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“I’m quite certain the grand dame duchess didn’t mean a weapon.”
“Oh, so am I,” Castor adds.
“I said ‘please.’” Annabelle smiles at me.
“I see. Please.” I’m going to have words with Holter when we get a moment alone. But also, I’m not taking it away from her, so I suppose he’s not the only one smitten.
Castor flicks on the exterior lights outside the portal, which brighten the room. It’s late enough that most of the dome is asleep. Plankton are gathering already, and a few jellyfish float by, chased by a leatherback turtle.
Annabelle’s staring out the window. She nods, turning. “I want this.” Her eyes are on me.
“Very well,” I say.
Holter pulls a small trident out of the bag. It’s the retractable telescoping kind, a good brand and model. Best of all, small enough that it will fit her hand properly.
“Stand back,” I say, and she does. Making sure the power is off, I hold it up. I flick it open and swing it left and right, testing its range of motion. “We’ll have to send this to the Glyden Dome tech and get it rigged so only you can use it.”
“Oh really? How does that work? Are you saying I can’t just use any trident?”
“Yes, Annabelle, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The ones on the sub are military-grade. They’re different. I’m not sure why you’re worried about using your trident.” In any way. Except I am. I’m the bastard who kidnapped her. If anyone should be worried about her using the trident, it’s me.
I twirl it around some more.
“Show off,” Holter mumbles.
I smirk. If I’m good with the trident, Holter’s even better. She might think I’m the dangerous one out of the three of us, but she’d be wrong. Holter’s the deadliest in all the military. I sent him back to the sub during the battle of Boston because I didn’t want it to succeed. And he wouldn’t have been able to do anything less than win.
“Here, take it.” I hand the hilt to her. “Stand in the middle of the room. Shoulders back. Feet apart. Don’t lock your knees.” I tap the back of her knee.
She bounces like an avatar for a video game that my men play sometimes.
“What are you doing?” I put my hand on her shoulder. My other is ready to grab the trident if she slips.
“I’m staying limber. I’m loose.”
“Okay, well. Less limber. Less loose.”
“Right, less limber, less loose.” She stops her bobbing.
“The first thing you need to do is—”
“—learn how to open it,” she says.
“No.” I frown down at her. She’s too jumpy.
“Please.”
“That’s not the first thing. The first thing I want you to realize is that when you wield this”—I nod at the trident—“you have to prepare to kill a person.”
Her pupils dilate. “Right.” She gives a miniscule nod. Her voice is soft. “Kill a person.”
“All right. Now you learn how to open it.” I stand back. “Flick your wrist and turn it.”
She flicks, but it doesn’t telescope or unfold.
“Again.”
She flicks. And it telescopes. “I got it.”
