“Let me guess— you beat up the bully and nobody tried it again?”
“Ondiniums may not like Demicans, but most aren’t stupid enough to pick a fight with us.”
“Oh, come on, nobody hates Demicans! Demicans have been immigrating to Ondinium for so long that they’re practically—” Taya’s eye was caught by two cloaked and hooded figures standing across the street, looking at the window where she was sitting. The taller person leaned over as the smaller one spoke. She frowned, Amcathra’s dire warnings leaping to mind.
“What?” Rikard asked, suddenly alert.
“Do you see those two people out there?”
He glanced outside.
The tall figure straightened, one gloved hand resting on the smaller figure’s shoulder. His face was obscured by a scarf, but long black hair hung down to his shoulders. The two began to walk away, the one holding on to the other.
For a moment Taya watched them, trying to figure out why they looked so familiar. Then it dawned on her, and she leaped to her feet.
Long black hair, perfect posture, a hidden face, and the cautious walk of the blind—
“Alister!”
“What?” Rikard drew his pistol. Taya scrambled out from behind the table. She dodged a waiter balancing a heavy tray and threw the teahouse doors open, running into the street.
“Alister! Alister!”
Rain soaked her face and hair and trickled down the open collar of her leather flight suit. She dodged an oncoming coach and ran several yards in the direction the pair had gone.
“Alister? Is that you?”
Everyone around her looked alike in their overcoats and rain cloaks. She shivered, turning in a slow circle.
“Icarus?” Rikard caught up to her, brandishing his gun. “Are you certain you saw Alister Forlore?”
“I— I don’t know.” She stared down the street, willing the pair to appear again, but they’d vanished. They could have ducked into any number of doorways or alleys, or gotten into a carriage, or could simply still be walking away, unrecognizable in the anonymity of rain gear. “He looked like an exalted, and his face was covered with a scarf….”
Rain streamed down her face and her bandages were getting soaked. People skirted around them, eyeing Rikard’s gun with alarm.
“Did you see where he went?”
“I thought he went that way, but I don’t see him now. There was someone leading him— the way you’d lead a blind man.”
“Go back inside. I’ll look for him.”
She glanced at him. He hadn’t paused to grab his coat, and his uniform was getting soaked.
“No. No, don’t bother. Come on.” She turned, heading back for the teahouse. “If there’s a blind Ondinium in town, somebody else will have seen him. I’ll tell Lieutenant Amcathra.”
“My uncle would insist I search.” Rikard holstered the gun. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I— all right.” She trudged back to the teahouse, ignoring the curious looks she got when she sat back down, and stared out the window. Rikard was nowhere to be seen.
What would he do if he found the stranger and it really was Alister? The exile had a right to live in Echelles, but after the dirigible fire, he’d have to answer some stern questions. And Lieutenant Amcathra would not be pleased to see him again.
Rikard returned as their tea was being served.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down. Like her, he was dripping wet. “I couldn’t find him.”
“That’s all right. Thank you for looking.”
“Are you certain it was him?”
“Not really.” She shivered, wrapping her damp, bandaged palms around the porcelain cup. Heat soaked through them, and she took a careful sip of tea. “Take off your wet jacket before you catch a cold.”
He hesitated, then stood and stripped it off, draping it over his coat.
“What about you?”
“My flight suit’s mostly waterproof.” She leaned over the teacup and let steam warm her face.
If the person she’d seen had been Alister, were they in danger? Cristof’s younger brother wasn’t sane, in her opinion, but she didn’t think he was mad enough to kill the man who was maintaining a secret bank account for him in…
…in Mareaux.
“It’s been a busy day,” she said weakly, unable to meet the young lictor’s eyes. “I was probably imagining things.”
Oh, Lady, was Cristof meeting Alister on the sly? If he was, she’d strangle him for not telling her. And then she’d strangle him again for taking such a risk.
No… no. He couldn’t be meeting Alister today, not with Lieutenant Amcathra. Unless the meeting with Bezier were a ruse? Would the lieutenant let her husband meet the scientist alone?
Of course not. Although that didn’t mean that Cristof wasn’t meeting Alister at all during this trip.
“You should never assume that you are safe, Icarus.” Rikard said, frowning. Water dripped from his shirt sleeves onto the table.
“You sound like your uncle now.”
He glanced at her, surprised. Then he picked up his tea, took a sip, and set it down.
“I don’t always agree with Uncle Janos, but he is a good Demican.”
“I agree, although I think he overdoes the whole silent-and-stoic act.”
“He and my father are reserved men.” Rikard hesitated, turning his cup around in his broad fingers. “It’s strange. Demicans rush to leave their country, but once they’ve left it, they cling to its traditions as if they regretted their decision.”
“You speak more like an Ondinium.”
“The older generation would criticize me for it.”
“Is your tattoo a Demican tradition?” she asked. Rikard gave her a startled look and glanced down at his arm. The dark lines of a snarling bear’s head were faintly visible through his damp white sleeve. He plucked at the fabric to hide it.
“I— uh, I’m not supposed—”
“Is it secret?” Taya was intrigued. Lieutenant Amcathra hadn’t seemed concerned about anyone seeing his bear tattoo earlier that day.
“My uncle doesn’t know I have it,” Rikard admitted, his face red as he reached behind him for his damp uniform jacket. “Please don’t tell him. It’s not—”
“All right, relax!” She grinned. So, Rikard had imitated his uncle by getting a matching tattoo but hadn’t been brave enough to tell him? “Don’t put on a wet jacket. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Really?” Rikard asked, his face still red.
“I promise.”
“Thank you.” He looked down at his tea. “I— I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. Anyway, I know at least one other Demican who isn’t very traditional,” Taya said, letting him off the hook by changing the subject. “She’s a programmer.” She idly wondered if Rikard and Isobel would like each other. Maybe she should introduce them.
“What generation?”
“I never asked. Second-generation, at least, since she’s in-caste. A dedicate. Very smart and not at all reserved.”
“Sometimes it’s hard on us,” Rikard said, rotating the teacup in his hands again. “We’re told how beautiful Demicus is and how important it is to act like a Demican, but we live in Ondinium. I don’t understand why. No matter how hard life may be in Demicus, it has to be better than living in a country where you’re a second-class citizen.”
“There are a lot of Demicans in Ondinium, especially in the lictate. Nobody considers them second-class citizens.”
“But black-haired, dark-skinned lictors are promoted more quickly than blond-haired, light-skinned lictors.”
“If someone in your family has been discriminated against, they can take it to the courts.”
“It’s never anything you can prove. You know what it’s like.”
Taya fell silent. She’d been teased about her coloring as a child, but it had stopped when she’d joined the icarii. Icarii faced a different set of prejudices, but among themselves they were as close as family.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult time in Ondinium. I hope you’ll like Demicus when you get there.”
Rikard stared down at his tea.
“I will.”
Taya tried to lighten the conversation. “I want to visit Demicus, myself, someday. I’d love to see one of its famous white bears.”
“They live in the far north.”
“So, I’ll go to the far north.”
“There aren’t any embassies up there.”
“I’ll fly.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“Stop arguing. I am going to see a white bear someday. In the wild, on the ice.”
He glanced at her, as if wanting to say something, and then looked away and set down his teacup.
“I hope you do.”
“I’ll see about getting us both up there someday on an assignment,” Taya promised. She drained her cup. He reached for the pot to refill it. She glanced outside as he poured, then resolutely pulled her gaze back to the table.
She wasn’t going to mention Alister again until she’d had a chance to talk to Cristof.
Chapter Three
Jayce was sitting in Cristof’s suite, grumbling as he unpieced one of the exalted’s waterstained robes.
“Can they be saved?” Taya asked, dropping into one of the large leather chairs by the fireplace. She began unwinding the bandages around her palms.
“No.” Jayce spread the stiff, mottled garment over his lap and gestured with disgust at the charred and muddy hem. “I’ll unpick the jewels and salvage as much of the gold thread as I can. Your gown, by the way, is also ruined. Why in the world weren’t you wearing your flight suit?”
“Aren’t you the one who keeps saying I need to dress like a lady?”
“Not on some foreign flying object in the middle of a thunderstorm!”
“Well, I’m wearing my leathers now.”
“Precisely. Now that you’re in the palace and should be dressed like a lady.”
She made a rude noise. “Give me one of your needles.”
“Large or small?”
“Large enough to pop a blister.”
Jayce drew his hand back in disgust.
“Taya. Please.”
“The doctor said I could if they started to hurt too much.” She stood and looked through Cristof’s bar, finding a bottle of gin. She’d never drink the awful stuff, but it would clean her wounds. And as far as drinking went… she picked up the open bottle of pinot noir on Cristof’s desk, smiling as she remembered their post-flight interlude. She poured herself a glass and looked at Jayce. “Want one?”
“Good Lady, yes, if the exalted won’t mind.”
“He’d love it if we finished a bottle for him. He doesn’t like wine.” She poured a glass for Jayce and settled back into her chair. “I bought those awful novels Cassie wanted.”
“Really? Can I read them?”
She laughed. “Sure, but Cassie will kill you if you wrinkle the pages.”
“She’ll live,” he said, waving off his niece’s concerns. “I need to do some shopping, myself, before we leave. Maybe I’d have the time, if you and your husband would stop ruining your wardrobes.”
“Blame whoever set fire to the dirigible, not me.”
“Monstrous.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, Jayce juggling his work and the wine glass and Taya enjoying the fire. At last she reached out a bandaged hand.
“All right; the wine’s starting to work. Give me that needle.”
“You aren’t really going to use my sewing needles to pop your blisters.”
“My hands hurt. If I don’t pop these blisters, they’ll break on their own.”
Jayce made a face, selected a heavy tapestry needle, and walked over to sit across from her.
“Here, give me your hand. You can’t do it by yourself.”
“Thank you.” She drained her glass and held out her hand. Her stomach twisted. Maybe she should have taken a shot of gin, instead. The wine and tea weren’t mixing well.
“All right, hold still.” Jayce grasped her right hand, wiped the needle on his sleeve, and started to work. Taya screwed up her face, then laughed to see Jayce’s expression reflecting her own.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, reaching down and grabbing one of her bandages. He pressed the edge of the fabric against the punctured blister. She hissed as he released the fluids inside. “I deserve a raise.”
“I’ll talk to Cristof about it.”
“You will talk to your husband about what?” Lieutenant Amcathra inquired.
Both of them started, looking up. The lictor surveyed the scene, then stepped aside. Cristof walked in, fumbling with his mask.
Jayce leaped to his feet and bowed, his palm to his forehead.
“What are you doing in here?” Cristof asked, handing the mask to Amcathra. He squinted, trying to focus without his glasses. “Whatever it is, you look cozy.”
“Jayce was lancing a blister for me.” Taya held up her hand.
“Is that all?” Her husband shook back his sleeves and fished his silver-rimmed glasses out from under his multiple layers of robe, sliding them over his nose. “Good. Icarii don’t get perquisites.”
He kissed her as Jayce straightened from his bow and edged away.
“If you insist on popping them, let me do it,” Cristof added. “I used to get blisters all the time when I was training with the lictors.”
“A thousand fortuitous rebirths do not build calluses,” Amcathra noted.
“I’ll take your robes and finish up in my room, Exalted,” Jayce muttered, gathering his sewing kit and the robes he’d been disassembling.
“Thank you,” Cristof said, absently. “Lord Pomeroy said something about an opera. I think we’ll need to wear something traditional.”
“Like my armature?” Taya asked, hopefully.
“I’ll see that you both have appropriate clothing for the occasion, Exalted,” Jayce promised, hurrying out.
“Rikard met us on the way in,” Amcathra said once the door shut behind the couturier. “He told us you thought you saw Alister.”
“I may have— I’m not sure.” Taya helped her husband out of his wig and robes, picking at pins, knots, clasps, and buttons. “Please tell me you aren’t meeting him, Cris.”
“I’m not meeting him.” Her husband shrugged out of his robes, revealing the wrinkled slacks and white shirt he insisted on wearing beneath them, and raked his hands through his loose hair.
“Okay. Now tell me you’re not lying.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not lying. For one thing, I’d be insane to meet Al while the Council is watching.” He inclined his head toward Amcathra, who gave him a stern look.
Taya bit back the rest of her questions, reminded that some things shouldn’t be discussed in front of the lictor.
“Well, I could have been mistaken.” She sat back down in the chair by the fire. “It was raining and he was across the street.”
“I will make inquiries,” Amcathra said. He paused, giving Cristof a long, meaningful look, and then turned to leave the room.
“I’m not meeting him,” Cristof protested to his friend’s broad back as the door shut.
“Really?” Taya pressed, once they were alone.
“Really. His last message was posted two weeks ago.” He walked over to the mantel, sorting through the letters there. “I don’t see any invitations to clandestine meetings tucked in today’s mail.”
“Were we in Echelles when his last letter was delivered?”
&n
bsp; “Yes. I told him we’d be here, but I warned him to stay away.” Cristof looked troubled as he put the letters back. “I don’t want to see him again.”
Taya gave him a steady look. He pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t. I know— I shouldn’t even be corresponding with him, but for the Lady’s sake, he’s my little brother. I have an obligation to take care of him.”
Taya watched as he put his glasses back on. She didn’t think Cristof had any obligation to his murderous brother at all.
“Does he have any reason to attack you?”
“You mean, the fire? No, that’s ridiculous. He relies on me for, uh—” He stopped, giving her a stricken look.
“I know you’re sending him money.”
He cleared his throat, glanced away, and nodded.
“I’ve known about it ever since we set up the funds for those lictors’ families,” she continued.
“It’s not that much. And he’s blind. How else is he supposed to survive?”
He isn’t, Taya thought, but she knew better than to say it out loud. Cristof had given up his freedom to keep his brother out of the executioner’s hands, despite the fact that Alister had tried to kill him.
Twice.
“I don’t mind, Cris. It’s your money, not mine.”
“That’s not true.”
Taya shrugged. She preferred to pay for her personal expenses out of her own earnings; that way she didn’t feel like the fortune-hunter so many exalteds considered her. And as far as criticizing how Cristof spent his own money— she wouldn’t dream of it.
“So, if you die, do the payments stop?” she asked.
“Yes, unless you continued them.”
Not likely.
“Then it wouldn’t make sense for him to kill you.” Unless Alister had known that it wasn’t Cristof in the gondola? But how could he? And what would be the point of killing Lieutenant Amcathra? Or her?
Revenge?
She rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache, and her hands hurt. She looked for the needle Jayce had set down.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was going to get rid of these blisters.”
Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy) Page 4