Harbinger by Philippa Ballantine Page B

not a large weirstone—not enough to power an airship—but it was enough to contact one. It was also how she had already reached out to several officers in the Imperial Guard whom she trusted implicitly.
    Looking down into the weirstone, she commented, “For a person so committed to the old Imperial family, Aachon has been quite helpful. He’s taught me the basics of using it for communication.”
    Merrick shrugged. “I think the death of Raed’s sister made him see how little his friend wants the throne. It’s been quite a change for him.”
    Both of them started as the sound of footsteps raced past in the hallway outside. Merrick got that distant look in his eyes, for just an instant, before returning to their conversation; nothing beyond their room apparently required his attention. The Deacon wrapped his hands around hers. “What will you do?”
    Zofiya lurched to her feet and shrugged the rucksack onto her back. “The
Summer Hawk
and her captain are loyal to me, and we are not far from their usual route. I will send the message as soon as I am clear of the citadel.”
    “And where will you go then?” The troubled look on his usually calm face pleased her. He did care.
    She shot a look at him over her shoulder as she took up her own traveling cloak. “I will return to Vermillion. It is the capital, the place where everything begins and ends. I will find out the true lay of the land and hopefully be able to save my brother and the Empire.”
    “I guessed as much, but I’ve discovered people find it a little off-putting if I lay out the facts before they’ve given voice to them. Besides . . . it’s impolite to presume.”
    Zofiya felt a sharp clench in her belly, but managed not to rush to his side. “I like that you are not trying to keep me here.”
    “I wish I could.” Merrick glanced down at his hands.
    “But neither of us are normal people with normal responsibilities.” Zofiya shifted from one foot to another. Now it had come to the moment, she found herself reluctant to leave. The citadel was the most unwelcoming place she’d ever lived in: full of chill drafts, echoing chambers and the remains of furniture. By all rights she should have been racing out of it. Yet, Zofiya knew that once she left, it could be a long time—if ever—before she saw Merrick again.
    “I can read you,” he said, clasping her around the waist from behind, and pulling her in tight, “but I cannot see what you will find in Vermillion.”
    Zofiya turned in his arms. “Do not—”
    He stopped her words with a finger placed over her lips. Once he would have earned a broken arm for such daring. “The city will be full of powerless Deacons, lost, bewildered, but they will still have the potential.” He cupped her face in his hands and rubbed his thumb over the curve of her lips. “Deacon Petav has been recording the works of the Patternmaker, and been learning the art of applying them to the skin. You must take him with you!”
    The idea of that particular Deacon journeying with her was not very appealing; as far as she was concerned he was as dry as a stick that had been left out too long on a summer day. However, she understood what her lover was getting at. If she could resurrect at least some of the Deacons at the capital, then they could help bring the citizens of Vermillion some protection from the geists.
    Zofiya nodded slowly. “If you think he is up to the task, then yes that would be very useful.”
    Merrick chuckled. “Deacon Petav has proven himself very useful to me, but he would also welcome the chance to get out from under Sorcha’s gaze I think.”
    “Perfectly understandable,” Zofiya replied with a twitch of her lips. Petav had been Sorcha’s husband once, as well as her partner. They had come to a working understanding, but things were still a little tense when they were both in the room—you didn’t need to be a Sensitive to feel that.
    Merrick drew in a long breath. “Then there is