Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [77]
“Well—” He had to stop, catch his breath. “Now we know where they confined the infected.”
Yasmeen laughed. Her bright eyes met his, her smile brilliant. He watched it die as her gaze lit on something beyond him.
“Oh, fuck,” she said softly.
He looked around. Near the rope ladder, the marines were huddled over one of their men. Bigor had torn away Durand’s sleeve. The bloody marks couldn’t be anything but a bite.
The crew hushed.
Without turning his head, Bigor asked, “Mr. Fox, how long?”
A ball of lead settled in Archimedes’ gut. “If he has nanoagents, a few days. If he doesn’t, a few hours.”
Durand closed his eyes. Bigor bent his head toward the other man’s, said something too low to hear. A moment later, he stood and faced Captain Guillouet. “Will you please clear the deck, sir? We would like to say our farewells.”
Though his expression looked suddenly weary, Guillouet’s shoulders straightened. “I have to stand witness.”
“He’s our brother, sir.”
“That’s why I have to stand, marine.”
Bigor’s face tightened, but he nodded.
Yasmeen tugged on Archimedes’ hand. “Come.”
He followed her to the hatchway, where the deck crew was gathering, waiting their turns on the ladder. Softly, he said, “Should we say something to him before we go?”
“What can we say?” She slid down the ladder and waited for him below before starting along the passageway to their cabin. “He asked to have the deck cleared. That was his request. So we honor it.”
“And the captain?”
“Too many people try to hide their loved ones after a bite.” The weariness on her face matched the captain’s. “Guillouet standing witness isn’t personal, it isn’t an insult. It simply says: The crew comes first.”
And her crew had also always come first, Archimedes knew. “You’ve done the same?”
“Too many times. And too many times, I’ve been the one pulling the trigger.” She stopped as a gunshot sounded above. Her eyes closed. After a long moment, she looked up at him. “If I’m ever bit, please do the same for me. Don’t make me do it myself.”
“I will.” It was the most difficult promise he’d ever made. “I’d ask the same, but there’s no question that you’ll shoot me—even if I wasn’t infected.”
A smile touched her mouth, but her eyes remained serious. “It might take more for me to shoot you than you think. I suppose that means I’m not as dangerous to you. Is that disappointing?”
Was it? He recalled the pounding of his heart as he’d shot her with the opium dart, the delicious fear that had accompanied him back to Lady Corsair, certain she’d try to kill him at any moment. That fear had gone, but it wasn’t a loss: every moment with her was more thrilling, more fulfilling, even if she wasn’t trying to shoot him.
And he had more fears now to replace it: fear for her life, fear that when this expedition was over and her vengeance satisfied, he’d never see her again. And though he knew her heart was steel, though he looked forward to the longing of an unrequited love, he also knew the fear that she’d never feel the same in return.
She might not kill him, but he was still on a path that didn’t lack for danger. It lurked behind her every touch, her every smile, her every word. With each one, he fell a little more—but instead of hope, his shattered heart waited below.
“I’m not disappointed,” he said.
He was terrified.
Unsurprisingly, the airship’s galley provided Hassan’s table with marginally better food and the luxury of wine—which, Yasmeen noted, Hassan didn’t touch. Conversation was subdued. She and Archimedes barely mentioned the morning’s adventure, though she knew if there’d been any other outcome with Durand, neither one of them could have resisted upstaging the other.
Instead, she refilled her wine and listened as Archimedes told Hassan of an island in Venice that had been used in the same way as the keep, then of another island on the Seine. He mentioned dates and names with no effort, no pausing to recall details—as if history were as familiar as his own family.
In the serial adventures,