Clockwork Heart (10 page)

“That's all right. I have to fly early tomorrow.” Taya eyed his watch. “Did your brother make that?”

Alister unhooked the chain and handed it to her. “He did.”

The decatur's watch was gold, too, but the case had been engraved with a fancy sun-and-moon pattern, with an inlay of white and red metal. Taya opened it the way Cristof had shown her. The watch face was a shiny black surface filigreed in silver and gold and repeating the celestial pattern on the case. Tiny diamonds marked the hours and looked like twinkling stars.

The vibration felt the same as Cristof's watch; like the steady beat of a tiny heart.

“Did you choose the design?” Taya asked, looking up.

“More or less. Cris said he'd make me a watch as a graduation present and asked what I wanted. I told him I'd like a sun on it, but he's the one who designed the pattern for the jeweler. That's platinum and red gold, and the face is an ondium and iron alloy. I didn't ask how he got his hands on ondium. Through the black market, I expect. He said it's perfectly counterweighted— if I ever took out the face and let it go, it would float without moving.”

“It's beautiful.”

“I'm sure it cost him a fortune, but since he barely touches his inheritance, I imagine our accountants didn't complain too much.”

“He must love you a lot, to make you a present like this.” Taya handed it back.

“Well, we're brothers.” Alister tucked it into his sleeve, looking thoughtful. “Will you forgive me if I fail to escort you to the door? I would have to put on my public robe and mask, and I wouldn't even be able to say good-bye.”

“Of course. I understand.” She bowed, pressing her palm against her forehead. “Thank you for dinner and the pleasant conversation, Exalted. You've been very kind.”

He grabbed her hand as she straightened and brought it to his lips, smiling as he kissed her fingers. Taya swallowed, meeting his eyes and melting at the humor and warmth she saw in their green depths.

“Nor could I do that in a mask and robes,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“You're going to make it very awkward for us to meet again in Oporphyr Tower,” she said, her heart pounding.

“I know how to admire from afar. I just don't enjoy it.” He released her with a show of reluctance. “I intend to see you again. Before my cousin's party, if I can possibly clear my calendar.”

“I'd like that.” She stepped back. “Good night, Exalted.”

“Alister.”

“Alister.”

He called in his servant, who escorted Taya through the antechamber and out to the front door. Gregor was waiting outside, finishing an ale. He handed it to the servant when he saw Taya.

“Eat well, then?” he asked, opening the coach door. Taya looked inside and sighed.

“Too well. I don't think I can stand being jolted around inside that stuffy box, Gregor. Can I ride on top with you?”

“The exalted would have my head if he found out, he would.”

“Don't be silly.” Taya examined the side of the coach, gauging how to climb up. “Please? I ride on top or I walk.”

The coachman sighed, closed the door, and helped her up.

The next day Taya went back to work, pleased to find her wings repaired. None of her deliveries took her to Oporphyr Tower, but Alister sent a note to the dispatch office, thanking her for a lovely evening and apologizing for not being able to get out of his obligations that evening. Taya felt a second's regret, then tucked the note into one of her flight-suit pockets and finished her day's work.

On the day after that, she was amused to find a message asking for her by name, ordering her to fly to Exalted Forlore's office to pick up a package for the University. Alister did have a package for her, but he kept her chatting for half an hour, shamelessly flirting and begging her to take him flying with her someday. Taya promised to make some inquiries. The flight dock kept a special set of wings for visitors, but they were usually foreign ambassadors who didn't have to worry about caste propriety. She didn't know what it would involve to borrow them for an exalted. They'd have to go somewhere remote, where he could fly without a mask and not be seen.

“I don't trust him,” Pyke declared after she told Cassi about the day's meeting. They were sitting at their usual table in the eyrie dining room, their voices pitched low to keep the rest of the icarii from overhearing. “He's moving too fast.”

“Too fast?” Cassi rolled her eyes. “Dinner and a chat in his office is hardly ‘too fast.' It's a perfectly respectable pace.”

“But all this flirting…”

“Is fine, as long as Taya doesn't mind. You should try flirting, Pyke. Girls like to be flattered, you know.”

“Alister flirts well,” Taya said, smiling at the memory of his lingering touches and long gazes. “It's harmless.”

“And if he goes beyond flirting?”

“Then she's a lucky girl,” Cassi said, with finality.

“I don't know if he will,” Taya admitted. “I don't know if he's just amusing himself or if he means it.”

“How can you possibly like a man you don't trust to be sincere?” Pyke exclaimed.

“It's not that I don't trust him! I just don't know him well yet. But I'm having fun. If he wants to keep flirting and flattering until we're both old and grey, that's fine. But it would be kind of nice to know what he's thinking.”

“And if he's serious? Do you really think a cross-caste relationship between an exalted and an icarus can work out?”

“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘work out,'” Taya murmured. She'd been wondering the same thing.

“Well, that's the point, isn't it?” Pyke retorted. “We all know what people think about icarii. What if he uses you as a bed partner for a few months and then gets bored and moves on?”

“That might not be so bad,” Cassi pointed out. “The exalted is handsome, rich, powerful, and charming. What makes you think Taya doesn't want a little no-strings-attached fun?”

Pyke scowled. “Taya's not that kind of girl!”

“Quiet,” Taya said, reaching across the table to touch his wrist. Other icarii were glancing at them. “Honestly, I wouldn't expect anything more than that from an exalted.”

“Yes, and if you're going to act like a jealous ex, go away,” Cassi said, piqued. “Taya needs friendly advice, not offended masculinity.”

“My friendly advice is to leave him alone,” Pyke growled.

“And my friendly advice is to enjoy yourself and see what happens.” Cassilta gave her an envious look. “Why doesn't some handsome exalted chase after me? I can't even attract an annoying conspiracy theorist.” She kicked Pyke, who muttered under his breath.

“Taya Icarus?”

The three of them looked up at the icarus in the doorway. All the other icarii in the room raised their arms and pointed in their direction.

Taya stood and led the messenger out to the parlor. He wore a military corps insignia on his flight leathers. That made sense— courier icarii didn't fly at night, unless they were caught out past sunset or there was an emergency. Which meant—

“Is it my father?” she asked, fearfully. “Did something happen to my family?”

“Not that I know of.” He handed her the note. “You're the Taya who rescued Exalted Octavus?”

“Yes.” She unfolded the message, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was from Lieutenant Amcathra, telling her that a wounded Demican had been reported by one of the Tertius physicians and arrested on suspicion of being her mugger. The lieutenant wanted her to identify him.

“That rescue was good work,” the other icarus said with approval. “Have you ever thought about joining the military corps? You've got the guts for it.”

“Actually, I just took the diplomacy exams.”

“Too bad. If it doesn't work out, keep us in mind. You wouldn't need to memorize all that cultural scrap, and we could use a talented flier like you.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, although she didn't think she could take a job where she might have to kill someone. Just looking at Lieutenant Amcathra's note made her feel guilty all over again. “Does the lictor want me right now?”

“Of course he does. He's at Tallyfield Hospital. You want to walk, or should I get your wings from the docks?”

“I can walk down there in the time it would take you to sign out my wings,” she said, with a touch of regret. “Please tell him I'm on my way. Thank you, and fly safely.”

He waved and ducked through the doorway. Taya told her friends where she was going, then ran upstairs to grab her coat and gloves.

The walk down Cliff Road was cold and long, but Secundus was still lively in the early evening, with people dining and drinking, attending plays and hurrying to friends' houses. In half an hour Taya arrived at Tallyfield Plaza, where the hospital stood on one corner.

She entered the main foyer, blinking in the light of its gas lamps and pulling off her gloves.

“Icarus.” Lieutenant Amcathra rose from a chair and beckoned to her. “I require you to look at the prisoner and tell me if he is the man who attacked you.”

“So you're handling the case? I thought you'd be investigating the wireferry accident.”

“That investigation is also in progress.”

“You must get all the tough jobs,” she joked, hurrying to keep up with him as he walked. He didn't answer, and although she studied his face, his black lictor's stripe and Demican stolidity made his expression impossible to read.

Deciding she'd get nowhere trying to engage him in small talk, Taya concentrated on following him to the Demican's hospital room, where another lictor unlocked the door.

“That's him,” Taya said at once, recognizing her attacker's face. Then she stepped forward, alarmed. He was breathing irregularly, and he looked pale. “What's wrong with him?”

“Infection.”

“Oh, Lady.” She felt a chill. “Was it—”

“His wounds were deep, and he did not have them tended at once.”

“Is he going to die?”

“I do not know. I am certain the physicians will do what they can.” Amcathra sounded uninterested.

The Demican prisoner opened his eyes and looked straight at her. Taya recoiled, and Amcathra's hand fell on her arm, moving her aside. He stepped up to the bedside and looked down at his ancestral countryman.

“This icarus has identified you as the man who attacked her,” he snapped, in Demican. “Do you understand me?”

The wounded man took a labored breath.

“I understand.”

“You were working with two Alzanans.”

“They left me to die.”

“Of course,” Amcathra agreed. “What else would you expect? A warrior should choose honorable companions, not thieves.”

“I am shamed.” The man fought for breath again, lips pale. “Please do not tell my family.”

“Who were your partners?”

“Delfo,” the man husked. “And Miceli. Delfo had the net. Leader.”

“Where did you meet them?”

“A bar in Slagside. Red door.”

“Name?”

“I do not know.”

Amcathra inclined his head.

“Very well. I will return with an artist for a better description later. Rest and heal, warrior. You may live to regain your honor, if you are lucky.”

The man nodded once and closed his eyes. Taya slipped next to Amcathra and touched the man's hand.

“You fought well,” she said, also in Demican.

The man pried his eyes open once more, looking at her.

“And you,” he replied, formally. “But the gun. That is not a warrior's weapon.”

“It will be,” Amcathra predicted, and then drew her away. “Come,” he said, switching back to Ondinan. “Let him rest. He will not trouble you again.”

Taya waited until they were outside. “Will he go free, if you catch the Alzanans?”

“That will depend upon the judge. Maybe he will die of his wounds.”

Taya shivered at the Demican's cold pragmatism. “I hope not.”

“You will not be found at fault if he does. Your testimony and that of Exalted Forlore makes it clear that you acted in self defense.”

“Forlore — you mean, Alister? The decatur?”

“No.”

“Cristof?”

“Yes. I will ask him to identify the man tomorrow, but it is only to be thorough.”

She made a face. “Icarii get called away from their dinners, but exalteds get to wait until morning?”

“Victims are called at once, and secondary witnesses are allowed to wait until the next day,” Amcathra corrected her. “Exalted Forlore's testimony is of less importance than yours.”

“I'm sorry. That makes sense.”

“I hope you will tell your friend that I did not beat or brainwash you or your attacker.”

Taya laughed. “I said I was sorry! But yes, I'll tell him.”

“You were kind to compliment the prisoner's fighting, though he does not deserve such honor.”

“Well, he probably would have killed me, if … if Exalted Forlore hadn't come along and shot him.”

“Someday guns will overwhelm Demicus,” Amcathra said, with a touch of regret. “Every Demican will kill with the twitch of a finger, and a warrior's bravery will mean nothing.”

“Ondinium doesn't sell arms.”

“Not all countries are so cautious. If our elders are wise, they will adopt Ondinum's laws against bearing firearms.”

“They wouldn't do that, would they? I thought most Demicans compare Ondinium to hell.”

“Ondinium may be hell, but it is an orderly hell. Demicus will not be so orderly, once guns arrive.”

Chapter Six

On the day of the ball, Taya and Cassi took a half-day off so Taya could return to Jayce's shop for last-minute tailoring and grooming.

“Good, good,” Jayce murmured. “We're still finishing the sewing, but I'm glad you're here early.”

“Do you have plans for Taya's hair?” Cassi demanded, pushing Taya down into a chair.

“Nothing that requires a particular style.”

“Good.”

“Bad,” objected the famulate hairdresser he'd called in. “Look at how short this is! What am I supposed to do with it, then?”

“Make it gorgeous.” Cassi turned to her nephew and began grilling him about the dress. The hairdresser rolled her eyes and combed her fingers through Taya's loose curls.

“Well,” she said, “at least the color is interesting, isn't it? I don't work with auburn very often. Mareaux, are you?”

“On my father's side. He was born a citizen,” she added. To some Ondiniums, that mattered.

“Good you inherited his fair skin, then,” the hairdresser commented, holding her coppery hand against Taya's hair. “Could be worse.”

By the time evening arrived, Taya understood why the vigilante heroes in plays wore masks. She'd been poked, pinched, pinned, primped, and put down to within an inch of her life. The next time she rescued someone, she was going to sneak off without telling anyone her name. That way she wouldn't have to dress up for a thank-you party.

“I can't do this,” she said with despair, setting down the bowl of soup that Cassi had handed her. “I'm going to say something stupid and embarrass myself.”

“Oh, don't be silly. You're the guest of honor.” Cassi leaned over and patted her knee. “Exalted Octavus owes you her life, so short of throwing up all over the banquet table, there's nothing you can do that's going to offend her.”

“Great.” Taya looked at her bowl. “Is that why you're making me eat now? So I won't throw up?”

“No. I'm making you eat now because you're not going to be able to once we strap you into that corset. Besides, it's more ladylike if all you do is nibble.”

“Ladylike.” Taya groaned. “I don't think I can do ladylike.”

“You
will
do ladylike,” Cassi's nephew commanded, in a voice like steel. “You don't have any choice. Cassi, I'm going to sew her into this. You'll have to cut her out of it tonight. Use the back seam.”

“So much for seducing that handsome decatur,” Cassi said with mock sorrow.

Taya's cheeks burned.

“Once you're out of this dress, you're not getting back into it.” Jayce pondered the problem. “However … it
would
be good for business if you seduced a decatur while you were wearing it. Very well. I give you my permission. But you'll have to wear something of his to get back home. And for the Lady's sake, bring me back whatever scraps you can salvage.”

“I'm not going to seduce anyone!” Taya protested, her blush deepening.

“Well, I'm sleeping on your bed tonight,” Cassi warned her, “so if you don't come home, I expect to hear
all
the details.”

“What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?”

“A sexually deprived one,” Cassi said, archly. “You and Pyke never got anywhere.”

Taya drew in a sharp breath. “Did he tell you that?”

“Ah-hah! It's true!”

“Cassi!”

“I was just checking,” her friend said, sounding complacent. “I don't want to sleep with someone you've already slept with. It'd be tacky.”

“Ladies,” Jayce snarled, “we have two hours until the party. Divvy up your men while I sew.”

One hour before the party, Taya stood in front of a mirror feeling more frightened than she had at any point during the aerial rescue.

“I don't dare move,” she said, staring at herself.

Jayce and his assistants had decided to dress her in white and gold because “exalteds always wear jewel tones. I want you to stand out.” The top half of the dress was a slender, low-necked sheath that hugged her chest and waist like a second skin, growing looser on her hips to become a slit skirt that gave her room to walk. A tight corset kept her back straight and pulled her waist in another inch. Taya blinked at the unaccustomed sight of her cleavage being pushed up and out. Maybe she wasn't as flat-chested as Jayce had led her to believe. Of course, she couldn't breathe, but she thought the trade-off might be worth it.

Jayce had sewn a delicate line of gold-edged white feathers up the dress, coiling along the bottom hem, over one hip, between her breasts, and up the low neckline to her shoulder. The dress straps were as slender as he could make them and still cover the healing wound on her shoulder, and her arms were bare.

She turned and looked over her shoulder. The line of feathers wound down to her waist to complete the circle around her body. Every time she moved, feathers rustled against each other and the feathers over her shoulders brushed her bare arm. The sensation was strange but pleasant.

Jayce had insisted she wear long white gloves to cover the healing cuts on her knuckles and to make her bare upper arms more striking. He'd found long, soft cross-laced white boots for her legs that hinted at an icarus's much more utilitarian footwear, and he'd run a line of white feathers down their sides. “Unusual. A little defiant,” Jayce had said with approval, looking at her. “They'll be easy to dance in, and the fabric hides your calves.”

“What's wrong—”

“‘Muscles aren't ladylike.'” Cassi rolled her eyes at Taya. “Don't pay any attention to him. Jay-jay likes his women plump and cuddly.”

“A man who prefers women with hard bodies might as well sleep with another man,” Jayce retorted. Cassilta swatted her nephew across the head.

“Watch it, brat. Chicks might be cuter than eagles, but eagles bring home dinner and defend the nest.”

“Barbarian.” Jayce placed a delicate gold mesh over Taya's newly trimmed hair and began weaving white and gold feathers into it, pulling them behind her ears. Taya stood motionless, watching as he created narrow, swooping wings from brow to nape. Cassi had already done her face for her, pulling a surprising number of tiny jars from her purse.

“You carry all this with you?” Taya had asked, amazed, holding up a small jar of lip paint.

“You don't?” Cassi had countered.

Now they both looked at her reflection as Jayce stepped back.

“That is a completely outrageous dress,” Cassi said with delight. “I've never seen anything like it. Jaws are going to drop.”

“I don't know about this,” Taya fretted. She hardly recognized herself. She looked like she'd just stepped off the stage of some fairy-tale opera. Alister's joke about exalteds and their layers of embroidered robes returned to her, and she wondered how much of a scandal she'd cause, showing off her figure so brazenly at an exalted party. “Maybe I should wear something that … covers more.”

“Covers more? You're an icarus!” Jayce reached forward to tease curls of her hair down around her face. “Freedom defines your caste. You don't want to wear the same dowdy fashions the cardinal or plebeian castes would wear. And if there's one thing exalteds aren't, it's free. Besides, you're too small to carry off layers of robes.” He regarded her with satisfaction. “This sets a new standard for icarus fashion. I'm a genius.”

“You're a genius, kid,” Cassi agreed, hugging her nephew and ruffling his hair. “Now come on; let's see if Taya's coach is here.”

Estate Octavus stood on the highest street in Primus sector, surrounded by other exalteds' mansions. The street's cobbles were flat and smooth, laid together like pieces of a puzzle, and the gas lamps were small masterpieces of ironwork placed every twenty feet to keep the neighborhood bright. Taya had visited the street before, but only to deliver messages. The mansions' peaked, slate-tiled roofs and forbidding iron gates looked more much imposing when she approached them at ground level.

Carriages blocked the road, and everywhere she looked, masked and robed exalteds were flowing into the estate, followed by liveried lower-caste servants.

Peering out the window of Gregor's coach, Taya touched her lips, worried. Was she going to be mistaken for a servant, showing up at the party without a mask? Then she pulled her fingers away before she could disturb all the work Cassi had done. To give her hands something to do, she stroked the soft velvet cloak Jayce had let her borrow for the night.

Lady, what am I doing here?
She twitched the window curtain back even farther, impressed by the sight of ivory and gold masks glittering in the lamplight and silk and silver hems sliding over spotless streets. Long embroidered sleeves dangled over the exalteds' fingertips, so that only their long glossy hair, caught up around their heads in complicated braids and loops, revealed that the creatures beneath the masks and robes might be human.

“Ostentatious incapacitation,” Pyke had called exalteds' coverings. Baroque, mouthless masks to prove they didn't need to give orders. Heavy, movement-inhibiting garments to prove they didn't need to run or carry. Everything an exalted might need to say or do in public should be anticipated by their perfectly trained lower-caste servants, and if it wasn't, there was nothing the exalted could do about it without outraging tradition.

The way Viera Octavus had briefly outraged it by abandoning her mask and robe to lift her child to safety.

Despite Pyke's scorn, Taya thought the sight of so many ornately covered aristocrats was eerie and majestic. Very few people were privileged to see behind the masks, which gave exalteds an air of mystique that the nobility of other countries lacked. Maybe that's why other countries had so many revolutions. People there took their rulers for granted. Exalteds, by contrast, stood apart from the rest of humanity by virtue of their elite birth and strict code of conduct.

A footman approached her coach and spoke to Gregor, then tapped on the door.

“Taya Icarus?”

She drew in a deep breath.

“I'm here,” she replied as he opened the door. The cold autumn air made her pull her cloak close around her.

“May I escort you to the door? Lady Octavus told us to bring you in as soon as you arrived.”

“Thank you.” She took his hand and let him help her out of the coach, grateful for his assistance. Sitting and standing in a tight dress wasn't a maneuver she'd ever needed to practice before.

“Good luck, Icarus,” Gregor called out. “The man there says your transportation home's been taken care of already.”

She turned and waved.

“Thank you, Gregor.”

He gave her a cheery salute.

Heads turned as they walked through the street and entered the estate gates. Taya shivered under her cloak, feeling naked compared to all the covered guests around her.
Well, there's no turning back now
, she thought, squaring her shoulders.
If nothing else, this dress will confirm the fast-and-loose reputation of icarii everywhere
.

The doors were wide open and the foyer was lit by a thousand wax candles placed on high shelves and chandeliers, well above the long sleeves and dragging hems of the exalteds' heavy robes. Gold-framed mirrors reflected the light and the guests in an endless regression that made Taya dizzy. She swallowed as dozens of featureless ivory masks turned to watch her.

The footman led her through the foyer to the inner doors.

“May I take your cloak?” he asked. She glanced around and saw that here, safely away from the street, exalteds were shedding their public robes and pulling off their polished masks, laughing and greeting each other like normal people.

“Of course.” She slipped out of the velvet cloak that had seemed so luxurious in Jayce's shop but now struck her as thin and tawdry compared to the exalteds' garments.

It doesn't matter
, she reminded herself.
Nobody expects me to dress like an exalted.

I hope.

Heads turned as the footman took it and revealed her bare upper arms and daring décolletage.

Bracing herself, Taya stepped inside the reception room. Strangers turned to stare. She froze, wondering what to do.

A woman broke away from the crowd, and Taya recognized her hostess, Viera Octavus.

“Taya Icarus,” she said, her strong voice carrying through the chamber. “We are honored that you have come.”

Light applause greeted her words. Taya kept her gaze fixed on the woman as she walked across the ballroom floor. They met in the center of the ballroom and Viera grasped her hands, leaning forward to rest one blue-tattooed cheek against hers.

“Thank you,” the exalted said, and then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don't look so nervous.”

Taya gave the exalted a crooked smile as they separated. Was it that obvious? Viera slid an arm through hers, leading her back to her husband, a tall, patrician man with silver hair and a lined face. The decatur had married a much younger woman.

“Caster,” Viera said, “this is Taya Icarus.”

The elderly decatur smiled at her. Taya bowed, touching her gloved palm to her forehead.

“I am pleased to meet you, Taya.” When she straightened, Caster took her hand and held it. “I cannot thank you enough for saving the two most important people in my life.”

This time Taya didn't start, and she was glad Alister had accustomed her to being touched by the upper-caste.

“I was just—” she remembered the fictional interview in
The Watchmen
and deliberately chose different words. “It was my pleasure, Exalted.”

“I doubt it was a pleasure, Icarus, but I am grateful nonetheless. Come. I'll introduce you to the rest of the Council.”

He took her arm and led her away, Viera on his other side. Taya was glad that her gloves kept her palms from sweating on Caster Octavus's embroidered silk sleeve.