Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

flown out of the wind and rain. Are you still coming up with me?”
    “If I’m not in your way.”
    “You won’t be.”
    “Then I will.” When she lifted her chin to tie the ends of the scarf beneath her throat, he said, “The runes on your necklace. May I look?”
    Her fingers stilled. After a long second, she nodded.
    David wanted to step close to examine it, to lift the leather string in his hands and steal a moment against her skin. He didn’t need to. She pulled the necklace away from her throat, twisting the small bones until the runes faced him. His nanoagents detected the shift of his focus and adjusted his lens.
    “Annika, daughter of Frida,” he said softly. “Daughter of Kára, daughter of Astrid, daughter of Agnes, daughter of Jane.” He looked up, saw the surprise in the parting of her lips and widening of her eyes. She hadn’t thought he’d be able to read the runes, and no wonder—he’d searched long before finding a historian who could teach him. With his gaze on her face, he unbuckled his jacket collar, tugged out his own runes. “This was my mother’s.”
    Astonished, she sucked in a sharp breath and reached up, rolling the first bone between her fingers. “Inga.” Her gaze jumped tomeet his again, searching his features. For a resemblance? “ You are her daughter?”
    “Her son.” Joy and triumph surged through him. Yes, this was closer to fulfilling his promise, the closest he’d been. He recited the runes from memory. “Inga, daughter of Helga, daughter of Sigrid, daughter of Ursula, daughter of Hanna. Did you know her?”
    Dropping the runes, she let her hand fall to her side. The wondering light in her eyes faded. She shook her head, her expression closing. “No. I’m sorry.”
    Oh, no. He wouldn’t let her shut him out now. “She died wearing these, Annika. She died saving my life. She asked me to bury them on her people’s holy mountain so that her soul can find her mother’s, but I don’t know where that is. Help me. Please.”
    She cast a stricken glance at his runes. “I can’t.”
    But his mother’s request had affected her. Heart pounding, he stepped closer and said softly, “Whatever secret you’re keeping, I won’t expose it. Please, Annika. Please let me do this for her.”
    “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Hugging her arms against her chest, she backed up a step, then turned for the companionway. “Don’t follow me up, Mr. Kentewess. You’d only get in my way.”
    He’d damn well get in her way until she gave him what he needed. David started after her—then forced himself to stop. Fists clenched, he watched her disappear up the stairs. She’d been taken off-guard and her defenses were up. He’d let her go for now, give her time to think.
    But he wasn’t done with Annika Fridasdottor.
    It seemed only seconds after Annika had fallen into a fitful sleep that Elena nudged her awake again. Blearily, she glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until the four-to-eight watch began. A month of this would kill her.
    Maybe she’d begin to sleep easier after David Kentewess left the airship. Annika doubted it.
    Elena lit the lamp. With a sigh, Annika rolled over. Just two more minutes. Of course, her mind wouldn’t let her have it. Closing her eyes, she could only see the hope on David’s face after she’d spoken his mother’s name. Could only hear him beseech her for help again. Giving up, she watched the flickering light dance across the bulkhead instead. So bright against the darkness—and from one small flame.
    Five years ago, Annika had nearly exposed everyone in her village by building a fire. Such a simple act. She wasn’t sure anyone aboard could have understood the harm she’d almost done. Secrecy had kept the women of Hannasvik safe for a century, and her fire had shouted their presence to the outside world.
    She’d been woolgathering that day. Looking out over the sea and thinking about the women who’d first settled there. Every girl in Hannasvik had grown up hearing the story of how sixty laboring women had been smuggled out of Horde territory in England aboard an ironship. Rescued, some might have said, but no one taken from Horde-occupied lands was destined for anything but slavery and servitude—in the Lusitanian mines, most likely, but it was impossible to know what their destination might have been. Not a single sailor who could have told them survived the journey.
    Not far from England, the smugglers had come upon a