I should have brought my blanket...
That was all Xenia could think about at the moment. The night was colder than she had ever experienced – granted, Xenia wasn't out much during the night, but it was definitely cold. Wrapped in cloaks that concealed their faces, she, her sister, and her father marched across the great bridge along the cliffs, which connected their level to the Skyport. Below them, Last Bay was wrapped in a cover of fog, with Xenia not even being able to see the water.
It was the first time Xenia had ever walked across it. They always had a wagon, but Lord Askar had insisted that absolutely no one knew of this venture. Apparently, even the crew of the Ariana didn't fully know their lord would be visiting tonight, and neither did anybody other than the captain know what they were carrying on the Red Ship.
Velora walked alongside her father with her dutiful expression completely frozen on her beautiful face, her gaze forward and fixed. Their father's face was as focused as it always was in the workshop, whenever his project demanded his full attention.
Xenia had tried to stay equally focused, something she had actually managed to do at the start of their journey, but as they neared the Skyport, questions began to surface in her mind.
Many questions.
What could her father want so desperately that only his two daughters were entrusted with it? Surely it had to be more than a mere stash of Soulfuel. And even if it was, the amount of it had to be astronomical.
Or was it something entirely else? Her father had said that the processing of the Soulfuel would be optimized, as well as the gathering of it, which could mean a lot of things, based off the scarce knowledge Xenia had about these matters.
And then, there was the more personal question. Did her father trust her because she was his daughter, or was it simply because of her abilities? After all, could one trust a bastard with such a task? Lady Hilla surely wouldn't. Neither would her uncle.
Naturally, she had tried countless times to discern her father's feelings toward her using her Soulart, the Eye of the Stranger. But the thread that connected her to him was an enigma. She could see it, yet she didn't understand what it meant. It wasn't like the threads she'd seen with others. It frightened her – but also gave her a flicker of joy.
Perhaps the thread of exclusion wasn't there, at least not as pronounced as it was with other members of the Jarakan family.
And finally, the most pressing question of the moment...
"Say," Xenia said, narrowing her eyes, "is that soldier over there... drunk?"
Ahead of them, the platform stretched out to where the Ariana was docked. The mighty airship hung further back, tethered to the cliffside by thick chains and anchors affixed to massive hooks embedded in the platform. The crimson fabric of its balloon shimmered faintly under the sparse lights on the deck below.
The vessel itself consisted of a massive, reinforced hull lined with pipes and rivets, its sheer size and length of 200 meters stretching and towering over the platform. Its deck bristled with intricate machinery and was dominated by a colossal artillery cannon mounted at the center. Smoke coiled gently from chimneys near the stern, and the sound of faint clanging echoed in the still night.
On the crimson balloon, emblazoned in stark white, was the proud insignia of the Fox of House Jarakan. And the Ariana was their sword in the sky.
…The men who were supposed to be guarding it, however, were clearly not in top form. They staggered across the platform, weaving clumsily between crates and cargo. Some leaned against the railings, bottles in hand, while others attempted to sing – quite badly, that is.
Lord Askar stopped for a moment. Xenia recognized the look on her father's face instantly. Something had snapped. Perhaps in his mind. Perhaps something more.
Perhaps if she'd activated her Soulart now, she'd see the fury her father was planning to unleash upon these poor idiots.
She swallowed. Velora spoke up.
"Where did they get the wine?"
Xenia laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
"…Is that guy pissing from the edge? Ah, no, he's puking."
"We're moving," Lord Askar said abruptly, quickening his pace.
When they finally reached the platform, it took several moments before anyone noticed them. One of the soldiers, leaning heavily against a crate, staggered toward them.
"Praise the Metal– no, wait, identify yourselves, or something."
Lord Askar walked directly toward the man without pausing. The soldier blinked in surprise and reached for his weapon, yet found only air because his spear lay propped against the crate.
"Not a step–"
Lord Askar's fist connected with the soldier's face in a brutal arc. It even struck against the metal helmet, but Xenia's father didn't show any signs of pain, only a faint trail of blood dripping from his knuckles.
The soldier fell backward, stunned, blood trickling from his nose as he stared up in shock. The drunken laughter of the other guards died instantly. Those who were still on their feet stiffened, while some adopted looks of belligerence. A few began moving toward Lord Askar with aggressive intent – until he pulled back his hood.
The soldier with the bloody nose paled.
"M-Milord!"
"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Askar demanded, his voice sharp with impatience.
Velora and Xenia stood a short distance behind, watching. Xenia noticed her sister's gaze shifting slowly, deliberately, over the faces of each drunken soldier, as though memorizing each one.
Another man stepped forward, wearing the insignia of a sergeant. "Lord Askar! We weren't expecting you, my apologies!"
No kidding, Xenia thought, rolling her eyes.
"Who gave you permission to drink?" Lord Askar asked icily.
The sergeant's voice faltered under Lord Askar's freezing glare.
"B-But, Milord, tonight is the Festival of the Metal–"
"And tomorrow will be your execution, if you don't shut up. Since when was it the Steamchurch that pays you imbeciles? To your posts! Any wretch still drunk in ten seconds will lose their tongue!"
The soldiers took two of those precious seconds to process his words.
"Y-You heard him! Wake up!" the sergeant barked.
Chaos erupted as they scrambled to straighten themselves, dragging their intoxicated comrades to their feet, tripping over scattered weapons and supplies. The soldier with the bloody nose stumbled back to his spear, retrieving it from where it leaned against the crate.
Xenia followed him with her eyes. And squinted.
Something about that crate seemed... off. It wasn't just the way it sat slightly apart from the others, or the faint scuff marks along its sides. The wood looked newer, the edges too clean, almost deliberate. And then there was the faint indentation at its base on one side, as though someone had dragged it, despite its seemingly heavy contents.
"Sis, I'm not really an expert but…" she murmured to Velora, stepping closer to the crate. She placed her hand on its side, her fingers brushing the rough wood.
There it was.
Glancing back at her sister, she gave the side of the crate a tug. To her surprise, it swung open like a door, scratching the floor of the platform.
"Do crates always work like this?"
***
"Boss, we've got a problem. Take a look at this."
Higher up, perched on a ledge along the cliffside, Sally handed Erik a pair of binoculars. The elegant underworld boss took them with a practiced air, raising them to his eyes as he peered down toward the platform where all of a sudden the drunk soldiers began to take formation again. His assistant could almost see the darkness settle deeper into his expression as he observed the scene.
"What do we have here?" he murmured, his tone edged with amusement and disdain.
"Two foxes and a wolf in fox's clothing… Looks like Madame Corvin isn't as well-informed as she thought," he said, lowering the binoculars.
Sally crossed her arms, her lips tightening. "You shouldn't have trusted her."
Erik raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with a faint smirk.
"Did I?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "No, trust is far too grand a word for tonight."
He pulled a cigarette from his coat, lighting it with a small flick of his wrist before leaning back carefully, ensuring the faint glow couldn't be seen from below. Taking a slow drag, he handed the binoculars back to Sally, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.
"You'll handle Lord Askar if it comes to it," Erik said, his voice smooth, almost casual.
"Otherwise, we stick to the plan. Our little rat should be sending his signal soon enough."
Sally said nothing for a while, just observing the platform with ever growing unease, until she couldn't help but ask:
"But you seem to trust Arin."
Erik suddenly laughed. It wasn't the laugh he used to practice when he tried to imitate the nobles of Crownblossom, like he did with his long hair, but the harsh and hollow laugh of a true oilrat.
"Well of course I do! After all, even if he is a bit of a brat, he does love his sister dearly."