The heart of spire mount.., p.1
The Heart of Spire Mountain, page 1
THE HEART OF SPIRE MOUNTAIN
SPIRE MOUNTAIN
BOOK 1
SCARLET FOX
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Lia Davis of Glowing Moon Designs for creating the perfect cover. Thank you to Devin Govaere for the edits. As always, your comments were very insightful and helpful!
I also don’t know where I would be without Jessica Ripley of Eighth Ripple Press. We virtually write together each weekend (And thank you to the other various Sprinto Sprinters who join us as well). It’s a huge motivation. Jessica always does a ton of work behind the scenes for me, finding me beta readers, editors, and sometimes new projects to work on or writing ideas when I am stuck. She even did the first round of edits and suggestions on my rough draft of Spire Mountain. I am forever indebted to you and cannot thank you enough.
Thank you to the dress historian YouTubers who helped me shape my costumes: Abby Cox, Karolina Żebrowska, and Bernadette Banner. Your wealth of knowledge was invaluable. And I know I took artistic liberties, as this is a fantasy Steampunk world, but my knowledge of Victorian dress, corsets, and underwear expanded greatly. I would have been making up designs based on inaccurate movies if it weren’t for your videos. I hope I set the tone that corsets weren’t patriarchal torture devices. I went back and added a shift underneath (because I didn’t think my readers would know what a combination was). I also added in bum rolls and some caged bustles. I know corsets wouldn’t be kept exposed, yet I wanted the dresses to have a Steampunk feel. Same for the main character’s short skirts. That would never fly in Victorian times. I hope the costumes are less cringeworthy to dress historians. And I hope my readers keep in mind that Steampunk isn’t a real time period. It’s loosely based off of Victorian fashions in a future where steam machines are popular.
I want to thank my family and friends. Your support is always heartwarming. And a special thanks to my fiancé, Brian, who never grows weary of my chatting about books I am working on. Your support means more than I could ever say.
Thank you for Tyler for naming my first mate. I was out of ideas and needed something different than my usual go tos.
Finally, thank you to my readers. I am truly blown away by the number of people who are interested in my stories. Thank you for reading!
1
Dusty Monroe gave the command to shovel the last bit of coal into the engines of his flying steam ship and whispered a quick prayer to Janus, the god of travel and merchants.
His loose, long hair swayed over his shoulder as he leaned forward to roll the leather map out onto the table in his captain’s cabin. A freak storm had blown his airship, the Desert Star, far off course. Rogue winds had ripped multiple battens out of the junk sails of the ship, leaving her nearly immobile. She was propelled by mere steam power at this point, but their coal supply was dwindling. With a miracle, they would make it to the nearest town.
The Baashi Desert stretched across most of the continent of Brynn. In fact, it even touched the western coast and was kissed by the ocean. Save for the sparse prairie, jagged rocks, mountains, and a few oases that dotted the desert, its reach was vast. It ended at the frozen tundra and ice mountains to the north and a thin stretch of grasslands and deciduous forests to the east, which stretched down to the tropical realm of Golden City. The unyielding desert was named after the god of death for a reason—many who entered unprepared met Baashi instead of making it to their intended destination.
If his calculations proved correct, Coal Drop at the foot of Spire Mountain was the closest land port. Dusty’s father had cautioned him against ever venturing to this area. Lord Bromwell held a boot over the necks of every resident of the town and city. His coal mines were worked mostly by slaves and the few hundred paid workers lived off of negligible wages. “Free people seldom leave Coal Drop. The place is a trap,” his father, Lord Monroe, warned him long ago. “And strange things happen. It’s best you never set foot there.”
But Dad was back in Free Port, nestled in the deciduous forests of the east coast. Life roaming the desert was much different than life back home.
“Well, Father,” Dusty muttered to the wood paneling of the vacant room, “you’ve never been knocked off course by a sandstorm.” He rubbed at the brown stubble growing on his chin. Even air merchants needed pampering, and Dusty was overdue for a rest and a good shave on land. Riding in the air for months left him feeling ungrounded. And by the looks of it, Coal Drop—or Coal Dump as other captains in the region called the town—would have to do.
A hearty knock sounded on his cabin door. His first mate, Warwick, marched in while pushing his telescopic lenses onto his forehead. They jutted up from his head like two budding antlers. “What course should I set, sir?” He wiped the sweat on his brow before it could run dust into his eyes. The remaining dirt clung to the wrinkles of his face, aging him thirty years beyond his middle age.
“Coal Drop.” Dusty peered out the grimy window of his cabin at the razor-sharp peaks of Spire Mountain off in the distance.
Warwick sucked in his breath. “Are you certain?” Palpable fear laced his words. “Free ships don’t dock at Coal Drop. They all owe the lord there something.”
Dusty sighed, studying the worry etched on his first mate’s face. He was well aware the ship was running on dust and the main junk sail was shot to shit, yet warnings of the town were powerful. It seemed Warwick was hoping Dusty would have a miracle up his sleeve to avoid the city.
“What choice do we have?” Dusty wanted to add that he didn’t put stock in the tales whispered about the city, but many airmen feared the legends. True, his father warned him not to go there. Ever. But coming from a man who never visited the place, how much weight could his words carry?
“All right, sir.” Warwick retreated without another word of protest, though Dusty could tell by the sour look on Warwick’s face that he was biting his tongue. Within a few moments, the airship rotated beneath Dusty, ferrying him toward the mountain looming in the distance. He hoped this change in course didn’t prove to be a fatal mistake.
Dusty made a point to not get involved in town politics. Every port seemed to have its share of crime lords or crooked politicians. There always seemed to be an injustice no matter where they went. As he was a visitor, it wasn’t his burden to fix the wrongs of the world. And after all the land ports he’d sailed in and out of over the years, he never would have guessed that things would be different this time.
He tied his long, brown hair back and set off to explore the city, hoping to stay out of trouble and get the hell out of the area before trouble found them.
Serena Cortez’s heart pounded in her chest as she weaved through the crowd. Her leather boots danced through the slippery sand of the streets as she ran from the mine’s sheriff. Chip, a steam-powered mechanical bird, buzzed next to her, trying to keep up with his tiny, aluminum wings. Serena and her sister, Luna, had come up with the hair-brained idea to steal the key to the slaves’ quarters. It was a valiant plan, though not well thought out, mainly because Serena got the best ideas while drinking whiskey. And while the alcohol lubricated her mind so epiphanies sprang forth like steam gushing from a smokestack, the booze ironically also put the logical part of her brain to sleep. That would explain why she didn’t reach out to other members of their underground network instead of jumping in headfirst alone. Backup would be helpful right about now.
It had all made sense to her while she and Luna planned. There’d never been a more perfect time to try it. They’d been hearing from those who worked in the mines that something strange was going on in the tunnels. Odd disappearances. Unearthly noises. The most seasoned miners had no idea what was causing it, and Bromwell’s people had been rightfully distracted by it all as of late.
Right. It had seemed a perfect idea at the time, but as Serena sobered up, she not only started questioning her ability to be a successful rebel but all her life choices in general.
She hopped over a steamcart rolling down the cobblestone alley. Chip nearly flew into a man’s head as he flapped harder to avoid the vehicle. The driver shook a gloved fist in their direction as Serena’s boot slipped on the dust coating the stones, threatening to roll her ankle. She clutched a leather-bound journal to her chest. It wasn’t the ring of keys she’d been hoping to snag, but hopefully, it would prove just as valuable.
She rounded the next corner of grimy, brick buildings covered in the soot of coal fires that powered Coal Drop. A crash erupted. The commotion of yelling followed. Constable Collins was still in hot pursuit. Chip cooed in her ear, urging her on. Serena didn’t dare look back. Her feet took her toward the airship docks on the edge of the city. Her bubbling stomach threatened to empty its contents with the stress of her escape. She somehow managed to keep the nausea at bay.
She lurched over a chain link fence separating the alley from the bustling docks. Thank the gods she landed on her feet. Chip plastered his wings to his body, slipping through the chain link behind her. He quickly beat his silver wings before crashing into a stack of crates on the other side.
Even in the early hou
A steam whistle howled in the distance, signaling the arrival of a new airship. That usually meant the already crowded docks would become more chaotic with newcomers. Even if it was a merchant ship instead of a passenger ship, the crew aboard would yearn to be back on land. They’d hustle off the vessel in droves.
She’d know, since she and Luna had spent their youth practicing pickpocketing the hordes of distracted crewmen down at the docks. It wasn’t honest work, but to the young orphans, it was a better option than knocking on the doors of a workhouse or brothel.
Serena hoped she’d left that past behind. She and her sister had gone from fencing stollen possessions and goods to selling contraband smuggled into the city. As she caught her breath behind the crates, clamping the stolen journal in her fingers, she considered a career change that didn’t leave her running from the authorities. True, this mission wasn’t about profit—it was about justice—but that didn’t change the fact that Serena was getting too old for this shit. She was well on her way to thirty years old and well aware of the fact that people over the age of twenty-five sentenced to work as a slave in the mines had a short life expectancy.
Younger Serena thought she’d never get caught. Older Serena was beginning to see how foolish that mentality was. She dreamed of having a life, but what she had was nothing more than pure survival or being too shitfaced to acknowledge her meager existence. Maybe one day she’d be able to leave this hell. But right now, she didn’t have the means to escape. Or the heart to. Serena couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the injustices of Coal Drop behind unchecked.
The shift under her outer garments whisked away her perspiration. Her face was not so lucky. She dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead with the hem of her skirt before peering through the crack in the crates. Workers in drab clothing hustled with cargo as others helped dock a limping steamship. While its hull was intact, the sails had a rough night. Serena figured that was the work of the sandstorm that rolled through yesterday.
She silently blamed that storm for her drunken ideas. If it hadn’t kept her and her sister holed up in their crummy apartment with nothing more but candlelight and alcohol, she maybe wouldn’t be in her current predicament. Deep down, Serena knew the fault was hers, though she felt more comfortable pointing fingers at nature.
Where is Luna anyway? She was supposed to create a diversion so the constable wouldn’t notice Serena creeping into his office. While Serena had her stealth, Luna had her charm. And usually her wits. The whiskey over the past few days dulled that as well.
Serena focused her attention on the surrounding sounds for anything out of place. The rhythmic clacking of cartwheels on the boardwalk, the hoot of steam, and the grunting of working men and women created the cacophony around her. No baying hounds threatened to track her scent. Luckily, the constable didn’t let loose his horde of dogs.. Serena scanned the docks once more before deciding it was safe to leave her hiding place.
After standing, Serena dropped the journal into her leather satchel. Chip flapped his tiny wings in annoyance from the top of the crate. He seemed to think she was taking too long. So far, he was her only assistant on the mission. While he was a great lookout, he wasn’t so good at creating diversions.
“Take an aerial view for me, Chip. Let me know if you see the constable.”
Chip fluttered a few feet above the crates, spinning in a tight circle to survey the area. When he was satisfied, he descended to the edge of the crate. His shiny claws wrapped around the thin ledge of wood as he latched onto his perch. Chip opened his brass beak and cooed. It signaled no danger in sight.
“I have to tuck you away for a bit. Constable Collins saw you with me,” Serena explained to her mechanical sidekick. He clicked his beak in annoyance as Serena opened the outer pouch on her shoulder bag. For being a motorized bird, Chip could get a real attitude if he felt insulted. Reluctantly, he crawled inside. Serena patted the outside of the bag in apology. “I’m sorry. You shine too much in the sun. He’d spot me for sure out here.” With a final cluck, Chip nestled down into the pocket.
Serena looked toward the large, wooden airship as it maneuvered into its sling. The vehicle landed with a groan, as if it wasn’t used to its own weight after being in the sky for so long. Serena scanned the vessel with envy. She’d love to run away from this stinking town and travel the world. Maybe the rest of it wasn’t as corrupt and dirty as Coal Drop. But then she’d be turning a blind eye to the oppression around her. Lord Bromwell sat comfortably in his palace of luxury carved into the live stone of Spire Mountain. He made his fortune off the broken bodies of the slaves and workers of his mines. Instead of fleeing the injustice and living elsewhere, it was Serena’s goal to stop his cruelty.
Serena’s father used to work as a grave digger. He’d tell them all about the mass graves on the far side of the mountain. They housed the piles of bodies that had given out from the hard work. And those were the ones they were able to remove from the mines. That didn’t count the hundreds of souls lost in cave-ins. Those stories were the spark to her dreams of revolution. After their father was taken, the fire ignited. The sisters entangled themselves in the underground movement that unfurled like a ghost through the town.
Serena watched the wooden plank lower from the new ship to the ground below. Observing the vessels docked always forged the fascination of the child within her. She could spend the day at the docks, watching the crews hoist or repair sails. It allowed her mind to fantasize about faraway and more hopeful places.
Many crew members from this new ship blinked as they stepped out into the light of the morning sun. Some of them probably didn’t spend much time on deck. The brightness of the new day surprised their eyes.
She didn’t have much time to look them over. Serena recognized the custodian helmet of the constable, weaving through the workers towards her. He must have double-backed to the entrance of the docks after not being able to scale the fence. She had to move quickly!
Serena pivoted before she could be spotted, hoping to lose herself in the crowd of crewmen and women disembarking from their vessel. Instead, she ran face first into the hard chest of a tall man.
2
After Desert Star was secure, Dusty grabbed his top hat and coat from the stand in the corner. He was a captain, after all, and made sure to look the part when venturing into new ports. Especially ones with the reputation of Coal Drop. Looking the part of the gentleman often helped him to get out of tight situations.
With any luck, he’d gather the supplies to fix his sails and be back on board by noon. Warwick was tasked with finding out the price of coal and purchasing enough to get them to Tannisport. If it all went off without a hitch, they’d be out of Coal Drop before finding out why his father cautioned him against ever setting foot there.
He glanced to the steam-powered watch on his wrist. Its coppery hands glistened in the light of the rising sun. It was just after six a.m. He doubted any shops would be open at this time, but he needed to barter for supplies to fix the junk sails.
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he stepped onto the deck of the ship, peering down at the docks below. The local workers hustled like ants, carrying crates and stacking them onto steamcarts. Some of them ventured off toward the city, while others stacked the cargo at the docks, waiting to be loaded onto other vessels. Then his eyes fell on someone who didn’t seem to fit in. Coal smudged across the woman’s face as if she were a mine worker, but she didn’t wear overalls. Unlike the other dock workers, she was the only person who wasn’t moving. The woman attempted to smooth out her messy raven hair as she stared up at Desert Star. Her coppery-brown skin glowed in the rays of the golden sun, illuminating the sweat sheen on her brow.
