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“I know when other boys look at me, what they want from me, and, Mr. Head Councilman’s Son, I know what you want.”

  Gavin thought he’d been so careful. Lucas pressed Gavin into admitting it that day. Ever since, they had shared stolen moments, which both excited and worried Gavin. He couldn’t afford to be caught doing… whatever this was.

  “What in hell are you up to?” Gavin protested. Each rendezvous brought risk with it, but Lucas was….

  “Gavin, I waited for you this morning, but you didn’t show up.” He drifted his head to the right to rearrange his drooping hair, which afforded a better look at Gavin. “Why so glum? Usually, this excites you.”

  “So you thought you’d kidnap me when you found me? What if someone saw?” Gavin looked nervous and began to move away.

  “No one saw. I’m careful and meticulous. Extremely meticulous,” Lucas said. He cupped his thin hands around Gavin’s head and shoulder, which drew him back. “Calm yourself, Mr. Head Councilman’s Son.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Gavin said.

  “All right, all right. I’m sorry,” Lucas said, then nipped playfully at Gavin’s lips. The tentative reaction he received prompted more explanation. “Trust me. No one is looking for you. Except me,” Lucas said, leaning in, breathed in the scent of Gavin, smiled half a smile, and added, “but they should be. The way people never appreciate the moon, to me, you are all harvest and full, beautiful and gleaming. How could I not be looking?” Gavin blushed, clearly uncomfortable. “Besides, no one cares enough about me to look for me,” Lucas finished.

  Lucas was dangerous to be around. His father was a judge. Not just any judge, but from the highest court, probably deep under Council control. If people only knew what they got up to behind closed doors, both their lives would be ruined. “What about your father?” Gavin asked.

  “Ugh, leave it. We do our best when avoiding one another. Now, how about you stop avoiding, eh?”

  Gavin relaxed a little, allowing himself to be pulled closer to those lips he fantasized about at night, dreaming he could let it all go. Lucas leaned closer still. He pressed his body against Gavin, enveloping him in his arms. Lucas dipped his head slightly to kiss. Gavin felt Lucas’s heart threatening to vibrate out of his chest.

  For a moment Gavin’s body stiffened, afraid to give in, afraid to be there. His mind raced with scenarios of getting caught. Then he relaxed just enough to let Lucas know he was present for him.

  Lucas pressed Gavin’s lips open with his and slid his tongue gently into Gavin’s mouth. Gavin moaned softly, spurring them on. Lucas raised one hand to Gavin’s head and ran his slender fingers through the messy hair, getting them caught in the leather straps of the new brass goggles he found there. He bit Gavin’s swollen bottom lip and Gavin arched his body.

  Gavin groped up and down Lucas’s back until he couldn’t restrain himself. He tugged at Lucas’s dress shirt, jerking it out of the pants to provide him an avenue. He slid his hand into the back of Lucas’s trousers and ran it over the curvature he found there. The front of both their pants poked against each other. Lucas smiled and shoved one hand in the front of Gavin’s pants, exploring.

  Lucas grasped all of Gavin and began to work up and down. Gavin groaned loudly before he pushed hard against Lucas’s chest. Lucas almost fell over backward against discarded boots. “What…?”

  “I… we can’t….”

  Lucas stepped forward again. His erection pushing the fabric of his trousers out. Lucas looked down at himself and let a small moan escape him. “We’re safe in here.”

  “No, no, we’re not. I’m sorry,” Gavin said as he turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Lucas pleaded. “I think I’m—”

  “Don’t,” Gavin said a little too forcefully. “Just don’t. We’ll be caught.”

  “So?” Lucas replied. His face looked to be breaking in two with angst. “What would happen if we were?”

  “Don’t be foolish. We’re not just two random blokes. We’re both connected to powerful people.”

  “My father hates me anyway,” Lucas said.

  “Right, that’s why you’ve told him? Oh yeah, right, you haven’t. Don’t tell me it won’t matter. And Landa would be devastated.”

  “You still think she wants to be with you?” Lucas had stepped forward, and Gavin let him know with a quick hand to stay back.

  “I worry she might. I can’t lose her.”

  “Dear, sweet Gavin. She cannot lose what she can never have. The sooner she finds out, the better off she will be for it.”

  They tarried in silence a long time, their breaths calming before Lucas broke the stillness.

  “Please don’t leave.”

  “I’m in enough trouble for one day.” Gavin pushed his shirt back into his waistband.

  “Like the rest of them,” Lucas said quietly, stifling his cries with the harsh scratch of a woolen sleeve.

  Gavin left the cloakroom and listened as the door to the hallway closed behind him. The tears fell from his eyes before he could think to control them.

  Enter the Leviathan

  “WHY DO you look so glum today, nancy boy? Could it be because you just got yourself rightly reamed?” Gavin had closed the classroom door behind him. He barely snapped his head to the side in time to see a boy catch him off guard with a shoulder check that sent him to the hard tile. He attempted to straighten his goggles with one hand on the way down until his whole body jarred from the impact.

  Aloysius “Wish” Jeter possessed the broad shoulders, height, and muscular build to overpower most anyone. The rest he could intimidate with his aggressive mannerisms and talk. He dressed impeccably: his pants creased straight down the front, his maroon blazer pressed and clean.

  A group of boys, all dressed in school uniforms, gathered around and laughed at Gavin. The eyes on the lion-embroidered patches on the breast pockets of their uniforms seemed to follow Gavin as he looked from boy to boy.

  “Lay off,” Gavin said weakly. He knew it wouldn’t work.

  “Come on, Wish. Give him one proper,” one of his goons egged him on, but Wish also enjoyed psychological torment.

  “Where is big important Daddy now, you filthy poof? He too busy fixing your messes again?” Gavin tried to stand up, but one of the boys pushed him back down with his shoe. “Probably running away from fat Councilman Rolston. He’s the real head now, isn’t he?”

  “Leave him be, you big lummox,” Landa commanded as she pushed through the crowd that had gathered to see the fight. She extended a hand and helped Gavin from the floor. Gavin’s big eyes gave a look of thanks and possibly embarrassment.

  “What kind of chap needs rescuing from a lady? Airship pilot? Poof is more like it, right, boys?” Wish taunted. The group gathered around Wish guffawed. “Gavy boy needs a girl to fight his battles for him.” The crowd roared with laughter.

  “Real fair, the whole lot of you picking on one bloke,” Landa said, pushing Wish back with both fists. Her herculean efforts barely caused the tall, muscle-bound boy to move at all. Wish took a step and put up his hands in surrender.

  “All right, pretty thing. We’re done here, but only for now. We’ll be seeing you around,” he said.

  “And get a haircut, Aloysius!” she added for good measure, ignoring the implied threat.

  Wish ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair, his lips a tight half grin, cocky. “I knew you were paying attention to me, Landa. If you ever want to give all that grease and goggles a rest, let me know.”

  Landa seductively ran a hand through her long red locks. “Hurts that you’ll never get a chance to do that, eh, you big ox?” Her snarl could cut diamonds.

  “I think she likes you, Wish,” one of the boys said as the group of red jackets walked down the school hallway.

  “I could have handled it myself,” Gavin said, brushing off his newly changed dress slacks.

  “Those guys are arses.”

  “I… all I need is to be saved by a girl
! Why are you even up here?”

  “I forgot my analytical manuals,” she said, holding up a leather-bound book. “And you’re welcome.”

  “Ugh. Thanks, Landa,” Gavin said. “Are you all right?”

  She laughed while her red hair bounced around her shoulders. Engine lubricant smudges still spotted her face and neck. She always looked such a mess, covered in soot and oil from constant tinkering on devices and machines. “I’m at a hundred percent steam. You? Your father ground you?”

  “Ground. Oh, grounded. Yes,” Gavin demurred. “No flying. No leaving. He said I am not to hang out with that lower-class artificer I’ve been cavorting with.”

  “Cavorting? Is that what we’re doing?” She frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “Breaking steamships and stealing flags, I guess.” They both chuckled as he squeezed her in a quick embrace.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to apologize for destroying your ship.”

  “Gives me something to fix,” she said, slugging Gavin in the arm.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry. I had better get to the lower levels before some professor has a conniption fit. Us artificers need to get where we belong so you politician types can learn how to make more work for me.”

  With that, Landa dashed off down the stairs, headed back to the mechanical department of the school, where artificers learned the art of whatever it is they do, which Gavin never understood anyway.

  Gavin walked gingerly down the hall toward his wing of the school. The school building itself was a grand work of engineering where the halls could be elevated at the flick of a lever, and the whole building could be lowered into the ground to evade attack. Like many of the structures in London, it had been refashioned with defensive technology over the last decade before the armada was put in place above London.

  Several times a year, the army organized massive drills where every moveable structure needed to pass functionality tests. At first there was fanfare and celebration at the safety and wonder. Now it had become a hindrance to traffic and encumbered people’s time.

  Even though the department was where future leaders of the nation learned to lead, Gavin thought of it as where those future elders, like Wish, learned to belittle and destroy anyone they thought lesser. It was where those vulnerable or who dared to dream of the skies and peace instead of business offices and war were shut down by people exactly like his father.

  Sometimes he thought his father envisioned himself a modern-day King Arthur, but without need of a Merlin, even though he had sworn to uphold the rule of the Council. Kings and queens and monarchies were things from a time long ago to be feared or not spoken of at all, even though his father acts like the high-exalted ruler of England. And he didn’t have time to think about the state of unlawful magick in the world right now. That would take too much time. And Gavin had to get to class.

  Treachery of the Swords

  THE GRAND Hall, the meeting place for the Brotherhood of the Mage, had been adorned with elaborate wall hangings, colorful banners draped across the great expanse from chandelier to balustrade. The musicians played vibrantly while partygoers danced in circles around and around the floor. The long oaken tables overflowed with pewter trays of roasted chickens, potatoes, and loaves of freshly baked bread. Servers, beautiful ladies in green-and-red tartan skirts, sloshed mead and brown ale into the goblets of the thirsty revelers.

  The Cloaking Day Festival. Orion had looked forward to this for a long time. He had defeated an army of attackers and beaten back the winds. What could Riley even be thinking, suggesting that he had not earned his red cloak? He would take his rightful place on the stage. Afterward he could find a plethora of foul things his servant could clean as punishment for even thinking ill of him.

  Orion climbed the stone stairs that lead to the stage, past the center dais, and approached Blaylock. Declan stood up from his seat and took a step forward as if to block Orion’s path. Blaylock waved him away with an almost imperceptible gesture. Declan stepped back, but only just.

  “We are so glad you deigned to join us, Your Grace,” Blaylock said with not a little irony in his voice. “You are late, but I think we could get you some leftover mead.” A few people in the front laughed. Orion did not.

  “I have come to hear the court’s assessment of my solution to the test.”

  The crowd noise tempered itself quickly; everyone turned their attention to the drama as it unfolded on the stage. It was not well known, but in some circles, Orion’s defiance of the Brotherhood had been heard before. It was something only his position afforded him. Blaylock’s power was fearsome. Talking back to him was something others did not dare do. Or at least did not do twice.

  Blaylock took a long breath to quell anger at the prince in public and sighed. He walked around the table and approached Orion, placing a hand atop his shoulder. “Come now. You must be too weak from the trials to speak of this here. Let us go to your—”

  “I’ll have the verdict now.” Orion stood, drawing up his five-foot-eleven frame, his brown shaggy hair barely able to contain the fire coming from his hazel eyes.

  Blaylock sighed deeply again. “I am so sorry, young one.”

  “What?” Orion exploded. “I defeated your trial.” Some attendees had started to cheer or shout agreement with Orion.

  “Give him red,” someone shouted. Blaylock turned his gaze to the crowd, which quickly ceased its disagreement with him, he who was the embodiment of the Brotherhood.

  “I know you must be terribly exhausted from your battle, but, my good lad, you cannot pass out in battle and demand reward,” Blaylock said. Declan snickered.

  “Where is the queen?”

  “Young Orion, surely you do not suggest to turn to the good queen to overturn the rightful ruling of the court? Besides, she has been sick of late, as you well know, and left us a short time ago to rest.”

  “Lies!” Orion shouted, which caused anyone not paying heed to the drama unfolding to turn sharply. They spilled their meads and ales, straining to get a better look.

  Orion fumed, his shoulders heaving up and down.

  Blaylock turned to the crowd, and in a theatrical voice, said, “Orion, who battled hard today, must be overly drained. Didn’t he fight valiantly for you today?”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and clapping.

  Blaylock used the noise as a cover to lean in close to Orion’s ear and say, “You have said your piece, now be a proper member of the royal family, set a good example for your subjects, and leave this party with grace.”

  Orion looked up into Blaylock’s eyes to find steel there.

  He twisted away from Blaylock’s grip and stormed off. On his way through the crowd, he swiped a tankard of ale from someone, who merely shrugged and laughed. As he walked toward the doors, he glanced at Declan huddling with three teenage boys who all glared at Orion.

  Ludicrous. It was simply ludicrous. Orion knew there could be no doubt. He had earned the level of red cloak. He had summoned dragons. Not one dragon. Dragons. Plural. They weren’t real, of course, but they were amazing and beautiful and awe-inspiring. He had conjured them.

  How had he done that? He had never had the ability before. He wasn’t even sure of the spell he had used. It was something he felt.

  Orion became vaguely aware that something had crossed in front of the doorway ahead of him. The stone walls of the corridor bounced in shadows cast from torch flames that moved with the natural rhythm of the breezes in a drafty castle. Sounds echoed through the long walkways between rooms. The inexperienced could become disoriented by them. He, however, learned to ascertain where they originated from. He slowed his pace and reached out in front of him with his senses to see if someone was truly there, or if it was his overtaxed mind playing tricks.

  Orion at first thought someone was in front of him. Someone stepped out of the dimness behind him before he could calm himself enough to determine where the sounds had come from. Orion spun around.
A large helmeted man stood in the doorway.

  “Who goes there?” Orion commanded. The soldier said nothing. Orion needed to sound the alert to make the people in the castle safe, but something didn’t feel right about the situation. The man in front of him was large enough to be trouble, but something appeared off.

  A sword glinted in the torchlight in the corridor. Orion saw it and instinctively reached under his cloak and pulled out his dagger, an ornate nine-inch forged steel weapon. The intricate Celtic knotwork on the blade reflected and glimmered beautifully in the bouncing light. The leather-wrapped hilt held tight in his hand, the dagger ended in a circle pommel of steel as its balance. Orion’s father had given it to him before his death.

  Death: something he would rather not be thinking about now. He turned his back toward the corridor wall when he felt someone moving behind him. Sure enough, two more men, smaller than the first, both wearing iron helms, had snuck in.

  “What do you want with me?” Orion asked. One of the attackers responded with a sloppy thrust of a sword. Orion parried easily and knocked the person into a windowsill. Orion used the momentum to propel himself at the other two assailants, which caught them off guard. He knew that against a group, he must act swiftly and decisively. More often than not, he preferred taunting and arrogantly posturing during a fight.

  “You are so slow. Would you prefer I fight from my knees to even things up?” Orion also knew he had great magick to retreat into if the situation came to that. He was a little worried he might be too tired to fight them for long, magick or no. He had undergone the trials earlier, after all.

  They quickly recovered and, once back on their feet, began swinging their swords at him in fast succession. The fighting intensified, and he grew tired. They took turns, their swords swinging into the blade of his dagger, one after another. Orion barely got his hand up each time, exhaustion having taken hold. He looked around the small fighting space for something to use as a weapon. There was little save the torches and the stone walls themselves.