Spectyr by Philippa Ballantine Page B

has.”
    Whatever he saw when he looked down at the jumbled array of red buildings, she did not. Sorcha wanted to be there now, not observing it from above.
    She was well aware impatience was one of her faults. Her tutors in the Abbey as a young Initiate had repeatedly pointed that out to her—sometimes with willow lashes on her open palm. However, they never cured her, and neither had a little age.
    Even though they had completed a journey that would have taken months riding, right across the Empire in a mere week—it still felt ridiculously slow. At least on horseback there were things to do; trapped in the dirigible she had spent the last week looking at miles of clouds.
    So she tried to appreciate the city below. It was already far warmer than Vermillion. Spring was just giving way to summer in the north, but in Chioma it already had a warm, sticky grip on the country. Sorcha wiped a thin line of sweat from her forehead. They had not yet landed, but she could tell this kingdom was going to make her suffer.
    Captain Revele was bringing them in slow to the port city, probably showing off for Merrick’s benefit—or to keep him on the dirigible for just that little bit longer. Revele’s feeling for Sorcha’s partner apparently sailed right past her target, though. He could have spent a week having fun with the captain, at least at night—yet he had not availed himself of the opportunity. Sorcha found it curious.
    Merrick had, like most Deacons, been in the Order from childhood, but he had somehow missed a vital part of growing up that was certainly available even in the confines of the Abbey. He was utterly unaware of his effect on women, and Vyra Revele could not say anything, because a Deacon was, strictly speaking, higher in the chain of command than she.
    As if summoned by the wandering of Sorcha’s thoughts, Captain Revele appeared out of the wheelhouse, adjusted her jacket in a sharp, telling little gesture and strode toward them.
    “We’ll be landing in a few moments.” Her voice was almost as disciplined as a Deacon’s. “The Navy only has a small tether port here, but we have been instructed to wait for your return.”
    Merrick didn’t say a thing, still too entranced by what was below. Sorcha tapped his leg, and he jerked upright. “Thank you, Captain.”
    She gave him a tight smile and then returned to her post. The crew brought the Summer Hawk down with absolute precision—so much so that even Raed would have barely noticed when they finally landed. The recollection of the Young Pretender’s nervousness around the airship was both amusing and painful. Sorcha was used to being her own person, and yet here she was chasing after a man. How Kolya would have laughed.
    Te ground crew scurried to secure the dirigible, while the sailors on board threw out ropes to them. Eventually the Summer Hawk was as tightly wound to the ground as a fly in a spider’s web. Ramps were thrown out, and the passengers disembarked.
    The Deacons got off first and waited for the deputation to organize itself. The relentless Bandele began shouting at his men as they moved grumpy donkeys and angry oxen out of the hold. Sorcha knew if she watched the whole painful process of reassembling the caravan she would probably chew her fingernails off. So instead she wandered away for a little, while Merrick stood talking to Captain Revele. His thoughts, however, were tightly locked away, so Sorcha concentrated on her surroundings.
    At first Orinthal did not look that different from any other city in the Empire Sorcha had seen on her travels. The tether station was the only one in the principality and tacked onto the edge of the wharf area. Sail and rowing boats skidded around on the dark water of the Saal River like so many water insects.
    Then as she turned west she saw what the city was known for: the towering cone-shaped mud structures that made up the place. They were constructed of the red earth from the hills, carved in outrageous