Inherit the Flame

Chapter Four

Ripka gawped. Couldn’t help herself. All these years she’d come to know Tibal, and his last name had never been mentioned – not once. She’d assumed the lack a simple refusal on Tibal’s part to acknowledge his patronage, and hadn’t dug much deeper. She knew his past had been fraught with violence and hunger, known that even though he’d been press-ganged into joining the Fleet, he’d welcomed the steady meal schedule. And then he’d left, he’d retired from Fleet work and returned to his hometown where he’d worked on airships and any other old thing he could fix up until Detan had strolled along.

Not once. Not once in all their back-and-forth had either Detan or Tibal let slip that Tibal was a Honding himself. Pits below, but Tibal had often ribbed Detan for being of noble blood. Did Detan know?

Pelkaia went quiet, staring at Tibal like she’d plucked a flower and found an angry spider inside. It wasn’t that Pelkaia feared Tibal, Ripka wasn’t fool enough to think that. No, she knew real well what had to be running through Pelkaia’s mind, and it wasn’t pretty. She would be wondering, as Ripka was, just how close those familial ties were. Tibal had once told Ripka he and Detan had tempers like two pieces of a puzzle, similar in strength but different in expression – complements to each other, and it was too hard to tell which was more dangerous. She’d never seen him reach for selium, never seen him manipulate it, but that was no guarantee he didn’t know how.

“Name’s Tibal,” he said slowly. “And I did what you asked of me. Not my fault your nephew’s a man who can’t ever tell what’s good for him. Ran off to join Thratia, he did. Bent knee right down before Thratia’s pits-cursed whitecoat and damned near kissed her slippers. You want to know where your nephew is? You send a letter along to Thratia, I’m sure she’d be delighted to let you know how well they’re all getting along now. But I don’t want to hear it, understand? Detan’s his own man. He’s made that clear enough.”

“You lost him.” Tibal was too wound up to see it, but there was such profound sadness in Dame Honding’s voice, lurking just there at the edges, simmering below the surface, that Ripka’s heart actually ached for the spear of a woman.

“He lost his own self. You need me for anything that matters, Dame, you know where I’ll be.”

“Your mother–”

Tibal raised a hand to cut her off. “You’re a woman of your word, Dame. I know you won’t let an old woman starve because her bastard son lost someone else’s.”

“That is not what I meant,” she snapped. Whatever stoop age had lent to her back disappeared as she straightened up, and Ripka had the distinct impression that she was shouldering the weight of the crest carved into the wall behind her. “Your mother vouched for your heritage, and your father has not disowned you, absent though he may have been. If you have lost my heir, then you are next in line.”

“You want to stick that brand on me, Dame, you’re gonna have to find a whole battalion willing to hold me down.”

Tibal stomped off like he owned the place, took a turn he obviously knew well and disappeared down another hallway. Ripka choked on questions, sorted them, and realized she’d have to wait to deal with Tibal. Nouli was on board the Larkspur, awaiting permission to set up shop here, and Ripka was his advocate.

Into the silence that stretched behind Tibal’s leaving, she said, “Dame, forgive me, but I believe Detan sacrificed his freedom to Thratia.”

Her shoulders twitched, her gaze snapping from the direction Tibal had taken, back to Ripka. “Dear girl, do not attempt to soothe me on his behalf. I will discover my nephew’s intentions in due time.”

“I have evidence of his loyalty to you with me, now, on the Larkspur. He arranged for the rescue of Nouli Bern, the engineer who built the Century Gates of Valathea, from the Remnant prison – and has entreated him to serve for Hond Steading’s defense.”

A curl tipped up the corner of her lips. The same crooked smile Detan put on before he was about to tell a particularly large lie. “My nephew did all of that?”

“He arranged for it.”

She shook her head, smile locked in place. “I see. Well, it is something, at least. Bring this Master Bern to me and I will arrange rooms for him. I suppose he needs a workshop and materials?” Ripka nodded. “Very well. Though I cannot see how much help he will be on the balance.”

“He has intimate knowledge of many machines of war, and Commodore Ganal’s tactics.”

“I’m sure he does, my dear, but Valathea comes to Hond Steading’s aid. His efforts will be appreciated, in concert with theirs.”

Ripka’s throat went dry. “What do you mean?”

“A delegation from Valathea arrives tonight to discuss the city’s defense.”

“Those people tortured your nephew.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, hot with anger. Pelkaia cleared her throat, and Ripka realized she’d taken a step forward without meaning to.

Dame Honding’s head jerked back, her eyes narrowed. “I respect your work, Captain Leshe, but Hond Steading is not your city to protect. It is mine. This is an era of alliances. One cannot stand alone on the Scorched. Not with Thratia Ganal running wild across it.”