Slave of the sky captain, p.5
Slave of the Sky Captain, page 5
“And if I’m not?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If you are not the young lady I’m looking for, then I will use my option to sell you to one”—he read from my papers—“Mister Tarvis Gentry. I will wash my hands of you and walk away.” He turned away, giving me his back for a nonce. “No insult intended.”
“I’m certain.” Belonging to Tarvis sounded like the worst of those two options. Yet it really wasn’t my choice at all.
I needed this to work.
“Set your tests,” I invited.
He turned from me then, pacing the room as he perused the papers. For a moment, he paused, leaning his hand against the crystalline traceries in the wall.
“Your father is Alman Dartagne. Your mother… your mother’s name is not marked.” It wasn’t a question, but I could hear the wondering.
“Why does my mother’s name matter? Nobody’s cared about it for over fifteen years, and now everyone’s afire to know.” I was heartily sick of the subject already.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, caring. He turned back to me, cocking his garish masque to one side. “Who was she?”
I was stunned by how that brightly painted, leering grin jarred against his tender words. With a shrug of one shoulder, I twined my wrists about one another in front of me.
Maybe this wouldn’t be awful.
“She’s gone.” I shrugged. “Why do you care?”
“Answer me, Ysabel.” He stepped closer, his voice soft as he spoke. His eyes were intent.
“She died when I was young. A cart ran over her in the market street.” I shrugged again. “I never really knew her. I’m told I look like her. The hair, the eyes.”
I knew that the only way I could possibly get through this was to take the lead here. I had to be strong. I had to make going with him my choice. After all, I knew what men like him really wanted. Might as well see if I can get this ship in the sky.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and arched my back just a touch, shifting my weight to thrust out one hip invitingly.
“I even got her good breeding hips.” My voice came in a sultry purr.
He just stood there until the weight of his silent regard made me shift my stance and look away. That uncomfortable silence stretched through the room for a long nonce.
“You are Du’anni. Of the clans.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
I felt compelled to respond anyway, with a small dip of my head.
“So I’m told.” Was that what sparked his rut? Maybe it was something I could use against him. Somehow.
“Yet you don’t wear your hair in tribal braids. Did you lose your mother before she could teach you?”
I frowned at him. This was not how a new slave owner was supposed to act. All the stories agreed. My acidic tongue moved before I could think.
“Do you want me to sing you the lay of my foremothers? I’m more than jus—!”
“Would you?”
“What?” Was he serious?
“Would you sing the lay of your foremothers for me?” He sounded… wistful?
I could only stare at him.
“You’re from the Al’dal region, right? Only those clans create foremother songs.” His voice had a smug lilt to it. “It’s been long since I’ve heard one.”
“You…” I stopped. “You know a lot about the Du’anni for someone who isn’t one.”
He gave a bark of a laugh. “How do you know I’m not?”
“Because no clan member would ever ask to hear the lay of my foremothers. Not unless we were related and it were a holy day. Or a feast day. Or at a funeral. Or—”
He laughed, cutting me off.
“You caught me. I’m not Clansfolke. But I’ve heard enough for now.” The man set my papers on the small work desk.
He started to say something, but three sharp knocks on the door interrupted him.
“Come in, Barnabas.” The man didn’t even turn.
I gasped. “Wh—? Barna—?”
When Barnabas walked in, he gave me a broad, toothy grin. My head whipped back to my owner.
“Then you’re—?”
“I am Captain Argent.” His tone held ample amusement as he gave an elaborate, mocking bow. “Though remember to call me ‘sir’ when we step outside. I don’t want anyone to know I am present.”
While Barnabas closed the door, his captain took off his masque.
I steeled myself. Now came the horror.
Oh.
I was wrong.
The captain had deep, black hair pulled back in a rough tail. His beard was meticulous, and his smile was charming, roguish. Like a man who knew exactly who he was and what he was for, he was at home in his own skin.
In another life, where I wasn’t a debtslave, I would have given much and more to attract a man like him. Even the way he grinned at me, both possessive and cunning, made my breath catch just a bit.
I tried not to stare.
Then something occurred to me. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Captain Argent?” One eyebrow rose. “As in, the Sabre of the Riogiin Line?” He might as well have claimed to be Altheus or Isanor the Ever-Even Hand.
He chuckled. “Yes, Ysabel.”
Oh certainly. I looked the man up and down. He was certainly handsome but a hero of the Riftingwar?
Unlikely.
“If you’re Captain Argent, why was Barnabas bidding against you?”
“Clever girl.” He made a clicking sound against his teeth. “I didn’t exactly expect to bid on a debtslave today. I’m a private man, and certain unsavory folke are always on the prowl for me. Barnabas here is my First Man and rather flashy. He draws the attention I don’t want, you see?”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t certain I did see.
“Ysabel, I’ve come very far to find you. I didn’t expect this”—he glanced at one of the small, tissue-thin papers—“Royce fellow to get wind of my search, but he apparently did.”
“Why were you looking for me?” This man, who had seemed so dashing and confident only moments ago, now had my hackles up.
And why did he specifically request this odd room? Superstitious?
He cocked his head at me for a long moment, as if trying to make a decision. Then, he sighed. “Ysabel, I’ll explain more once we’re done with this unsavory business, but you’re a very special girl.” He paused. “I need you to trust me.”
“Says the man who trades in flesh.” I scowled. “Why can’t you tell me now?”
“It’s complex.” Gears spun behind his green eyes. Then, he seemed to come to his decision. “Your mother’s name is Iryniå.” He stared straight through me, his eyes like a green fire. “Not was. Is. I spoke with her less than a month ago.”
“What?” Literally nothing the man could have said could have thrown me further off my stride. “I mean, yes, it was her name, but—”
“We have a lot to discuss, Ysabel.” He turned to Barnabas. “Fetch the papers and whatever witness they want. We need to be quick.”
“Sir.” Barnabas glanced at me with a small smile. “You should know that the men—” Barnabas went silent with a wilting glare from the captain.
He dipped his head once then slipped out the door.
Need to be quick? Why? What kind of gloam-dreamt plans did he have for me?
My heart still pounded in my chest from the mention of my mother. How did he know about her? Who was he anyway? Certainly not some famed hero of the war but definitely a man with a plan.
As I glanced around, I couldn’t help but recall Royce’s words:
Ol’ Royce hears things, and lately he hears about a mysterious coin-purse that has an eye out for a lil’ something special.
That was spine-chilling, as I thought on it.
Old plans are usually the best. I watched the dark-haired man as I schemed. Perhaps I do need to step along. And soon.
A moment later, Barnabas returned with the fat auctioneer and a slimy blockhand carrying an armful of scrolls.
I edged toward them as the four men were engrossed with paperwork, signing this, sealing that. I glanced at them with every sidling step, but none looked up. Finally, coins were passed from hand to hand.
Then, a certain key was placed on the table.
This is it!
I took one more sidling step. No one noticed. I covered the key with one hand and ghosted it away.
Then, I slipped back. I quietly opened the not-quite latched door. A quick glance told me that nothing waited in the hall. I drifted out the door, leaving the room of metal and weirding crystals behind. I hoped no ghostlight followed.
I can’t run. I can’t run. I chanted in my head. Running means I’ll be noticed. If I’m noticed, I’ll be caught. I have to act like I’m supposed to be here.
I slipped down the hallway, trying to keep my head down. I can’t run. I can’t run. I can’t r—
“Hey! Hey, you!” A man’s voice bellowed.
“Well, that ends that.” I broke into a frenzied sprint. I ran, my feet furious against the ground as my heart thundered in my chest.
This was probably the only chance I’d get.
5
Almost mad with panic, I flew down the short corridor and dashed out into the sunlight, sprinting wildly through the bidder’s field.
I had no idea where I was going, but it hardly mattered. My heart pumped, and my lungs ached, as my legs pounded the ground. It was exhilarating. I’d never known how glorious freedom felt.
My time as a captive, no matter how short, had made quite an impression.
“Stop!” A second voice yelled as I streaked by.
Unlikely. I grinned.
I didn’t look to see if anyone followed me, simply concentrated on catching my vim. I had to get to the air docks, and my wind already shortened. But if I got to the docks…
Surely a ship would take me for the right price.
I knew full well that “the right price” would probably involve me on my back. Women often got taken by some of those captains after all, usually those living in the Verges, women no longer protected by the Accords. The stories of what happened to them were known by every girl before she flowered.
I had to admit that the thought didn’t sit well with me. This was a dangerous game, but I would deal with that when I got to the docks. I just had to get there bef—
Wham!
My face planted directly in the muddy, trampled grass. I wriggled but to no avail. I was completely immobilized by a heavy weight.
“I got her!” The deep voice of the supposed Captain Argent called back.
“Obviously,” I grumbled. Lost gods, but the man was fit! I had a good lead on him before I started running.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, and I don’t think you do either.” His whispered voice was a curious blend of exasperation and confusion. “Ysabel, we need to get you out of here.”
“I agree.” I struggled. “I was in the middle of doing just that without getting raped by some delusional loon pretending to be a war hero!”
He didn’t respond but continued to pin me to the ground with his vast bulk. I resisted the urge to struggle again. He was far too strong for me to move.
As I lay still, I felt his… hardness pressing into me.
“Truthfully?” I craned my neck. “Can’t wait, can you?” I glanced downward, where, for the first time, I noticed his pistol hidden behind his coat. It had shifted as he pinned me, and now it pushed into me.
Oops. It had been his pistol, and I had thought it was his gun.
“Oh, Ysabel. You really believe—?” His gaze dropped to the gun, and then met my eyes. Chuckling, he shook his head.
I flushed.
“What do you think?” I hissed the words. “I was sold into slavery this morning, after all, and I’ve spent my entire life watching what happens to young women who get bought.” I paused. “I know what men like you want.”
“No.” His gaze drifted far away. “You don’t know what I want, Ysabel, not at all. That’s part of the problem.” He shifted a touch, making certain that he had me securely.
Then, he reached for one of his pouches, his eyes solidly on mine.
“Let me show you.” His voice was soft, like a kiss at midnight. When he touched my hand, I gasped at the warmth.
“What?” I peered down at my hand. “I—?”
“Quiet now.” Something small was hidden in his fist. He faced me, a study of blankness. “This is yours, Ysabel,” he said softly. He took my hand, his gaze dropping from mine to watch as he carefully slid a small silver ring over my finger.
My jaw dropped.
What was this?
“Captain, I…” I breathed, stunned. I hadn’t expected anything like this whatever. A ring like this implied events that I hadn’t thought to ever see, given my new status in life. It certainly implied I was far more to him personally than a simple slave, or even a…
Had he purchased me as a concubine?
Then, in rapid bursts of sky blue, flowers of alchemical fire opened in my mind. The ring seemed to sing against my skin, and I felt like I was falling.
“Captain—!”
“Just breathe.” He smiled at me, a tight thing that almost seemed nervous.
My heart beat faster, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I tried to say something but forgot the words before my mouth opened, as if they had slinked away into the shadows behind my mind.
Then, like runoff from a summer rain, memories began to drift through my mind. Not my memories, however. No, they felt just a touch off, as if I were wearing someone else’s shoes.
“Captain Argent.” The woman’s voice came from behind me. I scowled upon hearing it; I was in no mood for company, not now. Particularly not from one of the wyrd-blooded.
They brought nothing but trouble.
“Leave me be.” I took another drink of my whiskey-savor and glanced around the bar. It was a truly hopeless place. I hadn’t expected anyone to find me here.
“What’s happening?” I gasped, trying not to tremble.
The captain’s verdant eyes offered no answer as he said, “You’re safe, Ysabel. Well, as safe as any—”
“—course I’m upset.” I didn’t want to look at her. “If Calyptin Station falls, then all the Northern Reaches will follow within a matter of months.” The knuckles of my fist were white as I fought to contain myself. “I’d take my men, find the filth that’s planning the attack—”
“But that is not enough, captain.” The woman’s voice poured into my mind, smooth as summer cream. “They have done enough damage to the bounds beneath Eld Calyptia already. Even if you take your soldiers, you cannot change what they have wrought.”
“No.” I faced her then, and she sat down, across from me. “It’s hopeless.”
She brushed her golden hair from her shoulders. Long and beautiful, it hung in intricate braids. “That is not for you to say, captain.” Her eyes, the pale blue of a winter sky, locked onto mine.
“Mother.” Tears sprung to my eyes, hot tears of sorrow and bitter wine. She was dead! My father had told me so. We’d lived our entire lives—
“The line is failing, Argent. We can hold for long years if we must, but inevitably, the Shroud will come.” Her mouth pursed into a tight line.
“I thought you were offering yourself for my crew.” I took another swallow of my whiskey, grimacing at its fire. “Why come to me? Unless you have a plan?”
Ten thousand questions raged in my mind. If my mother was alive, why had she left us? And why hadn’t my father told me the truth?
“I do have a plan.” Her eyes shined with cunning. “You are right, I cannot go. But I think you should.”
“That’s rich.” I laughed, looking away from those arresting eyes. “So you won’t go, but me and mine should. We should risk the bloodstorms, even though we haven’t a Bedian’s bet on putting the bounds right. Not without one who bears the wyrd.”
“I said that I could not go with you, Argent.” She leaned forward, arresting me with those pale eyes. “I did not say you would have no help.”
I looked at her, simply waiting. Sometimes silence was best.
“I have a daughter in Calyptin Station, Argent. A trueborn daughter of my blood.”
The memory fell to ashes as Argent removed the ring from my finger. It was a physical sensation, like a fire suddenly doused in my mind.
“No!” I literally reached for her with my hand, as if I could grasp that memory.
“No mention of raping you, was there?” His words were hushed.
“I—I mean, how was—?” Anger flashed through me then, and I began to struggle again. “How was I to know? You’re an airship captain bidding on debtslaves after all!” My temper burned hot, fueled by years of my father’s deception. “Of course I thought you were only interested in—!”
Then, in our most excellent moment together, the ground trembled beneath us. In the far distance, warning sirens sounded, winding into long, loud cries.
I froze in place, not believing my ears.
“The clarions.” I breathed the words, gazing into the distance. When I looked back to Captain Argent, I knew my eyes must have been wide. “They’ve never sounded. Not once in my life.”
“I told you.” His voice was soft, but he focused toward the inners, toward the Highwall and the docks. “We need to wrap up this debtslave foolishness.”
The ground trembled again, and in the distance I could hear people crying out in alarm. What did it mean?
Before I could reply, a pair of boots stepped directly in front of us.
Captain Argent—lost gods, but it was actually him!—shuffled off me, and a pair of thick hands grasped my wrists. A rough yank hauled me to my feet.
The captain stood, brushing dead grass from his pants. “So,” His voice was light but muffled as he put the masque back on. “I see she is as physically fit as promised.”
“Yessir.” The workhand gasped, out of breath. He gazed into the sky as if he could see the cause of the clarions from here.
“Well, let’s finish our business. Sounds as if there may be trouble.” And the captain was gone, striding off the way I’d come.
