Scaling the walls would leave him with his hands too full to carry her. “It’s a good thing we’re not going over the walls then.”

Capturing her wrist, he dragged her inside the stables. A long, low hall, it was filled with the gleam of copper and the muted silence of a place that held nothing living.

“You’re mad,” the duchess said, guessing what he planned to do.

“Not yet.”

Nobody had bothered to shut the main gates, no doubt presuming he wouldn’t make it out of the Tower. Half a dozen Coldrush Guards were guarding the gates, armed with pikes and the electric stunners used to bring a blue blood down.

They weren’t, however, watching the stables.

Dragging the duchess up in front of him, Barrons set the boilers on the massive Trojan horse he’d chosen to a low hum. Hundreds of the horses stood in silent rows within the stables, their copper-plated hides gleaming. They stood eight foot tall at the withers, their enormous soup-plate hooves shod with hard steel.

“Have you ever ridden one of these things?” the duchess hissed, clinging to the arm he’d wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Once,” he replied, sliding his legs into the pressure grooves on the plated saddle. The steam horse stepped forward a step in response to the pressure from his thighs.

Most commonly controlled by the small radio frequency their handlers used, they could also be ridden. Each squeeze of his thighs compressed the pressure plates until the copper destrier danced sideways out of its row. Steam snorted from its nostrils as Barrons gathered up the reins. The boiler was almost at full capacity, heat burning between his legs.

“Once?”

“I was curious. Are you ready?”

“No! Barrons, don’t do this. I need to be here. You don’t understand what you’re doing. I’ve helped you so far—”

Another squeeze with his thighs and the horse reared up on its powerful hind legs, dancing forward a step. Hmm. Not so hard then. The duchess shrieked, her hand clutching at his sleeve. Then he leaned forward, releasing the reins, and the creature leaped into a thunderous, lurching gallop.

The Coldrush Guards barely had time to turn before he was upon them, the Trojan horse smashing through their ranks and leaving screams behind. A horn sounded the alarm but they were through the gates, galloping out onto the thoroughfare beside the Thames. People saw the beast and screamed, darting out of the way.

“The cavalry!” someone bellowed. “They’re unleashing the cavalry!”

Then it was mayhem as everyone sought to get out of the way.

He’d not planned for this. Even here, in the heart of the city, the crowd was terrified of the enormous metal beast—and what it usually signified. When the cavalry were unleashed, the prince consort didn’t care if not everyone they crushed were rioting against him. Coaches jerked into side streets and a cart crashed into the back of an omnibus as the driver swore, the whites of his eyes gleaming as he tried to drag his vehicle out of the way of what he presumed would be death.

The rope on the man’s cart snapped and half a dozen wine barrels crashed onto the cobbles, two of them smashing in a spill of claret and the other four rolling directly in front of the mechanical horse.

The duchess screamed, bringing her arm up in front of her eyes.

“Hold on.” Leo leaned forward, trying to work out what move would send the creature into a jump.

“Barrons!”

One enormous hoof shattered a cask. The mechanical horse simply plowed through the mess, sending barrel staves and wooden slats tumbling. Leo looked behind him at the remains, then urged the destrier onward.

* * *

Lynch leaned out the window and watched as the streets erupted into mayhem. Dozens of Coldrush Guards poured out of the base of the tower, the streets full of screaming people and mayhem. He didn’t smile. He wanted to, though.

“Do you mean to tell me he’s escaped?” the prince consort screamed behind him at the guard who’d brought the news. “How the hell could he manage to get out of the Tower unseen? And then through the gates before anyone knew of it?”

“I’m n-not entirely certain, your—”

“Lynch!” the prince consort snapped. “I want him found! I want—”

Lynch crossed his arms over his chest as he turned. “You forget, my prince. You yourself said I might no longer be a Nighthawk when I joined the Echelon. This is no task for a duke.”

Their gazes clashed. The prince consort actually bared his teeth, then searched the room, flashing over Malloryn and Caine… Lingering there. “Caine?”

The pale head lifted, those eerie bluish eyes locking on the prince. “This is no task for a duke,” Caine whispered and stared his prince in the eye.

It was the first time he’d ever outright defied his ally. Lynch caught his breath. A broken alliance?

“There’s no need to find him,” Morioch called.

His words stilled the room.

“There’s only one place he can go.” Morioch gave a sinister little smile. “The rookeries, my prince.”

The prince consort traced his fingers over the back of his chair, his face still pale. He wouldn’t look at Caine. “You ask for proof of treason? Let us give Blade a chance to prove his loyalty, then. Morioch, take control of the Coldrush Guards and the metaljacket legions. Tell Blade that he has twelve hours to deliver up Barrons.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Morioch asked, a vicious anticipatory gleam in his eye.

“Then burn him out,” the prince consort snapped, striding for the door. “Burn the rookeries to the ground.”

Twelve

“Who’s there?”

Leo hauled the Trojan horse to a sliding halt, its hooves dancing on the cobbles. A figure stood on the top of Ratcatcher Gate, leaning on a fairly intimidating cannon.

“Ease off, Dandy,” a lad called, sliding down the sides of the gate and landing in the streets. “He’s one o’ ours.”

Charlie dusted himself off as he landed, straightening until he was almost as tall as Leo himself, though far leaner. “Barrons.” He grinned. “You appear to ’ave stolen a Trojan horse.”

The shock of seeing Charlie was another blow. The lad’s smile faded a fraction as Leo said nothing.

For years he’d avoided Charlie as much as he could, knowing that the lad knew the truth about who’d infected him with the craving virus. Not one of Leo’s finest moments. He’d deliberately sabotaged the vaccine that the boy’s father—his father—intended to inject himself with, not realizing that Sir Artemus Todd intended to inject his younger son as well.