Geomancer (Well of Echoes) by Ian Irvine

was a different matter. He felt that he might be in love with her. Now he looked up to see Tiaan on her way back. Putting down his wrench, he stared at her. She was above him, and yet beneath, for she came from the breeding factory and did not know her father. To lose a father was commonplace, in these times. Not to know his identity was a major failing in a world obsessed with family and Histories.
    Tiaan carried her head high, though not aloof as Irisis did. Tiaan seemed oblivious to her surroundings, as if the only world that mattered was inside her head. The Ice Virgin, some called her, but Nish knew better. He felt he understood her too. She had the reputation as the hardest worker in the manufactory, and the cleverest. She was trying to make up for something. Was it her unfortunate birth? Her lack of a father?
    She wore loose trousers and a blouse of grey flax, with old but well-cared-for grey boots. More was not tolerable here, just across from the furnaces. Her breasts bobbed with her light step, a sight that liquefied his middle. Desire made him forget everything.
    Do it now! She’s a quiet little thing. She will listen and be flattered. He hesitated too long. Without a glance, without even knowing he was there, Tiaan went by. She wore a faint, internal smile. Her glossy black hair bounced against the back of her neck.
    Soon she would turn the corner and be gone, down to her own workroom in the cold part of the manufactory. Go on, you fool! Today you have something to offer. Not even the Ice Virgin will refuse you now. She has the breeding factory in her blood and her belly. She’s just holding out for the best offer, and no one can best you.
    Dropping his tools on the bench, Nish wiped his greasy hands on a rag and ran after her, up the aisle and round the corner to the section where the artisans and all the other clean crafts worked. Inside, the artisans’ workshop was sealed off by double doors designed to exclude all dust and dross.
    Tiaan was already out of sight. He burst through the doors without putting on a clean overall or taking off his filthy boots. Everyone stared. He did not notice.
    ‘Tiaan!’ he cried. ‘Artisan Tiaan!’
    She was going through the door into her own cubicle, but turned at his wild cry. ‘Yes?’
    He ran up to her, froze, then forced the words out.
    ‘Tiaan, I admire your work tremendously. I … I think you are the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.’
    For an instant he saw panic in her eyes. Anger covered it up. ‘If you admire it so much,’ she said frostily, ‘why are you dropping your filth and grease everywhere?’
    Recalling the state of his clothes, he flushed. Sheer desperation propelled him on. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up.’
    ‘Don’t bother. What do you want, artificer?’
    ‘Just to talk to you. You’re brilliant, Tiaan.’
    ‘You already said that.’
    ‘Would you … Would …?’ He faltered under her astonished stare. Her lips were the reddish-purple colour of pulped blackberries. He wanted to crush his mouth against them.
    ‘What?’ she snapped.
    ‘I thought … perhaps dinner … or a walk along the path to the lookout … and then …’ He couldn’t get it out, with the prentices sniggering and rolling their eyes at each other. Artisan Fistila Tyr, who was heavily pregnant, set to with her grinding wheel to cover it up.
    Tiaan turned those unusual eyes on him, scanning Nish from smoky cheeks to grease-stained hands and filthy boots. He felt sure he knew what she was thinking. Not only is he dirty and spotty and inarticulate, but he’s a runt!
    ‘Yes?’ she said in a low voice that had the prentices bending over their work. Nish recognised the danger, but if he did not speak now he would never be able to.
    ‘We both have our duty to perform. I thought we might share your bed!’ he burst out. ‘Or mine, if you prefer. I have …’
    Her honey skin flushed red-brown. For a full minute she could not meet his eye; then Tiaan drew