Spark.
A sharp crack of blue electricity splits the humid air.
"For the love of the deep ocean," Bolt groans from the copper cage. "I said I was taking a nap. I am not dead. Can you keep the grinding to a minimum? The acoustics in this calcium shell are terrible."
Kael freezes in place.
He rests his damp forehead against the cold wall right next to my head, panting, his heart hammering against my chest like a war drum. He closes his dark eyes, taking a shuddering breathbefore pulling his hand out of my tunic and floating back from my body.
He studies my flushed face, his lips swollen from the kiss and his eyes pitch-black voids of unmet desire. He looks frustrated enough to punch a hole straight through the iron hull, turning to glare at the glowing cage.
If a dark glare possessed the power to kill, we would be dining on a roasted eel for supper.
He turns his attention back to me, reaching out to fix the rumpled fabric of my tunic, smoothing the material over my chest. His heavy hands linger against my beating heart for a second too long.
Later, he signs in the dim light.
The single word hangs in the humid air, heavy with a dark, scorching promise.
I nod, my tail trembling with adrenaline.
"Later," I agree.
Kael turns from the wall, his broad movements stiff with frustrated energy. He swims toward the humming copper cage, his heavy tail displacing the warm water in a deliberate, powerful sweep. His rough, sandpaper skin drags against the current right in front of me, a sensory reminder of his presence that sends shivers through my entire body.
My breath catches in my throat.
I slide down the curved wall until my tail fin sinks into the soft white sand below. My attention moves across the room to Mira's rigid form. She remains frozen in place, her unblinking eyes fixed on the ceiling moss as if in silent prayer. I wonder if she witnessed our raw display, if she comprehends the brutal irony of it all. The terrifying monster she tried to execute is now the only creature keeping my soul alive in this crushing darkness.
"You've had your nap. Turn the ship around, Bolt," I say, my voice steady despite the fever heat flushing my skin.
"Iamturning," Bolt grumbles, sending a fresh spark into the iron gears. "But if you two start making lovesick eyes at each other again, I'll shock the floorboards. And for the record, I prefer my naps longer and with less debauchery."
The hydro-engine roars to life, its vibration traveling through the floor and up my spine. We head for the smog of the Silt District. We sail toward Oona.
We sail to steal back the voice that will allow him to finish what he started against the wall.
Chapter 15
The Shape of Broken Things
Kael
Thejourneybackmimicsswimming upstream through a current of shattered glass.
For weeks, I have existed in the stark silence of the Gray Wastes. The freezing water there is heavy and bitter, but honest. It presses against my scales with a uniform, predictable weight. It lacks the stench of burning engine grease, processed nutritional kelp, or the sharp, metallic tang of anxiety leaking from a walled city of five thousand souls.
Now, as the House of Drift grinds its way up the steep continental slope, the suffocating feeling of the Reef hits my sensitive lateral line long before the glowing boundary lights appear.
The city vibrates in my teeth.
The rhythmic vibration of the atmospheric processors churns the water. The nauseating, low-frequency hum of the magical perimeter shields presses against my skull. The chaotic insect-buzz of armored patrol skiffs darts across the upper boundaries.
The sheer volume of civilization sparks a sharp, throbbing headache behind my dark eyes.
Standing at the helm of the shell, I grip the rusted iron wheel Bolt jury-rigged to the main steering column. I adjust our upward course. We are avoiding the guarded main gate, aiming for the forgotten, rotting cracks in the city's ancient foundation. We are heading for the Silt District. The industrial drain.
"You are grinding the gears, shark," Bolt grumbles from his copper cage. The eel glows a muddy, exhausted shade of orange.He hates the shallow waters. "Ease up on the torque. We are fighting strong gravity now, not just the friction of the silt."
