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“We passed a guard hut on the way up. We’ll wait out the storm there.”
Charlotte recalled that hut. The small stone structure had a badly rusted tin roof. Hardly ideal, but it had to be better than being out in the wind and snow. She said, “Be safe.”
Luis pulled her into an embrace. “You, too. Don’t be afraid to use the tools we gave you,” he whispered.
He pulled back and said loud enough for their audience to hear, “I’ll see you in a year.”
Charlotte touched the spot on her chest where the compass rested under layers of coat and clothing, seeking comfort while blinking back tears as her friend left. She might be in a fortress full of strangers and utterly alone, but she wasn’t lost.
This is no time to be maudlin.
She scanned the recessed arches and the walkway overhead, searching for Draven. This was his domain. Where was he?
“The Master will speak with you after dinner,” Lemoine said to Charlotte. “I am Megane Lemoine, Master Draven’s steward. I’ll show you to your room. Hot water and a meal are waiting. Do not worry about your luggage. They will be brought to you.”
Lemoine turned on her heel and strode away. Half the soldiers unloaded the cart and the other half were at her back, forcing her to follow Lemoine.
Moving forward, Charlotte felt that she was too numb from the cold to keep up with all that Lemoine had thrown at her. The steward doesn’t seem to like her much. That did not bode well for things to come.
Draven
The Aerie
She wasn’t what he expected. None of this was what he expected.
He couldn’t explain the satisfaction thrumming in his chest, knowing that she wore his coat. The beast she traveled with, the one anchored to the Marechal hunter, would know that she belonged to him.
Such possessiveness made no sense. When he spoke to the soft city-bred lady at the outpost, he knew she would not complete the journey. Shivering and miserable, she didn’t even have proper winter gear. Her utter unsuitability annoyed him.
He tasked the Marechal whelp to find him a bride. He did not outline the criteria for a suitable candidate because it should have been obvious. A raider. Ex-military, either released from duty or a deserter. The details did not matter. There were only so many types of people who survived in the West Lands. Choices were limited. Draven required someone strong enough to survive the journey and this plump, soft lady from the city was not it.
Now she climbed his mountain and demanded entrance. He didn’t know if he should admire the force of her will or despair for her stubbornness, and it vexed him.
Perhaps this was for the best. He had selected all his previous companions in an attempt to anchor and had failed every time.
She looked delectable in his coat.
And she did owe him a kiss.
Charlotte
The Aerie
The lack of natural light unnerved Charlotte. The steward led her through an archway into another tunnel. Bright overhead lights hummed to life as they approached, which spoke of a pre-colonial technology that Charlotte had only read about.
Motion sensors. Functioning motion sensors.
How astounding. Charlotte could easily believe that the Aerie was built from salvaged components of a lost colony ship, although she had no idea how the tech managed to survive when all other advanced tech equipment failed. Her father would be giddy.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that places without windows should not be so bright. Solar-powered lanterns were usually reserved for wealthier homes and older households as a legacy. The Wodehouses had one, a battered old relic from a wealthier past. Charlotte had read by its soft light as a girl, reading past her bedtime. Most people used oil lamps and candles.
The ancient wonders kept coming with an elevator. Lemoine ushered her into a small room. She pressed some commands on a control panel and the entire room moved.
Charlotte placed a hand on the wall to keep herself steady.
“This is an elevator,” the steward said, like she expected Charlotte to start shouting about sorcery.
“They have elevators in Founding,” Charlotte replied, snatching her hand back.
