“So there was no fighting?” X asked.
Imulah shook his head.
“This was a very long time ago, when things were much different.”
Imulah kept reading, but X’s thoughts drifted to the conflicts and resentments of today—to DJ, his son Rhett, and the crew of the Lion. A few floors above him, Ada Winslow sat in a cell, just as he once had, awaiting her punishment.
X still hadn’t figured out what to do with her. He had thought that reopening the Sky Arena would slake the Cazadores’ thirst for blood. But it had only resulted in the death of an innocent boy trying to avenge a father murdered over a stupid boat. Now he had two dead sky people, and a situation that was quickly spiraling out of control.
Fur brushed against his legs under the table. The warmth of Miles lying at his feet reminded him there was still much to be thankful for. A year ago, he had been trekking across the wastes with this dog, crazed, exhausted, and dying of cancer. Now he was the freaking king of a paradise that his people could call home forever, as long as they didn’t kill each other first. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
The doors to the library screeched open. Sergeant Wynn and Lieutenant Sloan walked inside. Their rifles were slung, so this wasn’t likely an emergency. He walked away from the tables and spoke softly.
“Sergeant, Lieutenant,” he said. “Please tell me you have good news.”
Sloan looked to Wynn.
“I’ve spent the day talking to our Spanish-speaking militia soldiers on all the rigs and have ordered them to keep an eye and an ear out for any talk of rebellion,” Wynn said. “So far, they haven’t heard anything.”
“How about Discovery?” X asked. “Have we heard anything from them?”
Sloan shook her head. “With those storms, it’s possible we won’t hear from them again until they return.”
“Keep trying. Maybe we will get lucky. If you do get through, I want you to tell me ASAP. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Understood.”
“Keep up the good work,” X said.
The soldiers left, and he returned to the table.
Imulah closed his book. “King Xavier, I’m sorry,” said the scribe, “but the failed mission to Rio de Janeiro seems to be one of the operations with little documentation.”
“Why? For every other mission, you have the records of how many soldiers deployed, on what ship, all the way down to how many freaking bullets were sent and how many came back.”
Imulah licked his lips—a new nervous tic.
“What aren’t you telling me?” X asked, stepping closer.
“King Xavier, we have many customs that you still do not understand.”
“For example?”
The scribe brought his scarred hand up to his beard. “For example, we do not keep detailed records of failed missions, because the warriors who failed are not glorified in their deaths.”
“So what happens the next time a mission is sent out to the same place? Those warriors are left in the dark about the dangers? Just like this mission?”
Imulah nodded. “It is a challenge and a rite of passage.”
“It’s also stupid.”
“With respect, King Xavier, ‘stupid’ could apply to many of your customs as well.”
“Oh, yeah? Name one.”
“Jumping out of airships into electrical storms.”
X chuckled and cracked a grin. “Okay, fine. Touché, scribe man. But just remember, you guys worship a mollusk. And you followed a man that you called Octopus Lord.”
“And now I follow you, King Xavier.”
X narrowed his gaze, trying to gauge Imulah’s sincerity. The scribe hadn’t forgiven Magnolia for pinning his hand to a door. Not that X blamed him for harboring some resentment, but the man was lucky to have his balls after what he did to Magnolia.
“So you’re telling me you have absolutely zero details on the last mission to Rio de Janeiro other than the fact that a warship left and never came back?” X asked.
Imulah sighed. “There doesn’t appear to be any record of that mission other than what you have already read about the ship and the warriors deployed,” he said. “The only way there would be anything about this place would be if there was a successful journey there in the distant past that I’m not aware of.”
“Would have been nice to know earlier tonight, before I wasted my time coming here.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure there ever was another mission. I will have to dig deep in the archives.”
“You do that. I’ve got someone I need to talk to.”
“Very well, King Xavier.”
X left the scribe to his work. He’d had enough of the library for the night. He whistled for Miles, who followed him out the doors and down a passage displaying pictures of former kings and great generals.
“No way in hell they’re putting my mug up there,” he said.
Miles wagged his tail.
“Oh, so you want your picture on the wall, boy?”
The dog’s tail whipped harder.
“Okay, maybe someday,” X said. The thought made him sad, knowing that someday, perhaps soon, Miles would pass over the golden bridge.
When that day came, X wouldn’t feel like sticking around much longer himself. In many ways, the dog was the closest friend he had known in the past decade.
He shook away the morbid thoughts on his way down the corridor, where he saw another loyal friend. Rhino stood guard with Ton and Victor. X was glad to see that Victor and Rhino had been talking. He trusted all three men with his life, and it would be good if they too became friends.
“Are you finished with your studies, King Xavier?” Rhino said.
X resisted the urge to laugh. He just couldn’t quite get used to being called “King” and having a bodyguard the size of an old-world power lifter.
“Yeah, I’m done and heading up to talk to Lieutenant… to Ada Winslow,” X said, correcting himself.
Rhino’s nostrils flared, moving his nose ring. This small reaction told X all he needed to know about the man’s feelings toward the young woman who had murdered his people.
X nodded at Ton and Victor, then gestured for Rhino to walk the halls with him.
“What would you have me do with her?” X asked.
Rhino took a moment to reply. “It is not my place to say, King Xavier.”
“I’m asking your opinion.”
Again Rhino hesitated.
“Speak freely,” X said. “I seek your counsel.”
“I’d keep what she did silent forever—by killing her.”
X studied Rhino and then turned away.
“If what she did ever gets out, it would likely mean civil war,” Rhino said. “You can’t risk it, for the sake of both our peoples.”
“I know.”
“Then you know what you must do.”
“What are you saying? That I should kill her right now?”
“That is your decision as king.”
X pondered their conversation on the flight of stairs up to the brig. A single militia soldier stood guard outside the dimly lit passage leading to three cells.
“King Xavier,” the guard said, coming to attention as he approached.
“Evening,” X said. “Please open the gate and give me the key to prisoner Winslow’s cell.”
The soldier found the key and opened the door, then handed X the ring of keys. X went inside and stopped at Ada’s cell. She was sitting up on her bunk, knees up to her chest.
“Sir,” she said.
He opened the door and stepped inside to look out the window over the water.
“How old are you?” X asked with his back to the young woman.
Ada stammered. “Twenty-five, sir.”