Free Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] by Skies of Gold Page A

of it.”
    He paused, as though waiting for her to object, but she didn’t. Only felt his words like a chilled wind. One that had scoured her own heart many times.
    When she said nothing, he went on. “I thought, didn’t I owe it to Britain to find my way back? We’d beaten the enemy badly at Liverpool, but they could always rally. Man O’ Wars aren’t like spare pairs of shoes just lying around. There aren’t many of us, and we cost a bloody fortune to make. We’re powerful weapons in this war. Britain couldn’t afford to lose me.”
    There was no arrogance or boasting in his words. He stated a simple truth. Even civilians like Kali knew the importance of Man O’ Wars. Only they could power and captain airships, and the Mechanized War would only be won in the air.
    “But they needed to lose me,” he went on, his gaze distant. “When I first became a Man O’ War, it was . . . the greatest honor. Not everyone thought so.” A shadow crossed his face.
    She’d read a handful of newspaper opinion pieces that decried Man O’ Wars as abominations, unnatural farragoes of man and machine. Yet she knew he wasn’t speaking of those faceless newspaper hacks stirring up sentiment for the sake of readership. Someone close to Fletcher had hurt him after his transformation. Family? A sweetheart?
    But she kept silent. He wouldn’t want to speak of that now.
    “I threw myself into being a Man O’ War,” he continued, his voice sounding hollow. “It was all I had. Fought in God knows how many battles. All of them brutal. And I started to wonder . . . were we the cause?”
    “We?”
    “Man O’ Wars. Truth is, we’re just weapons. Bringers of death and destruction. The whole damn war wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for us. Nations want telumium to create more Man O’ Wars, so they fight over territory with telumium deposits. But they need Man O’ Wars to do the fighting. A goddamn unending cycle.”
    His jaw tightened. “Liverpool just proved what I’d come to believe. Man O’ Wars are the bloody problem. We’re the danger.”
    She stared at him. “You and the other British Man O’ Wars, you saved Liverpool. Without you, no one would’ve survived.”
    Yet her words seemed to glance off him like gravel thrown at the hull of an ironclad. “The battle never would’ve happened if Man O’ Wars didn’t exist. I didn’t think I’d survive the Persephone crashing. But when I did, and when no rescue came . . . it was for the best. If I went back, if I rejoined the fight, how many more would die?” He shook his head. “Better that I stay here. One less weapon. One less chance for someone to meet their death at the hands of my kind. So I needed to stay dead, and so I have.”
    Angry pain glinted in his eyes. Rage directed at himself. An ache spread from her heart, radiating through her.
    Words seemed useless. Liverpool had stolen everything. Her leg, her sense of self. It had taken from him, too. They were both empty husks. And yet . . . when she was with him . . . she didn’t feel quite as empty. As though their hollowness somehow created substance. Two negatives making a positive.
    Despite what he said, energy pulsed around him. He wasn’t dead. He was alive and vital, and there was a sympathy between them, a shared understanding. And that roused sensations within her.
    But she didn’t want to feel anything. It was easier, safer, to be numb.
    Whirling away from the stove, she strode to a different window and looked out. “The sun’s going down. I shouldn’t be out after dark.” She glanced out at the distance from the window to the ground. Less than six feet, since the remainder of the lower decks had been crushed.
    She checked to make sure there was no glass left in the window casing. Then sat herself on the sill and swung her legs around, so she faced the outside. Fletcher made no noise of complaint or move to stop her.
    “I’m not going to disturb your peace again,” she said. “It’s