Page 3

Chapter

Two

ANYA

T he train station is busy despite the early hour, and men and women alike crowd the platforms, waiting for the trains that will take them to various parts of our large kingdom and even more far-flung places. This is the only place in all of Zylik that one can even see such a unique gathering of people within the city’s protective dome. Among them, cogwork servants docilely follow those of the wealthier class to handle their baggage and see to their needs. There are even a few metal dogs programmed for service tasks. Only a handful of platforms stand out because they lack all signs of Zyerk’s advanced cogworks, and those are the ones that serve trains heading outside of the kingdom.

None of Zyerk’s technology is allowed outside of the kingdom without special license—which cannot be afforded by just anyone.

Although I’ve never had the luxury of owning more than the most basic cogwork appliances, all of which have now been carried off by Mr. Barkley, I grew up in Zylik and have never been out of the capital city, much less outside of Zyerk. I’ve never had a moment without the most minimal technological conveniences to be found within the city since entering the life of a courtesan. But even my childhood was filled with the familiar sight of cogworks. To see platforms without a trace of the familiar cogworks sends a shiver of unease through me, despite myself. They appear practically desolate, which doesn’t put me at ease.

Is this what I have to look forward to?

It isn’t exactly an inspiring sight. Those waiting for the trains there appear to be huddled together miserably. A few seem to talk quietly, but all activity is subdued compared to the bustle of the other platforms. The oppressive atmosphere briefly breaks up as a small group of wealthy ladies and gentlemen hurry toward a chain with the porters before disappearing into the sleeper cars at the rear of the train. I give them only the briefest glance of envy. Although the elite ticket-holders are boarding, I know that I’m in for a long wait before the passenger ticket-holders are loaded.

My hand tightens on my small valise as I head toward the platform. At least I don’t have to wait with my trunks. I had the forethought to set aside a small amount of money to pay the porters to load them for me. Still, the wait will not be a comfortable one. I enviously eye women clad in well-fitted trousers as they hurry past—onto their next adventure, I imagine. How nice it is to move freely without the weight of petticoats, skirts, overdress, and all the trappings of a proper woman’s attire.

I can privately admit that freely wearing trousers is one part of my old life that I miss before Mistress Madrina took away such things. Proper courtesans desired by the wealthy and nobles did not wear such items. And, unfortunately, the wife of an outpost governor would be expected to keep to proper fashions as well. I bite back a sigh of envy as the simply attired women, one by one, all eventually disappear into the crowd.

I shake my head. It does me no good to stare wistfully after things that I cannot have. The dreams of my youth were hammered out of me through the long life lessons that came with being a courtesan. Some things will never be mine.

Drawing my shawl tightly around me, I quicken my pace, eager to arrive at my designated car and be done with it. At the last moment, however, I’m forced to sidestep in order to avoid being run down by a small group of men rushing past as they bark urgent instructions at each other. Frowning, I smooth my skirt as I watch them pass and head directly for the engine. How odd. The train won’t be leaving for some time yet, so what’s their hurry? I shake my head in wonder but then spy a free bench near my car and hurry along the platform to it; the gentlemen forgotten. I’m not going to lose the opportunity to sit and rest my feet. How I wish Mr. Mallory had thought of getting me a ticket for the dirigible rather than the train. I could board and rest by now if so. And in far more sanitary conditions than the dusty, filthy train floors.

The platforms are only slightly cleaner than the trains themselves. Only the opulent private cars are spared from such conditions.

I try not to grimace overtly as I take a seat on the bench. It quickly fills up all around me as more and more people hurry onto the platform with the angry whistle of the train. There is a savory tang perfuming the aircoming from somewhere nearby, and my stomach clenches miserably with hunger. With Mr. Barkley showing up so early, there wasn’t time to break my fast or to arrange anything to bring with me. My ticket indicates that meals will be provided, but there is no indication of when one might expect it, so I settle my hand firmly against my stomach and try to ignore the pangs.

I sit on the crowded bench for some time, my shoulders wedged uncomfortably between the people sitting on either side of me as a gradually thickening cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke chokes the air. I feel an immeasurable sense of relief when a lean man in a shiny uniform exits the train and gives us all an expectant look.

“All aboard!”

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort to extricate myself from those sitting beside me. They may be in no hurry to get up, but I am. Digging in my heels, I wrench myself from between them and the force of it sends me stumbling forward before I catch myself. I straighten with as much dignity as I can muster and adjust my grip on my valise before heading into the train with my head held high.

As I feared, the car is already rapidly filling up, and I’m forced to squeeze between people finding their seats as I search for my seat among the pairs of tall benches sitting back to back with each other, creating paired facing seats running down both sides of the car. I scowl as I struggle past a small group of people clustered in the aisle, just barely holding my tongue to keep from cursing when a woman’s shrill voice rises over the noise of the car just behind me.

“Wait, I know her! Conductor, I must insist that you remove that woman at once. I will not share a compartment with a… a… whore,” she finishes, her words met with an appalled gasp from her companion.

There is no doubt in my mind of whom she speaks. I can feel eyes boring into me, and from the corner of my eye I see a gentleman cast me a nervous glance before quickly looking away. Of course I could not escape my reputation so easily.

My back stiffens, and my chin lifts slightly as I turn to my accuser. I recognize her immediately and my mouth thins as I greet Giles’ young niece, Chelsea Kenning, with a cool smile.

“Miss Kenning. I thought perhaps there was some terrible harridan behind me. Imagine my surprise. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” I say with feigned surprise.

Her face flushes red as the gentleman beside her tries to politely cover the amused twitches of his lips behind a cough. At the far end of the train, I spot the conductor making his way toward us as he slowly pushes his way through the crowd.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” she returns, her voice shrill with her disdain. “And just what are you doing here? Searching for your next target now that dear Uncle Giles is gone? It’s a good thing that I was aware of exactly who and what you are or else the family wouldn’t have known to turn a predator like you away from the door.”

“Predator?” I echo in disbelief as I try to ignore the curious looks that are turning our way and the intrigue in the eyes of more than one gentleman on the train with us. Even her companion is looking at me far too speculatively for my comfort. “How presumptuous. And I suppose your uncle was a victim in your eyes and bears no responsibility for his actions?”

“Of course. Many men have been easily led astray by the allure of a woman of your sort. It is only natural that, as his family, I was duty-bound to protect him and his interests.”

“His estate, you mean,” I observe dryly. “You certainly never voiced your disapproval when he was alive. You did exactly the opposite, displaying nothing short of enthusiasm that he was enjoying my companionship after being a childless widower for so many years. I assume now that it was merely to make sure that you remained favorable and within his will.”

Her gasp of outrage is satisfying, but I notice that the conductor is making his way to us even quicker now. Apparently her gentleman companion has noticed, too, because he twitches nervously before leaning down to speak intimately to her.

“Chelsea, perhaps we should find our seat now,” he murmurs. “We have a long way to go before we reach Tryg Station.”

“Victor, please,” she hisses in reply. “How can you possibly expect me to endure traveling while I know that she is breathing the same air as us?”

I lift my eyebrows, but not in response to her behavior. She is pitifully inconsequential. I’m far more curious about the place he mentioned. I’ve heard of Tryg Station. “Isn’t that the private station attached to Dwenell University in the Kantan region?”

Victor looks at me in surprise, and he gives me a jerky nod. “It is… Have you studied, by chance?”

“Her?” Chelsea’s bark of laughter isn’t flattering, but I ignore her as I shake my head, hating that I’m unable to rub it in her face.

“I have never been out of the capital city, but I did attend Zyl’s Nova Tuela University,” I explain. “There were professors and a few students who had come to us from that prestigious institution.”

His eyebrows rise in polite interest. “An academic. I hardly suspected it. Chelsea won’t even read the morning paper as she claims that it is too dull and taxing for what should be a pleasurable rising.”

“Ah,” I murmur, and press my lips together to contain my smile as the other woman jealously clings to his arm. “Surely that must have changed if you are accompanying her to study at Dwenell,” I reply politely.

He bends a fond look at her and pats her hand. “Actually, we’ve just married. She is the one accompanying me. I graduated with my doctorate just last spring and have received an offer to teach.” His gaze shifts back to me, and his lips curve in a way that sends apprehension up my spine. “You should consider attending and advancing your education even further, given that you’ve already been afforded a very good academic start.”

Chelsea giggles. “Darling, please. She is as destitute as a door mouse. I made sure that she didn’t receive even a penny of Uncle Giles’ estate. And don’t look at me that way,” she suddenly chides when he frowns down at her. “My inheritance is what is funding our new life at Dwenell. Don’t forget that. Which wouldn’t have been possible if she had inherited even a portion of his estate, as he wished her to. It was my quick thinking that prevented the family from intervening on her behalf. So, really, you have me to thank, my love”

My jaw tightens at her bold declaration. I should have known. She hadn’t turned me away from the door merely for some petty reason or dislike I had been previously unaware of. She had done everything she could to make sure that she inherited it all.

“Of course, dear,” he murmurs as he lifts her hand and drops a kiss on it. His eyes shift to the conductor, and I follow his gaze.

Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. And the conductor does not appear to be in any mood to deal with Chelsea’s foolishness. I can’t afford to be thrown off this train. Mr. Barkley would want an explanation. I’m not ready to deal with the fallout.

“Chelsea is right,” I reply, drawing a look of surprise from the other woman. “Sharing a car will be uncomfortable for both of us, I suspect. I will go to the next car.” I dip my head respectfully. “Chelsea, Victor… it was a pleasure,” I lie.

She sniffs dismissively as I turn away, but I can hear her whisper even across the distance separating us.

“I’m going to have that bitch thrown off at the next station,” she grumbles.

“Now, darling…”

“Don’t ‘now, darling’ me. That woman is absolute filth, and I refuse to have her anywhere near me. Oh, here’s the conductor now.”

My lips twist in a grimace as I yank the car door open and step through. I’m not the sort to linger or have regrets, but I still feel shaken as I make my way to an empty seat and allow myself to collapse into it. I am immediately gladdened because there is no one seated across from me to share this small space with me. Pulling out a book, I busily open it to the marked page as the train squeals on its tracks and lunges forward.

Now to enjoy what small measure of peace I can get—and pretend that the domes over the cities are not in place for a very good reason.

I shiver despite myself and turn the page.

Rumor is that the accounts of orcs raiding from the nearby mountains are grossly exaggerated, and most of them may even be fabrications for insurance claims. No doubt there’s nothing to be afraid of at all.