I draw my cloak closer, wrapping Guinevere’s black-and-white-striped furs around my shoulders. Caldor lies fixed in front of me, but as dead as the winter land. My breath is a fog, and Rufus manning the helm shivers violently. I glance at the furnace, still relatively warm, but the charcoal pieces are fading fast. We need an active fire.
“Here.” I stand to hand him my falconry gloves. He holds up a palm to refuse at first, but reconsiders and nods in thanks as he puts them on. As they were once Merlin’s, they fit him well. I kneel in front of the furnace and set my goggles atop my eyes so I can open the gate and toss in a few more lumps of wood and charcoal.
“We’ll arrive shortly,” Rufus tells me. “I’m steering her toward the sea to keep us from the blizzard heading south.”
I look out at the wrath of galloping, thunderous clouds of gray and white and sculpted out of rock by whatever god might have forged them. Snow comes quickly, and soon, we’re covered in it—sails, railings, Norwegian steel reinforcements. Everything.
We hit a current, and the aeroship wobbles unstably. I glance at the ship’s frame, in case I might have forgotten to tighten any bolts. The creaks of wear and tear are alarming, but everything holds. A particularly violent current strikes, and I reach for the railing. My hand falls upon the Norwegian steel that sings its magical song into my skin. It’s an opera of celestial music, and I want to feel it forever. But I must focus.
“Rufus! The wings!” I shout into the song of the gale as the silk sheets rustle. I used the strongest silk I could find in Guinevere’s and Merlin’s towers and sewed expertly enough that my mother would have been proud. But it might not be enough.
The ship dips suddenly, and with its strength, I’m thrown across the floor as the winds turn violent. I slam into the side. Knock the back of my head. Cringe and inhale sharply.
“Damn it!” Rufus curses, holding tightly to the helm. “You all right?”
I nod and climb to my feet, clutching the steel railings for support. The only emotion I see on Rufus’s face is through the gritted teeth he bares like a lion: he’s determined, but perhaps uncertain we’ll make it.
The port wing flails wildly, its strength fading. If we lose one wing, it’ll send us spiraling toward the ground. There’s not a moment to lose. There are lines secured over each side of the aeroship for this very purpose. But I should have tightened them long before we left.
“Keep to starboard!” I call, setting my goggles back over my eyes and making for the wing.
“What are you doing?” Rufus calls.
“I need to fix it!”
“No! You’ll fall!”
But I’ve already opened a window right above the wings. I squeeze through, and instantly the wind nearly knocks me onto my back. There’s the fraying end of a thick, white line, and I could tie it to the wing’s base, and perhaps that’ll hold us until we land. I stretch my arm toward it, feeling the icy death grip of winter’s ire, and immediately I regret giving my gloves to the blacksmith. But it cannot matter now. The silk whips like mad, but my fingers touch it, nearly catching it. I can do this.
“Just a little more,” I whisper.
“If the worst should happen—”
“Never mind that!” I shout back. I need to focus. “A little more,” I whisper. My hand stretches further, and my fingers are turning blue, and I might lose my arm, but I’m nearly there and suddenly, I feel the silk.
“Yes!”
I tie it to the base, and the wing stretches like a beautiful ship at sea. I jerk back inside and set my back flush against the wall. Rufus looks at me in amazement, but he wasn’t there when I activated Victor. He doesn’t know what more I’ve been able to fix myself.
“We’re nearly there,” Rufus tells me through his awe.
I nod. “Land her.”
ELEVEN
The storm won’t ease up as we descend from the clouds— on the contrary, the winds quicken, like
“Here.” I stand to hand him my falconry gloves. He holds up a palm to refuse at first, but reconsiders and nods in thanks as he puts them on. As they were once Merlin’s, they fit him well. I kneel in front of the furnace and set my goggles atop my eyes so I can open the gate and toss in a few more lumps of wood and charcoal.
“We’ll arrive shortly,” Rufus tells me. “I’m steering her toward the sea to keep us from the blizzard heading south.”
I look out at the wrath of galloping, thunderous clouds of gray and white and sculpted out of rock by whatever god might have forged them. Snow comes quickly, and soon, we’re covered in it—sails, railings, Norwegian steel reinforcements. Everything.
We hit a current, and the aeroship wobbles unstably. I glance at the ship’s frame, in case I might have forgotten to tighten any bolts. The creaks of wear and tear are alarming, but everything holds. A particularly violent current strikes, and I reach for the railing. My hand falls upon the Norwegian steel that sings its magical song into my skin. It’s an opera of celestial music, and I want to feel it forever. But I must focus.
“Rufus! The wings!” I shout into the song of the gale as the silk sheets rustle. I used the strongest silk I could find in Guinevere’s and Merlin’s towers and sewed expertly enough that my mother would have been proud. But it might not be enough.
The ship dips suddenly, and with its strength, I’m thrown across the floor as the winds turn violent. I slam into the side. Knock the back of my head. Cringe and inhale sharply.
“Damn it!” Rufus curses, holding tightly to the helm. “You all right?”
I nod and climb to my feet, clutching the steel railings for support. The only emotion I see on Rufus’s face is through the gritted teeth he bares like a lion: he’s determined, but perhaps uncertain we’ll make it.
The port wing flails wildly, its strength fading. If we lose one wing, it’ll send us spiraling toward the ground. There’s not a moment to lose. There are lines secured over each side of the aeroship for this very purpose. But I should have tightened them long before we left.
“Keep to starboard!” I call, setting my goggles back over my eyes and making for the wing.
“What are you doing?” Rufus calls.
“I need to fix it!”
“No! You’ll fall!”
But I’ve already opened a window right above the wings. I squeeze through, and instantly the wind nearly knocks me onto my back. There’s the fraying end of a thick, white line, and I could tie it to the wing’s base, and perhaps that’ll hold us until we land. I stretch my arm toward it, feeling the icy death grip of winter’s ire, and immediately I regret giving my gloves to the blacksmith. But it cannot matter now. The silk whips like mad, but my fingers touch it, nearly catching it. I can do this.
“Just a little more,” I whisper.
“If the worst should happen—”
“Never mind that!” I shout back. I need to focus. “A little more,” I whisper. My hand stretches further, and my fingers are turning blue, and I might lose my arm, but I’m nearly there and suddenly, I feel the silk.
“Yes!”
I tie it to the base, and the wing stretches like a beautiful ship at sea. I jerk back inside and set my back flush against the wall. Rufus looks at me in amazement, but he wasn’t there when I activated Victor. He doesn’t know what more I’ve been able to fix myself.
“We’re nearly there,” Rufus tells me through his awe.
I nod. “Land her.”
ELEVEN
The storm won’t ease up as we descend from the clouds— on the contrary, the winds quicken, like
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