At the same time, the Hellan destroyers were surging straight into the Seraglio Point and the gunboats smashed up on the pebbled beach one after the other, sliding up side by side and crashing into the sterns of their sisters and nosing all the way up to the sea wall just below Wren’s feet. The wooden ships crackled and splintered and burst and shrieked as their hulls scraped up on the land and a huge wave swept up out of their wake and crashed against the wall, sending a curtain of freezing white spray high into the air.
And then it was over.
Wren stood very still as the last wisps of aether flew off into the sky and vanished from her fingertips, but her soul was still whirling and her skin was still tingling. She ran her tongue across her lips and said breathlessly, “It’s done.”
Tycho stood up and stared down at the ruined Hellan fleet at the base of the wall below them, and then across the sea to the ruined Eranian fleet, and then to floating wreckage of the airships out in the middle of the Strait. As he stood there, one of the Mazigh pilots emerged from an airship cabin, pointed a gun into the air, and let a bright red flare shoot up into the sky above the water.
The bright red star shot upward into the colorless cloud of gas from the crashed balloons and a brilliant golden fireball erupted across the sky, rolling about in a cloud of smoke, and then vanished from sight.
Tycho nodded. “I don’t know if it’s over, but it’s definitely going to be very quiet out there for a long time.”
“Good.” Wren took a step toward him. It was her first attempt at moving her feet since she began to summon the aether, and her legs shook beneath her, sending her stumbling into Tycho. They fell together to the floor, and he held her to his chest, and they laughed.
“Good catch,” she said.
His hand was cupping her breast, and he moved it. “Sorry.”
“I’m not.” She pressed her mouth to his and sought out every corner of his mouth with her tongue. Her hips pressed against his, and her jaw trembled, making her gasp. Her thighs were still pulsing with heat, still throbbing with tiny thrusts almost entirely on her own. And she felt Tycho quickening against her shaking skirts. She smiled, her lips still grazing his. “Don’t move.”
“Wait,” he whispered. “I don’t know if… I’m ready.”
“Neither do I.” She smiled. “Let’s find out.”
In half a moment she had his trousers around his knees and her skirts up around her waist and she plunged down onto his warm flesh and felt them suddenly become a single, shivering, thrusting body. She clenched him between her thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his, feeling his hot breath on her neck as she rolled her hips over his again, and again, shaking and gasping in silent ecstasy.
Chapter 28. Aftermath
When it was over, Wren lay on her back staring up at the sky, listening to the sea and the birds. She floated inside her body as her soul finally stopped whirling about, leaving her feeling infinitely still and solid and real.
She kissed Tycho, and he kissed her, and they watched the clouds drift overhead.
“The sailors will be coming off the ships soon,” he whispered.
“We should probably get up,” she whispered back.
They both sighed and groaned and sat up, and then moved apart to stand up and fix their clothing. Wren felt a last lingering tingle in her veins, down in her legs and back, and it slowly faded as she stood there, looking out over the city.
“What would you like to do next?” she asked.
Tycho laughed. “I don’t know. I suppose we should go tell someone that the war has been indefinitely postponed.”
“Let’s.”
They climbed down the stairs in the watch tower and headed back across the park, and then through the broken palace and through the quiet city streets to the gates of the cistern. Everything after that was a blur of faces and the same conversation, over and over. Tycho would tell someone what had happened, and they would run off to tell someone else. Soldiers spilled up out of the little mausoleum, followed by squinty-eyed clerks and weary servants, and the calm Duchess and the haggard Italian.
Tycho did most of the talking, and Wren was happy to let him answer the questions, over and over. What happened, and when, and who, and on and on it went. She let her thoughts wander off to other things, to images of them both lying on the wall, breathless.
I wonder if we can do that again.
Soon.
As the afternoon became evening, things began to happen more quickly. Soldiers and sailors began patrolling the shores and streets, though they found the city quiet enough. The Duchess moved her army of clerks and papers into the Cathedral of Saint Sophia, where the priests graciously found rooms for most of the staff to sleep and work.
The priests also produced a small feast of roast lamb and red wine for their guests, and Wren found herself sitting in a corner with a warm belly full of food and her brains floating gently in alcohol as she watched Tycho on the far side of the crowded room doing very boring things with men in uniforms and piles of papers. She played with the ring on her finger, wondering what sort of talks she might have in the days to come with the ghosts of the valas, and the ancient witch Yaga. She also played with her bracelets, wondering what else she might one day learn to do with them and the aether they commanded.
“Wren?”
She looked up as Omar sat down across from her with a glass of wine in his hand.
“Hello, old timer.”
He nodded and forced a smile. “I see you’ve been busy saving the world without me.”
She smiled. “I learned from the best.”
“Hm.” He sipped his wine. “You learned from your valas, and I suspect you even learned a thing or two from Yaga in your brief time together. I…” He sighed and sipped his wine.
“Everything all right?”
“No, not really,” he said.
“You didn’t find Nadira?”
He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, and then looked away. “No, and I doubt I’ll ever see her again.”
She sipped her wine. It tasted awful but she liked the warmth in her belly and the tingle in her fingers. Her gaze wandered over to Tycho again.
He has the most intense eyes.
“Do you want to stay here?”
Wren blinked and looked at Omar. He slouched in his chair, his head resting on his hand as he leaned over the table and stared down into his glass.
“Maybe. For a while,” she said. “I don’t know. Why?”
The Aegyptian shrugged.
“Aren’t we still going to Alexandria?”
“I do need to go back,” Omar said. “Eventually. Things to do. Loose ends to tie up. Mistakes to correct. Sins to atone for.” He drank.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He looked up at her. “Wren, you’re a very impressive young woman and I imagine you will have a very remarkable life, wherever you go or whatever you do. But there’s little need for you to follow me around anymore. You don’t need a teacher. Anything you need, you’ll find in that ring or you’ll figure out for yourself.”
Wren sat very still.
He’s never been like this before. These last few days, something has changed in him. Something very deep, very important.
She cleared her throat. “I won’t ask what exactly happened to you out there. Nadira. Koschei. That’s your past, and your business, and I know it’s probably very complicated and painful, and I’m sorry about that. But I thought we were going to solve all the mysteries of the universe together, and open the gates of paradise, and meet the gods. You’ve been doing this for, well, a very long time, and I wanted to be a part of that. I still do. Don’t you?”
Omar shook his head, his eyes gazing darkly into hers. “Wren, I stumbled into your country and caused a plague that nearly wiped out an entire people, and the best cure I could invent left you all deformed for life.”