remembered Decatur Forloreâs quip about the repairmanâs way with machines and felt a flash of amusement. He had worried about her armature first and her wounds second, hadnât he? She imagined the exalted touched his broken clocks with exactly the same care and dispassion with which heâd touched her bare shoulder.
He laid the bloodstained towel on the table and picked up the clean one, pressing it over the cut. âThat will be enough of a bandage for the flight to your eyrie.â
âThank you.â She buttoned her suit and reached for the floating harness.
âGive the cuts on your hand a few more minutes to clot.â He pushed up his spectacles, turning away. âDo you want to see them fly?â
Taya studied his back, confused by the sudden change of subject. Then she remembered the mechanical birds.
âPlease. If you donât mind.â
He untied one of the toys, holding it gently as he wound the key. The gaslight flashed on his glasses again.
âMy mother gave these to my brother and me, when we were little.â He held the bird up with both hands and spread his fingers.
The clockwork wings beat and the little bird took off, darting across the room and hitting the opposite wall. It floated there, its beak pressed against the wall and its wings still flapping uselessly.
Cristof walked across the room and turned it with one finger. The bird flew away again, coming to an abrupt stop at the next wall.
âTheyâre meant to be used outdoors,â he said. âOr in a very long hallway, preferably with an unsuspecting adult at the other end.â
Taya laughed, and for a brief instant Cristofâs thin lips twisted upward in response. He retrieved the bird. Its wings were winding down, their beating slowing, but its ondium core kept it floating between his hands.
âMy brother broke this one and threw it away. I decided to fix it for him. It took me six years to learn how, but now it flies as well as ever.â Pride shone in his pale eyes as he regarded the tiny mechanism. âNobody makes these anymore. Using ondium in a childrenâs toy is too much of an extravagance now that the main veins have been tapped out.â
âI think theyâre wonderful.â Taya smiled. âDid you give it back to your brother?â
âNo. By the time Iâd fixed it, heâd moved on to other toys and didnât want it anymore.â
âOh. Thatâs too bad.â
âItâs typical.â He turned and tied the bird back to the shelf. âAlister adores his toys until they disappoint him. Then he throws them away.â His voice turned sour.
âAlister?â Taya felt a jolt of recognition. Sheâd already heard Cristof use that name once today. âYou donât meanââ But of course he did. It made perfect sense. âDecatur Forlore is your brother?â
Cristofâs hands stopped.
âI thought you knew.â
âNo, I didnât.â She faltered. âBut, if heâs your brother, why are you living down here?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, heâs a decatur, and heâs still speaking to you, so why doesnât he bring you back to Primus?â
âI have no interest in going back to Primus.â His voice had turned cold, but Taya forged on.
âBut you donât want to be outcaste, do you?â
Face twisting in rage, Cristof turned and slammed a hand down on the table.
âMy brother and my caste are none of your business, Icarus!â
Taya flinched, then slid off the chair and dropped to one knee, pressing her palm against her forehead.
âIâm sorry, Exalted,â she said, furious at herself. How could she have forgotten her manners around an exalted, even an exalted in exile? Some future diplomat!
âStand up.â Cristofâs voice was tight.
She glanced at him. His face was pale with anger. She bowed again, feeling
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