Burning Up

skin-trade. And looking at the emaciated women and boys, Ivy understood that she hadn’t been too skinny for them to take, as she’d always thought: her guild tattoo had kept her safe. Even the Black Guard, whoever they were, knew better than to cross the Blacksmith.
    But the Black Guard must have angered him . . . because the Blacksmith was helping Eben build a monster designed to frighten and destroy them.
    And bless the bright stars—so was Ivy.
     
    M idnight had long passed before Eben finally left sick bay. For the first time, he hoped that Ivy had already fallen asleep. Everything inside him was scraped raw. He couldn’t bear it if she looked at him in fear and horror again.
    The sliver of yellow light beneath his cabin door dashed his hope. He girded his heart before entering.
    He expected to find her by the gallery windows, but she sat in her nightgown at the dining table, frowning down at the pieces of the Black Guard’s freezing device. She’d wound her hair around her head like a crown, each braid a coppery red in the soft glow of the lamp. Shadows formed half circles below her eyes.
    She glanced up at him, her solemn gaze lingering on the blood staining his shirt. Stiffly, he turned toward the bureau to change and wash. He heard her sigh.
    “This device isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen,” she said. “The power source—it’s a battery, but I’d need a thousand Kleistian jars to equal a few seconds of activation. And the circuitry, and these . . . these . . . I don’t know what they are. It’s like looking at a nanoagent. Somehow, commands are being processed, and I don’t know how .”
    The last word came out muffled. Eben turned, saw that she’d put her hands over her face. She drew deep, steadying breaths. “The Blacksmith might know,” she added quietly.
    “We’ll send it to him.”
    Opening her hands, she looked at him through the brackets of her palms. “It’s Horde technology. But that man wasn’t Horde.”
    “No,” Eben said. “None of the Black Guard have been.”
    Ivy studied him for an endless moment. Then she nodded and stood, gathering the pieces into a small bin. “You were in the surgery a long time.”
    “We lost two,” he said gruffly.
    “I heard. I’m sorry.” Her searching gaze swept over him again. “Did you eat?”
    “Yes.”
    With her nightgown skimming the floor, she walked to the bed and lay down. When she awoke tomorrow, Vesuvius would be anchored near Trahaearn’s estate, and she’d be heading ashore to build the kraken. And although Eben had intended to stay with her, now he’d be sailing into the port at Holyhead, returning those who the slavers had abducted from Wales, and then on to London. He’d be away from her for almost a month.
    Christ. For two weeks, he’d done everything possible to show Ivy he wasn’t a monster. One day had ruined all of that—and as soon as she left his ship, he’d have no way to prevent her from running.
    Again.
    His heart heavy, he finished cleaning off the sweat and blood. He looked toward the bed, then snuffed the lamp so that if she turned away from him, at least he wouldn’t see it.
    But as soon as his head hit the pillow, she curled against his side and laid her cheek over his heart. His throat tightened. Eben stared up into the dark, trying to remember any moment in his life when a single action had affected him more. He couldn’t.
    By God, he loved her.
    And he’d kiss her now, if she would just give him the denier that they’d passed back and forth the past week. He waited, wondering if she held it in her hand—but he could feel her left palm flat against his arm, her fingers gently stroking his biceps, and her right was tucked loosely beneath her chin.
    “You forgot the coin.”
    “No.” Her warm breath whispered over his chest. “I know you’d never force me.”
    He couldn’t respond for almost a full minute. Then he said, “I wish you’d figured that out after you’d earned your denier back.” Her laugh left him as full and light as an airship. “Tell me, Ivy: do I have to pay for a kiss?”
    “I should charge you five hundred gold sous. I’m furious with you.”
    She had an odd way of showing it. “I know what shooting that bastard looked like. But—”
    “Not him. Good riddance to him, the murdering bumchute.” She lifted her head. His eyes had adjusted to the reflected moonlight coming in through the windows; there was no mistaking her fierce expression as she looked