Fic: Captain Lambert & the Temple of Shadows [Adam Lambert/Kris Allen] 1/3

[aramuin]

Title: Captain Lambert & the Temple of Shadows
Author: aramuin
Fandom: American Idol RPF
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen
Rating: NC-17
Artist: solarbaby614 ♥
Kink: dub-con, slavery, power differential, collars, wings, bonding, tattoos, AU
Warnings: Dub-con (shading towards non-con)
Notes: Many thanks to deannawol and Tacitus for beta and nit-picking and last minute back-patting. A hundred apologies to solarbaby614, I was the worst kind of author to get assigned to but the artwork is so beyond beautiful. Thank you so much!

Summary: (Steampunk-au) Kris is one of the Shadow-born, a nearly human sub-race with a knack for infiltration and fighting. Left alone in one of the most inaccessible corners of the world to hone his skills, the last thing he's expecting is visitors.
Captain Adam Lambert (AKA Capt'n Mitchell, The Star-born Captain, The Bane of the Skies) is the most infamous pirate in all the sky with a knack for turning a profit from every situation. When his ship is attacked in a desolate corner of the world, Adam gains a new crew-mate and an wholly unwanted bond. With his own secrets to hide, the last thing Adam needs is a wilful, inexperienced bondmate from an extinct species. Even if his newest crew-mate might know where to find the greatest treasure in the world; a treasure that could make Adam the King of the Skies...

These are the things that Kris will learn much later: that the storm that starts within an hour of the sunset is in fact due to the meteorological cannons of the Harchester Trading Company's warship Daedalus: that the 'stars' that fall from the sky are the lift-gems from the Eye of Horus and that five ships die in flames and smoke overhead in the clouds as the storm rages.

These are the things that Kris knows right away; he's alone, deliberately and utterly alone with only the hunting knife his momma left him: the mountain side is thickly wooded and there are strangers running through the trees and there is a fire.

The fire isn't serious; the thunderous rain drowns the flames before they can do too much damage. The trees are old, ancient pillars of wood so hardened by the weather than they're sturdier than the marble pillars from his mother's stories of cities. It will take more than a few fires to bring them down. Kris is confident of that.

What terrifies Kris is the light of the flames. The mountain is known to his people as the Nightfang and Kris' whole reason for being here is the perpetual darkness. He's adapted to the ever present clouds choking out the little sunlight that falls into the valley. Kris has been on the Nightfang for three full moons and grown used to the sporadic starlight in a weird inversion of day and night.

The sudden hard light tears at his eyes and shreds the edges of the shadows. Kris flinches away, feeling the jagged edges like broken pottery shards against his skin. He retreats to the safety of the shadows and hurries away from the voices. His mother told him that he should not fight if he is found. There is no chance the soldiers are here for him. They won't know to look for him and there's nothing on the mountain worth stealing; Kris has only his hut, with a straw mattress and two changes of clothes which he isn't particularly worried about. Everything else he owns, he's carrying.

People are shouting and guns are going off around the fire as Kris tries to find his way back down to where his hut is tucked into the scree of an old avalanche. The shadows are jagged and the shapes of the trees look distorted by the red light. Kris isn't watching where he puts his feet, sight an unwelcome distraction and he doesn't see the man in black until he trips over him.

Kris goes down hard, startled and clumsy. His eyes snap shut as he rolls and he feels the man's warmth through his skin and hears his heart beat. The man is alive. Kris looks down at him. There's something hitched in his chest, a tiny bruise on Kris’ heart and he can't look away.

The man is huge, tall as the mountain and Kris felt muscle under the soft cloth when he tripped over him. The man's hair is as black as his clothes. He's breathing deep and easy when Kris checks. He's hurt; Kris smells blood and feels the damp patch along the man's ribs. There are jewels that catch the fire's light as Kris rolls him on to his back. His face is pale and ...beautiful is really a word that Kris associates with girls and flowers but it's the only word that seems to fit.

Before Kris can take in any more detail, there are footsteps, fast and getting closer. There are more people coming, shadows jagged-edged and flickering in front of them. It happens so fast. There are shouting voices echoing through the trees, suddenly closer. Kris looks around in a panic. He can't fight off an army with just a hunting knife and the man in black is ...is nobody to him. Kris doesn't get the chance to run because there are four hulking men crashing through thorns with swords and clubs.

They're hunting the man in black; only reacting to Kris a beat after their eyes fixed on the man. They bring up their swords and say something hard and garbled. Kris doesn't recognize the language but the weapons are all the information he needs. He drops into a crouch and lets them charge him.

Kris gets the first with his hunting knife. He side-steps and lashes out, opening the artery behind the knee. The second goes down when Kris punches him in the throat but his breath isn't rattling. Kris missed the windpipe and his target's not going to be down long. His opponent lashes out blindly, knocking Kris back and leaving him off-balance and vulnerable. Kris reaches for the shadows but the man in black is faster.

Kris' attack had drawn the men towards him and he's the only one who sees the man in black open his eyes and roll nimbly to his feet. Two pistols appear as if by magic, barrels nothing more than tiny black pinpricks in the glossy metal. There’s just that flash of metal and Kris flinches at the roar.

The pistols are strange; not the simple model that he remembers but something with more barrels. Two of the men crumple like withered leaves and the guns click as the man in black thumbs back the hammer. The man in black locks eyes with him and Kris can't move, can't breathe, for that one vital second. The man in black cocks his head, then smiles, bright and feral.

His guns thunder again and the last of the men still standing break and run for the cover of the trees. Kris stumbles backwards, drawn after them by blind instinct. Again, the man in black is faster. He discards one of his guns and pulls something out of a pouch on his belt. He throws that something at Kris. Kris dives for the shadows. It's all light and hard edges. Kris ducks too late and feels a constriction around his throat. The shadows slip through his fingers and Kris scrambles backwards. The man flashes him a rakish smile, snatches up his discarded gun and fires both again.

Kris hears the men behind him falling into the dark earthy shadows but he can't think past the panic and scrabbling terror as the weight around his throat gets heavier. Kris is panicking, breathing in shallow gasps that get harder with every second. The man in black strides past him and kicks over the bodies. Kris closes his fingers tightly around his knife as the man in black checks that each of the men is dead in turn. He can still barely breathe but he will be damned to the Dark-within-Dark if he lets the man in black kill him so easily.

The man in black crosses back to tower over him. Kris can't get his head up, the compulsive gasp of air hunches his shoulders and the leaf mould is cool and damp under his hands. He stares at the polished leather boots, the leather soft and buckles shining. He thinks he's going to die here but the man in black catches his chin and forces his head up. Kris tries to glare but he can barely see the man through the black spots floating across his vision.

The man in black says something, Kris knows the sounds are words but he can't connect them to any sort of meaning. His brain is full of mist and phantoms and he can't hear anything over the pounding beat of his heart. The man frowns, thick dark eyebrows drawing down like storm clouds. He hooks his fingers in the something-a necklace? Kris wonders - and Kris jerks. It feels like a storm-spark running through him and Kris cries out. He barely hears the startled curse and the man in black's fingers tighten. There's a flash, a dizzy sense of being in his own skin and looking down at himself and Kris nearly does pass out.

The sudden sharp tug on the necklace keeps him from falling. There's a stinging crack across his cheek and Kris gulps in a lungful of air. The necklace is looser all of a sudden, just barely tight enough that Kris can feel it with every breath. He can breathe now and he gasps.

The man in black is pulling him to his feet, his knuckles hard and warm against Kris' jugular. He looks up at the sky and back at Kris. He presses against something smooth and cold, pushing it against Kris' Adam's apple. Kris feels a tingle of warmth. Then they're running, the man in black glancing up at the sky.

He has a gun in his free hand and Kris is stumbling and tripping over roots because he can't look down with the man's fingers hooked in the necklace and his legs are shorter so he has to run harder just to keep up. The man in black fires a few shots and once Kris hears a scream but they never stop running.

Kris falters many times, he's too dizzy and over-excited to be graceful and he trips over roots and stones too many times to count. He expects the man in black to leave him behind every time he stumbles. It never happens. The man snaps at him, words strangely distorted by his accent but Kris can't focus long enough to make sense of them. The man in black drags him along, pulling Kris by the necklace if he slows at all.

Kris can't get loose and the world dwindles to the earth under his feet and the tight band of the necklace around his neck. The man in black is a flickering patch of pure black ahead of him. Kris stumbles again and this time, the man in black lets go of the necklace. Kris topples forward but the man in black catches him easily. He has an arm around Kris' waist and his free hand is holding a...ladder?

The ladder is made of rope and they are both swept off their feet. Kris can feel the muscles move in the man in black's arm as it tightens around his waist. His head falls back and Kris gazes up at the sky. There are golden stars over Kris' head and the thunder of an engine. The last thing Kris sees before he passes out is the brass name-plate with 'HYPERION' etched in strong black letters...

Chapter One

Scarlett Joy has lived nearly her whole life on an airship; from her father's old crank of a ship to the sleek lines of her current home. She has fought dragons in thunderstorms, rappelled into the mouth of a smouldering volcano to recover treasure chests accidentally dropped overboard and survived nearly nine years as the First Officer of the Hyperion. She considers herself well past being surprised by anything in the skies or below them.

Even being brought to bear by the Harchester naval militia armed with the new metrological canons in the middle of the night with holds full of contraband doesn't ruffle Scarlett's calm. She is serene even when the Captain fails to make the agreed rendezvous. Adam is prone to improvisation and when the Daedalus drops close enough to the bare trees that the branches snap under her hull, Scarlet assumes Adam's latest plan is underway.

She has no reason to suspect this is going to be anything but the normal day (well, night) until her Captain, bright-eyed and smiling, swings up onto deck with an unconscious young man tucked under his arm like a bale of expensive fabric. Tommy and Brad stare at him and Scarlett has to shout to snap them back to attention as the Daedalus's cannons fire.

The wind picks up, a hurricane gust that tips them sideways and Scarlet has to grab for the rigging to keep from being tipped overboard. Brad's tail snags her belt and grapples around her thigh. Brad is screaming curses at Tommy as his shirt rips in the blond's hands. The Hyperion stabilizes and swings back to an even keel. Scarlet gets her feet under her and looks around. Brad and Tommy hit the deck in a tangle of limbs and curses. Scarlet hears Adam's boots hit the deck even as she turns. Adam has the boy tucked under his arm, mostly hidden under his coat but Scarlett sees a flash of pale gold skin and, holy Mother in the sky, is he naked?

Captain Adam Lambert is Scarlett's oldest friend and the finest air-pirate it has ever been her privilege to serve under. His ruthless, reckless intelligence has earnt him (and by extension Scarlett, the crew and anyone who's been within half a mile of him) pride of place on the Unified Trading Companies' Bounty List. He's gotten them outlawed in five of the six continents, barred from the airspace of the Maddasea islands on pain of death by fire and made them richer than most of the Old Gentry.

Scarlett has seen Adam shoot a man down from five hundred paces with a hip pistol and shoot a rifle while hanging off the gang-ladder. He's accomplished with the rapier, passing-good with a sabre and can at least be relied upon not to stab himself with a dagger. He is nearly as dangerous as he thinks is and he has a knack for getting the best of every situation.

He also has the worst possible taste in men. The only lover he's ever had that hasn't brought an itch to Scarlett's trigger finger was Brad and he's as cracked as Scarlett's ancestral china set. A good sky-man and a loyal crew-mate but even before Adam got him the tail, Brad was odd.

It says something tragic about Adam, Scarlett thinks sometimes, that his longest and best relationship wasn't even with a human. Brad can pass as human unless you watch his shadow under sunlight but Scarlett's learnt not to let that worry her too much.

She knows it's probably too much to hope that Adam will ever actually settle down which is why every time Adam brings a new boy back to the ship, Scarlett starts counting up the bullets and shells in the arms locker. A boy in Adam's arms is a problem. A boy who is as near to naked- in the middle of the Westlands during winter - as to make no difference has Scarlett contemplating throwing them both over-board.

"Adam," Scarlett says through her teeth. "You remember Maddasea, yes? And you remember me promising you that if you brought another pleasure slave back in the middle of a Situation that I would shoot you?"

"Scarlett, my darling," Adam smiles but there's a dark edge to it and the sweep of his mocking bow tucks the young man closer to his side. "I pay attention to everything you say.

There's another crash of cannon, this time with a spray of fist-sized hailstones and rain. Adam looks over the port railing at the Daedalus as she gains height alongside them and his eyes narrow. His expression hardens and he's suddenly the Captain again. "Is there any sight of the Horus?"

"Not so much as a loose line of rigging," Scarlett says, snapping back to business. Adam's mood is more treacherous than a low-lying thundercloud and Scarlett's not minded to risk a lightning strike with four of the Harchester's biggest brutes in the sky around them. "The Daedalus's boarders can't be more than a couple of cable-lengths away and we've no sign of the rest of them. By the clock, we're an hour to sunup. There's not enough cloud to cover us once the sun clears the horizon."

"Then we run," Adam says without more than a glance. "Loose the ballast and inflate the envelope as much as you can and engage the engine to the propellers only. We'll need the strongest wind Tommy can manage; let him take the rest of the watch to sleep if he has need but we must have that wind."

The Captain separates Tommy and Brad with a well-placed kick and bundles the boy, coat and all into their arms. "Secure him below. If he escapes, I'll have your hides."

"Aye, sir!" Tommy and Brad shout and disappear with the boy as Adam straps his holsters shut.

"Keep the loft-crystals not more than half-bare unless there's no other choice. Get Tommy to give us the best of what he can."

"You don't want the shrouds closed?" Scarlett asks, eyebrows rising before she can catch herself. Loft-crystals are invaluable when it comes to keeping the Hyperion aloft but the added strain on the engine to move them along means the crystals will cost them five knots an hour and that only if Tommy can stir a halfway to decent wind. No wonder the wind-weaver took the easy escape below decks.

"Half-open," Adam's tone goes dark and Scarlett nods, stepping back smartly. She does feel a brief pang of pity for the boy who will have to weather Adam's black mood and goes to tell Tommy to raise them their wind. She wonders if she'll have time to learn his name before Adam tires of him.

Scarlet leaves Adam to the helm and scrambles down to set the shutters, spinning the wheels to open the shutters halfway. Under her feet, the deck shifts as they start to rise sharply and Scarlet can hear Daedalus firing but with the height advantage, the shots fly wide. Once there's a hundred feet between them, the heavier warship is left with nothing to do but fire impotent volleys and Scarlet smiles to herself as the engine roars. As the last of the shutters spin open, she catches a flash of white-gold through a porthole; Tommy climbing the rigging and the wind rises to a howl.

The Hyperion has two loft-crystals to a ton - three times what a normal ship can carry - and with them half-bare and her holds full of plunder, she races through the sky nearly a quarter mile above the tree tops. The envelope inflates slower than Scarlett would like but the loft-crystals are shining and they keep their height easily.

Monte is priming the cannons and Scarlet braces against the recoil as they crash back in sequence and the Daedalus rocks underneath them as the shots slam through the bigger ship. Monte cheers and Scarlet laughs. She doesn't try to say anything through the echoes of the cannon shot but Monte's golden teeth flash in the glow of the steam-fires.

Tommy's called a strong wind from the North, icy cold with an edge that threatens to strip the skin from Scarlett's fingers as she slides the last few feet down the rigging to the hatch. The Daedalus is falling away and the cannon-fire has set off a thunderstorm with forked lightning and inky wisps of cloud trailing in their wake. The Daedalus vanishes into the clouds as the Hyperion soars away.

Scarlett checks the envelope, cursing her fingers and assessing the rigging. The ropes are mostly intact - the rear sail is torn and flapping loose despite the best efforts of the crew to secure it. Scarlet orders both rear sails furled and they struggle to pull in the canvas. The wind is still going strong, the storm falling further and further behind and the Harchester ships dwindle to tiny specks in the dark sky. Tommy's outdone himself, Scarlett thinks as the chill aches in her fingers and her cheeks go numb.

There's no sign of the Horus even nearly half an hour later as the first grey light of the dawn starts to creep up from behind the mountains. The Captain is at the helm, coaxing every last inch of speed from the Hyperion. Scarlett reports the damage to the sails and Adam scowls. "Do we have enough canvas to replace it?"

"No," Scarlett says after a moment's thought. "But we have enough to patch it until we reach Nexus-Nebulei."

Adam scowls again, this time like the perpetually sulky child he is, and Scarlett rolls her eyes.

"No-one is going to get close enough to see the sails are patched," she says. "Nor will they care."

"It's the principle of the thing," Adam sniffs.

"If you'd rather, we can simply shoot down the ships we encounter?" Scarlett props her hands on her hips and Adam shrugs.

"I might just order it so," Adam surrenders the wheel to Sasha who takes one look at Scarlett's wind burnt cheeks and Adam's black expression and prudently keeps her eyes on the sky through the glass screen. "You have command. Keep an eye for the Horus though if we haven't seen her yet, I doubt that we ever will. I must tend to my guest."

"Your guest?" Scarlett says flatly. It is only Sasha's unobtrusive presence that spares Adam the sharp edge of her tongue and Scarlett salutes crisply, storming through the hatch to the hold as Adam vanishes off in search of his latest toy. Tommy is sprawled out on some of the sacks of cotton left just inside the hatch, mostly asleep though he stirs at the sound of her boots on the deck.

"Hush, lad," Scarlett pats his hair. "No need to stir. Your wind's held well. We'll be a hundred leagues from those bastards by the time there's enough light for them to see."

Tommy flops back onto the sacks and Scarlett hears Brad cackle from behind her. She turns. Brad is smirking, swaying back and forth as the ship rocks in the grip of brief crosswind. Scarlett sighs. "Down, Brad. I've warned you; break but one rafter and I'll have your hide for a seat cover."

Brad drops to the floor, pouting. Scarlet's glare wipes the pout from his face but he meets her eye-to-eye with his head held high as his tail curls around his ankle. "You never let me have any pleasure."

"Your idea of amusement has gotten us run from three towns in the last month," Scarlett points out. "And I'd throw you over the side if the Captain hadn't given you wings not two days ago."

"Handy things, alchemists," Brad beams at her and Scarlett thumps him. Brad half-ducks back into the shadows before the blow connects but it's the thought that counts. Brad is a good man with a sword, fearless in the air even with naught but Adam's witchery to keep him aloft but his manner grates on her when they've been too long aboard ship. Brad has no patience and boredom turns him wicked. He wisely elects not to taunt her further, glancing at them both with a sly smile. "So, where did the Captain find the boy?"

"'S not a boy," Tommy mumbles. "Too old."

"Like you'd know the difference," Brad snorts. "Infant."

"I haven't had the chance to ask," Scarlett says tiredly. "I was on the rigging, Brad. Doing actual work."

"I offered to go out," Brad argues. "Meg said I'd get blown away."

"With that tail?" Scarlett snorts. "She was likely more troubled by the thought that you'd tangle yourself in the rigging. We'd lose near to a knot of speed with you flapping in the sky like a half-witted bird."

Brad pouts outrageously while Tommy laughs and Scarlett rubs her temples. Brad knows nothing if not how to aggravate and he's like a vulture with a carcass when he gets in a snit about anything. Adam tolerates him better than she does but she can't help but think of the darkness in his eyes. He'll not welcome interference until the gloss has worn off his new toy.

"The Captain's dalliances aren't your concern, Bradley. Not anymore." Scarlett holds up a hand to cut off the protest before Brad can voice it. "But. If his new ...boy proves problematic, I'll shoot him and we'll throw him overboard. Fair enough for you lads?"

"Yessir!" Brad and Tommy sound entirely too enthusiastic and Scarlett sighs again.

Chapter Two

Kris wakes to a lamp glowing and floor swaying under his cheek. He's alone but he can hear heartbeats and muffled talking through the wooden walls. The shadows are thin and tepid and they slip through his fingers when he reaches for them. The lamp's golden light hurts his eyes and Kris turns his face away to hide it under his arms.

The false twilight is painful and Kris can't hear the Darkness. When his breath catches, he feels the weight against his throat and he chokes for a second. It's hard to breathe through the panic with the constriction and pointed edges of the collar pricking his skin. Kris claws at it, feeling blindly for a catch or a clasp; anything that will get the cursed thing off his neck.

It fits too closely for Kris to be able to see it but he’s good at visualizing even through the gnawing panic. The collar is a seamless chain of ill-matched links in the shape of stars and triangles. It’s just flexible enough to allow Kris to breathe. Anything deeper than the shallowest breath and Kris can feel it moving. The metal is smooth, blood-warm from his skin and Kris feels the smooth round stone resting under his chin as he tears at it.

The metal doesn't even bend under his desperate fingers and Kris can feel his heart racing as he fights down another surge of panic. He reaches for the shadows again and manages to snag the corner of one but when he tries to slip through, the collar weighs him down and he falls through, head crashing against the corner and he falls back, dizzy and really terrified now.

It's only when he feels the jolt - like a mental slap - that Kris realizes he's not alone in his own head. There's something - a tiny opaque knot of alien emotion sitting in the middle of his mind. Kris reaches out to that and there's another, more painful jolt. This time it's strong enough to physically knock him backwards and Kris scrabbles back into the corner, curling in on himself.

He can't think, can't hear the voices or the heartbeats past the chilling awareness that there's a stranger's thoughts inside his mind. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before and Kris half-expects it to burst. His mother used to tell him that it would if he didn't stop pushing himself and Kris remembers arguing that no, hearts didn't burst, they broke.

He misses his mother suddenly; misses his father and Cale and all his people. He wonders if they'll come to the mountain and know that he was taken. There aren't any windows and the shadows are too thin to give him any sense of where he is. He won't be able to call for them unless he can find real shadows and the collar seems to constrict when Kris thinks about how loud he could call and what sort of shadows he needs.

The knot of strange thoughts pulls tighter too and while there isn't another jolt, the promise of one crackles through Kris' thoughts and his breath congeals in a hard lump under the collar. He can feel the stranger's thoughts - a muddle of colours and shapes and words - flowing through his head and there's a sense of being watched but he can't understand the thoughts and the complexity and variance confuses him.

He can't get any further back into his corner and he's so afraid that he doesn't realise there are footsteps approaching until he hears something rattle and a hatch he hadn't noticed rolls noisily aside.

The man that steps through is familiar but no less terrifying. He towers over Kris, the lamp light picking out the brass loops gleaming along the left sleeve of his coat. He looks more dangerous than he did in the forest, all sleek edges and clean lines. He's wearing a hat, plumed and black as his coat. His boots are polished and perfect and even his trousers are clean and neat. He could have stepped from a full canvas portrait. He looks down at Kris.

Kris' mind is utterly blank. He can't think past the frantic need to escape - to get anywhere but here. He can't imagine how he's going to escape; he just knows that if he doesn't go now, he'll never get away.

"Hush," the man says, snapping his fingers imperiously. He's still talking but Kris can't focus on meaning. Every gesture sends reflected light from the brass stripes along the man’s sleeve flashing across the room and Kris flinches back. The man's tone changes, gets shorter and his words break down into harsh barks of sound and the knot in his mind pulls tighter and tighter. Kris tries to pull away, tries to hide but there's nowhere to go and the man keeps getting angrier and angrier and the collar gets heavier and heavier with every breath. Kris screams.

He doesn't mean to, the sound escapes without his consent but the man stops talking and the knot goes loose and Kris can breathe for a second. He's curled in on himself and panting and there's a hand on his shoulder. Kris is shocked by the heat and the rough texture of the man’s skin. He hasn't been touched in months, maybe years and the shock of it steadies him for a second.

The man is looking down at him and frowning. His eyes are brighter than stars as he looks down at Kris like Kris is just a wisp of shadow that the man can see straight through. He frowns more deeply and says something. Kris tenses but the man's thumb merely rubs against his collarbone. It's still shockingly hot and Kris can feel a rough patch of skin along the side of the man's nail rasp against his skin. For long minutes, the man doesn't do anything else and Kris' muscles slowly lose their fearful tension.

It is nearly as silent as the Nightfang; Kris can hear the man breathe and the soft song of his heart. He relaxes by increments, keeping his eyes on his hands. The man is looking down at him and Kris is afraid of what those sky-coloured eyes can see. He doesn't realise he's shaking until the reflected light from the bright buttons flash through the shadows.

The man's voice is a blurry jumble of sound and Kris blinks hazily when the man pauses. Strong fingers hook under his chin and Kris lets the man tip his face up. Kris is fascinated by the curve of his lips and the fierce fire in his eyes. The man speaks again, slow and crisp.

The man seems to be trying to tell him something but Kris can't keep focused. The shadow underneath him is darker, cast by them both and Kris's eyes are stinging from the too-bright lights and his head is spinning and he wants just a few minutes in the dark and the quiet to think.

The only thing keeping him upright is the warmth of the man's fingers under his chin and the solid grip on the interlinked chain of the necklace. A tug tips Kris' head forward, his breath clouding the buttons which are still gleaming in the shadow. The dim light makes his head ache, like tiny needles pounding into his brain.

The man raises his voice and Kris flinches backwards. The door opens and Kris howls at the sudden white-hot radiance of light that pours in. He jerks back towards the safety of the shadows but the man doesn't let go. The necklace digs into his neck and there are hands on his arms.

Kris nearly strangles himself as he fights to get back, get away. There are other people and Kris can't fight past the crushing weight of the alien thoughts winding through his head. He feels like he's drowning in the storm of other people and the invasive presence of the other - the Captain's - thoughts. He doesn't fight fast enough to stop himself from being slammed against the wall. Then there are hands holding him in place and his shirt is stripped away to bare his back.

The people around him are talking but Kris still can't understand the words. He knows that there are words in the sound and he can almost reason out their meaning but the panicky sounds of their hearts are unsettling and making Kris shudder with transmitted dread. The wood under his cheek is rough - Kris can feel splinters digging into his skin.

The Captain is talking again; Kris can hear his voice over the others even through the clamour. His fingers run down along the bared lines of Kris' back, leaving a ripple of goosebumps in their wake. Then his tone changes, hard and crisp and the hands holding Kris in place tighten. The Captain's hand curls in his hair, turning his face to the side and there is light - painful burning light - and Kris thrashes to get free.

He nearly manages to break away but there are too many people and the shadows keep slipping through his fingers. He gets crowded against the wall by the sheer mass of the other people and the Captain's hand presses him closer to the wall. Kris screws his eyes closed against the light. The splinters dig painfully into his cheek. The Captain's thumb brushes against his temple and Kris feels the muscles around his eyes relax without his consent.

He can smell something sweet with a metal undertone and something light and sharp presses against the skin beside his eye. He can hear the Captain talking, a chant of words that echo through the hollows in his heart. The thin swirl of sensitized skin burns underneath the instrument and Kris feels it spreading like acid under his skin. He cries out but he can't move even a quarter inch with the mass of people holding him in place.

"Hush, lad," a woman's voice whispers against his ear, the words becoming clear with each breath. "Naught but a prickle, just a little thing. It will be over in a minute. Just a few more seconds."

Kris fights all the same. It feels like light being forced under the layers of his skin and spreading through his veins. The woman keeps talking but Kris is straining to understand what the Captain is saying. He can't hear meaning but his internal sense of the Captain keeps growing more and more refined as the lines are traced across his eyelids and up across his temples.

The tingle becomes a itching burn and Kris struggles to breathe as the Captain traces out the design. His strength and will are failing him inch after inch and the threads of the Captain's mind urge him into sleep. Kris sinks into the dark of oblivion as the storm closes over his head and Kris passes out.

Chapter Three

"That could have gone better," Scarlett says tartly, shaking the cramp from her fingers.

"Not the time," Adam snarls as he pushes past her. Scarlett snaps the lock on the cabin once the last crewmen leaves. The least she can do for the boy is grant him some privacy to lick his wounds. Adam is already disappearing down the gangway. Scarlett takes a few seconds to curse her Captain and his family back fifteen generations before she follows him back to his cabin, waving away the other three crewmen and their concern. She loves Adam like the brother she never had but there are days when she could cheerfully slit his throat. Today, she isn't feeling anywhere near as merciful.

Adam hasn't secured the door which at least saves her the hassle of having to kick the door in. Adam's cabin isn't that much bigger than Scarlett's; the Hyperion is built for speed over capacity and most of the extra room that Adam's cabin has is nooks and crannies left by the design. Adam keeps everything in chests, sorted in order of importance. The most valuable is the battered sea-chest with lead caps over the shards of loft-crystals that Adam can - and has - used to escape a falling airship. Scarlett is the only one on the ship that knows that the chest belonged to Adam's maternal grandfather. It also holds enough contraband Alchemical apparatus to get them all shot down by inferno cannon but the whole crew knows about that part.

Adam's hands are trembling as he stows the quill and the crystal vials in their cushioned box and closes the compartment. The Captain presses his fingers against his neck as the chest clicks shut. There's confusion in the way he holds his shoulders and his expression is slack with something that looks a lot like wonder. Adam looks ten years younger and unfamiliar.

"Okay," Scarlett kicks the door shut behind herself. There isn't enough room for them both to stand with Adam's coats hanging from the crossbeams overhead but Scarlett is prepared to tolerate discomfort for long enough to get to the point of this. "I'm going to pre-emptively give you the credit of not taking me for a fool who can't tell that boy isn't human. I've seen eyes like that before."

"You think I didn't notice?!" Adam spits, kicking spitefully at the chest.

"I think you don't know what the fuck you're doing," Scarlett snaps. "That kid isn't human. I don't think he even speaks a human language-"

"He does," Adam says immediately. "He doesn’t remember but he knows language."

"....okay," Scarlett tilts her hip against the bulkhead. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I can..." Adam hesitates and Scarlett's eyes narrow. Adam sits down on the bunk and something glitters around his wrist. Scarlett knows every piece of jewellery Adam owns and she's never seen that bracer before. Adam has one almost like it, but gold and blue opal instead of silver and jade. "It's not something I can explain. I just...know."

"Oh Mother-in-the-Skies," Scarlett breathes. "He's your Cintamani."

"No!" Adam’s denial is reflexive.

"Adam," Scarlett checks the door and lowers her voice. He's staring down at his wrist, thumb rubbing over the etching on the jade, like he's never seen it before. There's a slight curl to his lips that makes a lie of his denial; Scarlett's seen that barely-there smirk over chests of gold, barrels of spices and treasures beyond most people's imagination. "Adam, you don't even know what species he is!"

"Yes, I do," Adam sniffs.

"Oh, really?"

"He's like Brad," Adam toys with the bracer, not looking up. "You saw the way the tattoos healed over. Brad's the only person that has reacted anything like that to the lapis tattoos."

There is, Scarlett thinks through the haze of red, no way this is going to end well.

"I-you-Adam," Scarlett grips her sword hilt, knuckles going white. "You brought another BRAD onto the ship?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!? Or are we turning ourselves in at the next port to save the Trading Companies the trouble?"

"He won't be a problem," Adam promises silkily. He's smiling to himself, eyes heavy and Scarlett throws up her hands.

"It's not even worth arguing about with you right now. Just think about it, all right. We'll talk about this when your wits have returned."

The smirk is still there and Scarlett knows that there's no reasoning with him when he's still purring over his latest acquisition and she sighs and kicks the door open. In deference to the fact that Sasha, their carpenter, steadfastly refuses to learn how to use swords but is nonetheless only just less terrifying than a dragon in heat, Scarlett unlocks the door before she kicks it.

She makes her way down into the bowels of the ship, irritation prickling along the underside of her skin. The memory of the boy's face and the savage fight he had put up sat ill. Killing and stealing were the cornerstones of a pirate's life and Scarlett lost little sleep for the fat merchants and starched naval soldiers who'd run afoul of the Hyperion.

But it's been a point of pride for Scarlett that the Hyperion does not prey on the weak and poor. The boy was no threat to them, transparently had nothing worth stealing and had fought every line of the tattoos Adam had etched in his skin. Scarlett remembers how his shadow had skittered wildly away from the light and how his eyes had an inky gloss of black when the oil-lamp was lit.

Scarlett nods to Sasha as she spins the lock to open the door to engineering. The engine thumps and hisses as the pistons hammer away and the whole room is hot with gusts of steam jetting out of pipes. Scarlett starts sweating even before the door swings closed.

"Hey!" Scarlett gets a split-second warning with the rush of super-heated air and Allison appears, launching herself through the steam to loop her arms around Scarlett's waist. Scarlett winces at the hiss and the faint tendril of smoke as her shirt singes under Allison's touch. "Oh, sorry!"

"It's all right," Scarlett steps back enough to inspect the damage and it's only a few scorch marks in the shape of Allison's arms. "It didn't catch fire this time. You're getting better at controlling your heat, dearling. I may owe Monte a drink if you keep this effort up."

The fire sprite beams at her and Scarlett smiles back. At twenty-two, Allison is very young - fire sprites can live for millennia - and her enthusiasm gets out of hand some times. She's been with the crew since Adam broke her out of the so-called 'Sub-human Zoological Foundation' in Undon nearly six years ago and has more than earnt her place. She's still a haphazard melee fighter but her control over fire makes her terrifying and it's kept the Hyperion in the air when the fuel has run out more than once.

"You look gloomy," Allison observes, expression shifting to horror. "We're not out of rum, are we?"

"No," Scarlett assures her hurriedly. Sky Mother grant that no-one else heard that. Even a rumour that they're running low on rum could be disastrous. Pirates who are capable of shrugging off a lost arm or endless days of the same sour biscuit with never a second thought will nonetheless whine like babes plucked from their mother's breast if they are deprived of even a dram of rum. Scarlett has never understood why most pirates are such children about their rum. It isn't as if being drunk on an airship is safe after all. At least Allison actually needs the alcohol to fuel her fires. "Nothing like that. Mother grant that day never comes."

"Then what?" Allison cuddles up to her side and Scarlett carefully shifts so Allison's skin is pressing down on the leather armour instead of Scarlett's skin.

"Adam has a new...he brought a boy back from that mountain," Scarlett sighs. "I don't know if that was a good idea."

"Adam? Making a bad decision? Is it Saturday already?" Allison rolls her eyes.

"He's not human," Scarlett shakes her head. "He was-you should have seen him. He was terrified and I'm not sure that he even understood a word any of us said to him. He's not even human. Adam's sure he's ...whatever sort of nightmare Brad is? He's half-mad with infatuation ...or worse."

"Worse?" Allison sobers up. "What’s worse than Adam getting infatuated? I mean, Mother knows Adam's addicted to the whole damsel in distress scenario but it doesn't usually last."

"He's put a Mother-damned collar on the boy!"

"Oh, oh, wow," Allison's skin heats up sharply and Scarlett winces at the sting of it. "That's huge."

"Exactly," Scarlett sighs. "I don't know if the boy knows what he's gotten into."

"You think this is alchemy?" Allison frowns.

"If the boy is one of Brad's folk, then almost certainly," and wasn’t that going to be a whole other disaster. Brad had been a foundling, obviously not human but close enough to pass unless you saw his shadow run from the sunlight. No-one was entirely sure what race of non-humans was ‘fortunate’ enough to count Brad among their number; certainly he belonged to no race known to the Hyperion or her crew. In his cups, Brad is prone to maudlin plans to find his ‘lost’ people. When he finds out that Adam’s new toy is supposedly his kin....well, Scarlett makes a note to double-check the lock on the powder store.

Scarlett remembers the torrid weeks of Adam and Brad's affair. She remembers every day of those weeks. Vividly. It had lasted nearly a year and they'd spent that year running the sails threadbare and the loft-crystals dark. They'd gone through some of the worst and most lucrative voyages in all Scarlett's time on the Hyperion. Adam had plunged all his spare time into Alchemy.

"Brad was bad enough but this boy isn't anything near as fierce as Brad. He's not going to fight Adam on anything. I don't think he even knows where to start fighting and Adam needs someone who's able to stand up to him. This is going to be a disaster but he's half-way to mad with the new bond right now and he's not listening to anything I say."

"Well, collaring someone, that's huge," Allison points out soberly. "I mean, all the stories about Alchemists collaring their bonded are all epic legends, yeah?"

"Epic legends are only useful as tavern tales," Scarlett says darkly. Bonding wasn’t particularly well-known among humans except as the subject for vapid romantic novels, the like of which Scarlett most definitely did not possess (anymore). "They're a sight less entertaining when you're expected to star in it. I don't like this; Adam's done some lack-witted things but he's never done anything so moonstruck before. I need to speak to the boy but if Adam has truly collared him-"

"-he's not going to like that." Allison sighs. "Maybe it's not that bad? I mean, collaring is supposed to be this big romantic thing, right?"

"Not according to the books I've read," Scarlett mutters darkly. "Not for Alchemists. It's about ...fuelling the reactions and balancing the equations and other words - the style of word that takes two breaths to get through. I don't actually remember exactly. I think we still have some of those books - I might have to reread them."

"That's probably a good idea," Allison hugs her. "You're a little ...cynical about Adam's projects-"

"I am not," Scarlett objects. "Cynical is believing the worst of a situation while having no reason to do so. Considering the last ten years of ever-worsening disasters, I am being realistic!"

"...okay, yes," Allison giggles. "You might have a point there."

Laughing, Scarlett hugs her one-armed as the engine whistles a two-tone warning. "I should probably go find those books and get that research done. It sounds like I have taken enough of your time."

"But I like you taking my time," Allison pouts outrageously and Scarlett can't help but smile. "You will be at dinner, won't you?"

"Barring another of Adam's 'brilliant' ideas," Scarlett snorts. "I should be. I have the night watch, so I won't be able to stay for the music."

Allison's pout deepens but whatever she's saying is lost as the engine whistles imperiously, two pipes shrilling out another alarm and the fire sprite pulls a face and disappears into the engine in a flash of fire. Scarlett smiles and leave with her doubts not entirely laid to rest but her spirits buoyed. There are eight hours until dinner. Plenty of time to get some reading in.

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