Of Silk and Steam
Page 86
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.
The sort of thing he’d never had time for at their age. Hell, he felt old. Or perhaps he’d simply been raised as such, knowing that the pressures of a dukedom would rest on his shoulders one day.
In a way, both he and Mina were frighteningly similar.
He thought of her as he paused in front of the door to the rookery. Walking away and leaving her to face her own battles was harder than he’d imagined. Not because he doubted her abilities, but because she had become integral to his life in such a short time. Or perhaps she had slipped her way there in increments over the years as his steadily growing fascination had slowly turned to admiration.
Anything could happen. A stray bullet, a single mistake, the tiniest of oversights. All it would take would be one second to destroy her—to rip his heart out of his chest.
Don’t think about it. Not for one second could he allow doubt to distract him. Not with a Falcon to deal with. After all, she wasn’t the only one whom a single mistake would see dead.
This was the best place to watch the melee and the Ivory Tower. The Falcon would be within, no doubt. Stanton guarded the staircase below and Byrnes pressed his back against the wall at Leo’s side. A quick gesture and both men nodded. Leo eased open the door, letting the stiletto hidden in his sleeve drop hilt first into his hand. A certain kind of coldness came over him, washing away all of the doubt and leaving him centered in a way that he recognized.
“Go ahead, boy, put aside that hate, that anger,” Caine’s voice whispered in his head. “Until there is nothing left. Nothing but purpose, nothing but a clear head. You’ll thank me for it one day…”
Of all the ironies… He let his breath release slowly and eased the door wider, catching a glimpse within. A single man clad in black leather stood by the enormous open face of the slowly ticking clock, watching the top of the Ivory Tower as if that were the center of his world.
A whisper of sound was his only warning. Leo blocked a swinging arm, striking out with the stiletto and driving it between a pair of ribs. A man came out of nowhere—from behind the door it seemed—crashing into him and carrying them both to the ground. Leo twisted, locking his arm tight and cupping his thighs around the man’s throat. He rolled, taking the fellow with him, a throaty cry ending in the abrupt snap of the Falcon’s neck. The sound of scuffling caught Leo’s attention. Two other Falcons had cornered Byrnes.
No time to deal with that. The Nighthawk would have to hold his own.
Leo rolled to his feet, bending low as the Falcon by the window turned. An emotionless gaze flickered over the dead guard at his feet, then back again.
“Barrons.” The scar through his eyebrow identified him as Rigby, one of the prince consort’s body servants, a man so unassuming that Leo had never really paid him much attention. “A rather inconvenient entrance.”
“My apologies. I thought about swinging through the clock and perhaps kicking you in the face, but that seemed a ridiculous waste of time and energy.” Blade’s style, not his. Which was why he was up here in the shadows, while his brother-in-law was flamboyantly burning everything in sight.
“You arrogant bastard—and I use that term in all its derogatory senses. You haven’t the faintest idea what is going on, do you?”
“We’re winning?” Leo suggested. A grunt sounded behind him, then Stanton joined the fray.
Rigby sidestepped him, tugging a modified pistol from his pocket. One of the current-stimulating devices Mina had explained. Leo stilled, silencing the world around him, letting it all vanish into the shadows as his complete attention focused on the pistol.
“Winning?” Rigby laughed. “It’s a trap, you fool!”
Steel-plated cord shot out, the arrow-like prong thundering toward Leo’s chest. He sprang forward, rolling under the device and flinging the hidden stiletto at Rigby. Somewhere behind him, a raven gave a throaty scream as the prong tore through its cage and jolted it with current.
“A trap?” he asked, rolling to his feet and planting a boot in the middle of the man’s chest. Rigby grunted, wrenching the stiletto out of his arm with a snarl as he fell and rolled. Leo’s boot slammed down where his head had been, the man snapping a kick behind him that was insanely fast.
As fast as a blue blood.
Leo backed away. “I see the prince consort has been illegally infecting his nursemaids.”
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.
The sort of thing he’d never had time for at their age. Hell, he felt old. Or perhaps he’d simply been raised as such, knowing that the pressures of a dukedom would rest on his shoulders one day.
In a way, both he and Mina were frighteningly similar.
He thought of her as he paused in front of the door to the rookery. Walking away and leaving her to face her own battles was harder than he’d imagined. Not because he doubted her abilities, but because she had become integral to his life in such a short time. Or perhaps she had slipped her way there in increments over the years as his steadily growing fascination had slowly turned to admiration.
Anything could happen. A stray bullet, a single mistake, the tiniest of oversights. All it would take would be one second to destroy her—to rip his heart out of his chest.
Don’t think about it. Not for one second could he allow doubt to distract him. Not with a Falcon to deal with. After all, she wasn’t the only one whom a single mistake would see dead.
This was the best place to watch the melee and the Ivory Tower. The Falcon would be within, no doubt. Stanton guarded the staircase below and Byrnes pressed his back against the wall at Leo’s side. A quick gesture and both men nodded. Leo eased open the door, letting the stiletto hidden in his sleeve drop hilt first into his hand. A certain kind of coldness came over him, washing away all of the doubt and leaving him centered in a way that he recognized.
“Go ahead, boy, put aside that hate, that anger,” Caine’s voice whispered in his head. “Until there is nothing left. Nothing but purpose, nothing but a clear head. You’ll thank me for it one day…”
Of all the ironies… He let his breath release slowly and eased the door wider, catching a glimpse within. A single man clad in black leather stood by the enormous open face of the slowly ticking clock, watching the top of the Ivory Tower as if that were the center of his world.
A whisper of sound was his only warning. Leo blocked a swinging arm, striking out with the stiletto and driving it between a pair of ribs. A man came out of nowhere—from behind the door it seemed—crashing into him and carrying them both to the ground. Leo twisted, locking his arm tight and cupping his thighs around the man’s throat. He rolled, taking the fellow with him, a throaty cry ending in the abrupt snap of the Falcon’s neck. The sound of scuffling caught Leo’s attention. Two other Falcons had cornered Byrnes.
No time to deal with that. The Nighthawk would have to hold his own.
Leo rolled to his feet, bending low as the Falcon by the window turned. An emotionless gaze flickered over the dead guard at his feet, then back again.
“Barrons.” The scar through his eyebrow identified him as Rigby, one of the prince consort’s body servants, a man so unassuming that Leo had never really paid him much attention. “A rather inconvenient entrance.”
“My apologies. I thought about swinging through the clock and perhaps kicking you in the face, but that seemed a ridiculous waste of time and energy.” Blade’s style, not his. Which was why he was up here in the shadows, while his brother-in-law was flamboyantly burning everything in sight.
“You arrogant bastard—and I use that term in all its derogatory senses. You haven’t the faintest idea what is going on, do you?”
“We’re winning?” Leo suggested. A grunt sounded behind him, then Stanton joined the fray.
Rigby sidestepped him, tugging a modified pistol from his pocket. One of the current-stimulating devices Mina had explained. Leo stilled, silencing the world around him, letting it all vanish into the shadows as his complete attention focused on the pistol.
“Winning?” Rigby laughed. “It’s a trap, you fool!”
Steel-plated cord shot out, the arrow-like prong thundering toward Leo’s chest. He sprang forward, rolling under the device and flinging the hidden stiletto at Rigby. Somewhere behind him, a raven gave a throaty scream as the prong tore through its cage and jolted it with current.
“A trap?” he asked, rolling to his feet and planting a boot in the middle of the man’s chest. Rigby grunted, wrenching the stiletto out of his arm with a snarl as he fell and rolled. Leo’s boot slammed down where his head had been, the man snapping a kick behind him that was insanely fast.
As fast as a blue blood.
Leo backed away. “I see the prince consort has been illegally infecting his nursemaids.”
