Page 15

Her pulse slowed, eyes narrowing with purpose. The ship groaned beneath her feet. Flushing out the daemon would be dangerous, not just to her, but to every passenger. Idonea had to hope that Safira was right in her faith, that the daemon wouldn’t strike, not on the ship.

Sleep eluded her that night. Every creak of the ship, every whisper of the wind, set her on edge. Even Lance was restless. They still weren’t comfortable with each other, but his hissing had lessened.

The sun had climbed high enough to bleach the deck in pale gold when Idonea walked alongside Safira and Kerem. The wind tugged at her cloak, carrying the smell of salt and oiled metal across the deck.

Safira leaned casually against the rail, one boot perched on the edge. Her eyes scanned the horizon.

“We’ll reach the capital tonight. Once we dock, we part our ways, doll.”

Idonea’s lips tightened. She wanted to ask for more. Instead, irritation slipped out.

“You’ve never asked my name,” Idonea said.

Safira tilted her head, a slow smile brushing her lips. “And I don’t wish to hear it.”

“I wish there was a better way to repay you.” Gratitude settled uncomfortably inside her. Too close to dependence.

Safira turned towards the railing, letting her fingers trace the cool metal. Her smile softened, but her eyes remained sharp.

“Safe passage is its own reward. I’ve got gold, and jewels enough. And neither of those would serve you half as well as keeping you alive.”

Idonea forced a smile. She didn’t argue. There was no space for moral high ground. She watched the captain’s silhouette against the horizon.

“Is there anything else?”

Kerem shook his head. “You'd better get yourself ready.”

Later, in the privacy of her cabin, she cracked open the viewport and let Lance slither free. His wings flared as he vanished into the gloom. He’d find her again once she reached the streets below.

Kerem knocked not long after, eyes unreadable. “Time.”

The deck was slick with dew. The capital spread beneath them through steam and fog; too large, too many places to disappear. Idonea’s stomach twisted as her mask and goggles clicked into place.

Safira gave her one final look over. “You look the part.” She glanced at the sky, where the moon tried, and failed, to burn through the clouds. “Take this.” A tiny clockwork bee, warm from her palm, was pressed into Idonea’s hand. Its wings twitched faintly. “Keep it close. If you activate him, I’ll come.”

Idonea’s fingers closed around it. “You’re not tracking me?”

“Only if you ask me to.” Safira’s voice quietened. “If you make it through this, you’re worth watching.”

Then she let out a chuckle. "There is another reason." She looked towards the bee. "A man called Marcin. Grand Templar. Two years ago, he boarded a pirate vessel in the Zorya passage, accused the crew of daemon-smuggling, and hanged eleven people from their own rigging." She let out a sigh. "They were not daemon-smugglers. They were carrying refugees. Witches, mostly. Women who'd paid for passage out."

Idonea said nothing.

"I have been waiting for an occasion to repay the debt," Safira said. "If you should ever find yourself in the same town as Brother Marcin and find yourself in need of an airship," she spread her hands, "send the bee."

The lift groaned as it lowered her into the guts of the capital, its mechanical arms juddering and hissing. The tang of burnt oil mixed with the faint mist swirling through the lift.

Each clunk of the lift echoed like a heartbeat. No turning back. The island was behind her and urgency snaked inside her chest. She ran possibilities through her head even as the lift shuddered. In the near distance, she spotted Lance watching from the shadows.

A daemon may be following…

Every lesson Safira drilled into her echoed faintly in her mind. Fear was a luxury she couldn't afford.

The air thickened as the lift descended. Current lay heavier here, denser and chaotic. Her skin pebbled, lungs constricting. The city pressed in on her spirit like a weight and she drew a slow, sharp breath. She made the list in her head again: relic, mother, daemon. Same order as yesterday. Same order as the day before.

Halfway down, she glanced back up, making out silhouettes working on the ship’s deck. They wouldn’t leave until the next night.

The lift clanked to a halt. Dim yellow light from the gas lamps lit the cobbled street as thick mist settled in the air from the overabundance of steam. The street smelled of piss and wet coal and old fire. She breathed through her mouth.