Mary Wine Read online

  Such trusting fools. He was going to enjoy killing them.

  ***

  Sophia punched her pillow, but the action didn’t relieve much of her frustration. She was so tired her head ached, and yet she couldn’t seem to sleep for more than half an hour without waking.

  You’re just waiting on that man’s next visit.

  She grumbled and sat up. The bedding was kicked to the foot of the bed, so it was simple to swing her legs over the edge. The floor was cool against her bare feet when she suddenly realized there was something in the air. Looking through the open bedroom door, she stared at the darkness of the other room, trying to decide what it was she saw. It was like fog, only composed of light rather than moisture. She stepped toward it, drawn forward in fascination. She could see the residue of light drifting through the darkness; she could actually see the particles as tiny pinpoints of light. The room was dark, and yet, it wasn’t. It was as though she could see all the layers that made up the darkness.

  “You see the light flow now… excellent.”

  Sophia froze, her muscles tightening as alarm raced through her. She recognized the voice; she still heard it in her nightmares. Worse still was the certain knowledge that Grainger was standing in the corner of her room.

  “What a trophy you shall be,” he cooed like he might over a newly acquired racehorse. “My crowning achievement.”

  He was more than a shadow now. She could see him disturbing the flow of light. Fear gripped her, but rather than paralyzing her, it sent her into motion. She lifted her knee and sent her foot toward his jaw. There was a snap and the solid connection of flesh against flesh.

  “Get out!” She struggled to move away from the bed so that she might have more room to defend herself, but Grainger wasn’t a Novice when it came to fighting arts. He pressed forward, rubbing his jaw. So she jumped up onto the bed and walked right across its soft surface.

  “I mean it, get out!” She didn’t wait for him but instead made a dash for the door. Grainger caught her in the outer room, locking his arms around her body like a trap. She struggled, filling her lungs to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth.

  She cupped her fist in one hand and twisted her entire body to send her elbow back into her captor. He howled and his hold broke, but she’d made it only two paces before she tripped over something lying on the floor. Horror gagged her as she realized it was a man. She floundered as she tried to regain her footing but gasped when something looped around her neck and jerked her back. It was a brutal hold that kept her from filling her lungs. They burned as Grainger snickered next to her ear. The last thing she saw was the bodies of the two men who normally guarded the entrance to the secured wing. Blood coated the side of one of their faces and both were as still as death. One had been stripped of his suit and lay naked on the carpet. Seeing a nude male wasn’t what horrified her. What crushed her composure at last was the fact that she could not dislodge whatever he was holding her with, and the certain knowledge that he had what he needed to walk out without being noticed. Her vision began to darken and she slumped forward, no longer able to fight.

  Grainger maintained his hold a little longer, just to make sure she wasn’t employing a new tactic in her struggle. When he released the dressing robe tie, she fell over and lay still on the floor. He made sure she was still breathing, smiling when her chest lifted. But he cursed because his jaw was aching. He grabbed her wrist and hoisted her up and over his shoulder. The wheelchair was just inside the doorway and he dumped her into it. He froze for a moment, the sight of her bare legs making him pause. He turned and went toward the small wardrobe standing in the bedroom. He opened the curtains just a few inches to allow some moonlight in. He yanked a skirt off its hanger and grabbed a coat as well. He had no idea if they matched and didn’t much care.

  Victory was so close he could taste it. He dropped the skirt over her head and lifted her body up so it would fall down to her waist. He ended up pulling each of her arms free but the garment settled into place well enough. She was light enough that the task didn’t prove too difficult and soon the coat was buttoned in place over her corset and chemise. He smiled as he buckled the leather straps, securing her wrists and ankles to the chair. He would not be the one feeling their bite. No, he was far too intelligent for that.

  Grainger straightened his vest and made sure the small ear device was nestled in place before he opened the door and pushed the wheelchair out into the hallway. It was well after midnight and the other Novices were all asleep. He walked right through the gate, the lack of guards still undiscovered.

  Yes, victory was his, and it was every bit as sweet as he’d anticipated it would be.

  ***

  “You hold your brandy well,” Lykos remarked as he sat down at the small table Bion lingered at. The rest of the dining hall was only half full now.

  “Why so disappointed?” Bion asked as he contemplated finding his bed, then discarded the idea because it would entail moving—something he was loathe to do at the moment. It would be far too tempting to walk toward Sophia’s room rather than his own. “Hoping to win a few rounds of cards?”

  Lykos shrugged. “Or learn a few interesting things when your lips loosened.”

  Bion finished off the last of the brandy in his snifter. “My mother often put more than this snifter holds in the supper stew. She used to say it kept the blood flowing. Russia is not as warm as Britain.”

  “I forgot you hailed from the frozen expanses. It explains your fascination with living among the clouds.”

  Bion grinned. “You have me correctly figured on that account, Guardian.”

  “But only that account?” Lykos inquired. “Is that what your tone is meant to imply?”

  Bion nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Forgive me, Guardian, but I find myself more comfortable knowing you cannot deduce every detail of my personality.”

  “Some Guardians might accuse you of having dark secrets since you want to guard them so carefully.”

  “And my mother would have labeled you as nosy as the old matchmaker in the village we lived in.”

  Lykos lifted his snifter and inhaled the scent of the liquor before answering. “Nosy… yes, but it keeps me alive.”

  “My secrets serve me the same way,” Bion responded. “It’s best to be unpredictable with the number of pirates roaming the skies. Any traitor sailing with me will discover it difficult to plan my downfall.”

  Airships were only as secure as their crews. Since it was much faster to transport Deep Earth Crystals via airship, piracy had become a serious threat. It was another reason the society around them had so little information about the struggle being fought between the Illuminists and Helikeian Orders. Much of it was happening far above their heads.

  This was the reason Grainger was so desperate to get his hands on Sophia. With only two ways to produce a Navigator, they were very rare. Sophia had no idea how many coveted her situation.

  Misfortune actually.

  Bion’s Novice Navigator was neither accomplished nor content with her new skills. He’d never thought to pity anyone who beat the odds and gained the opportunity to hold a Root Ball in their hands. Everything she was experiencing, he’d spent the majority of his life in pursuit of. He stiffened, remembering that he hadn’t had to cut himself off from his family as Sophia did. Joining the after-dinner brandy party had only been an excuse to get a closer look at Darius Lawley and learn the secret to his new bride’s contentment. Janette Aston was happily wearing her Illuminist pin, and Bion wanted to know why.

  His lips twitched slightly with amusement and Lykos raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I was simply contemplating just what my trainee might think of my fascination with discovering the secret of Mrs. Lawley’s conversion to our Order.”

  Lykos slowly smiled. “My patience is rewarded at last.” He sat up, abandoning his lazy sprawl. “That statement unmasks you, Captain.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Lykos shook his head. “Don�
��t. Without a doubt, there is more to your relationship with your trainee. No man who has devoted so much of his time toward the goal of becoming what she is would entertain any thought about her happiness. Not unless he was thinking with his tender feelings.”

  “My tender feelings are far harder than you might realize,” Bion informed him. “I was raised in an unforgiving land and the harsher conditions of the air fleet suit me well. I have no use for those who whine about the unjustness of circumstances. Miss Stevenson has been granted a gift. A very rare one, even if it is also a challenge.”

  “You rather enjoy watching someone such as Miss Stevenson rising above what fate has tried to crush her with, don’t you?”

  Bion chuckled softly, a flicker of heat entering his eyes. “That is a fact, Guardian.”

  “It is—” Lykos paused, looking past Bion at someone entering the hall. His expression hardened instantly and Bion was on his feet a second later.

  “Captain Donkova, Head Guardian Pavola has been searching for you but you were not in your rooms.”

  “I know where I was, man.”

  The young Guardian swallowed nervously, betraying his inexperience. Bion clamped down on the urge to snap at the man.

  “It seems the suspected traitor Grainger was not insane.”

  “There was nothing suspected about it; the man is a traitor,” Bion snarled. Lykos reached out, gripped a hand around his arm to silence him.

  “Where is the man now?”

  The young Guardian stammered. “He was… transferred to… to the medical… wing but it seems… the staff underestimated his condition.”

  “How badly?” Bion demanded.

  “He killed the two orderlies charged with moving him from the prison wing and… it seems… he also took the two Guardians standing watch over the secured Novice—”

  Bion lost control of his temper and grabbed the front of the man’s jacket. “Where is my trainee?” he snarled savagely.

  The man paled. “Gone.”

  ***

  The sweet smell of fresh air—Grainger paused for a moment to savor it. The city streets were quiet in the dark hours, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe them deserted. There was a whole different class of people who preferred the darkness to the light of day. Even in the better parts of town, the shadows would be harboring creatures; really, they were more base than anything that might be called human.

  He pushed the wheelchair, keeping his chin level as he went. The night breeze blew some dry leaves across the road and footsteps echoed from down one of the alleys he passed, but no one stepped out to stop him. Grainger passed the tailor shop and moved past the millinery store and other merchants. Two more blocks and he came to the door he sought.

  Wouldn’t the Illuminists like to know that there was a devoted Helikeian living so very close to their Solitary Chamber?

  He laughed softly as he reached for the door knocker. The sound echoed through the silent city street, but no one moved their curtains aside to look down at him. Of course not; it was far healthier to ignore those who came calling at such hours. A small panel opened and a doorman peered at him through the iron grate secured over it.

  “I have just escaped and do not have my pin.”

  The man remained silent and looked at the slumped form of Sophia. “This is a Navigator. Open the door, Compatriot. I am delivering a prize worthy of reward.”

  The door opened and Grainger pushed the chair inside. Behind him, the doorman shut it softly, concealing their location completely.

  ***

  Bion was a man who prided himself on his control. But when provoked, he was capable of pure, undiluted savagery. It wasn’t civilized or polite, but when it came to snatching victory out of the jaws of bastards like Grainger, that facet of his personality served him well.

  Tonight, he let it loose, covering the distance between the dining hall and Sophia’s room in record time. Only Lykos kept pace and the Guardians inside the small chambers moved out of his way. The signs of a struggle were clear. Bion followed the overturned furniture, kneeling to inspect the dark splotches of blood on the floor.

  “I do believe the rougher aspects of your personality might come in very handy very soon,” Lykos said softly, kneeling next to him.

  Bion locked gazes with him, surprised by the fierce determination in the fair-faced Guardian’s stare. Lykos Claxton was a wolf, cleverly donning the fleece of a sheep to dupe those around them.

  “My plan exactly.”

  “I believe I should be part of any planning,” Guardian Pavola interrupted from across the room.

  Bion stood and fixed the head of security with a deadly look. “I was opposed to lodging Miss Stevenson here, and I believe my argument has unfortunately been proven valid. She should have been in the air, where this could not have happened. Retrieving her will be my duty.”

  “Your position may indeed be correct, but that does not endow you with the ability to brush aside the law,” Pavola answered. “We have Hunters for this sort of situation.”

  “Your Hunters are not anywhere near suited for this.” Bion stepped closer, forcing Pavola to look up at him. “Grainger is no doubt hurrying out of the city while we stand here arguing. Once he has her aboard an airship, retrieving her will become nearly impossible. Every second you waste discussing the necessary course of action increases the odds of the Helikeians utilizing her for their own means.”

  There was already an unstable situation in the skies. Utilizing the dimensional gates was the only way to escape the pirates roaming the trade routes. It was the Illuminists’ most critical advantage and now Sophia just might tip those scales back into the favor of the Helikeians.

  Guardian Pavola stiffened. “Your insolence is misplaced, Captain Donkova. What makes the Illuminist Order strong is our dedication to rules and structure. Otherwise, we would be nothing more than outlaws.”

  Bion slowly grinned, but it wasn’t a cheerful expression. Pavola stepped back in response.

  “Oh, there are times for lawlessness,” Bion offered softly. “Now more than ever. I promise you one thing, Guardian, I am your man.”

  And he was going to find Sophia or die trying.

  ***

  She needed to wake up. Sophia knew it but couldn’t seem to break free of sleep’s hold. She struggled, straining to open her eyes, but they felt glued shut. Thrashing from one side to the other seemed of little help. All she managed to do was half open her eyes.

  “Hurry up with that chloroform.”

  Horror kept her eyes partially open, but her straining only allowed her to see a white cloth coming toward her face. She smelled the noxious fumes and tried to hold her breath.

  “Resist all you like. I do enjoy a good fight.”

  She was regaining her wits and opened her eyes all the way. Grainger stood over her, pressing the cloth to her face. Her skin crawled with revulsion and her lungs were burning. Her captor clasped the nape of her neck, and her hands were still strapped to the armrests of the wheelchair. The need to breathe broke through her resistance. She inhaled and the chemicals began to do their work. Her vision blurred and another few breaths sent her back into darkness.

  “And I will enjoy seeing you put to work for the Helikeian cause.”

  Grainger smiled, watching Sophia slump once more against the back of the wheelchair. He stood there for several long moments, making sure she was disabled. He wanted to take advantage of the fine house he was in, bathe and make himself presentable, but delivering his prize was much more important.

  “Is the carriage ready?”

  “Yes, Compatriot.”

  Grainger enjoyed the sound of the title “Compatriot.” It had been too long since he’d heard the word spoken with the proper respect. The Illuminists had tried to humiliate him by sneering as they spoke his title, but he was the victor now.

  “Send word to Dr. Nerval that I have recovered the Navigator. Since he was the man who discovered the Pure Spirit Janette Aston, he will
be happy to hear the Navigator is now in our hands.”

  “Yes, Compatriot. I will send the telegram myself.”

  Even Dr. Nerval would have to acknowledge his achievements. The doctor was an esteemed member of the Helikeian Community, his bloodline almost royal. It would be good to have the approval of such a man. Grainger rubbed his hands together.

  “Let us go.” Three words had rarely given him such satisfaction before. Now, as he pushed the wheelchair through the house toward the back door, he was filled with a sense of accomplishment.

  Yes… he was the superior man. Soon, every member of the Helikeian Order would see proof of his standing among them, for he was certain to be decorated with the Sapphire Phalanx for his achievement. It was the highest award within the Helikeian Order. Once he wore the pin, no one would question him. Not ever.

  All he had to do was deliver his prize to the airship station. The doorman opened the back door and a carriage waited there. The house was owned by a doctor, giving him the perfect excuse to order the vehicle brought around at such an hour. They loaded his prize and set off without a single look from the residences nearby.

  ***

  “Not going to ask what I’m doing?” Bion asked Lykos.

  Bion didn’t stop what he was doing to turn and look at Lykos, nor did he care that the other man had followed him into his private rooms. Bion reached up, onto the top of his wardrobe, and lifted a case. Once it was sitting on a small table, he opened it to reveal a stack of neatly folded garments.

  “I’m more of a visual man,” Lykos remarked nonchalantly. “A man’s actions often say more than his words.”

  “True.”

  “Of course, I would be delighted to hear your plan if you are in the mood to share it with me?” Lykos drawled.

  “I’m not.”

  Bion stripped off his maroon uniform coat and tossed it across the footrail of his bed. His pants and polished boots landed nearby and he reached for the first item in the case. He pulled on a pair of sturdy pants with leather-reinforced inner thighs. The shirt was less formal than the one he’d worn beneath his uniform. He didn’t bother buttoning it all the way, leaving the top gaping open. A leather vest was next, worn in several places and constructed with numerous pockets. Over that he secured a weapons harness with a holster that hung beneath his left arm and two scabbards for knifes. He reached into the case and removed a pistol that gleamed from recent polishing. Bion checked the Deep Earth Crystal secured in the firing pin before sliding it into his holster. A pair of worn, knee-high boots came next. He finished off his look with a sturdy, dark blue wool over-jacket. It was the sort of thing a Naval man might wear, unless you took a closer look and noticed the additional pockets for glasses and other Illuminist paraphernalia.