by Jade Mere
Tahki shook his head. “I think I remember reading about them.”
“You cannot read about music, just like you cannot taste the grapes in an oil painting. Music is something to experience. On my next visit to the capital, you’ll have to join me. We’ll see a performance together.”
“Thank you,” Tahki said. “I’d like that very much.” He resumed eating, but Dyraien’s eyes didn’t leave him.
“Tahki,” he said. His voice was calm and kind. “I need a date.”
Tahki peeked up from his potatoes. “A date?”
Dyraien set his fork down. “I need to know when I’ll have the design.”
Tahki remembered the promise he’d made after the cat attack. “Right. Tomorrow. I should have something tomorrow.” He felt a stab of guilt. There was no way he’d have anything by then.
“That’s excellent.” Dyraien beamed. “And it will be better than your last attempt?”
Tahki felt his face flush. “Of course. I think I was nervous the first time. Too eager.”
Dyraien flicked his hand dismissively. “It was Rye’s fault.”
Another jab of guilt. Tahki cleared his throat. “About my first design. I may have pushed Rye to accept it. I don’t think he liked the design, but I insisted. It wasn’t his fault.”
Dyraien raised a brow. “Rye should have known better.”
“Still,” Tahki said. “Please don’t be angry with him.”
Dyraien frowned slightly. “I could never be angry with Rye.”
Tahki looked down at his food.
“You seem very concerned about my brother,” Hona said. She licked the tip of her fork.
Tahki shrugged and tried to seem casual.
“You look like you’re going to explode,” Hona said.
“Excuse me?”
Hona pursed her lips. “All those questions bubbling up inside you, and they’ll pop if you don’t ask.”
“Don’t ask what?”
Hona laughed. It wasn’t a pretty laugh, like he expected her to have, but choppy, like a hiccup. “You want to know why Rye hates me.”
Dyraien reached for one bottle of wine and uncorked it. “Is that really appropriate dinner conversation?”
“Just look at the kid,” Hona said. “He’s bursting to know.”
Dyraien poured the wine. Tahki wondered why he didn’t want him to know more about Rye. Was it for Rye’s protection or some more possessive reason?
“It’s none of my business,” Tahki said. He didn’t like the uncomfortable air that had settled over the table.
Hona twirled her wine and slid her tongue along the edge of the glass. “If I choose to share part of my life story with you, that’s my business.”
“But it’s not your story,” Dyraien said. “And I don’t think Rye would like you airing his past to just anyone.”
Tahki wasn’t just anyone, was he? How could Dyraien act so kind to him one moment and in the next pretend like he was a stranger at his table? Dyraien handed Tahki a glass of wine. It smelled bitter. A dark crimson color stained the top of the glass when he took a polite sip. He’d never had more than a few sips before. If the wine was good or bad, he couldn’t tell. Wine all tasted the same to him. He took a larger gulp, and it burned his throat a little.
“Come on, D,” Hona said. She made a sad face and slid her body forward, her arms stretching across the table like a relaxed cat. “I think he’s earned it. Don’t you?”
Dyraien sipped his wine. “Do as you wish.” His words were tight, confined.
Tahki shivered. He wished a fire burned. Though lightning roots were brighter and gave off no odor, they didn’t provide any warmth.
Hona leaned back and rolled her neck. “Tell me, Tahki. Do you come from a good family?”
Tahki blinked. “A good family?”
“Are you well off?”
Tahki took another gulp of wine. His lips felt thick and heavy with residue. “I guess.”
“You guess,” Hona chimed. “You have no idea what it’s like to be hungry.”
That wasn’t true. Tahki had been hungry just before dinner. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and skipped the clam lunch.
“Hunger and pride don’t make good company,” Hona said. “Rye was always too proud to beg. As kids, we were dragged around by our mother. During the day, Rye and I would find safe places to sleep, and during the nights, we’d follow our mother around from bar to bar, carrying her sad sack of bones across town after she’d pissed herself drunk. That woman could drink ten men on shore leave under the table. It was actually quite impressive.”
Tahki had wanted to know about Rye, but this felt wrong, intrusive.
Hona went on. “Don’t think I’m looking for sympathy or pity, and don’t think Rye is, either. We were poor, but so was everyone in that part of town. Our mother was a worthless drunk, but at least she didn’t beat us or anything.”
“Maybe you would have better manners if she had,” Dyraien said.
Hona laughed, despite the seriousness of his voice. “Maybe. And maybe Rye would have had the sense to leave her behind.” Hona slouched in her chair. Her voice sounded a little hoarse, like she’d been screaming. She traced the edge of her glass so it hummed. “Rye was ten and I was fifteen when I left.”
“When you left?”
Hona scrunched her nose. “Ran away, I guess you could say.” She looked over to Dyraien. Tahki noticed the prince’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I told myself I’d find a job and bring them money, but I was lying. I abandoned Rye, left him with our alcoholic mother.”
Tahki’s heart beat fast. The wine made him feel warm, but Hona’s words chilled him. He pictured a young Rye, shivering in the cold outside some bar.
He thought about when he’d been ten. The fine meals he ate with his father, the beautiful imported silk clothing, the expensive toys he played with once or twice. Hona had been right. He didn’t know what it was like to be hungry. To rely on the pity of strangers for a meal.
“Anyway,” Hona said in a sad voice. “I came back years later, but I was too late.”
“Rye’s mother left him shortly after Hona,” Dyraien said. “Left him to fend for himself. He was all alone. When I found him and took him in, he had no one. No one who’d ever offered him so much as a kind word. But I fixed all that, and we have each other now. What more could he want?”
Tahki watched the lightning roots flicker pale light across the table. His eyelids drooped. Rye’s story made him tired and depressed, and he wanted to be alone, away from the glances he didn’t understand, away from the people who kept him an arm’s length away, who only told him part of the truth.
“Maybe we should retire to our rooms,” Dyraien said. “We’ll clean up tomorrow.”
They all stood, but as Tahki walked from the room, Hona grabbed his arm.
“I tried to make it right,” she said. “I tried to fix things between us.”
Tahki pulled his arm out of her grip. He wanted to be away from her. Away from anyone who had caused Rye grief.
“Let him go, Hona,” Dyraien said, his voice sharp.
Tahki walked from the room, a slight sway in his step. He knew Rye’s past now, but Rye knew nothing about him, and that wasn’t right.
Tonight, he’d tell Rye who he was and where he was from.
WHEN HE arrived in his room, Tahki sat on his bed, still a little fuzzy-headed from the wine. Hona’s words stuck in his mind. He had learned so much about Rye. It was only fair Rye learned about him now.
He took a deep breath. Tonight, he’d tell Rye everything. If Rye kept his secret, their bond would grow. But if Rye couldn’t, what would he do? Rye wouldn’t turn him over to Dyraien, that much he knew. Worst scenario, Rye would tell Tahki to leave.
It seemed worth the risk for a chance to finally tell Rye the truth.
With this resolve in mind, Tahki left to find Rye, hoping he’d be back from Edgewater. He tiptoed down the stairs. Everything looked distorted in the dark. W
alls crawled upward forever. The banisters curled beside him like long, outstretched fingers. The white marble appeared to move as clouds swept in front of the moon. As he reached the bottom step, the sound of plates clattering echoed through the hall. For a moment, he pictured the black cat crouched and ready to pounce, but then he heard voices. Dyraien, Hona, and someone else. He followed the chatter to the dining room. The door was cracked only half an inch, but he could see inside.
Dyraien and Hona sat at the table, speaking lowly to a man across from them. A man with short hair and a pointed chin.
“Must be nice,” Zinc said. “Living here all cozy and comfortable. Do I ever get invited to dine with you? Don’t think so. And why would that be? Not good enough for you? Not a large enough vo-cabulary?”
“Not clean enough,” Dyraien said.
Zinc ate from the tray of leftover pork, tearing off meat with his hands and chewing loudly. “Right, right. Or maybe you don’t love the people of Vatolokít as much as you say you do.”
Dyraien leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Tell me, Zinc. How much money would I need to pay your people to have them tie you to a rock and throw you in the ocean? Twenty notes? Thirty? I suspect the number is pretty low.”
Tahki pressed closer. He could see Dyraien now. His eyes appeared dark and threatening, like at any moment he might swipe a knife from the table and lodge it in Zinc’s throat.
Zinc must have sensed this, too, because he swallowed and said in a tense voice, “You can’t blame me for what happened.”
“I think I can,” Dyraien said. “A perk of being a prince. I can blame anyone for anything.”
“Fuck, D. I figured you sent the kid.”
“Why in the eight hells would I do that?” Dyraien said. “He’s my lead architect.”
Tahki’s palms started to sweat. They were talking about him.
“No idea.” Zinc burped. “It’s not like you—what’s that word you like to use—di-vulge your plans to me.”
“You’re a piece of goat shit, Zinc,” Dyraien said.
Zinc straightened his back. “Now hold on. Just you hold on a minute. I held up my end of the bargain.”
“You confused a pretty foreign boy for a seventy-year-old alcoholic judge. And what’s worse, you involved Rye.”
“Wasn’t my fault Rye showed up. You told me you’d scalp me bloody if I ever touched him,” Zinc said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to do your job,” Dyraien said.
Hona sighed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell Rye the truth?”
Dyraien shook his head. “He wouldn’t understand. Not until the castle is complete. Besides, there are other distractions now, things I fear might make Rye difficult to control.”
“You mean the kid?” Hona said.
“Of course the kid.” Dyraien ran a hand through his hair. “We can work around this. We can still achieve what we set out to do, so long as Tahki completes the castle and you two get me the parcel.”
“We will,” Hona said. “It should arrive tomorrow night. We’ll bring it in back so Rye doesn’t see.”
Tahki felt a lump in his throat, maybe from the wine, from the confusion, from the way it seemed every time he learned something about this castle and these people, new complications arose. He heard the front door push open and moved away from the dining room out into the hall. He saw Rye heading to his workroom.
Tahki approached, sweaty and light-headed. “Rye?”
Rye turned. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice sounded warm and genuine. Tahki wondered if he should tell him about Zinc first but then thought better of it. He didn’t need any added complications. Whatever was going on between Dyraien and Zinc, Rye knew nothing about it.
“I need to talk to you.”
Rye opened the door, and they stepped inside the room that smelled of pine and cedar. Wood dust lay on the floor. A few lightning roots flickered. Tahki reached out and touched the bottom of the boat.
“Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?” Rye said.
Rain tapped against the window. A few drops, then a few more. The downpour thumped against the obsidian roof, ringing like a sad song.
Tahki’s eyes felt swollen. “I think it’s just the wine.”
In the dim light, he saw Rye’s face tighten. Hona had said their mother was a drunk, and he’d never seen Rye touch alcohol. Wine probably brought back bad memories.
“Gods, Rye, I had no idea,” Tahki said.
He thought about Rye’s childhood, about how alone he must have felt. Tahki had lost his mother, but his father worked hard to compensate for the loss. He never realized just how hard his father had tried to fill the void their mother’s death created. He worked full-time but still managed to play with and teach his children. He didn’t shove them into the arms of some servant and forget about them. And Sornjia had been there too. As much as Tahki resented his twin, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d gone to Sornjia for help, or confided in him, or asked his brother to cover for him.
“Tahki, what’s going on?”
Tahki met his gray eyes. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“What I went through?”
“When you—” Tahki hesitated. No secrets. That’s what he promised himself. “Hona told me about your childhood.”
A pained look crossed Rye’s face, and he turned away.
“I think she just wanted me to know more about you,” Tahki said.
“She had no right.” Rye’s voice was barely a whisper. When he faced Tahki, his eyes were wide, his breath rapid. “You should have asked me if you wanted to know about my life. Instead, you went to her. You heard it from her.”
Tahki frowned. He had asked Rye about his life, but Rye always changed the subject. “I didn’t ask her to tell me. She just did.”
“And you listened.” Rye balled his fists, his voice growing louder. “You could have walked away, but you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Tahki said, taken aback. “We were eating dinner. I thought it would be rude to leave.” Maybe he’d misread Rye all along. Rye clearly didn’t want him to know about his past.
“Stop lying,” Rye said, his voice booming off the walls. “All you care about is yourself. You think everyone needs to tell you everything because you deserve to know.”
Tahki shook his head. He was no stranger to tantrum throwing and knew firsthand what it was to overreact to a situation, but he didn’t understand why Rye reacted so hysterically.
“I’m sorry,” Tahki said again. The conversation escalated too quickly. He needed to end it. “You’re right. I should have asked her to stop. It was an honest mistake. Can we just forget I said anything?”
“Forget? Are you just going to forget that I’m some sad sob story? That I was neglected and abused? That my mother was an embarrassment, that my only sister abandoned me?”
Tahki shifted uneasily. “If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” Rye snapped. “Not with you. Not anymore.” He put his hand over his mouth a moment, shaking lightly. “When I first met you, I thought you were just some pretentious kid. But then I saw your work, your passion, your imagination, and I thought maybe you were someone I could talk to, could relate to.”
Tahki nodded. “I am. You can.”
Rye laughed, a dark noise. “I know Dyraien isn’t always the best company, but at least he never pitied me or went behind my back.” His words came fast, and Tahki’s head twirled.
When he spoke again, Tahki’s voice sounded winded and desperate. “I’m not pitying you, and I didn’t go behind your back. I didn’t want secrets between us, so I came to tell you something. Something about me. Something important.”
Rye shook his head. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Stay away from me, Tahki.” Before Tahki could say more, Rye pushed past him, out of the room, and vanished into the dark.
Tahki stood, braced against the boat, heart rap
ping violently. All that progress he’d made with Rye, gone in an instant. He’d never seen Rye act so frantic. At Zinc’s, Rye had been angry, but his anger had still been contained. This Rye tonight was new. A person Tahki never knew existed.
And Tahki had been the one to bring that person out.
He paced the room and slammed his fist on Rye’s worktable. His knuckles throbbed. He kicked the chair, shoved a pile of books to the floor, sent the newspapers fluttering. Why had Hona told him? Why hadn’t Dyraien stopped her? Maybe it wasn’t Hona who’d truly done the damage. Sornjia had said Dyraien liked to control people. Had he planned this? Set up these events knowing Tahki would tell Rye, knowing Rye would hate him for it, so Dyraien could have Rye all to himself? Or had the restless nights made Tahki paranoid?
He fell to the floor and leaned against the wall. Something crinkled beneath him. He peeked down. Black words stared back at him: the newspaper Rye had been reading. It was dated the day after he left the fair. The headline read: Disaster: Steaming Chaos at the World Fair.
Tahki frowned. He spun the paper around to read.
Thomisan Corrine is being held in contempt after his Steam Locomotive exploded during a demonstration, killing seventeen and injuring over fifty. A third of the Innovation Hall has been destroyed.
A series of speculative interviews followed. They determined the tragedy to be the result of negligence. An expert—someone he didn’t recognize—claimed the coal source had been accidentally swapped for a similar black mineral that released a toxic gas when heated. The pressure had built inside the steam chamber and it had burst. Investigations were being held at the capital, and no one was allowed to leave the country until they ruled out foul play.
Tahki marveled in horror at the tremendous power that a seemingly small mechanism had. The power of machines was extraordinary. The locomotive sounded more effective than most modern weapons. If the steam machine had been larger, it might have leveled half the city.
Rain streamed down the window. His eyes followed the wet lines. Explosion. Power. A machine.
After weeks of muddled thoughts, Tahki saw the design in his mind with greater clarity than anything he’d seen before. He’d studied the locomotive in person at the fair and knew the basic components.