“You’re going to be stubborn about it, aren’t you?” He sat down and picked up the needle. “Are you certain you want to come to dinner tonight? If your hands hurt that much—”
“I don’t want Lady Fosca to have unrestricted access to you.”
Her husband glanced up, his grey eyes amused behind their glass lenses.
“Janos will protect me from her wicked machinations, my love.”
“I’m certainly paying him enough for it.”
“Really?”
“No— should I?”
“Of course not. I have no interest in cheating on you. I’m only thinking of whether I’d best serve Ondinium by wheedling her secrets from her during our pillow talk.”
“How selfless of you. Does that mean I should seduce Lord Gaio?”
“Tch. Gaio’s such a lecher, I could seduce him.”
Taya laughed. “I’d pay money to see you try. But you’re welcome to deal with him; I’m not up to dealing with his wandering hands tonight.”
“Wandering hands?”
Oops.
“It isn’t personal, Cris. He gropes all the girls. He’s Alzanan aristocracy; it comes with the territory.”
“Am I going to have to cause a diplomatic incident?”
“You don’t have to sound so eager.”
“If he’s been treating you disrespectfully—.”
“Hush.” She leaned over and kissed her husband’s forehead. “I can take care of myself.”
“It would be nice if you let me take care of you, for a change.”
“I’ll let you thrash Lord Gaio if I can thrash Lady Fosca.”
“Lady Fosca didn’t grope me.”
“Her loss.”
The comment startled a laugh out of him. She smiled as his brow smoothed.
“Maybe we should both stay away from the Mazzolettis,” he suggested, standing and tilting his gin bottle over a handkerchief. He daubed at her hand with the damp cloth.
“Ow!”
“Give me your other hand. You’re lucky you didn’t get any vitriol on you.”
“I only touched the outside of the box.”
“Chemical fires are dangerous.” He looked pensive as he began lancing her blisters. “Alister would know how to set a chemical fire.”
“We’re in Mareaux’s capital. I’ll bet lots of people here know how to set a chemical fire.”
“I hope so. No— that wasn’t what I meant to say. I mean, I hope it wasn’t Alister. I can’t imagine why it would be. We’re on good terms. As good as one can expect under the circumstances, anyway.”
There was nothing she could say to that, so she changed the subject. “How was the tour?”
Her husband’s angular face lit up.
“Fascinating! Mareaux’s aneroid barometers are state-of-the-art, and they’re making incredible progress on marine chronometers that can resist changes in temperature. That’s an ongoing problem, you know, because of the elasticity of the balance springs. If the metal expands or contracts with changes in the temperature — it varies by about 5.4 degrees per thousand feet, depending on the amount of moisture in the air — then the reliable calculation of longitude becomes impossible.”
“Mmmm.”
“Taya! Chronometers manufactured with temperature-resistant alloys are of the utmost importance! Accurate instruments are essential for accurate navigation.”
“Why can’t dirigible pilots just use their eyes, like icarii?”
“They can navigate by sight at low altitudes, but the challenge is to successfully navigate long distances across unmapped terrain.”
Taya shook her head as Cristof picked up his handkerchief and daubed her hand clean. “What’s the point? We’ve already seen how vulnerable dirigibles are in a storm— can you imagine what would happen if one of them tried flying through the passes around Ondinium?”
“Well, we don’t want them flying into Ondinium, anyway. But developing more efficient means of navigation is one of the projects Professor Dautry is coming to Ondinium to investigate. She has a new instrument Bezier has invented, an anemometer. It measures wind speed. Wouldn’t charting the wind currents around Ondinium Mountain be of inestimable value to icarii?”
“Icarii already have a pretty good idea of the local wind currents from flying in them every day. Why bother mapping them out?”
“Of course we need to map them out! How else can society advance, except on a broad scientific foundation of precise, valid, and reliable recordkeeping?”
“Yes, of course. I can’t imagine what I was thinking.” Taya took her hand from him, inspecting his handiwork. Now her palms were covered with ugly lines of pale, loose skin. “Ugh. Maybe I’ll wear gloves to dinner.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of eating. She pressed her hand against her belly. It gurgled a warning.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m feeling a little sick.”
“Do you have a headache?”
“A small one.”
“You didn’t eat anything strange while you were out, did you?”
“Just tea and sandwiches.”
“Well, a headache and a rumbling belly is how it always starts with me.” He stood. “We’d better get you to bed.”
“It can’t be— I never get food poisoning!”
“Then maybe you’re coming down with a case of influenza; you have been walking around in the rain all day.”
Taya stood and took a moment to concentrate on how she was feeling.
Her stomach ached. Her bowels were churning. And her head hurt.
“Maybe you’re right. You’d better find Rikard; if I got food poisoning from lunch, he’ll have it, too.”
Cristof took her arm. “I’ll walk you to your room. Rikard can take care of himself.”
“No, go find him.” She waved him away. “If I’m going to throw up, I’d rather be alone, thank you.”
* * *
An hour later, Taya was curled up on the bed in her nightgown, her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped around her midsection. The door opened and she ground her teeth together. Cristof had been in and out several times to check on her, and she wished he’d just go away. She was feeling miserable, and this brand of misery didn’t want company.
“Icarus.”
She pried her eyes open. Lieutenant Amcathra pulled up a chair next to her bed.
“What?” If Cris had sent the stone-faced lieutenant to nurse her through this….
“Mister Webb is also ill. However, Rikard is not.”
“Jayce is sick?”
“You drank out of the exalted’s bottle of wine together.”
She closed her eyes, wincing as another spasm convulsed her stomach muscles.
“Did you share any other food or drink?”
“No.”
“Thank you.” He stood and left.
Eventually the door opened again.
“I’ve brought some medicine, Miss Icarus,” said the physician she’d seen earlier that day as he took the seat Amcathra had vacated. She heard a metallic clank and opened her eyes. The doctor had a large metal bowl next to him.
That couldn’t possibly be good.
“It’s an emetic,” he said, confirming her fears. “I’m afraid we need to give you a thorough purge.”
“Why?” She let him help her into a sitting position and eyed the bowl with loathing. Her stomach gave a sideways lurch, as if gearing up for the inevitable.
“To cleanse your system.” He uncorked a bottle and spooned a thick, syrupy liquid out into a small glass.
“The wine was bad?”
“The wine was poisoned.” He handed her the glass. “Your lictor forced a large amount of it down the throat of one of the palace cats. It died in convulsions. The queen is mortified. About the
poison, not the cat. Although I don’t think the lictor has won any friends among the animal-lovers at court.”
Taya struggled to make sense of the situation.
“I drank some wine this morning and I wasn’t sick.”
“Perhaps you didn’t drink enough. Or perhaps the effects were delayed. Or perhaps the poison was added later— your lictor determined that the bottle was left open and unguarded all afternoon.”
“Cris?” Taya felt a coldness grip her that had nothing to do with her illness. “Is my husband all right?”
“The ambassador is perfectly fine; he hadn’t had anything to drink yet. However, this incident raises enough questions about his food poisoning that I’ve decided to purge him, as well. I’ll put all three of you on a closely monitored diet until I’m certain you’re past any danger.” He held out the bowl. “Now, if you please.”
Chapter Four
“The ambassador is leaving with Lieutenant Amcathra,” Rikard said, stepping inside after knocking.
Taya looked up from the novel she’d bought for Cassie and registered the young lictor’s scarf and gloves.
“Where’s he going?” she asked, marking her place and closing the volume.
“A man was murdered the night before the dirigible accident. Uncle Janos told the exalted that he was going to the morgue to inspect the body. The exalted insisted on going with him.”
“Insisted?” Taya blew out a resigned breath. Cristof had been itching to escape the palace since yesterday. “I’ll bet Amcathra was thrilled by that.”
“My uncle asked if perhaps the entire Ondinium delegation would care to join him.”
“What did Cris say?”
“The exalted said he believed the mercates were still in conference, but that you might be interested.”
“A romantic trip to the morgue with my husband. How could I resist?” Still, Taya threw off her blanket. Two days had passed since her purging. Staying cooped up in the delegation’s wing of the palace had been boring her, too. And if Cristof was going out in public, he’d need his icarus.
She padded across the room and opened her wardrobe. She was not going to wear a dress to a morgue, no matter what Jayce might say. She pulled out her flight suit and boots.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
After Rikard stepped outside, Taya dressed with practiced speed, then paused and laid a hand on the ondium wings that floated next to the wardrobe. Iron chains and fetters had been wrapped around the arm struts and keel bars, locking the armature to the heavy furniture around it.
“Soon,” she promised. She grabbed her scarf and gloves and hurried outside, locking the door behind her.
The wind in the courtyard was cold and sharp, but the sky was clear and the sun bright. Cristof waited inside the waiting carriage, masked. Lieutenant Amcathra stood by the open door, a rifle slung over his back, watching with an air of impatience.
Taya slid in next to her husband, and the lieutenant swung in on the opposite seat. Rikard closed the door. The carriage rocked as he climbed up to sit next to the driver.
Taya made sure the curtains were closed before helping Cristof remove his mask.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” he exclaimed, leaning over to kiss her. “I don’t know if any of the hospital staff speak Ondinan.”
Taya gave him a withering look.
“Is that why you invited me? I thought you wanted to see me again, after all these days apart.”
His copper cheeks flushed.
“That’s what I meant, of course, my love.” He shot Lieutenant Amcathra a desperate look. The lictor raised an eyebrow. “I mean, it goes without saying.”
“Apparently.” She tossed his mask in his lap. “Didn’t the queen offer you a translator for the times I’m not around?”
“I do not trust the palace staff,” Amcathra said as the coach jerked and began moving.
“I don’t think the queen’s translator wants to kill me,” Cristof objected. “I’m keeping him employed.”
“It does no harm for the queen to believe these attempts on your life could rupture diplomatic relations between our countries.”
“Could they?” Taya looked from one to the other.
Her husband shifted under his heavy robes.
“Technically, they should,” he admitted. “Withdrawing our delegation would be the mildest response.”
Amcathra nodded. “I am under orders to insist the delegation return to Ondinium at the first sign of danger to the exalted’s person.”
“Apparently food poisoning wasn’t considered a danger,” Cristof noted.
“My role is to protect you from external threat, Exalted, not internal frailty. I had, of course, assumed the latter.”
“Of course.”
“Well, what are we going to do? You haven’t said anything to the queen yet, have you?” Taya folded back her husband’s long sleeves until she could take his hand. His expression brightened as he curled his gloved fingers around hers.
“No. She was wise enough to stay away while I was vomiting. But she stopped by last night and said everything you’d expect her to say. Very apologetic.”
“Did you tell her we were going to leave?”
“No, but….” Cristof hesitated. “Janos is right; somebody wants to kill me. And I don’t like the fact that you’re endangered by it.”
“What about the trade agreement? And the scholar swap?”
“Our professors are already installed in Echelles University. I don’t see any reason to pull them out. Besides, if we did, we’d have to leave Professor Dautry behind, and I’d really like her to plot out Ondinium’s wind patterns. Science shouldn’t suffer because of politics.”
Taya squeezed his hand. Cristof was being uncharacteristically optimistic if he thought science and politics could be kept apart. As far as she could tell, they were inextricably entangled in Ondinium, where science justified every political decision.
“As for the trade agreement, Mercate Trichas has already volunteered to close down negotiations,” Amcathra reported. “Mercate Corundel advises patience and has moved up the meeting timetable. Mercate Macerain expresses his hope that you two feel better soon.”
“I’m surprised Trichas is willing to withdraw,” Taya said. “He’s a member of North Reach’s board. The company won’t be happy if this negotiation falls through.”
“We were going to leave in another week, anyway,” Cristof said. “Maybe this puts him in a stronger bargaining position— the last chance for Mareaux to make a deal before we leave.”
“I have no interest in how our departure affects trade,” Amcathra said, his voice flat. “My job is not to protect the mercates’ interests.”
“Anything that’s important to the Big Three is important to the Council,” Cristof countered.
“So, who are we going to see?” Taya asked, deciding it was time to change the subject. “How is this dead man involved in the sabotage?”
“I do not know if he was involved. However, he was the first man to be murdered in Echelles in five weeks. It seems unduly coincidental that he died the night before the attempt was made on your lives.”
“There’s only been one murder in the last five weeks?” Taya exclaimed. “In the whole city?” Ondinium had five murders in one day, sometimes.
“He came from Grimaucourt. His throat was cut. His room at the inn was torn apart. The constables have no leads. I am suspicious.”
“Why was he here?”
“I do not know.”
Conversation died until the carriage stopped.
Passers-by paused to stare at the exotically robed and masked stranger, but Amcathra’s and Rikard’s forbidding glares and ready rifles kept them from venturing too close. Taya remained alert as they worked their way up the stairs and entered the hospital.
> Inside, their presence caused just as much of a commotion. Physicians, assistants, patients and visitors all stopped to gawk. Rikard halted in the middle of the corridor.
“I can’t read the signs,” he said, gesturing to a line of doors.
“Let’s start there,” Taya said, pointing to the door that said “Director” in Mareaux. The lictor knocked, then stepped back, his rifle not quite aimed at the doorway. “I think we’re supposed to walk in.”
Rikard swung the door open, revealing a balding, thin-faced clerk standing in front of a filing cabinet. The clerk froze, staring at the lictor’s rifle.
Taya led Cristof inside. The clerk’s horrified gaze rose from the weapon to Cristof’s blank ivory mask.
“His excellency, the exalted Cristof Forlore, ambassador of Ondinium, would like to confer with the hospital director about a body that was brought in here several days ago,” Taya said in Mareaux. “Lictor Janos Amcathra and I will speak for the ambassador. I am Taya Icarus.”
“I, ah, I’ve heard of the exalted, of course,” the clerk stammered, fumbling with his files a moment before setting them down on top of a desk. “Um, welcome. My lord. Please, um, sit down, and I’ll get the director. W-was he expecting you?”
“He is not expecting us.” Amcathra slung his rifle over his shoulder.
Taya repeated the lictor’s words in Mareaux, her tone considerably more polite.
“I see.” The clerk looked on the verge of panic. “Well, I’ll go get him, then. Can, I, um, get you anything?”
“No, thank you. Just the director,” she said, feeling sorry for him. “And I apologize for the unexpected visit. It’s a matter of some urgency, however.”
The clerk nodded, hesitated, bobbed an awkward Mareaux bow to Cristof, and then hurried out, avoiding them as well as he could in the confined space until he vanished out the same door they’d come through.
“You should have told them we were coming,” Taya chided the lictor.
“This way they have no time to hide the evidence.”
“We’re visiting a morgue, not a crime scene.”
“Every place is a potential crime scene.”
Taya started to reply and then thought better of it. She suspected Amcathra made statements like that just to annoy her.
Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy) Page 5