Of Silk and Steam (29 page)

“Punishment? I made you strong. Clever. I made you a man who could be a duke, the way my own father molded me.” Caine laughed roughly. “You want to know about punishment? You should have been raised by that brute.”

Leo’s sword tip lowered, trailing on the floor. Everything he had ever known about this man he now saw in a new light. “I hated you.” And wanted his love—his praise—just as strongly.

“As I hated him,” Caine said, tipping his chin up a little proudly. “One day you will thank me.”

“You’re mad.”

“So this is the end of it?” Caine asked. “You’ll put down your sword? Surrender?”

Leo looked down at it, spattered with the vampire’s blackened blood. “No.” He met his father’s eyes. “But I will accept yours.”

The Nighthawks were nearly upon them. Leo saw Lynch kick Richard Maitland, his old nemesis in the Coldrush Guards, in the face. Lynch was still wearing the same bloody clothes he’d worn that day at court, but he looked none the worse for his time in the cells.

Caine raised his sword, his teeth bared. Seconds dragged out. Caine’s gaze jerked to the spill of Nighthawks running up the stairs toward them.

“After all,” Leo said, with dawning certainty, “you won’t kill me. And not even you can fight off an entire legion of Nighthawks.”

“What the hell have you done?”

Leo laughed at that. “I’m overthrowing the prince consort. Haven’t you realized yet?”

Leo’s sword lowered. Caine stared at it for a moment, looking baffled, then let his own relax. “And do what? Sit on the throne? Do you actually think they’d accept you? Or whatever puppet you put there?”

“We’re not putting anyone on the throne. Some-one’s already sitting on it.” He eyed Caine’s sword, then took a step forward. It lifted, as if in warning.

“The queen?” Comprehension gleamed in Caine’s pale eyes. “She’s doing this?”

“And the duchess. You underestimated them, all of us did. They’ve been running the humanist revolution from the beginning.” Another step. Caine’s sword pressed into Leo’s chest and he pushed against it, their gazes locking—

With a snarl Caine threw the blade away. The sword fell with a clatter on the stairs. “This is insanity!”

“No, this is the only way forward. You know that,” Leo replied. “The only madness here is that of the prince consort.”

Again their eyes met. Caine looked furious.

“Do you think him any ally of yours? After the other day?”

A vein ticked in the duke’s jaw. “We swore… When the prince consort married the princess, we swore to uphold the regency.
I
gave my word.”

“He’s destroying the city, the people. You have to see that.”

Caine’s nostrils flared, watching as the Nighthawks clashed with a half-dozen Coldrush Guards that had streamed out of the antechambers to the ballroom.

“The world is changing,” Leo said firmly, taking another step. “There is a new future featuring blue bloods, humans, and mechs living as one. You can either be a part of it, or you can be swept away in the wake. Buried, like the rest of the relics from your era.”

Thought raced in his father’s eyes. “Damn you, this is not easy. He was my brother by blood. You’re asking me to break my oath, my word, my
honor
.”

“I’m asking you to do the right thing.”

In the silence, the sound of fighting grew louder. Something ancient shifted in Caine’s eyes. “Tell the queen that I shall expect a seat at her new Council.”

Of course. A duke until the very end. “In exchange for what?”

“For information,” Caine replied, “and for letting you pass so that you may save her.” He knelt against the wall, leather creaking over his thighs, his eyes deadening. “The prince consort has the entire building rigged with explosives. The detonator can be found in the hands of a Falcon named Rigby. You know him as one of the prince consort’s attendants, the one with a scar through his left eyebrow.”

Hell.
“Why would the prince consort do that?”

“Because he’s so afraid to lose power that it has maddened him.” Caine gave a sad laugh. “Not even Balfour knows what he plans—I overheard the prince speaking to Rigby. They underestimated the strength of my hearing.”

“Where?” Leo took another hurried step forward, heat draining from his face. He’d sent Mina into that. “Damn you, where is Rigby?”

“The last I saw of him, he was instructed to watch the massacre from Crowe Tower. The prince consort has a flare gun that he’ll fire if things go badly for him.” A faint smile twitched the old man’s lips. “He’s determined that if he can’t hold the throne, then he’ll take as many of his enemies to the grave as he can.”

“And you were just on your way out when I came along. How convenient.” Leo’s voice dripped scorn.

“I know how this ends, boy.” Caine bared his teeth. “The Ivory Tower will fall and there will be no one left with the strength to hold the Empire together except for one.”

“You,” Leo said. “I’ll stop him. You know I will, so why the hell would you tell me this?”

The aging duke sighed and scraped a hand over his face. He looked incredibly tired all of a sudden. “When this is all over,” he said, “come to me and ask me again why I do this, but right now, you don’t have the time. You either go after your woman and save her life, or you find the man with the detonator.”

It was the hardest decision Leo had ever made. He wanted to go to Mina’s aid, but how could he trust that Caine wouldn’t simply walk away if he sent him after Rigby? And if he sent Nighthawks, would they recognize the Falcon in this melee? The man had been a personal attendant of the prince consort, well away from Nighthawk eyes. Only Leo knew exactly who he was hunting for.

Damn
it.
His gut clenched. Mina was surprisingly competent, and as far as the prince consort knew, she wasn’t involved with this affair. Perhaps she could get close to the queen when others would fail.

“Mina will get the queen away from danger,” he said, his voice cool and controlled, where he himself felt anything but. “I’ll deal with the Falcon.”

Caine picked up his blade and sheathed it.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Caine replied. “I’ve had enough of this mess.”

“Not yet,” Leo found himself saying, stepping directly into Caine’s path. “You want a place on the queen’s Council? Then you have to earn it. Giving me a piece of information and then scurrying away, just in case this all goes to hell? Not good enough.” He shoved his finger in the duke’s chest. “Prove yourself. Claim your own damned seat on the Council. Go up and help get the queen out alive, and if you harm one hair on Mina’s head, I’ll come after you. I swear, by the blood, that I will see you dead, no matter what I have to do.”

Caine’s eyes narrowed. “Since when do you give the orders, you insolent pup?”

“Since now,” Leo snapped. “And I’m no pup, especially not yours.”

He thought for a second that Caine would draw his sword again. The duke’s gaze flickered to the surge of Nighthawks, and his head lowered in a contemplative bow. “And if a Falcon kills her before I can get there?”

“I’d highly recommend that one doesn’t. If she dies, I’ll hold you accountable.”

The duke stared at him. Something seemed to shift in his eyes, and he slowly nodded. “As you wish.”

Leo had made his decision. His heart urged him to go up, to find Mina and protect her—but if he did, then they would both die, together, when the prince consort fired his flare, along with everyone else in this building.

So Leo began running, this time down the stairs. Kicking a pair of Coldrush Guards in the back, he sent them sprawling at the feet of several bloodied Nighthawks. Lynch was one of them, his wife Rosalind at his side.

“Caine and the Duchess of Casavian are going to rescue the queen,” he called. “Clear these floors of Coldrush Guards and secure the throne room. Whatever you do, do not present a threat to the prince consort. He has a flare gun to signal a man outside if he feels this has all gone badly.”

Lynch strode up the stairs to meet him. “A bomb?”

Leo nodded. “I’m going to deal with the man with the detonator. Give me two of your Nighthawks. He’s a Falcon and there could be others.”

Lynch snapped his fingers. “Byrnes. Stanton. Follow Barrons and protect him.” He nodded at Leo. “Two of the best.”

“Let’s hope they’re good enough,” he replied, striding down through the tight pack of Nighthawks and gesturing to the two Lynch had chosen.

Mina shoved both palms against the doors to the throne room. They began to part, sliding open with a gasp of air to reveal the throne and the assemblage of people around it.

A dozen pistols were aimed her way. Frightened debutantes and thralls huddled by the enormous marble columns that supported the domed ceiling, with their lords in front of them. Half of the Echelon was here, roused from a ball by the look of them.

Mina strode through the doors. Seven men guarded the dais, armed with differing levels of weaponry. At the side stood another half-dozen Coldrush Guards, grimly keeping their pistols trained on her.

If she showed one hint of fear—or guilt—she’d be dead. The prince consort couldn’t know she was involved in this. She was the trick card in the revolutionists’ hand.

“Are you insane?” Mina snapped, summoning every bit of arrogance she owned. “Why the devil haven’t you gotten Her Highness away from here? The whole bloody Tower is full of Nighthawks.”

The prince consort looked like hell. His colorless eyes narrowed and his fingers curled over each arm of the throne, making him seem not quite certain what was going on. “What a surprise to see you, Duchess. The last I heard, you were galloping out of here on one of my Trojan destriers.”

“My thanks for attempting a rescue.”

His expression told her nothing about whether he was buying this act or not. “Morioch bargained for your return. Unfortunately it was denied.”

Liar.
Still, she started stripping off her leather gloves with a frown. “Did he?” She didn’t dare look at the queen. Emotion was already choking her, and she knew she’d never be able to hide all of it. “I’ve spent most of the past few days locked in a bloody room while half the city burns.”

“Just how, precisely, did you escape?” This came from Balfour, the prince consort’s spymaster.

A dangerous man. Mina glanced his way, tucking her gloves behind her belt. “I didn’t. The Devil of Whitechapel wanted me where he could see me, considering his home is quite undefended. There was no point in arguing, as he was taking me precisely where I wished to go. I simply knifed his man in the back and took my leave when the opportunity presented itself.” She took a step forward and froze as half a dozen pistols lifted. Holding up her hands, she managed her iciest tones. “You think I’ve taken up with that
rogue
? It seems your senses are leaving you.” A quick, frustrated glance behind her. “As evidenced by the unlocked door. Where are all of the guards? What is going on here? You should be escaping.”

Not that there was anywhere to go.

The prince consort lifted a hand, lace spilling from his sleeve. Dressed in his finest court attire, with a flute of blud-wein in his fingers, he said: “Leave her be, Balfour. I hardly think the Duchess of Casavian foolish enough to consort with the enemy.”

Was that a slur in his voice? “One does have certain standards,” she agreed, stepping closer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out a rumpled pile of yellow silk at his side. The queen, sitting by his feet with her coronation crown on her gleaming brown hair. A glance showed Mina a pale face but no sign of injury. Intense brown eyes locked on her, as if trying to tell her something. Mina looked away swiftly.

“Certain standards,” Balfour agreed, his eyes narrowing. “But she’s also less than foolish.”

“And why the hell would she come back here?” the prince consort demanded, waving another expansive hand. “She has to know she’s going to die.”

The entire court sprang into a frightened babble.

“Enough!” the prince consort bellowed. “Balfour, shoot the next person who cries out.”

The crowd subsided. A woman was sobbing somewhere.

“What do you mean by die?” Mina asked as the prince consort drained his wine.

“Fetch me another,” he demanded.

Balfour caught the serving man by the arm as he hurried to attend. “I hardly consider that wise, Your High—”

“Wise?” the prince consort mocked. “I want them all here, to join my ball.” He threw his head back and laughed. “All of them, and not a one to walk free. I’ll see them all in hell—”

Mina exchanged a glance with Balfour. He gave a tight shake of his head, just as concerned as she. The rest of the court looked confused, several debutantes whispering worriedly behind their hands. Mina even saw Malloryn in the crowd, a sight that gave her some hope. He was moving nonchalantly through them, circling toward the dais.

“We need to get Her Highness out of here,” she tried again. “We can protect her from this crowd of ruffians, perhaps remove her to the safety of—”

“She’s not going anywhere without
me
.” The prince consort spilled his wine on his sleeve.

The doors slammed open, striking the walls with a thunderous crash. Mina spun, her hand darting to the sword at her hip, and the court behind her gasped.

Caine strode through the double doors, the sound of fighting drifting up the staircase behind him. The sound cut off abruptly as the doors slowly swung shut, but the effect of it was far greater than that. She felt as though somewhere, very near to here, a coffin lid had slammed shut, blocking out all of the light in her world.

Her mouth went dry, her chest seeming to lock tight. She fought to catch a breath, but she couldn’t. Not in that moment when the duke’s appearance finally gave realization to the outcome that she had feared the most. The one she hadn’t allowed herself to think about.

Caine intercepted a glass of blud-wein from the tray of a hovering drone and strode toward them. “Sorry to miss the celebration.” He took a sip of the wine, surveying the court before draining the glass. His eyes locked on Mina for a second, then he tossed the empty glass aside with a smash, blood staining his lips.

“Where have you been?” the prince consort demanded.

Caine laughed a little under his breath. “Discussing the meaning of life with someone.”

Her heart wrenched.
No
. As if of its own accord, her hand found the hilt of her sword, her lip curling back in a snarl. “You bastard.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Consider, my dear, how wise such an action would be at this current moment.”

Time stretched out. Her head was a mess of pain, bleeding around the edges. Her chest pulsed, as if holding a scream inside. She knew that the moment she let herself breathe, it would steal out of her.

But
Alexa…
She
had
to save the queen, even as her eyes flooded with a heat she couldn’t seem to hold back. Only one thing left to fight for now; then she could scream and rail at the world. Then she could let in the enormous, crushing weight of grief.

“Why not?” The prince consort laughed. “A duel! It should give us much amusement in these final moments.”

“No, Your Highness—” The queen’s whisper.

The sound of a slap echoed in the enormous chambers, dulling even the crowd’s buzzing whispers to near-silence. Mina’s blood began to boil, her head jerking between the prince consort and Caine. Anger. That was what she could deal with right now.

Mina’s fingers curled tighter around her sword. Now…now she just had to get close enough to cut the prince consort down. It didn’t matter anymore if she survived it.

Caine abruptly sobered, staring at the prince consort as if the blud-wein had left a foul taste in his mouth. “I think not. I have more important matters to deal with than duels, and I’d rather not get my sword bloodied today.” A slow tilt of the head to her.

Despite herself, her gaze dropped. Caine’s sword was still sheathed. Black blood had dripped down his thigh from a healed wound, but there was no sign of any other blood on him. Nothing on his clothes suggested he’d fought and killed a person recently.

Her heart gave a little tick in her chest.

Mina’s lungs emptied. Was he telling her what she thought he was? Hope was a treacherous bitch, lighting her nerves on fire and threatening to consume her. Their eyes met again, something unreadable in his expression, and then he turned to the prince consort, one hand on his sword as if for balance as he strolled forward.

Where the hell was Leo? She turned to track Caine, licking at her dry lips as he passed her. That precious hope flickered a little. Surely Leo would have followed.

Unless…something had drawn him away. Did she dare hope?

“I do believe Lynch is almost at the last level of the tower,” Caine declared. “You’re running out of time.”

“We’re all running out of time.” The prince consort laughed, as if this were the greatest joke he’d ever heard.

Whispers started in the crowd. One of the blue bloods strode for the door, looking uneasy. A bullet ricocheted off the brass, close to his ear, and he jerked his fingers back from the handle.

“Nobody leaves,” the prince consort called, his voice becoming deadly serious. “Not until I damned well say so.” He gestured to his Falcons. “No more warnings.”

“Your Highness.” Even Balfour sounded nervous now. “We haven’t much time.”

The prince consort had somehow found another glass of blud-wein in the confusion. He sipped at it, waving away Balfour’s concerns. “I never planned on leaving.” Lowering the glass, he glared at his spymaster. “You think I’m going to run? You think…”—this as he stood—“that I’m going to let that filthy cur and the human rabble out there chase
me
from my throne?”

“What would you prefer?” Balfour demanded through gritted teeth. “Have them drag you off it when they come in here? I don’t have men enough…not to stop them.”

“I’m not stopping them,” the prince consort sneered. “Let them come, let them all come.” He drew a silver-handled revolver from his belt, waving it in the air. By its look, it had been heavily modified and was probably carrying firebolt bullets. “The more the merrier.”

Caine froze.

Of everything happening in the chambers, that alone drew her notice. Mina took a hasty step forward. The pistol. Caine was watching the pistol like it was a live scorpion. Why? Hardly a threat to him. Firebolts might be enough to rip him in half, if he was slow enough to be stung by one, but the duke’s capacity for healing was immeasurable now. Wasn’t it?

Or did the prince consort think to use it on the queen? This time she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Alexa. The queen was using the throne to drag herself to her feet as her husband took a step down the stairs of the dais. A heated handprint marred her cheek, her dark eyes wide and weary.

Hold
on.
Mina took a stealthy half step forward.
I’m going to kill him for you.

For the first time, she had the means; she had power… Nobody here would care if she stabbed him through his black heart. He was one hairsbreadth away from being destroyed. Alexandra would never have to submit to his brutal touch again.

And Mina could finally let go of her thrice-cursed guilt.

She was almost at Caine’s side now. “Get to the queen,” he said almost soundlessly. “I’ll stop him from firing that bloody pistol.”

The queen? How did he—? Mina’s gaze sharpened, but Caine was taking bold strides toward the dais. She followed, keeping apace of him with a wary glance. Were they just idle words? Or did he know about the queen’s involvement in the revolution? The only way… Her breath caught. Proof that Leo was alive, if she dared believe it.

But why wasn’t he here?

Everything happened at once. Lynch and his men thundered through the doors, just as the prince consort waved a lazy hand and smiled.

“No!” Caine yelled, moving faster than she could see.

The pistol resounded with an enormous flash of light, shattering the nearby window. People gasped and threw themselves to the polished marble floor as light exploded outside like some Chinese firework, burning bright enough to sear the eyes, then sailing down to the ground far below like a dying comet.

And in that moment, flashing against the back of her eyelids every time she blinked, all Mina could see was the queen pulling a narrow dagger from her sleeve and driving it into her husband’s throat.

The room erupted. People screamed and ran for the exit, buffeting Lynch and his Nighthawks like flotsam in a current of fear. Mina stumbled aside as one blue blood raced past her, and staggered to her knees beside the dais.

The prince consort was down, blood welling between his fingers from the gaping slash in his throat. Mina crawled forward. “Alexa?” she screamed.

A flash of white caught her eyes. Caine, buried beneath four of the Falcons as he fought to drag the pistol from the prince consort’s clenched fingers. Still alive, the prince consort bared his lips in a bloodied rictus as his gaze locked on his wife.

“Kill…the bitch,” the prince consort snarled, blood breaking in a bubble on his lips.

Two Falcons remained. Mina threw herself past them, dancing around to place herself between them and the queen, her steel ringing as she drew the sword at her side. “Don’t be fools,” she snapped. “This is the
queen
! Your queen!”

They hesitated.

For just a second, Mina met the prince consort’s almost-colorless blue eyes, seeing in them the shock she’d always dreamed of, and she let herself smile maliciously, let everything she had felt over the past ten years surface on her face. “When you thought you killed Mercury, you were only cutting off the tip of a snake’s tail. Mercury was only a decoy. Your wife’s decoy.”

This was the only revenge she could ever take—to make him realize just how well he’d been played. That this entire revolution was ordered by his wife.

“Kill…her…” He coughed, one hand clapped to the bloodied wound at his throat. “Kill…the duchess…”

This time, when the Falcons looked at her, there was no hesitation.

* * *

Barrons took the stairs like a ghost, whispering up the silent stairwell of Crowe Tower. It was practically abandoned now, except for the rookery at the top where the ravens rested, an enormous room with an open-faced bronze clock facing the Ivory Tower. Dozens of ravens would be in their cages, stirring restlessly with all of the sound outside. Though hardly the best method of communicating now that wireless radio frequency and pneumatic tubes had been invented, receiving a message via raven was something the younger generation had deemed fashionable.