Fire light flickered at the bottom of the stair, guiding him down, and when he stepped out into the cellar and saw Wren sitting beside Yaga’s sleeping figure, he felt every muscle in his body relax as he whispered, “Oh thank God.”
Wren looked up. “Tycho?”
He came over and knelt on the edge of the mismatched pile of fur rugs and Persian carpets. “You’re all right?”
She nodded, her golden eyes flashing in the fire light. “It was a long night, but everything’s all right now.”
“What about her?” Tycho nodded at the white-haired witch.
“She’s better now. She needs to sleep. But when she wakes up, she’ll be better. There won’t be any more aether storms for a while. I’ve seen to that.” Wren pointed to the pile of silver bracelets by her leg. “And there shouldn’t be any more walking corpses either. That was Yaga’s doing as well, although it wasn’t intentional. She was just… she just missed her son, was all.”
Tycho nodded, hoping he could believe her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine.” He looked up at her, into her golden eyes and tall fox ears, and he smiled. “I’m fine. I had a lovely moonlit sail up and down the Strait with a few close friends, and it looks like everyone is all right now. I even rescued Salvator, and with any luck he’ll live out the day.”
“Who?”
“No one. It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re all right. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry that I left you here alone with her. I tried to come back in, but I couldn’t. I should never have brought you here in the first place, never should have asked you to deal with this.”
“It’s all right,” Wren said softly. “Everyone’s alive, and the nightmare is over. That’s all that matters now.” She smiled at him.
Tycho smiled back and sat up straighter. “Sure, yes, you’re right. So, is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?”
“A little.” She glanced upward, her fox ears twitching. “Do you know what that bell ringing means? It’s been going on forever.”
Tycho started.
The alarm! Damn it!
“It’s an alarm. The Turks. I need to, I should be…” He stood up and glanced at the stairs, but he didn’t move.
“It’s all right, if you need to go, you should go. I’ll stay here with her,” Wren said. “Just, can you come over here for a second?”
He blinked. “All right.” He crossed the carpets and knelt beside her, glancing at the snoring old witch in front of them.
She took his hand and he felt a warm flush race from his arm across his chest and into his face.
“Last night was a bad night,” she said.
“Yes, it was,” he said.
“It’s probably going to be a bad day, too.” She squeezed his hand.
“Maybe.”
She leaned down and kissed him, pressing her warm, soft lips to his mouth and slipping her hand back through his hair to hold him there. Tycho closed his eyes and reveled in the gentle caresses of her lips and tongue against his own. He felt his heart quicken and his manhood rising as he put his hands on her cheeks, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin.
When she pulled away, he wasn’t ready for it to end, not nearly.
“There,” she said. “Now today won’t be all bad.” And she smiled.
He smiled back, and nodded.
I have to go. Damn the world for making me go.
Tycho squeezed her hand as he stood up. “I have to go, but, as soon as I can, I’ll come back, straight away, I promise.”
She nodded, still smiling. She bit her lip.
He backed away slowly, nearly stumbled, then turned and hurried to the stairs. “I’ll be back soon!”
If he climbed the stairs to the ground floor, he had no memory of it. The next thing he knew, he was jogging across the courtyard in search of a carriage and trying to calm the racing of his heart.
She kissed me.
She did.
She…
“You there!” he called to a very young stable boy he recognized. “I need a carriage.”
The little boy looked lost and sick. “Sorry sir, I’m not allowed to hitch the horses yet.”
“Then just give me a horse.” Tycho paused. “A small one.”
A few minutes later he was sitting on large pony and riding hard toward the south corner of the palace. The pony’s hooves clattered on the paved walkways around the Church of Saint Irene and then clattered on the gravel paths that wove through the gardens behind the church and across the park as he raced toward the watch tower. The ringing of the alarm bell was less urgent now, slower and with the occasional long pause between strikes.
Whoever they are, it sounds like their arms are getting tired.
Tycho rode up to the iron door at the base of the tower where he found no one to greet him, and he left the pony alone as he rushed inside and climbed the rattling iron steps to the upper level. At the top of the stair he found a lone young man leaning against an open window frame facing out onto the southern Sea of Marmara. His whole body was slumped against the wall, even his head leaning against the cold stone, all but his right hand which was raised to grasp the striker of the bell just beside the window and was ringing, ringing, ringing with what little strength was left in his shoulder.
Where the devil is Lycus? Why haven’t they come yet?
Tycho touched the young soldier’s elbow. “Private?”
The youth turned sharply, and then looked down. “Oh God, major, you scared me. I mean, sorry, sir. I didn’t see you. I mean, sorry. Sir.” His trembling hand fell away from the bell, which fell mercifully silent.
“It’s fine, private. We’ve all had a hell of a night. You’re not the only one.” Tycho rose up on the tips of his toes to peer out the window at the sea. “Why did you ring the alarm? What did you see out there?”
“Oh, it’s not out there.” The youth pointed at the sky. “It’s up there.”
Tycho tilted his head back and scanned the rippling layers of gray clouds. “What’s up there? What am I supposed to be… Oh.”
Low in the southern sky he saw three black dots. They hovered there, never flying any higher or lower, never wavering in their formation even a hair. But as he peered at them, he was certain he could see them growing ever so slightly larger, and closer.
“Airships. Three of them.”
The soldier nodded. “And since I haven’t heard any talk about us getting any airships, I figure they must be for the Turks. Airships all come from Marrakesh, right sir?”
“As far as I know.” Tycho gripped the edge of the window and took a long, slow breath.
“Does this mean the Mazighs are fighting for the Eranians now?”
“I hope not. Because if they are, we aren’t going to last very long.” He gave the young man a serious look, and then turned back toward the stairs. “I’ll go inform the others. No need to keep ringing that bell now. Good work, private. Good eyes.”
“Nothing good about it, sir.” The young man frowned and squinted up at the sky.
“You’ve given us fair warning,” Tycho said. “Now it’s up to us to use it.”
Tycho descended the stairs slowly and carefully, chewing on his lip and wondering what threat the airships might be.
Gunfire from above?
Shelling from above?
At the bottom of the tower, he stepped out into the cool morning light and fought his way up into the saddle of his pony, and headed back to the palace at a quick trot. As he crossed the Second Courtyard and approached the Chamber of Petitions, he glanced to his left at the pale finger of the Tower of Justice.
If they do bomb the city, if they do breach the walls, if we do lose Constantia, then my first duty is to get Lady Nerissa to safety. But in the middle of a battle, anything can happen. I might not be able to help the Duchess, but there will be plenty of others who can. Vlad, at least.
But who will get Wren out of the city?
She doesn’t even have her Aegyptian friend with her now. She’s all alone here.