Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [16]
Yasmeen nodded. “She’ll do.”
“Perhaps I will give Lady Lynx a background connected to the Horde rebellion—I could use some of Wolfram’s old letters to establish that, and the stories would be of her current adventures.” She paused, as if considering that, before continuing. “Yes, that will work very well. Were you ever part of the rebellion, Captain?”
More crumbs? This trail would lead Zenobia all the way to Constantinople—what little remained of it after the Horde had crushed the rebellion there.
“I’ve never been a part of it,” she said truthfully. “But I’ve had business dealings with the rebels. I’ll share the details with you in my letters.”
“Thank you. If there is anything that you think she shouldn’t be, Captain Corsair, I would appreciate you telling me now. I can’t promise that you’ll like what I write, but I prefer not to be . . . inaccurate.”
Or to offend her, Yasmeen guessed. She appreciated that. “Don’t let her be an idiot, always threatening someone with a gun. Only let her draw it if she intends to use it.”
Zenobia blushed again. “Unlike Archimedes Fox?”
In her stories. “Yes. You have to assume that someone will try to kill you while you’re deciding whether or not to shoot them. So by the time the gun comes out, that decision should have been made.”
“I see.” Her notes were in her hand again, but Zenobia didn’t add to them. “Is that what Wolfram did—wave his gun around?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes closed. “Idiot.”
So Yasmeen had often said, but his sister should know the rest of it. “Stupid, yes. But also exhausted. He returned a week late, and Venice wouldn’t have given him time to rest or eat.” A month spent in the ruined city with too many zombies and too few hiding places. “When he climbed up to the airship, he ordered my crew to set a heading for the Ivory Market. I refused and told him to sleep it off before making demands. That’s when he drew his gun and—”
She broke off. Zenobia was shaking her head, a look of disbelief on her face. “You waited for him?”
Yasmeen had. Blissed on opium and wondering why the hell she was still floating over a rotten city. But she’d known. She’d read through each damn story of his, each impossible escape, and she’d known he’d make it out of Venice, too. So she’d waited. And when he’d finally returned to her ship, she’d had to toss him back—believing he might still make it.
But after he’d tried to take her ship, she wouldn’t wait for him again.
“I waited,” she finally answered. “He still owed me half of his fee.”
Zenobia studied her expression before slowly nodding. “I see.”
Yasmeen didn’t know what the woman thought she saw—and didn’t care, either. She was more interested in the reason Archimedes had been late. “He couldn’t have known I’d wait,” she said. “And the sketch wouldn’t have been worth anything to him if he died there.”
Zenobia’s chin tilted up at an unmistakable angle, a combination of defiance and pride—as if she felt the need to defend her brother. “Perhaps he was late for the same reason you stayed: money.”
Yes, Yasmeen believed that. If she had followed Archimedes’ orders and flown directly to the Ivory Market, he could have quickly sold the sketch. Which suggested that he’d risked his life because if he’d left Venice without the sketch, he’d have been dead anyway.
He’d owed someone, and whoever it was intended to collect. Few debts would need a da Vinci sketch to cover them, though. Even small salvaged items like those Archimedes usually collected sold high at auction. Of the baubles in Zenobia’s parlor, the miniature alone would purchase a luxury steamcoach.
“Does he really owe so much?”
“Yes.”
“So you changed your names and went into hiding.” Not that Archimedes Fox had done a good job of hiding, traipsing all over the world as he did.
“Yes.” Zenobia’s sigh seemed to hang in the air. They’d almost reached the Rose & Thorn before she spoke again. “Is there