Clockwork Heart (29 page)

The two icarii landed next to her, locking their wings and pulling off their flight goggles.

“What the hell are you doing?” Pyke demanded.

“The lictors are looking for you,” Cassi added, looking worried.

Within an hour both exalteds were brought back up in rescue harnesses and the lictors' bodies were retrieved. Alister had drawn his ivory mask back over his face and was exercising his exalted's privilege of remaining mute in public. Cristof had shown the lictors his identification papers and insisted a physician tend to Taya's wound. He'd paused long enough to grab her hand and squeeze it before the lictors had hustled him off. As always, his hands had been cold.

The questioning took a long time. At last Taya was allowed to leave, given her wings and escorted by military icarii back to the lictor station on Primus. This time she didn't have to wait in a cell; she sat in a room and read a copy of her statement, then signed it. After a warning that she was grounded until further notice, she was released, wingless and wracked with guilt about the lictor she'd killed. Nightmares kept her tossing and turning all night.

She felt calmer the next morning, sitting at a table with her second cup of black tea and a stack of newspapers. The rest of the eyrie had gone to work, and only the staff remained, washing dishes and chattering in the kitchen.

The printers must have been up all night. The stories were closer to the truth this morning, and Taya read them all. Nobody had fabricated quotes for her; in fact, only the
Courier Regnant
bothered to mention her name. The rest of the papers referred to her as “an icarus.”

Alister's educational and political background was covered at length, and any hope Cristof might have had of continuing to work undercover was dashed by the papers' scandalized accounts of the exalted who'd scorned his caste to serve the lictate.

She also read the names and descriptions of the two lictors who'd died. The papers were fair, at least, describing them as dupes who'd become unwitting casualties during the fight. Taya tore out the article and put it into her pants pocket. She wasn't sure how she could atone for killing a man, but she was determined to do something. She'd apologize to his family in person, at the very least.

A small item in the back of one of the less reputable papers made her stop dead. Taya folded the page over and leaned back in her chair to focus on the story.

One of the journalists had managed to dig up the details of the Forlore murder/suicide, and she read it with horrified fascination. The article described the elder Forlore's violent madness and his brutal attacks on his wife and children; attacks that had culminated in the argument that had left his wife dead. He'd killed himself immediately afterward.

The two boys, Alister and Cristof, had been found hiding in the cellar, bruised but alive. They'd been put in a hospital to recover and were taken in by their aunt and her husband. The names weren't published, but Taya knew who they were. Viera's family.

She lowered the paper and stared into space, thinking about the very different ways the boys had dealt with their father's abuse.

A familiar voice startled her from her absorption.

“Taya?”

She looked up, her heart leaping. Cristof stood in the dining room doorway, holding a black leather bag.

“Cris!” Taya set the paper facedown and reached for her crutches.

“Wait. Don't get up.” He started across the room.

“Now, don't you plan to sit there and talk all day,” Gwen said tartly, appearing behind him in the doorway. “I'm paying you to fix my clock, not bother my tenants.”

“You won't have to pay me anything, if you'll just leave me alone for a while,” Cristof shot back over his shoulder.

“Hmph.” Gwen gave Taya a long look, her eyebrows rising. Taya nodded. “All right, clockwright, but you two stay downstairs. I don't allow tenants to bring outsiders to their rooms. This is a boardinghouse, not a brothel.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Cristof said over his shoulder, then stopped by the table and looked down at Taya. “What's so amusing?”

“Did you really come here to fix the clock?”

“I found your landlady's service request in my mail last night.” He set the bag down. “How are you?”

“Bandaged and grounded. The physicians gave me these crutches and some medicine to dull the pain and told me no more crash landings for a month or two.”

“But you're going to be well?”

“They said they wouldn't need to amputate.”

“That's good. May I join you?”

“Of course. I was hoping you'd come by yesterday. I was worried about you.”

He pulled out a chair and sat, giving her a searching look. Taya met it, assessing him in turn.

He'd replaced his lost glasses with an older pair, judging from their battered wire arms. The cut across his jaw was a narrow, scabbing red line. Other than that, he looked the same as ever, his angular body enclosed once more in a crow-black suit and his ragged hair in disarray from the long walk up to the eyrie.

“They kept me for questioning until midnight,” he said, at last. “Alister's in jail. He didn't say anything for hours, and then he confessed.”

“I read a little about it.”

“He admitted to killing Pins and Caster. He also took the blame for the two lictors. He said they wouldn't have attacked us if he hadn't misled them.” Cristof's expression tightened. “There will be an inquiry into their deaths.”

Taya met his eyes and saw her guilt reflected there. It wasn't reassuring, but she felt better knowing that she wasn't alone.

“What about Viera's wireferry? Did he do that?”

“No. He said it was a coincidence. I have to believe him. It doesn't make any sense for him to work with the Torn Cards.”

“What about the bombing that night? The refinery fire?”

“Alister says he didn't have anything to do with that, either.” Frustration passed over Cristof's sharp features. “I hate coincidences. Still, it could have been the Torn Cards again. We didn't find a card in the initial search, but it might show up during repairs.”

“I'm glad Alister didn't try to kill Viera. That's something, at least.”

“Hmm.” Cristof's lips tightened.

Taya reached out and took one of his hands. “Are you holding up all right?”

He closed his eyes.

“They'll execute him. The Council won't forgive him for killing a decatur.”

“Can he bargain?”

“I don't see how. The laws are clear.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I.” He paused. “Viera isn't. She wants him dead.”

Taya could imagine how furious Viera must be, finding out her husband had been killed by her cousin instead of both of them dying in the same tragedy. She searched for something reassuring to say.

“You know, she's still angry and grieving. But she's not heartless. She'll change her mind.”

“Maybe. But it won't matter.” He drew his hand back. “We talked last night. I thought I owed it to her to tell her what we'd discovered. But she got so angry that I had to leave. I couldn't stand hearing her shouting that she wanted him dead. Even after everything, I don't want him to die. Again.”

“Of course you don't,” Taya said, quietly. “He's your brother.”

“He tried to kill me.”

“I don't think he was thinking straight.”

Cristof leaned back in the chair and massaged his forehead. Lines of tension ran vertically down his brow and bracketed his mouth. “I wonder if he's ever thought straight. Sometimes I think there's some kind of poison in our blood. Alister's just like our father. Charming, charismatic, and violent.”

Taya bit her lip.

“And the worst part is, it doesn't make any sense,” he continued. “He didn't have to kill anyone. Pins didn't know who was buying the Engine cards, and Caster's vote might not have swayed the Council. Alister was building up a following among the decaturs. Why didn't he wait? Even if the vote had gone against him, he could have tried again later.”

“I don't think his ideas would ever have been accepted,” Taya protested. “He thought people could be controlled, like little analytical engines he could program to do whatever he wanted.”

“He's always been good at getting his way. But I thought his ambition meant he was a natural leader. I let him take over the estate because I thought he'd do a better job than I would.”

“You're not responsible for your brother's decisions.”

“What if my decisions affected his?”

“You can't start thinking that way. It'll make you crazy.”

“Crazy's already in my blood.”

Taya frowned. Cristof needed shaking out of his black mood before it overwhelmed him.

“Don't be stupid,” she snapped. “You're not crazy. You're nothing like Alister. For one thing, you aren't charming, charismatic, or violent.”

Cristof's distracted gaze snapped back to her. She lifted her chin.

“You're a slagging pain in the tailset and sometimes, very rarely, you show signs of being a little sweet. But you're not crazy.”

He stared at her, several expressions warring on his face. At last he settled for a crooked, humorless smile.

“Only very rarely?”

“At best.”

“I see.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me. I'm talking too much about myself. I didn't mean to come here and complain.”

Taya leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.

“I want to help. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“So I'm not going to let you waste your time being bitter and self-pitying.”

“Is that what I'm doing?”

“Pretty close.” She dropped a hand on his leg. “Look, you did the right thing. And Alister did, too, by confessing. Now he's going to need you. He's all alone in that cell, facing execution, and he's going to need his older brother to support him. That's all you can do for him now, so if you love him, do it.”

Cristof drew in a deep breath and nodded once, his eyes still screwed shut.

“Viera's going to need you, too,” Taya continued. “You don't have to agree with her. Just let her be angry and let her know that you're not going to abandon her.”

He opened his eyes, giving her a bleak look.

“It would be easier if you were with me. They both like you better than they like me.”

“That's not true. But I can be there if you want me.” She shrugged. “I'm grounded for two weeks. I'd rather be an exalted's personal assistant than sort mail up at Dispatch.”

“Do you have to consider it a duty? Wouldn't you do it as a friend?” His voice was strained.

“Of course I would. But let's make it official, anyway. ‘Friend' won't get me out of stuffing mail bags.” She tilted her head, looking at his tense expression. “Thanks for asking, though. You have your moments, Exalted.”

The lines in his face smoothed, almost imperceptibly. “Am I up to ‘rarely' yet?”

“No, but I don't expect miracles.”

He laughed, once, a gasp that contained less humor than it did relief, but Taya was still glad to hear it.

“Taya Icarus, I don't know why you humor me, but I'm glad you do.”

“You'll pay me back.” Taya tugged his hand, struggling to her feet. “To start off, you can carry my chair into the foyer. I want to watch the master clockwright at work.”

He rose, clinging to her hand, and gave her a wry, grateful smile.

The late morning sun streamed through the foyer's front windows, and Cristof set Taya's chair in a pool of light. She laid her crutches on the floor and sat to watch.

The exalted's deadpan humor returned as he began to work. He explained each step and brought over the dirty clock parts for her to clean and oil. “It's only fair,” he pointed out. “I learned your job, so you should learn mine.” Taya made a point of complaining about the messy job just to please him.

Watching Cristof fix the clock gave her time to examine him. She enjoyed seeing the satisfaction on his face as he replaced a worn spring or polished a gear back up to a dull shine. With his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, only the castemark on his copper cheeks revealed that he wasn't a regular craftsman. The sharp angles and furrows of his face had become familiar to her now, and the smudge of grease on his nose, where he'd shoved his glasses back up as he worked, amused her.

She chewed on her bottom lip, watching his grease-blackened fingers as he deftly reconstructed a gear fitting, and thought about their kiss next to Oporphyr Tower.

Any other man
, she mused,
would have come in and greeted me with a kiss this morning. Alister would have
— but she thrust that thought away. Alister would have, but it wouldn't have meant anything.

Why hadn't Cristof? Was it just his social ineptitude, or was he starting to separate himself from her in anticipation of returning to Primus?

She bit too hard on her lip and winced, straightening up.
He'd better not leave. Not when I've just started to like him.

At last he cleaned his hands on the rags in his toolkit, closed the clock case, and wound it up again. Both of them fell silent, listening to its loud ticking fill the room. The repair had taken two hours. Taya thought it would have taken less time if she hadn't been there distracting him with questions and jokes.

“Oh! I still have your pocket watch,” she said, remembering. “It's upstairs.”

Cristof glanced at her, then away.

“You can keep it,” he said, gruffly. “For now, I mean. Until I find you something better.”

“You don't need to do that,” she protested. “I mean, now that you've got this clock working again…”

“It's all right. I own plenty of watches.”