me. Will you play along? Will you laugh behind your hand with ’em, to assure your own place in their world ain’t at risk? Or will you risk their censure? Risk everythin’ to prove the worth of your words? For there’ll be a cost to this, you mark me words. And you’ll be the one as pays it.”

She stared up at him, the nearness of his body unnerving her. Not once had she thought of the cost to herself of squiring him about. To be seen with him, with a verwulfen, was tantamount to social suicide.

“Aye,” he murmured. “Thought so.” Reaching out he cupped her cheek, turning her face up toward his. “You can play games with me, Lena, because here, no one can see. Well, I’m tired of bein’ your little toy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am lettin’ others dictate how I see meself. But for all your brave words, so do you.”

The words were a blow. For all her hatred of the Echelon, she’d conformed to their rules as surely as he had. She’d let them define who she was. What she thought. What she dared to do.

Her very own cage.

Will let her face go then stepped back. “You never thought of it, did you?” His lips curled in a bitter smile and he grabbed his coat off the table, slinging it over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you at the official presentation.” With a short nod in her direction, he started for the door. “Then we’ll see if your words are worth anythin’.”

Two days later, Will leaned against a brick wall, examining the enormous white tower that speared halfway to the heavens. The alabaster marble gleamed even in the dismal afternoon rain, an ever-present reminder of the power of the Echelon. Tomorrow night they’d host the official presentation ball there, once the Scandinavian delegate arrived. He’d be required to put on his best manners and charm, try to entice the Scandinavians into signing the treaty. A Herculean task that made his palms wet.

What if he failed?

He’d never realized how much a part of him longed for the respectability of being a free man. No price on his head, able to come and go as he pleased without watching over his shoulder. Able to do anything he wanted…be anything he wanted…without resigning himself to the fact that he was just hired muscle.

He didn’t bother to think of it much, but Lena’s words the other day were chasing around and around inside his head. He owed Blade the world, but a part of him chafed at the constrictiveness of his life. Something hungry and yearning lurked inside his heart and he didn’t know what it was or how to fix it.

His eyes narrowed as a gilded steam carriage pulled up in front of the tower gates, thick coal smoke shooting from its exhaust. He’d tracked it from Mayfair, where he’d been keeping watch over Barrons’s mansion all morning. The rain helped hide him and the footmen never looked around. Fools all. It just served to prove how easily Colchester could get at her if he wanted.

A footman opened the door and a slender hand appeared, resting on the footman’s. Skirts the color of crushed rose petals swept into view, then Lena alighted, peering up at the tower nervously.

The sight of her never failed to take his breath. Suddenly the unknown need, the hunger within him, had a name and face.

And that troubled him more than the entire Echelon combined.

You can’t have her.

She was human and he verwulfen. He could never be in her bed without risking her life, risking infecting her with the loupe. Something he shouldn’t have to remind himself of.

With a scowl Will crossed his arms over his chest and settled in to wait. He couldn’t guard her within the Ivory Tower and that made the skin on the back of his neck rise. He would just have to trust that Lena would be safe.

The alternative was unthinkable.

Lena glanced over her shoulder as she stroked the raven’s glossy feather. The rookery at the top of Crowe Tower was full of squawking cages the Echelon had once used to send messages. Now, with the invention of pneumatic tubes and radio frequency, there was no need for them, but the ravens were tradition. To not see them circling the very tip of the tower would seem strange indeed.

And people still used them occasionally. It had become fashionable for blue bloods and young debutantes to send each other secret messages. To get a raven meant considerably more than flowers these days.

Finding the ugly old bird she knew and recognized, she slipped open its cage and coaxed it onto her wrist. Not always as accurate as a homing pigeon, if a crow was trained properly it could find the house it had been bred in. Then a servant would return it to the tower for its next message.

There was no coat of arms bound to this crow’s cage; she had no way of knowing who it belonged to.

A steel thong bound its left leg, so she slipped the small leather-bound tube out of her cleavage and secured it tightly. She hadn’t had a chance to send the message Mr. Mandeville had given her yet. Too many visits to the rookery might just arouse suspicion and it had taken days of deliberation before she’d decided to send it at all.

This was the last one until she could speak to Mercury.

Glancing over her shoulder, she carried it to the open clock that dominated the room. The heavy bronze clock face at the top of the tower drew all eyes, cold wind streaming in through its open facets. The steady tick of the second hand slid past her face as she lifted the raven and bid it into the air.

The Ivory Tower soared in front of her. Crowe Tower was one of four smaller towers that surrounded the massive keep. Her raven spiraled up, circling the gleaming white tower before vanishing over a nearby abandoned cathedral.

Her duty done, Lena turned for the stairs, gliding between the wooden cages. She’d tried to track the raven once with a spyglass but knew only that it headed west a little distance before spiraling down.

Mayfair or Kensington, she suspected.

Which meant her contact was highly entrenched in the Echelon. A servant perhaps? Even a highly placed thrall? Someone with access to the Echelon’s secrets. From the information they passed on, they almost had to be close to the Council of Dukes itself.

In the next day or two an answering raven would scratch at her window with a note to deliver to Mandeville. Leo presumed she had a beau.

Closing the heavy timber door to the rookery, she latched it, then turned. A flash of black silk swept across her vision and someone yanked her back against their body, the sharp edge of a knife pressing lightly against her carotid.

“Don’t move,” came the hoarse whisper.

Lena froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Had someone followed her? Did they know what she’d just sent?

“What face does death wear?” It could have been male or female, she couldn’t tell. But she recognized the words. A sign of another humanist.

“A pale one,” she whispered.

The knife edge eased. But didn’t vanish.

“The Scandinavian delegation arrives tomorrow,” the voice said. “I want you to destroy any chance that they’ll sign the treaty.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said. “I’m done with this. I’ve spoken to Mandeville.”

The knife edge tightened and Lena arched back, swallowing hard. Whoever held her was taller than her, but not overwhelmingly.

“You’re done with this when Mercury says you are.” Cold voice, cruel hands.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you Mercury?”

There was a long moment of silence. “I pass along Mercury’s orders.”

“How do I stop the treaty? I don’t know—”

“The Beast,” the voice whispered. “Use him.”

Lena ground her teeth together. “No.”

The sharp retort echoed in the stone corridor. The hand around her waist slid away. “Perhaps this will change your mind?”

Something metal and angular was shoved into her hand. Lena lifted it just enough to see, her heart stuttering when she realized what it was.

One of Charlie’s clockwork soldiers. She’d made it herself. The last time she’d seen it, it had been on his shelf.

In his bedroom.

“Destroy the treaty.” The whisper was harsh. “Or else I’ll take more than his toys.”

Then the pressure vanished from her throat and she staggered forward as liquid footsteps darted away down the corridor.

The only glimpse she caught of the humanist was of a black, swirling cape. But one thing caught her attention; no human could move that quickly.

It had been a blue blood.

Eleven

The air along the southern docks was redolent with perfume. It couldn’t quite disguise the earthy flavor of the Thames, slightly riper now that it was summer. Here and there, ladies bought scented pomander bags to their noses and some had even stitched them into their fans.

Metaljackets lined the platform that had been erected along the docks, each standing at strict attention, the blue illumination in their eye slits dulled to a neutral glow. Gaslight flickered over their burnished gold breastplates; the Imperial squadron was comprised of only two hundred automatons, but they were impressive. Used mainly for ceremonial purposes, circular throwing blades attached to their arms made them highly dangerous as well.

Nervousness raced along Lena’s skin. The enthusiasm of the crowd was contagious, but Lena couldn’t quite summon a smile. Most of the Echelon was in attendance, dressed in glittering jewels and bright silks. Any one of them could have been the blue blood in the tower.

A hand pressed against her spine, a cool whisper brushing across her ear. “Relax. He’s not going to attempt anything here. Not if he wants to keep breathing, anyway.” Leo stepped up beside her, his hand warm on the curve of her back.

Colchester. She’d almost forgotten about him.

“I know. Not here. Not in public view, anyway.” She glanced to the side. “You’ve heard nothing of…of Will?”

It had been three days. Leo had had Will’s wardrobe delivered, but he’d only sent her a note saying that he was busy with something. Their words the other day had touched a nerve. For both of them. Lena had busied herself with the transformational clockwork, trying not to think of him.

Easier said than done. It didn’t matter that she was only dealing with the internal cogs and gears at this stage; sooner or later she would begin to solder the iron sheeting of the exterior into place, forming the roughened physique of her clockwork warrior. Even in clockwork—the one place she’d always been able to switch off her busy mind and simply put together the puzzle pieces—she couldn’t escape him.

“He’ll be here.” A statement, not a question. Leo’s dark gaze raked the crowd of gaudily dressed blue bloods. “I’ll have to join the Council when the Scandinavians arrive. But I won’t leave you unattended.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Leo searched her gaze. Then nodded. “Stay here. I’ll keep an eye on you from the platform.”

Above the river, the sky suddenly exploded. Gasps flavored the air and people cheered.

A pinwheel of whirling pinks and blues tore through the velvety sky, punctuated by the scream of rockets. An orange fireball bloomed, destroying Lena’s night vision.

“Here they come,” Leo murmured. “I’d best be off.”

As Lena blinked, a hint of a dark outline showed on the river. It glided across the oily waters, as sleek and sure as a serpent. The laughter and cheering died to a hushed whisper as the dragon-ship appeared. The only sound was the whine of the fireworks launching.

Almost two hundred feet long, it faintly resembled the longboats of its ancestors. A sinuous serpent head served as a figurehead, and enormous canvas wings were tucked in tight against its sides. The metal hull gleamed with gold paint, and jeweled shields lined the sides, each gem sparkling in the gaslight.

Two others flanked it, their helium envelopes deflated and stowed away. They could be used both in the air and on water, and were dangerous on each. Tall warriors lined the decks, clad in dark blue regimentals with gold military frogging down the chest, and helmets with tall black feathers. The gaslight on the docks glittered off the amber shine of their eyes.

“Look at them,” a woman whispered nearby. “How barbaric.”

“I am looking,” another woman murmured behind her fan and they both laughed.

Fireworks exploded with frenetic enthusiasm. The sky was washed with gold and blue and pink. Lena couldn’t help herself. She looked up, her gaze torn from the silent ships on the river.