Clockwork Heart by Dru Pagliassotti Page A

sick.
    â€œI’m sorry, Exalted,” she repeated.
    â€œDammit, Icarus, stand up!”
    She scrambled to her feet, bracing herself for a slap.
    â€œLook at me!”
    She risked another glance and saw him glaring at her. She dropped her eyes again, not daring to anger him any further.
    â€œYou see?” he asked bitterly. “That’s exactly what I hate about my caste. You’re brave enough to stab a Demican who’s twice as tall and as strong as you are, but all an exalted has to do is raise his voice and you’re on your knees.”
    â€œI apologize,” she said. “I was out of line.”
    â€œLook at me when you speak. You’re not a slave.”
    She swallowed and looked up.
    He started to say something, then closed his mouth and scowled. For a second the only sound in the shop was the ticking and whirring of clockwork. They stared at each other.
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œTaya Icarus, Exalted.”
    â€œIcarii stand outside the traditional caste hierarchy. The next time an exalted shouts at you, stay on your feet and answer him like an equal.”
    â€œI can’t do that, Exalted Forlore.”
    â€œWhy not?” His voice was sharp.
    â€œIt wouldn’t be respectful. An exalted could take away my wings.” She shivered at the thought. “I’m sorry I made you angry.”
    â€œI’m not going to take away your wings, Icarus. I’m barely an exalted now, anyway.”
    â€œYou still wear the castemarks.”
    He touched his copper-skinned cheek, his scowl deepening.
    â€œDo you think wearing them makes me a coward? Do you think I should burn them away, or ink them over?”
    â€œNo,” she protested, sensing she was on dangerous ground again. This man is a test in diplomacy all by himself. She reached for her armature, pulling it toward her and untying it from the table. The sooner she could get out of here, the better. “I think you’d be foolish to give up your caste. The Lady granted you an exalted rebirth for a reason, and it would be a sin to treat it lightly.”
    He fell silent as she slipped on her armature and reached for its buckles.
    â€œDo you like being an icarus?”
    â€œYes, Exalted.” She tightened the straps. The cut on her shoulder was going to hurt on the way back up, but she was eager to leave. “I wouldn’t want to be anything else.”
    â€œThen it would be foolish of the Council to take away your wings at the whim of an angry exalted. The city barely has enough icarii as it is. If you understood how valuable you were to Ondinium, you wouldn’t be so intimidated by authority.”
    â€œI have to adjust this outside,” she said, sliding her arms into the wings long enough to lock them into tight-rest close to her body. She lost no time escaping the small, noisy shop but, to her chagrin, Cristof followed.
    Outside, light from the gas streetlamps washed the narrow street in black and white. Taya unlocked her wings and spread them out, testing the joints and tilt, making sure the feathers closed and opened correctly. Everything seemed to function.
    â€œGo straight back to your eyrie until you can get your shoulder tended,” Cristof directed.
    â€œI will.” His peremptory tone was grating, especially after he’d made such a fuss over icarii being equal to exalteds. She had to bite back the urge to point out his hypocrisy. “I—”
    The clocks in his shop began to chime, a hundred different bells ringing at the same instant.
    A loud explosion ripped through the air and the ground trembled.
    Taya whipped around and saw flames rising in the distance. She took a step forward.
    â€œDon’t!” Cristof snapped.
    â€œThey’ll need—”
    â€œOthers will attend to it.” Cristof grasped her arm. “Your armature is damaged and you’ve been hurt. You’ll only be a danger to yourself and the rescue