Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [15]
“Tells me nothing. In the New World alone, I cannot name a city that you couldn’t have hailed from. Who does not have family that is native or African, or some mix of both in their blood?”
Spoken like a true Liberé supporter. “As your father often pointed out, your family doesn’t.”
“Yes, well. Even that means little as far as discerning your origin by complexion. Without the sun, Wolfram is as pale as I, yet after a summer spent diving along the Gold Coast, he returned as dark as you. How many of your own crew are, too?—and how many are from the New World?”
Most of them. “So I could be from anywhere. Your options are open. You cannot make a story out of that to please your readers?”
“Of course, but it does not satisfy my curiosity.” She huffed out a breath. “At least tell me how you became such a crack shot. Did you learn before you joined my father’s crew? Of course you did, since you shot him in the head, too. You must be from the New World, then—perhaps along the frontier borders, or in the disputed territories. I cannot imagine anywhere in the Horde empire that they would teach a young girl to fire a gun.”
“Can’t you? I imagine they’d have reason to in the walled cities. If a zombie came over the barrier, a girl’s ability to shoot it in the head might be her—and the city’s—only chance of surviving.”
“That is true enough. But I didn’t realize the Horde armed the citizens in the occupied cities. They didn’t in England.”
“They don’t. But they should.” Amused by Zenobia’s second exasperated huff, Yasmeen smiled and blew a stream of smoke through her teeth. “I think every woman should be armed, including writers in quiet little townships like Fladstrand.”
The woman’s color deepened. “I have a weapon. But I don’t sleep with it.”
“I do.” Yasmeen kept so many weapons in her bed that her friend Scarsdale had once called it an orgy.
“And I am grateful that you were so well prepared. I’ll admit that I despaired when I thought you only had a blade.”
“I never only have a blade—but the only weapon I bring to a conversation is a knife. A gun means the talking is over.”
“Oh. Oh! I must make Lady Lynx say that.” Without a break in her stride, Zenobia tore off her right glove with her teeth before digging out a paper and pencil from her pocket. She scribbled the line as she walked.
Inspiration was to be taken so directly? Yasmeen slowed to accommodate the other woman’s preoccupation, wondering if she’d often done the same when walking with Archimedes . . . who was charming and fun, much like the character Zenobia had created. Yasmeen had assumed it also reflected the sister, but Zenobia seemed far more sober and practical than her brother had been.
“How much of Archimedes came from Wolfram, and how much was you?”
Zenobia tucked her notes away. “All Wolfram. It was easy, though, because I know him well. Lady Lynx will likely have more of me in her.”
Because she didn’t know Yasmeen as well. Fair enough. “And so she’ll be French? Prussian?”
“Oh, no. English again, probably, just as I made Archimedes.”
She’d already decided? “Then why the interrogation about my background?”
“My own curiosity, as I said—and to build a better character. But the English bit, it’s the audience, you understand. The New World is fascinated with the Horde occupation and those who’ve lived under their heel, and the English like to see themselves as heroes—and I sell more copies all around.”
Which meant more money for Yasmeen, too. The mention of heroes worried her, however. She’d carefully cultivated her reputation to protect her lady and her crew; she wouldn’t see it destroyed with a stroke of a pen. “They won’t know she is me, will they?”
“No. They’ll assume it is based on that lady detective, the one every newssheet from London has been writing about. She was your passenger once, I believe?”
Ah, Mina Wentworth. Yes, the detective had spent some time on Lady Corsair. Yasmeen liked her, even though the woman had been idiot enough to go soft for a man—especially a man like the Iron Duke.