Curio (18 page)
“I said stop.” She inched forward.
Whit forced words past uncooperative lips. “I know Steinar.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the ration bottle. A twang juddered through the silence of the inn.
G
rey slipped into the east gallery, her bare feet silent on the plush rug that covered most of Fantine's domain. At least if she dropped one of the cherries cupped in her hands, it'd leave no discernible stain on the wine-colored carpet. If only the fruit tasted as good as it looked. The most she could hope for from these morsels was that they'd fill her stomach.
The note her mysterious visitor left in her room almost a week ago explained how to focus on an object in a painting, then reach in and grab hold of it. But how the system worked remained a mystery. “The food doesn't taste good,” the writer warned in careless script, “but it will keep you from starving.” There'd been no signature, no further instructions, no hint as to who her unexpected friend was or why he bothered to help her. But when Nettie told her of the maid who'd bumped into the Mad Tock in a back hallway, Grey had her answer. She'd had two run-ins with Curio's masked renegade, but no one needed to know.
On tiptoes, Grey continued toward the door to her bedroom. She'd left it ajar when she sneaked out. Only tocks stirred this early, and they went about their business regardless of strange doings on the part of porcies or their guests. Nettie tried to help with Grey's surreptitious meals, but the
sweet maid was just as likely to bring her a raw fish or a lump of candle wax as a slice of bread. So Grey conducted her own hunt and gather missions in the early morning hours when Fantine and Lord Blueboy retired.
She'd almost reached her room when a draft brushed the hem of her nightgown. She froze, her skin prickling. Silence permeated the gloom of the gallery, but she wasn't alone.
Grey shifted to peek at Fantine's door across the hallway. It was closed. Beside it, Lord Blueboy leaned against the cream-and-white papered wall, his mussed dark hair a contrast to the pale background. He held a mug to his lips, but his gaze tracked her.
Grey glanced from the cherries in her hands down to her nightgown and robe. Neither flimsy garment provided a pocket. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin.
“Good morning, Benedict.” The words came out more timid than she'd intended.
He pushed away from the wall and ambled toward her. His movements were odd. Not stiff as though he'd cooled, but slow, almost lazy. He set the mug on an accent table and moved to stand before her. The line of his blue dressing gown revealed a molded chest and a metallic chain disappearing into the deep V of the rich material.
Blue eyes, almost black in the dim light, slid from Grey's face to the fruit in her hands.
“What's this?”
“Ch-cherries.” Grey winced at her stutter then flung her eyes open to meet his gaze. Who cared if this man thought her dependence on food unattractive? Just because the porcies would find digestion revolting didn't mean she should be ashamed of it. Besides, Benedict knew she was different.
“I know what they are.” His full lips twisted in a smirk. “I'm merely curious as to why you find it necessary to swipe
them from the drawing room painting in the wee hours of the morning.”
Warmth spread up Grey's neck, but she forced a casual tone. “I found myself in need of a snack.”
His black brows furrowed. “A snack?”
Grey dialed up her blasé tone. “Yes, I'm going to eat them.”
“Eat?”
“Oh, for mercy's sake!” Grey popped a cherry into her mouth, yanking the stem out so it remained between her thumb and forefinger. She chewed carefully, enjoying the shock on Blueboy's face. Cherries were supposed to have pits, but either the artist hadn't known that or wasn't thinking about it during the painting's creation, for this fruit had none. She swallowed, her throat constricting under the porcie's scrutiny.
“Do it again,” Benedict demanded. “No wait. Allow me.” He brushed her fingers away from the cherries in her palm and selected one himself. The cherry's skin gleamed dark against his pale fingers as he lifted it toward her mouth.
She blushed but let her jaw fall. She'd started this, after all. Best to satisfy the insistent ruler's curiosity, or he'd pester her with questions. Instead of dropping it into her mouth, he paused, holding the cherry a breath away from her lips. Heat crawled through her veins. When had he closed the gap between them? She shut her eyes, willing away the panic of breaking Mercury City law. Willing him to release her from the magnetism he wielded.
Something soft brushed against her lower lip. Grey stiffened and peeked from beneath her lashes. Benedict traced her lips with the silky surface of the cherry. She shivered. It was just the porcies' way. They were all like this. So physical. They didn't knowâ
he
didn't knowâhow it made her insides scream.
He tucked the cherry behind her teeth and Grey closed her mouth. The tug of the stem on her lower lip left behind a faint throbbing. Under Lord Blueboy's scrutiny she chewed and swallowed. His gaze traveled from her lips, down her neck to a spot just below her collarbone.
“What an incredible design you have.” He breathed the words as if caught in a spell. A moment later he stepped back, putting a couple of feet between them.
Grey's cheeks burned and her breath shook. Benedict still watched her, lids at half-mast as though he was bored. An urge to run gripped her. She pictured the cherries rolling on the floor, her nightgown floating behind her as she bolted for the door to the outer gallery. Would Benedict laugh or summon the serving tocks to restrain her?
She took a step backward, one hand out to feel the surface of her bedroom door. Her fingers found the doorknob.
Benedict straightened the front of his robe. A crystalline object attached to the chain about his neck slid into view but disappeared as he smoothed his clothing. He turned toward the door at the end of the long gallery and didn't glance at her when he spoke.
“Fantine wishes to attend a performance today. You may accompany her if you are sufficiently animated.”
Grey's pulse sped. Outside the estate? She was going out into the city?
Benedict's figure disappeared into the room beyond. Grey stared after him. Despite his bold ways, he wasn't unkind. He touched her because he was curious, and to him it was natural to satisfy that curiosity. No Council laws prevented it here. The porcies could never conceive of the world she came from. Grey ducked her head and wrapped her arms around her middle as if she stood in a ration line. He didn't mean to make her feel trapped and examined like an animal
in a laboratory. He didn't mean to make her blush and want to hide. Grey peeked in the direction he'd gone, rubbing her arms where goose bumps rose.
She escaped to the safety of her room, tugging the door closed with a little more force than necessary. Today she would get out. See this city where Haimon banished her. Maybe she'd find a connection between her grandfather's assistant and this world within the cabinet.
Excitement replaced the clammy residue of her encounter with Benedict. Grey placed the remaining cherries on her nightstand and made herself comfortable on the bed. How long would she have to wait for Fantine to rise?
“Do the porcies rest, Nettie? I know they don't sleep like I do, but Fantine must be doing something in her chamber all morning.”
“They allow themselves to cool for a bit, Miss.” Nettie set a tray on Grey's lap and nipped to the other side of the bed to stow an empty vase for later use.
Grey studied the contents of the tray. A cup of warm water, a bunch of daisies, and an onion. Good thing she'd nabbed those cherries. It all tasted like paint anyway, but she just couldn't bring herself to bite into an onion like it was an apple.
Nettie slid the gauzy curtains back to reveal daylight and the little balcony just outside. The tock who visited herâthe Mad Tockâhad jumped from that balcony. He'd almost crashed, Nettie had told her, then the soldiers claimed he flew over the wall. She needed to find out more about this Mad Tock. Whoever had sent him knew she was human and needed food. What else did her mysterious benefactor know?
“It makes them less fragile,” Nettie was saying.
Grey tuned back into the conversation.
“They hate to cool, but shortly after the Grand Animation they found it was necessary to quiet their jitter pumps and allow their bodies to rest. When they're warm, they're more flexible, but if they keep their pumps going too long they grow warped and distorted. On the other hand, if they remain inanimate and cold too long, they grow brittle. A balance of heating and cooling keeps them strong, more resistant to cracks.”
Sipping the warm water in her cup, Grey imagined the liquid traveling to some sort of internal engine in her chest that heated it to steam then pumped it throughout her body. She didn't quite understand the process, but it sounded similar to the way her heart circulated blood.
Nettie paused, one of her delicate metallic hands poised over the door to the wardrobe. A distant expression clouded her face. “Many of them can't afford more cracks.”
“How long ago was the Grand Animation?”
Nettie lurched then returned her attention to the contents of the wardrobe. “A hundred arbor cycles ago.”
Grey pushed her tray off her lap and swung her legs to the floor. “Arbor cycles?”
Nettie cocked the painted line that was her eyebrow. “The changes in the trees.”
Of course. But howâ? “Nettie, where does the water come from?”
The tock faced the wardrobe but her back stiffened. It took a moment for her to answer but when she did, she spoke in a chipper voice.
“It comes from Lower, of course.” She whirled and held up a short red dress.
Grey shook her head. “Not red.”
Nettie scrutinized the garment then made a negative gesture and tucked it back into the closet. Grey stood and joined her in time to utter an appreciative “ooh” when the tock slid aside a long gown of deep blue. It had a high collar and a pattern of shimmery fans imprinted in the satin fabric. A slit would allow ease of movement but would also expose the length of Grey's left leg.
Grey touched the smooth material. Surely the slit could be sewn up. “It's beautiful.”
Nettie pressed her lips together. “It's blue.”
A pair of cerulean eyes set deep in a smudged face blinked out of Grey's memory. Her voice came out husky. “I like blue.”
“Mistress Fantine may object. Wearing blue is her right.”
Grey cleared her throat but couldn't quite banish Whit's face. “So no one else in Curio City is allowed to wear blue?”
Nettie tossed her a saucy smile. “Oh, they do. They just don't wear it around Fantine.” She held the dress up against Grey and cocked her head. “It does suit you, and since you are going out today, it's appropriate to wear blue to signify you're under Lord Blueboy's protection.”
Grey's hand dropped from the dress.
Under Lord Blueboy's protection.
The phrase crawled over her like an insect. The porcies would think she
belonged
to Lord Blueboy. Would they think he visited her bedroom the way he visited Fantine's? Did Nettie think that?
“Nettie, Iâ”
The maid swiveled from the wardrobe. “Yes, Miss?”
Grey's cheeks flushed and she couldn't find the words to explain. Benedict's actions this morning would raise no eyebrows among Curio's citizens, but the heat of his nearness remained like a film on her skin.
Nettie waited for her to continue.
“Never mind,” Grey pushed her hair away from her face. No point in making a fuss over a passing moment with the city's ruler. She nodded toward the dress. “If you're sure Fantine won't mind . . .”
“I'll let a few words slip when I go to dress her, so she'll be prepared.”
