tangling her fingers in the downy hair and tugging. He snapped awake.
‘Cryl-Nish, lover,’ she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. She wanted him capable of thinking just one thing.
He rolled over, pressing himself against her. Irisis kept him away with her hip. He froze. There was a message in the movement, though clearly he had no idea what it was. Good.
Irisis inspected him, the sheet up around her throat. As if by accident she let it fall, revealing one heavy breast swaying above his face. His eye followed it and she knew she had him.
‘We know what you want, Cryl-Nish.’ He reached for her. She moved back, saying thoughtfully, ‘I hear your father is no longer an examiner.’
‘He is chief perquisitor for the entire Einunar region,’ he said importantly.
‘Oh?’ Irisis was impressed but did not want to show it. She allowed him to bask in reflected glory for just a moment. ‘But what about the scrutator?’
His chest deflated. She had caught him trying to make his father seem more important than he was. He looked down at the rumpled bed, perhaps thinking that she was trying to make a fool of him.
‘Anyway,’ Irisis waved a hand, knowing it made other parts of her oscillate delightfully, ‘who cares about all that stuff? I’m
much
more interested in you.’
‘Me? Why?’ Nish was staring at her dark, puckered nipple. He would do anything to have more of her.
‘I’ve always had my eye on you, Cryl-Nish.’ That was a lie, of course. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
He began on the story of his life, suitably edited to impress. He had not gone far when she interrupted. ‘I know all that. But there’s one thing I don’t understand …’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why you’re here at all. You’re not an artificer, Cryl-Nish.’
‘I am!’ He sat up angrily. ‘And I’ve worked damned hard to become one.’
She pushed him down. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course you’re an artificer, and a good one too …’
‘Don’t patronise me!’ Rolling out of bed, he reached for his trousers.
The sheet slid away, exposing the other breast and her artisan’s pliance hanging between them. He swallowed. Putting out her arms, she pulled his face against her bosom. Nish resisted, but not for very long.
‘What I meant to say was … Your father sent you here for another reason, surely? A more important one than becoming an artificer. You would be much more valuable as a scribe, an assistant to a merchant, or even, one day, secretary to the scrutator.’
‘Yes,’ he said thickly, intoxicated by her. He lacked the experience to put her body out of mind.
‘What is it?’ Irisis stroked his chest with two fingertips.
‘I’m also a prober,’ he said rashly. That meant a prentice inquisitor, lowest on the rank that ran prober, querist, perquisitor and, unthinkably powerful, scrutator.
‘A spy!’ she exclaimed, tucking the sheet across her front.
He reached for it, more confidently now. She allowed him to caress her through the fabric before drawing away again. He hastened to reassure her.
‘Not a spy. A watcher, helping to maintain order. This is a vital manufactory …’
‘Is it?’ she said. ‘But there are hundreds. Why is ours so important?’ Irisis leaned forward.
‘We build the best clankers, because we make the finest controllers of all.’
‘Why is that?’ she whispered, taking his hand and sliding it inside the sheet.
Nish’s eyes bulged. Sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘Because,’ he said hoarsely, ‘we have the most perfect hedrons and the best artisans anywhere. The scrutator wants to know why, to protect us from harm and make sure no one steals our secrets.’
‘Someone has to be the best. And if we have the best crystals, it stands to reason we would make the best controllers …’
She looked at him sideways. He hesitated, knowing he’d said more than he should. She slipped her hand lower. He groaned.
‘It’s something about this
‘Cryl-Nish, lover,’ she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. She wanted him capable of thinking just one thing.
He rolled over, pressing himself against her. Irisis kept him away with her hip. He froze. There was a message in the movement, though clearly he had no idea what it was. Good.
Irisis inspected him, the sheet up around her throat. As if by accident she let it fall, revealing one heavy breast swaying above his face. His eye followed it and she knew she had him.
‘We know what you want, Cryl-Nish.’ He reached for her. She moved back, saying thoughtfully, ‘I hear your father is no longer an examiner.’
‘He is chief perquisitor for the entire Einunar region,’ he said importantly.
‘Oh?’ Irisis was impressed but did not want to show it. She allowed him to bask in reflected glory for just a moment. ‘But what about the scrutator?’
His chest deflated. She had caught him trying to make his father seem more important than he was. He looked down at the rumpled bed, perhaps thinking that she was trying to make a fool of him.
‘Anyway,’ Irisis waved a hand, knowing it made other parts of her oscillate delightfully, ‘who cares about all that stuff? I’m
much
more interested in you.’
‘Me? Why?’ Nish was staring at her dark, puckered nipple. He would do anything to have more of her.
‘I’ve always had my eye on you, Cryl-Nish.’ That was a lie, of course. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
He began on the story of his life, suitably edited to impress. He had not gone far when she interrupted. ‘I know all that. But there’s one thing I don’t understand …’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why you’re here at all. You’re not an artificer, Cryl-Nish.’
‘I am!’ He sat up angrily. ‘And I’ve worked damned hard to become one.’
She pushed him down. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course you’re an artificer, and a good one too …’
‘Don’t patronise me!’ Rolling out of bed, he reached for his trousers.
The sheet slid away, exposing the other breast and her artisan’s pliance hanging between them. He swallowed. Putting out her arms, she pulled his face against her bosom. Nish resisted, but not for very long.
‘What I meant to say was … Your father sent you here for another reason, surely? A more important one than becoming an artificer. You would be much more valuable as a scribe, an assistant to a merchant, or even, one day, secretary to the scrutator.’
‘Yes,’ he said thickly, intoxicated by her. He lacked the experience to put her body out of mind.
‘What is it?’ Irisis stroked his chest with two fingertips.
‘I’m also a prober,’ he said rashly. That meant a prentice inquisitor, lowest on the rank that ran prober, querist, perquisitor and, unthinkably powerful, scrutator.
‘A spy!’ she exclaimed, tucking the sheet across her front.
He reached for it, more confidently now. She allowed him to caress her through the fabric before drawing away again. He hastened to reassure her.
‘Not a spy. A watcher, helping to maintain order. This is a vital manufactory …’
‘Is it?’ she said. ‘But there are hundreds. Why is ours so important?’ Irisis leaned forward.
‘We build the best clankers, because we make the finest controllers of all.’
‘Why is that?’ she whispered, taking his hand and sliding it inside the sheet.
Nish’s eyes bulged. Sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘Because,’ he said hoarsely, ‘we have the most perfect hedrons and the best artisans anywhere. The scrutator wants to know why, to protect us from harm and make sure no one steals our secrets.’
‘Someone has to be the best. And if we have the best crystals, it stands to reason we would make the best controllers …’
She looked at him sideways. He hesitated, knowing he’d said more than he should. She slipped her hand lower. He groaned.
‘It’s something about this
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