Heart of Steel (30 page)

This was not her story, he realized. At least, not as Terbish's had been, but something she must have heard again and again. Blissed, her voice had taken on the cadence of a poem in the Horde language that her heavy accent seemed to emphasize, lift.

“She bore many sons and daughters, and taught them all in the ways of the Eternal Sky and the Earth Mother, and taught them to love the mountains that brought men close to the sky, and the rivers that were the mother's blood. All her children were favored, but none more than her son Barsu Bolod, the Steel Tiger, who everyone agreed would be Khan when her eyes had closed. She told him that he must find a wife, but only to marry one who was as strong and as fierce, as noble and as wise as she. Barsu Bolod searched the empire, looking for such a woman, when he was beset upon by bandits trying to take his gold. He fought, but there were too many. But his warrior's cries were heard in a nearby village, where there lived a maiden of beauty and boldness. Taking up her spear, Khojen slew the bandits, and their blood spewed into the earth like a thunderstorm. Barsu Bolod saw her, and loved her, and knew that she would stand beside him when he was Khan, and if ever he fell too early, she would defend their people with the ferocity of a tiger. He brought her back to Xanadu, and presented her to the wise queen, who saw that Khojen's soul was a mirror to her own. They were married, and in their happiness, they agreed to the queen's wise advice to travel around the empire, so that the people would know them both.”

She paused. Not to wet her lips, Archimedes saw with astonishment, but because she was overcome with feeling. Her eyes glistened and her throat worked. Perhaps it was only the opium—but whatever she claimed of her heart of steel, she burned with deep emotion.

What would it be to be loved by her? God, he would give anything to know.

“They traveled to the lands of Goryeo and read the carved blocks. They walked through the flowered temples of Khmer. They bathed in the sacred river, and floated lamps filled with oil across her waters. They reached for the Eternal Sky upon the highest mountains. They crossed the deserts and walked three times around the house of God.

“Everywhere, they were welcomed and showered with gifts. But although Lady Khojen was given gems and gold, treasures uncounted, she would not be parted from the gift of the Persian lynx, the caracal with the tufted ears and golden fur. It sat upon her lap, always, purring as she stroked its soft side, and would not allow anyone but Lady Khojen and Barsu Bolod to caress it. Like Lady Khojen, it hunted with ferocity and defended its mistress from those who might come near. But as they traveled, the wise queen grew old. Her heart and her eyes began to fail. When the happy pair heard news of the wise queen's illness, they returned across the empire, full of all they had seen and heard, their own hearts wise and good. But the heirs of Ögedei had news of their route, and while they rested at a trusted house, they were set upon by the traitorous dogs.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, began to slip down her cheeks. Her voice never faltered, her breath never sobbed. Nergüi sat across from her, weeping softly. She knew this story, too, Archimedes realized. Perhaps all of the Horde knew it.

“Warriors in full, they fought, but Barsu Bolod fell. Lady Khojen, the mirror of his mother's soul, threw herself upon him and took a blade meant for his heart, but it could not save them. Impaled together, they breathed their last, and the heirs of Ögedei raised their knives to desecrate the bodies. But the caracal, who knew by the scent of blood that her mistress had fallen, would not let them touch the once-happy couple. With teeth and claws, it defended them. When friends of the wise queen came to the house, they found the caracal had slain all that attacked her beloved son and his fierce wife. When Manduhai the Wise heard this, she knew the animal would always be friend to the Khan and to the empire, and ordered her magicians to create a woman who would never falter in her guard, a woman of teeth and claws, a woman as beautiful as a flower and as strong as steel, with the loyal heart of the caracal. And so it was done—and the
gan tsetseg
have served the true house of royal blood from that day.”

Silence fell. The fire crackled. Yasmeen stared into it, pupils dilated, cheeks wet. After what seemed an endless time, Nergüi gave a snore. Terbish lay with his back to them—sleeping or quiet.

Yasmeen looked to him and said softly in French, “Except for me. I don't serve anyone but myself.”

“And Lady Lynx was more accurate than Zenobia knew.”

Smiling, she lay down beside him. “Yes.”

He thought of the rumors that the Horde bred animals with people. He'd never believed it, discarding the talk as the vicious sort that people spoke of their enemies. But there was some truth in it, bits and pieces. Not that women had lain with apes, but they
had
been mixed, in some way. “Is it through the nanoagents?”

“Yes. The inventors at the stable combined the essence of the caracal with that of our mothers. I don't know how. And I don't know who she is,” Yasmeen added. “The mothers are chosen through the crèches, and we never see them.”

“And when the
gan tsetseg
have children? Are they still like you?”

“I don't know. I never will have my own—after Bart stabbed me, it was too much for my nanoagents to heal, though they worked so hard they began killing me with the fever. Eben also tried to repair my womb in surgery, but . . . he could not, though he fixed what he could. I would kill Bart again, just for that loss. And the others cannot—they are metal all below. But there must be some in the houses that can't be altered now that the Khan's stable is gone, and they will bear children. Perhaps then we will see.”

All metal below.
“Can the others . . . ?”

She grinned. “Your brain works exactly as every other man's. Of course they can.”

“But they don't have to serve that way, too?”

“No. If she's treated like a whore, she can crush them. Quite literally, in every way.” She turned her head, looked into the fire again. “Doesn't it bother you to know?”

“What?”

To his surprise, she flicked her ear. But they were not even so very different: the same shell as any person's, though slightly tapered at the tip and topped by that short tuft.

“No.” He reached out to trace the curved edge, and she drew away, smiling.

“Not here, Mr. Fox.”

“Why?” He knew she loved it when he stroked her—and he had scratched a cat's ears before, had seen the reaction. He lowered his voice. “Are they sensitive? If I stroke them, will you embarrass yourself in front of our hosts?”

“No, Mr. Fox.” She rolled to face him and came up on her elbow, her mouth almost to his. “It's just that they're very, very . . . ticklish.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, stifling his laugh.

Her fingers stroked the side of his jaw. “Do you stay awake first, or do I?”

“I will.” Though they didn't have to worry about the soldiers, it was still best to keep watch. “Five hours?”

“Yes.” Softly, she pressed her lips to his neck. He heard her deep inhalation, as if drawing in his scent. “Do you know that I have read all of your stories?”

He didn't. But now his mind sifted frantically through them, trying to remember what Zenobia had included, what was fact—and what he might hate to have Yasmeen know. Carefully, he asked, “What did you think?”

“Archimedes Fox did some very stupid things.”

Ah, yes. Some of those were fact, too. God. Gritting his teeth, he said, “You think so?”

“Yes.” She sighed against his throat. “And yet, I could never get enough of him.”

And while he was still trying to find the words to reply, she climbed into the bedroll and closed her eyes.

 

 

Yasmeen would be sorry to leave. The freezing cold, empty
fortress, and the two days spent walking through it with Archimedes Fox had been perfect in every way. Yet as they climbed to the southeast tower after saying their farewells to Nergüi and Terbish, his expression was thoughtful, maybe troubled.

He doused the light at the top of the tower, and they waited atop the wall. Fresh snow covered the flying machine in the courtyard, making it difficult to see even with her eyes. Terbish and Nergüi had agreed to their request to meet the airship alone; knowing that she and Archimedes had been friendly with two members of the Horde might raise suspicions against them, and she didn't want to add to the crew's tension.

Farther up the valley,
Ceres
approached under full sail, her deck lanterns dark. Apparently they hadn't mutinied yet.

And Archimedes had nothing to show for this expedition thus far.

“Are you worried because there was nothing to find?” she wondered.

He shook his head. She couldn't read him—only that something was wrong.

“Have I already broken your heart?” She hoped not. She hoped she never did. She hoped that if he loved her, that he would go on, content to love her.

“Not yet.” His gaze softened. He stroked his hand down her cheek, then suddenly cupped her jaw in both hands and his head fell, hovering, hovering just above her mouth. His ragged breath across her lips seemed to echo the shaking of her body.

Her heart pounded. “Kiss me.”

“Kiss
me
,” he said.

Damn him. Why did he never follow orders? “I can't. But I want to finish this, and I
need
you in my bed. How can your longing
not
be great enough, when I want you so much without love? When will you love me, long for me enough to kiss me?”

“When will
you
?”

Her chest ached suddenly, painful, deep. “That was not part of this. You know I cannot.”

“I don't know that anymore. Ah, God. And that makes the pain worse. If you
can
love me but
won't . . .”

Torment filled his eyes, his voice. He clutched her against his lean body, face buried in her hair. She kissed his neck, jaw, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight.

And he said softly against her ear, “I saw gliders that night.”

“What?” She drew back, looked up into his face. “What night?”

“Just after I left you on
Lady Corsair
, while I was hiding from Nasrin behind the crates. I thought they were acrobats, practicing—as they sometimes do late.”

“So?” They did practice late.

He looked to the batwing gliders that Bigor had lent. “There were four of them.”

Her stomach suddenly seemed filled with hot coals. He thought Bigor and his men had boarded her lady? But that was exactly the type of work they did in the war. Quiet, quick, and then erase the evidence.

She remembered Bigor's voice.
Doing things I'd never want my wife and children to know.
Had that been an apology? An explanation? An excuse?

Just something said from one person who'd lost their brother to someone who'd lost their crew?

“How can we know?” she whispered. “What happens if we ask them?”

“I think they could very easily kill us.”

“Not
easily
.”

“No—the decision would be easy for them.”

And so it would be. They didn't leave evidence. “Who hired them before al-Amazigh did? Does Hassan know who recommended them, what contact they used? You can't find a team like that in a tavern.”

He nodded. “We'll ask him.”

“Yes.” By the lady, she could not imagine . . . And now she was sorry she'd saved any of them from the zombies.

No. She was still glad she'd saved three of them. Not just because they might be innocent.

But she'd rather kill them with full knowledge if they weren't.

 

 

Suspicion was like a toothed saw through her heart, rasping
away.
Ceres
came in over the wall, dropped the rope ladder. Yasmeen reached for it, then glanced back, over the dark courtyard.

“I think I will come back in five years, just to see whether it flies.”

“And I will come with you.”

Together?
She held his gaze long enough to say it, but didn't say it aloud. Turning away, she started up the ladder.

No sign of Bigor and his marines on deck—just Captain Guillouet. Definitely no mutiny, then, but it had been a rough few days for some. Hassan stood next to the captain, face slightly pale, weary. “Did you find anything? Do we need to lower the cargo lift?”

Archimedes came up behind her. “Those at the Horde outpost must have taken everything. There's nothing left.”

The old man gave a resounding sigh and nodded. “We will go south, then. It will be warmer, if nothing else.” He looked to Captain Guillouet. “We go to Italy.”

The captain moved off to give the necessary orders, and Yasmeen was left, feeling more stupid than she'd ever felt. It was warmer on the boot of the Italian peninsula, though not significantly at this time of year and on an airship. Hassan might feel better.

But he shouldn't have been feeling poorly at all. Older men and women felt their age, just as Nergüi did . . . unless they were infected with nanoagents. Except for a fever now and again as the nanoagents fought off severe sickness or attempted to heal a badly injured body, the infected were almost always healthy. Thousands of people in England had lived their lives without so much as a sniffle, and Yasmeen would have wagered anything that the same was true in Morocco.

Yet if it was poison, no one else was suffering from it. The other men who'd been eating at the captain's table showed no sign of sickness . . . and they would have exhibited symptoms faster, because they weren't infected. But Hassan consumed one thing that no one else did.