Inherit the Flame

Chapter Fifty-Four

Dark had fallen on Hond Steading by the time they managed to pack all of Thratia’s ships full of her people. She had not brought many, so assured was she of her victory, but it had been enough to take up more than half the night. Some, he was sure, had skinned themselves of their uniforms and escaped into the city. Aella, Callia, and Ranalae, of all people, had disappeared in the fray. He would have to deal with them sometime soon, that reckoning had always been coming for him, but not tonight. Tonight he was ridding himself of the monster he’d brought here with him.

Detan no longer knew the time, and he didn’t care. He was worn through, tired down to a core of himself he hadn’t even known existed. Every time he glanced at Ripka, a little worm of guilt burrowed even deeper inside him.

He’d never met the late watch-captain of Hond Steading, but he had meant something to her. And that meant he had been a good man.

A man accustomed to blood, surely. A man who’d signed up for a violent life, who knew someday he might die in the service of the city. But a man who hadn’t had to die tonight, of all nights, on the steps of the palace he served, in a hard-fought battle that was, ultimately, Detan’s doing. Detan could have just married Thratia. Could have given himself over to her scheming. Could have thrown himself from the roof of the palace, too, and tonight’s bloodshed might not have happened.

But he had chosen to fight back. And the consequences, though smaller than all-out war, had been dire. And he was not yet done.

“Bring her in,” Detan ordered. It was a strange thing, to hear easy authority in his own voice when he wasn’t intentionally faking it.

He’d had a team of the Dame’s pilots take the Dread Wind away from the palace after it had been loaded with Thratia’s people, save one, the woman herself. Now, his auntie’s flagship pulled up alongside the Dread Wind, and found a handful of her soldiers had already freed themselves and were pointing harpoons at his ship. Detan sighed.

Thratia stood alongside him at the rail, wrists bound behind her back with chains and her ankles sporting matching jewelry. The gag had been removed, but she’d been silent. Until now.

“I could order them to knock you out of the sky.”

“You’re on this ship too, Thratia.”

“And are you so certain I wouldn’t find that acceptable?”

He chuckled and shook his head, leaning forward to rest both hands on the rail. “You forget, O wife of mine, that I’ve come to know you better in these last few months. You won’t take that route, because it’s final. I’m setting you free. You can go home to Aransa, regroup if you’d like, but you can’t do that if you die here, tonight. And you’re never done, are you?”

“And knowing this, you would let me go?”

“You will not come here again.”

She shook her head. “I am not trying to encourage you to kill me, Honding, but you cannot be that daft. You know I will come for you. And this time, there will be no play at peace. I will have this city. I will have this whole cursed continent. I tried to play nice with you. Tried to show you why I do what I do – but if you will not bend, then I will be forced to break you.”

“Ah, Thratia.” He raised his hands to the sky, wide apart, as if to hug all of the ships of her fleet hanging there in the night. “I could snuff every last ship of yours from the sky, right now, and not break a sweat. Did you know that? What your pet whitecoat was training me to do? Control and strength. That is what I have, now, thanks to you. This city is protected. Never forget that.”

He nodded to Gatai, who signaled his guards to take Thratia, one arm in each hand, and steer her toward the connected gangplank. He watched her go, something like melancholy coming over him. Such passion. Such strength. She could have been marvelous, if she hadn’t decided to be a monster instead.

With Thratia removed and the gangplank retracted, Detan held out his hands as he had when he spoke to her. All around him hushed. He’d made no secret of his deviation after the wedding. Hadn’t even bothered to lower his voice as he spoke to Thratia about dashing all her ships from the sky. There was no point to that, not any more. If Hond Steading were going to get its lord back, they were going to get him in the full light of what he was. Maybe they’d accept that. Maybe they wouldn’t. He wasn’t even sure he was prepared to stick around to find out.

He knew what they must be thinking, watching him now. That they suspected him of preparing to do the very thing he’d threatened Thratia with. Why else would he make them move all the ships in her fleet over the empty, eastern flats outside the city?

He didn’t mind the speculation. Truth was, he wanted Thratia to worry a little. His sel-sense expanded. Slowly, deliberately. Not the desperate grab he had made when he sent up the firemount. No, this time he really had learned control. It helped that someone wasn’t currently trying to choke him to death, of course.

Thratia’s fleet was massive, but his sphere of influence covered it easily. He held all those buoyancy sacks in his mind, explored them with care, felt his way around their valves and internal workings. Then pushed. Hard.

Gasps from the deck all around him. The fleet shot away, arcing out into the night, shouts of surprise from their decks dwindling with distance just as quickly as the ships dwindled from sight.

On each and every ship, he’d vented just enough selium to accelerate them a day’s flight away in a matter of a few marks. And depleted their reserves enough that they’d have no choice but to return to Aransa.

Detan slumped against the rail, sweating, panting. Explosions he could do without breaking a sweat. Fine work, careful work, was another matter entirely. Those selium sacks weren’t the only thing he’d depleted. He’d never been so worn through in his life. But he was done, now. It was over. And the thing he wanted most in the world at that moment was a long, hot, bath. They’d still be around when he was restored, and the very thought made him grin.

Auntie stepped up to his side and laid a blanket over his shoulders. Her small, bony hand patted the small of his back.

“You’ve done well today. Come on, let’s take you home.”