The Deepest Night (19 page)

“Never.”

I remained as I was, unconvinced. He shifted to the other side of the chair.

“Your dragon eyes are nothing like what the paper showed. They’re almond-shaped, iridescent. The rest of your face is gold, but they’re ringed in purple.”

“Like a raccoon?” I’d seen a drawing of one once. It had looked like a rat with a sharp, pointed nose.

He laughed. “Not really. Just like … markings, I suppose. You’ve never seen your own face?”

“No. How could I have?” I’d barely noticed even my human face. Mirrors weren’t exactly a vital part of my existence. I used them to ensure that I was free of smudges and that my hair was pinned tightly enough to avoid Mrs. Westcliffe’s censure. That was about it.

“Belle of the ball,” he assured me. “No wonder the other girls at Iverson snipe at you.”

“Right. That’s why.”

I eased back down. Gradually the room melted into that greeny gray darkness, and Armand’s breathing slowed. I watched the air condense into night. I listened to the insects in the forest clicking their tiny dusk songs. Frogs. The water bird by the lake, piping alone.

“Are you going to marry me, Eleanore Jones?” Armand asked, his words barely breaching the dark.

Yes. No.

How could I, and how could I not?

“Ask me again later,” I answered at last. “Ask me when this is all done, and we’re back in England, and the sun is shining.”

Ask
me
then, if I’m still walking in this life beside you.

Chapter 27

Always she astounds me. Lora-of-the-moon, changing her fate yet again.

I can’t believe I never realized she’d do it. I’d thought I’d tested her depths, known her true heart. There can be no sound reason I never anticipated this future, except, perhaps, that I didn’t want to.

Her life for his.

And now all will be different. The path she was meant to forge ahead alone has been bent.

I am a furnace with the force of my desire, a fire so hot I melt my own limitations.

I need to reach them. I need to change the coming day.

But they’re so entwined now. Because of her sacrifice, they’re bonded in a way I never was with her, absorbed in each other’s songs. Mine becomes harder and harder to distinguish.

I watch from my impossible distance, knowing the sun will exhaust me before I see these next few hours through; that I’ll vanish from the sky before I know how it concludes. I spin a spell and sing the only song I need this dragon whelp to remember, the only command Armand must obey:
don’t leave her.

Chapter 28

Armand had discovered the name of the village by the lake, consulted his maps, and figured out where we needed to go next. I munched one of the apples (very tart) as he suited up: the leather coat and gloves, the compass, the knapsack and goggles. The pistol in its holster, which I was starting to think would be better off in my hands than his. But since I wouldn’t have actual hands for our flight, I let him keep it.

I took my dragon shape by the shore of the lake, the moon looming over us, a sharpened scythe imprisoned in rings of misty platinum and mauve.

Mandy climbed up and ran his hands down my neck before finding my mane. He felt too light to me. I knew it to be an illusion—he weighed the same as ever—but I wanted him to be heavier. Solid and substantial like a boulder. Like a mountain, so I’d never have to worry about anything harming him ever again.

I gazed at the stars and thought,
Don’t take me now. Not while he’s riding the clouds with me. Let him stay safe, please.

safe, beast. tonight he is safe.

It would have to do.

We left the lake and lodge behind. I went up, up—the lambent lights from the village quite festive from here—making a wide, easy circle before heading in the right direction.

Northeast, toward Prussia.

Mandy had calculated that we could reach the prison camp by dawn. We weren’t going to attempt to infiltrate it yet; we’d wait a day, hide and rest up, assess our situation. See if we could figure out exactly where Aubrey was being held before charging in.

I flew as high as I dared. With the moon out and no ocean or heavy cloud cover to protect us, we slipped along the wind, silent but painfully visible. Our route wouldn’t take us over any major cities, but still I did my best to avoid any pockets of civilization below. I didn’t know enough about guns to know how high a bullet could be shot. Only that it hurt like the devil when they struck you.

A few hours in, I realized the land below me had changed from forest and roads to roads and clearings. But these clearings weren’t farmers’ pastures or plowed fields. They were too narrow for that, parallel strips that went on and on, bare of any vegetation. I puzzled over them, slowing some, and by the time I glanced ahead and noticed the aeroplanes stationed at their ends, Armand was already pressing his knees into me and wrenching at my mane.

It was an airfield. I’d never seen one before, of course, but it—

We’d been spotted. An alarm sounded; I heard it clear as the bell Mrs. Westcliffe liked to peal at Iverson to herd students from one room to another, only this was shrill and awful and went on and on and on. Figures of men spilled out from structures I hadn’t even noticed, swarming the aeroplanes. A searchlight flashed on and pinned us in white light.

Bad luck for me—I’d been looking at its tower when it lit. I was blinded. Armand was pulling me left,
left
, and I veered that way without being able to see what I was doing, if I was getting free of that light or just moving into another one.

I heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The
tat-tat-tat-tat!
that I knew meant machine guns unloading their drums.

I supposed I’d find out the range of their bullets after all.

I climbed. The peaceful silence of before had been devoured, eaten up by the clanging of the alarm and the gunfire and the wind that now scoured me, fighting me. I felt Armand tucked close to my neck and heard him shouting, “Go! Go!” and God help me, I was.

Then came the worst sounds of all: engines sputtering to life. Propellers spinning, hacking the air.

I grimaced, trying not to imagine them hacking me instead.

My vision began to filter back, shapes and colors returning. We’d left the airfield behind and were over roads and pasture once more. I didn’t think the searchlights had caught us again—hopefully we were too far beyond them—although I could still hear that blasted alarm.

And then the aeroplanes taking off.

I looked back. Two, three … five of them right behind us. Armand met my eyes, then twisted to look back, too.

Six. Seven.

And they were getting closer. The wind had turned against us and it made all the difference, but I’d wager it meant nearly nothing to the engines of those planes.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Bullets strafed by. One zinged off a barb on my tail, sending me into a spin.

I spiraled out of it, ducking and dodging, dipping and soaring. At one point Armand lost his seat entirely and was floating over my back, holding on with just his hands, but I couldn’t stop, because the aeroplanes were roaring closer and closer, and they were relentless.

I should Turn. I should go to smoke. But I didn’t know if Armand would, too—if he
could
, even, but I didn’t
know
, and since I didn’t know, I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t leave him and just let him fall and bloody well hope he figured out what I meant for him to do before he ended up a smear on the ground—

There! There was a town up ahead! Surely the pilots wouldn’t continue to fire over their own people?

I slitted my eyes and straightened for speed, the wind screaming now, gunfire puncturing the night in wide-open arcs to the left and right and above.

So I dropped lower, and the dull yellow burn of the streetlights was just there, and the first of the buildings swept into view. I flew over rooftops so close my talons scratched sparks from their shingles. I couldn’t tell if the pilots were still firing, but it didn’t matter; I had to slow, so I opened my wings and fought the rush of the world whipping past us.

Not all the streets were lit. I aimed toward a section of shadows, finding a lane of cobblestones, plowing into them.

More sparks; the lane ripped apart. A brick wall hurtling toward my face, too late to avoid.

I angled my head and took the blow, and everything flashed white like the searchlight, then black.

I opened my eyes, or thought I did. Everything was still black.

Maybe I’d gone blind.

Maybe I was dead.

But someone was holding me. Someone who smelled of pine trees and sea salt and desperation. His lips were pressed to my temple. His breath blew ragged against my hair.

“Wish I’d had a cannon for a tail,” I mumbled, and passed out again.

The next time I regained my senses was much more unpleasant. The world was no longer so opaquely black, but murky and dingy and sickeningly blurry. Somewhere nearby dogs were barking, an entire army of them, with a weirdly jabbering chorus of human voices lacing through. My head felt as if it would split apart.

All of me,
all
of me, hurt.

Armand was gone. I lay alone on something itchy and hard.

Had we been captured?

I rolled to my side, made my way up to my elbows. Beneath me was a shabby felt blanket spread over a stone floor. A stale breeze swirled by, and I sneezed, cramping my stomach and sending everything even blurrier and more nauseating.

Where was Armand? What were they doing to him?

I tried to stand. The world tipped sideways, and I found myself on my hands and knees with my head hung down, gasping.

Very well. I’d sit first. That seemed … not entirely unreasonable. I leaned back carefully, making it to one hip, and that was when I realized I was wearing the calico dress I’d bought a lifetime ago back in England. Back when I’d been so secretly thrilled to have something as simple as a new dress all my own, and never once really thought for a second about the consequences of what I was about to do next, promises made, lords to save … 

I exhaled past my teeth and covered my eyes with one hand. It helped to tamp down the nausea.

Armand was beside me suddenly, supporting me by the shoulders, urging me back to the ground.

“Stay there. Don’t try to stand.” He was speaking in a voice so low it was nearly a hiss. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but I couldn’t be certain, and you took a nasty blow to the head.”

“Where … ,” I began, but couldn’t seem to finish the thought.

“A warehouse. A vacant one, at least so far.” His hands pressed me against the blanket. “We’re a couple of blocks from where we came down. They haven’t searched here yet.”

“We need to …” Why couldn’t I think straight?

“We will. Just—just rest a moment, all right?”

All
right.

I lay back and covered my eyes again, listening to him pad away. He was moving swiftly, doing something with the knapsack, I could tell, because I heard the tins clinking around inside it.

A match was struck. I heard it, smelled it. I lowered my hand and turned my head and saw him crouched in a corner far from me, a pile of papers before him writhing with flames.

He was burning the maps.

As soon as the last one crisped to ash he stood, scattering the soot with the sole of his boot. Then he returned to me.

“I’ve stashed the rest of it. We’ll come back for it later. Right now we need to disappear. Do you think you can Turn to smoke?”

I groaned. The sound of the dogs barking grew louder and louder.

“Then, can you stand?”

“I …”

“Come on, Lora. Come on, love. We have to get out of here.”

“Out there?”

“Yes.” He was pulling me to my feet. “They might not know where that dragon machine went, but they heard the crash and they’ll be looking for its pilot. We can’t be discovered hiding.”

“I need … stockings. Shoes.”

He’d dressed me in the frock but had forgotten that part. I wasn’t wearing my chemise, either. If we were going to step out of this place with any hope of blending in, at the very least I shouldn’t be in my bare feet.

He ran back to the knapsack, which he’d stored on a shelf beneath more of the felt blankets, and returned with my shoes.

That was fine. The thought of bending over to slide on stockings made my throat close with sick.

I shoved my feet into my pumps. I leaned against him and we made our way to the door, which was big and rusted and looked like it would squeal to the heavens if jarred. I heard people beyond it, rapid footfalls.

Armand was whispering in my ear as we walked. “You’re my wife. You’re shy, you’re pregnant, and you’re ill, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Ja,”
he corrected me.

“Ja.”

“Hell. Your accent is atrocious. Just nod, okay?”

I pushed a lock of hair from my cheek, glancing up at him. He paused, taking me in, then moved behind me. He gathered all my hair past my shoulders and began quickly to braid it.

“If anyone talks to you, asks you questions or anything, you look at me. That’s it. Don’t try to answer. Act like I’ll beat you if you answer.”

I nodded, managing to keep my head in one piece by holding both hands against my temples. I didn’t know where he’d learned to braid a woman’s hair, and right now I didn’t care. All that yanking and pulling; it was as if an elephant was attempting to groom me.

He finished and stepped around to face me again. He clasped his hands around my upper arms and bent at the knees until our eyes were level. He looked disheveled and determined, bruised and mussed. In the half-light of the warehouse, he looked like he felt worse than I did.

“We need to blend in for a while. There’s a crowd gathered out there, and we need to be in it. But if things go bad and you can escape, I want you to. Turn if you can. Whatever it takes.”

“Not without you,” I said.

“
Yes
, without me! Don’t worry about me! I can Turn, too, remember?”

I rubbed at my scalp. That’s right. I’d forgotten. He could Turn now. Couldn’t he? It had something to do with the stars.… 

A dog snuffled up to the door. It caught the scent of us and let out a deep, frightened bark before skittering off.

“Time’s up,” Armand said, and pushed open the door.

He kept her as close to him as he could, their arms linked. She was a featherweight against him, her head to his shoulder, her steps matching his. He tried to walk slowly because he knew that would be better for her, but the people hustling past them weren’t going slowly. They were running. Some sprinting. An enemy aircraft had been downed, right here in their very own town, and everyone wanted to be able to say,
Did
you
see?

A mob of young men—too young to be soldiers yet, still just a shade too young—jostled roughly by, shouting and laughing, deliberately knocking elbows and shoulders. Light as could be, Armand snatched the hat off a straggler and slipped it behind his back, but the fellow didn’t notice. He was calling to the others, hurrying to catch up with his mates.

Mandy settled the hat over his head and pulled the brim low, and the wound above his eyebrow was gone as if it’d never been.

Dawn had arrived in a sweep of green clouds above them, the sky brightening into blue turquoise. If there were any stars left out, he didn’t see them, and he damned well didn’t hear them.

Could
use
a
spot
of
help
right
about
now,
he thought anyway.
Bloody
Jesse. Wherever you are.

But all he heard were people and dogs. A far-off whine of aeroplanes, likely out searching for their hides, too.

He was hoping for a pub, an inn, someplace where he could take Lora and tuck her away until that mirror-glazed look was gone from her eyes. It was so early in the morning, though. Surely there’d be a coffeehouse. Something.

He’d meant to steer them away from the crowd, but it was proving impossible. It appeared the entire population of the town had emerged from their beds to throng the streets, everyone flowing in the same direction. Before he knew it, they were at the beginning of the lane Lora had ravaged, the very place he had carried her from not an hour past. People were picking up chunks of cobblestone, exclaiming, as men dressed as soldiers and police attempted to keep them back. Dogs shimmied through legs, sniffing and winding toward the wall in the distance, which even from here looked as if it’d been struck by a train.