Tethered (Novella) - By Meljean Brook Page 0,1

these sweet words during my absence.

You may now cease your seething, dear sister, for Yasmeen and I have finally flown into a port where the express post can be depended upon to deliver my letter within a month, rather than sometime within the next five years. I have also included a packet that contains all of the unsent letters describing the particulars of our journey; I believe you will find the contents useful.

We will remain at least a few more days in the New World. Some of the aviators in Lady Nergüi’s new crew have not worked out to Yasmeen’s satisfaction, and she must find their replacements. If all goes according to plan, we shall return to Port Fallow not long after you have received this letter. Do not worry, however, if you don’t hear from me directly after that. Very little has gone “according to plan” in the few months we’ve been aboard Lady Nergüi, beginning when a band of idiotic pirates tried to board our lady without knowing who her captain was (if ever you write about it, let free your pen; their expressions of horror upon recognizing Yasmeen could not be overstated—or more comical) and ending but two days ago, when we scouted the Castilian border to assist a group of rebelling laborers.

Going off course is exhilarating—but although the events narrated within that packet have thrilled me, they might cause some concern to you.

I’m sorry to tell you that the secret of Lady Lynx is out. I know you spoke with Yasmeen about how you intended to conceal the truth, but I suppose that became impossible after I married her. You may heap invectives upon my head for that, dear sister, without fear of injuring me. I can never regret it.

In any case, it seems that little harm has been done. Though there have been some who assumed that our marriage meant Yasmeen had gone soft and attempted to take advantage of her, they quickly discovered how mistaken that assumption was.

Ah, and here is my love now, stalking into our cabin with her incomparable scowl riding her divine lips. As you close this letter, pray for our quartermaster. I believe he will need it.

—Archimedes

P.S. Please forgive my hasty adieu; every moment spent writing is a moment I cannot worship Yasmeen. In my rush, however, I forgot to mention that I have also included the preliminary research for a salvaging run in Cordoba. I found a reference to a statue of Marcus Aurelius that had been carried from Rome to that city ahead of the zombie menace, then abandoned as the population fled to the New World. If all goes according to plan, we will fly to Cordoba shortly after reaching Port Fallow. I have already thought of a title for that adventure—or any other: Lady Lynx and the Absolutely Besotted Husband.

Fladstrand, Upper Peninsula, Denmark

September 29

My absolutely besotted brother,

You are as ridiculous in love as I always knew you would be; thankfully, however, you are not as foolish in love as I feared. I cannot express the depth of my relief upon receiving your letters yesterday, and knowing that Captain Corsair weathered this first patch of rough air with you. No doubt, you will say that I am too cynical, but not without reason. Remember, I have seen a man who claimed to be your friend abandon you at the first sign of trouble. A man who ran even as you thrashed in your bed, delirious and still vulnerable from an assassin’s poison.

That man is also the reason I am sending this letter now, rather than waiting until I have had an opportunity to read through your packet. Only this morning, I received a visit from Miles Bilson. He claimed he’d heard that Temür Agha’s assassins had been called off, and wanted to know whether the rumors were accurate. I assured him that indeed, it was true, and that he was free to roam about the world again. He then asked me how to contact you, for he would like to hear the details of Temür Agha’s change of heart in person.

I am certain Mr. Bilson’s sudden desire to speak with you has nothing to do with the enormous fortune you received after auctioning off da Vinci’s sketch—an amount which was reported in every newssheet on either side of the Atlantic.

Do not laugh at my cynicism, Archimedes. His timing is rather suspect, don’t you agree?

At any rate, I could not think of a good reason to conceal that