Geared for Pleasure (36 page)

She opened the door of the wardrobe and looked back at him with a grin. “Button up, you delicious man. Time to go.” She studied his cheeks and chin and chuckled softly. “Sword, did you know you have soot all over your face?”

She turned without waiting for his answer, but she had seen the sparkle start in his indigo eyes and knew he was as energized as she by their encounter.

Phina padded swiftly to the balcony and gripped his sword, spinning to hand it to him while she slid the one he’d borrowed from the captain out of his sheath and gave it to her.

There was no choice. He may not be able to scale the outer walls of the palace, but she could see how they might make it to the queen’s balcony from his.

He frowned at her calculating expression as she studied the drop. “Tell me we are not jumping off anything again.”

She nodded obediently. “We are not jumping off anything again.”

“Please say you are not just humoring me.”

She wrinkled her nose in consternation. “I am not just humoring you.”

He sighed and turned her chin toward him with his fingers. “Seraphina Felidae, you are planning something. What is it?”

She pointed to the curved copper piping that ran from his balcony to the adjacent turret. “That rain catcher will not hold your weight—it will disconnect and fall. I’ll attach the whip and, if you can control yourself, you can run the wall with it as it falls and get
to that ledge there. Keep your grip until we get around that corner and we can make it to the queen’s balcony.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Simple.”

“The rain catch—Phina, you want me to fall
sideways
? In the dark?” He lowered his voice, glancing back at the door to his room. “I believe I would have better luck with those Wode.”

He might think so, but he had not a clue what he was up against. “They aren’t your type of Wode. Cyrus. Don’t you know rogues when you see them? They don’t play by the rules. If Nephi has a chance, if you and I want to get out of here intact, this is our only way.”

“Son of a lowborn wretch,” he swore, pushing up his sleeves and eyeing the distance between his balcony and the ledge. “I suppose you’ll just leap onto the roof and walk across? You can see perfectly, can’t you?”

She loved his petulant tone. “You made it out of the tree alive, yes?” She patted his shoulder, stroking it one second longer than she should have. “Trust me. You can do this as well.”

He was still muttering as he clambered up onto the balcony railing. She uncoiled her whip, sending it out with perfect aim so it coiled around the pipe, handing it to him. He gripped the leather handle and took the small leap toward the water-filled drain attached beneath the roof.

As she’d predicted, the end closest to him groaned and creaked under the pressure, breaking away from the wall and dousing him with water as he swung the length of the smooth copper wall. She saw the whip begin to loosen and slip, but by that time he was low enough to reach out and grab the turret ledge, hanging on as though his life depended on it. Smart man.

“Damn,” he gasped through gritted teeth.

Two small leaps and Phina was on the roof, her tail out for balance as she walked the ledge and hopped on the turret’s rounded
dome. “Don’t swear. They may hear you. I can see the balcony from here, Cyrus. Hurry. And don’t drop that. I fancy it.”

She was talking about the whip, of course.

Long, grunting moments later she watched him reach a ledge wide enough for him to stand on. It was but a step away from the queen’s balcony. She dropped down to join him, her smile wide, hand held out for her long leather toy.

He was glaring as he handed it to her. “You enjoyed that.”

She could not deny the truth, but she was smart enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. On occasion. Besides, he had enjoyed it as well. She could smell it.

They moved as one to leap over the balcony and through the open doors to the well-lit rooms of the queen. Who they saw first made Phina’s jaw drop.

“Lucy Thrice?”

The young woman turned around, the side of her face not scarred with old burns smiling in surprised delight. “Lightfoot? By the two moons, my luck is still with me. If anyone can get what’s mine it is Lightfoot, sure enough.”

Cyrus, still dripping wet, had already drawn his sword, but Phina stepped ahead of him, looking around the room suspiciously. “What business could you have in the palace, Lucy? Someone purchasing poisons?”

Lucy Thrice cackled, making Phina smile. “They don’t need little Lucy Thrice to poison each other. You know that. I did a job for a lord, is all. A job I lost two men and got a lot of grief for. I deserve payment.”

Cyrus’s tone was disbelieving. “What kind of job?”

She shrugged carelessly. “Basic baggin’ job. Little half-breed Wode from the Hill here intent on runnin’ away. I was told to make sure she got somewhere she could earn her keep. Somewhere she would stay alive, but be confined.” She turned around and raised her voice as if
hoping someone would hear her. “Not Lucy Thrice’s fault she wasn’t put on display. I did my job, and I should get what’s mine.”

Dare. Lucy was talking about Dare. She sent Cyrus a warning look. She knew Lucy Thrice. She could handle her. “I heard about that. Saw her myself. I can be your witness. The Siren’s owner took a personal fancy to her and kept her behind the curtain, so to speak. Why are they refusing to pay?”

Lucy looked relieved at Phina’s understanding. “That is it all over, Lightfoot. Why blame Thrice?”

But Phina thought she understood. They’d wanted her whored out. Wanted Dare, who had been sheltered and protected and isolated her entire life, to break. The line of men who would want a turn with a beautiful, helpless Wode half-breed would have certainly done the trick.

She could sense Cyrus’s anger. Knew he understood as well. They had known Dare would leave the palace and taken steps to ensure she would be snatched.

Just as they had discovered Cyrus would be on the Siren, and paid Phina to sedate him. Not to steal
from
him, but to steal
him
.

How did their enemy know so much? Phina had believed only the Khepri had eyes everywhere. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Lucy Thrice went still. “I have a bad feelin’.”

“So do I,” Phina agreed, catching a familiar scent in the air. A scent that was growing stronger. Where was she?

“You are a tenacious Arendal, aren’t you, Cyrus? And Seraphina? Did you come with Lucy for your reward? You should get more, I think, since you did catch him for us twice.”

“Muller. Queen Idony has certainly lowered her standards if you’ve been invited for tea.” Phina gripped the hilt of the sword more firmly, ready for anything, and sneered. “I notice Lennis was not invited. But then, I killed him, so I imagine he would not make very good company.”

Muller chuckled delightedly. “So that’s what became of my not so silent partner. I had wondered. I owe you this time, Seraphina. You saved me the trouble of ending him myself.”

She had the strongest urge to claw his eyes out, but Muller was not alone. What’s more, her sister’s fear was a scent growing stronger with every passing moment. Drawing her attention.

“Is this the man, Seraphina? The one you let in my room?” His tone was expressionless, but Phina felt a needle pierce her heart at his words. He would never forget that betrayal.

“Yes. I am sorry. Cyrus?
Nephi
. She is nearby.”

“Go,” he muttered. “I can take care of him. He’ll tell me where the dagger is before he dies.”

She had no desire to leave him. Muller was tricky. But she could not ignore her sister’s silent cry for help. Ellsworth could have an army of Wode between them. Finally, an excuse to shed some blood.

“I am Cyrus Arendal, the Queen’s Sword.” He kept his gaze and sword pointed at the short gray-haired man near the doorway, but addressed Lucy Thrice. “If you leave now, Ms. Thrice, you may escape punishment for abducting the Queen’s Chalice. I will not offer you this boon should I see you again.”

“The Chalice?” Lucy sputtered. “They never said she was the Chalice. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Lucy Thrice knows when she’s not wanted. We’ll just call it even.”

She pushed the older man out of her way as she scurried out the door, in too much of a hurry to look back.

Muller smiled, but Cyrus could see the weakness in it. The telling tremor. “I am a guest of your queen, Arendal. Is it your habit to greet guests with your sword?”

Cyrus quirked his lips. “It is if the guest is the same man who stuffed me in a trunk and sent me to the desert to die. Toss your pistol on the floor.”

Muller held up his hands, one slowly reaching into the holster inside his jacket and pulling out his weapon. Cyrus was alert, but Muller dropped it on the floor without a sign of resistance. Damn it.
He was hoping for an excuse to gut the villain. Was he such a coward that he would not even try for one clean shot?

Apparently he was. Muller kicked the pistol toward Cyrus, who knelt to grip it with his free hand.

“I followed orders,” Muller offered. “I plucked your dagger and handed you over. What happened to you after is not my responsibility.”

Cyrus laughed, but there was no humor inside him. Just the memories of the pain he’d suffered. The others who were forced to work alongside him. The beatings. “You sound like that woman Thrice. I believe you. The both of you. You are cowards. Not to blame for what happened after you sold us. After you took all those people from their homes and sent them to death or servitude. You are not to blame for my scars or the danger you have put all of Theorrey in by following orders and taking your cut. I absolve you. That does not mean you won’t die.”

He stepped closer. “Still, I might spare you if you told me where the dagger is. And where is the queen? I should rephrase that. Where is the true queen?”

A high-pitch voice drew Cyrus’s attention. “The queen has been taken to a safe place, away from you and the Felidae. I was left behind to relay a message.”

Berhnard had staggered in, the blood staining his stomach spreading across the bright fabric of his tunic. “She was disturbed at your arrival. Claims you were not supposed to come back, sir. Odds against your survival were apparently rather high. The lord did not take enough precautions to protect her, she said.”

Cyrus swore. The man had fallen to his knees beside Muller, gripping his side as his life’s blood drained from him. “Berhnard. Damn it, man, could you not see she is not Idony? What lord? Did she have the dagger with her?”

“Dagger?” He seemed pale, confused. “No, sir. Only Wode and a
contingent of oddly dressed men with strange claw-like gloves. I
am
sorry, sir. I do not know what lord she was referring to. Only that she mentions him often of late. If I can do one last thing for you…” Berhnard used his remaining strength to stab Muller between the ribs. He must have been hiding a blade of his own.

Cyrus looked on in astonishment and helpless rage, taking a pointless step forward as the two men collapsed on the floor of the queen’s sitting room. One dead, the other soon to follow.

What the hell was going on?

He heard the sounds of shouts in the distance. Seraphina. He should help her. He started for the door but before he reached it, something stood in his way.

Hovered
in his way.

One of those scarab bugs of the Khepri’s design? Its brass body glowed a bluish green, its wings a blur in the air as it stared at him. A mechanical bug was staring at him.

Cyrus let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t suppose you know where the dagger is, do you, bug?”

The scarab flew over his shoulder into the room, leaving the sitting area and flying toward the queen’s bedroom.

Cyrus followed, a strong wave of sadness crushing his heart as he looked around at his queen’s room. The Theorrean globe that spun eternally on its own. The shelves of books and journals, and the familiar paintings on the wall. She had done them all herself. Over the years the queen had become all things. Scholar, artisan, scientist. She always pushed his compliments aside, saying that with enough lifetimes, anyone could be thought wise or mad. She strove for wise.

He studied the images in her paintings. She had created dragonflies hovering over white lotus blossoms, mermaids rising from the sea. All her stories come to life.

She had also painted Felidae. He moved closer to a painting he
had always been drawn to. A female Felidae with flowers and feathers in her hair, her smile breathtaking—it reminded him of Seraphina’s. The woman looked powerful, serene. The queen had drawn a city in the trees around her. A city filled with Felidae. Was this another fairy-tale scene? He’d always thought so. The Felidae on the island lived in staggered huts on the ground, and there were no trees inside the settlement on the edge of Centre City.

Cyrus swore when he saw the gem the queen had painted around the Felidae’s neck. “Impossible.”

He knew that unique jewel. Two ruby circles merged together, one on top of the other. But this was no ordinary ruby. This interesting jewel had a flame inside it. Orange and gold with a hint of blue.

He had seen it. Held it. And he knew that it did not merely appear to be flame. A trick of the light. It was a true flame. Moonfire.

It was the only one of its kind, and currently embedded in the queen’s missing dagger.

The scarab’s hum drew his attention to the small bureau beside the bed. Cyrus shook his head. It was clear this particular automaton had no idea what he was looking for. The false queen had no doubt taken the dagger with her. He could not imagine she would have left it in an unlocked drawer.

The bug was insistent, bumping its miniature metallic body into the wood. Cyrus opened the top drawer, feeling guilty as he rifled through Idony’s private letters and keepsakes.

Nothing.

The scarab had landed on top of the bureau, buzzing its wings rhythmically. “Why do I feel you are leading me on a merry chase for nothing, Khepri? Or distracting me long enough for the enemy to attack?”

As if in answer, he watched it walk back and forth on its tiny brass legs, its wings buzzing every few heartbeats, seemingly impatient for him to make a discovery. Cyrus looked closer.