Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1) (32 page)

That cheered them. “We can do that.”

“Then that would please me,” Hirianthial said. “Even more than your empathy does.”

“We’ll be back,” Irine said.

“Not soon, though,” Sascha said. “We need to think about it.”

“Do that,” Hirianthial said, watching their auras touch and meld into a busy brilliant gold. He wondered if they knew how deeply they were intertwined... or how lucky they were to have such a bond, when shared parents did not guarantee such affection. Would that he had been so blessed, and the swords beneath his bunk had slept.

“Ah-ha!” Reese said, stepping into the mess hall. “You are hiding something!”

The twins and Kis’eh’t looked up with varying expressions of guilt; Bryer merely met her eyes, then continued scraping at a piece of wood he held in his clawed hands. The four were hunched over the table, which was obscured by a mound of colored thread and little odds and ends, none of which Reese could make sense of. Sascha had a pair of pliers and Irine’s fingers were tangled in a braid of brightly colored floss being held straight by a long metal pin.

Reese pulled up a chair and straddled it. “So you’ve found yourselves something to do and not invited me?”

“We didn’t think you’d be interested,” Kis’eh’t said when the twins didn’t answer.

“Well, try it by me and see,” Reese said, grinning. When none of them responded, she said, “Oh, come on. I’m getting bored of reading.”

“We’re making a dangle,” Irine said and took a breath. “For Hirianthial.”

Reese started laughing. “You’re making him a present?”

Sascha nodded. “An apology-present.”

“Instead of jumping him,” Irine said, showing her teeth.

“What did you do to him?” Reese asked, picking up a piece of strangely shaped steel.

“He was upset by Mamer asking him to do that sterilization,” Irine said. “We wanted to apologize on behalf of the family.”

“Oh,” Reese said, her humor draining away. She set the bead down.

“She’s gone all quiet,” Kis’eh’t said. “That could be bad.”

Reese shook her head. “No, no. I’m just wondering how you people found out he was so upset.”

“You forgot I saw him when he was covered in blood,” Sascha said. “It doesn’t take a genius.”

“I’m sure he sees things like that all the time,” Reese said. “He’s a doctor. People die.”

“But not babies!” Irine said. “Besides, he said his people are infertile.”

“He didn’t say that,” Sascha said. “He just said they have trouble having children, and that it makes him sad when people choose not to have them.”

“He didn’t say that either,” Irine said. “He said—”

“They’ve been like this the entire time they’ve been working on it,” Kis’eh’t said.

“Minds too busy,” Bryer agreed.

“You’re involved in this too?” Reese asked him.

“The work is diverting,” Bryer said. He unfolded his hands so she could see the wood in his fingers: a tiny bird with narrow wings, barely an inch long.

“I didn’t know you could carve,” Reese said.

The Phoenix wriggled his fingers. “Good exercise.”

She didn’t want to think of how sharp those claws had to be to carve wood. Instead she turned back to the twins. “How hard is it to make a bead dangle?” Reese asked. “You can’t have been at this long.”

“A week already,” Sascha said.

“Have you seen how much hair he’s got?” Irine added.

“I can’t imagine how long it must have taken to grow it all,” Kis’eh’t said, musing.

“And what are you doing?” Reese asked the Glaseah.

“Mostly synthesizing pretty baubles when the twins ask,” Kis’eh’t said. “It gives me a chance to use my new toy. Though I did contribute a bell off the edge of my prayer blanket.”

“I’ve never seen you use a prayer blanket,” Reese said as the Glaseah passed her the bell.

Kis’eh’t chuckled. “I don’t use it as often as I should. But that’s okay. My work is a kind of prayer. The goddess who made the universe by thinking it into being likes scientists.”

Reese looked through the pile. “How can you find anything in this mess? What’s this?”

“That’s a washer from a brace in the Well Drive bracket,” Sascha said. “I thought it would be nice to have a part of the ship in it.”

“I hope you replaced it!” Reese said.

Kis’eh’t snickered; Sascha merely gave her a withering look.

“Will you add something?” Bryer asked.

Startled, Reese looked at him. “What?”

The Phoenix pointed his bill at the jumble on the table. “Will you add something?”

“Everyone else is,” Kis’eh’t said.

“Even Allacazam?” Reese asked.

“He offered to sit on it when it’s done,” Irine said. In response to Reese’s look, the tigraine said, “Well, he doesn’t exactly have any things to contribute.”

Reese leaned over and looked at the experiment: a combination of beads, strange ornaments and braided floss, it existed in several pieces; already woven into the strands were several tiny flexglass spheres filled with rosy liquid, a silver toe-ring with an inset garnet, and four incised spirals of steel. The dangle gave the impression of rose and silver and steel and glass, and for all its chaotic assembly had its own harmony. She could imagine it working with his dark wine eyes.

“So I’m supposed to be part of the apology?” Reese asked with a chuckle she didn’t entirely feel.

“Not exactly,” Irine said. “I think the fact that we’re making it is the apology, but the things that are going into it are gifts from everyone. You could be part of it too.”

“Just think,” Kis’eh’t said. “He could still be wearing it centuries after we’re all dead.”

“Bleh!” Irine said.

Reese privately agreed.

“Do you want us to save you a space?” Sascha asked casually, bending a fitting around a diamond-shaped charm.

“Maybe,” Reese said.

“Scared,” Bryer said.

“I am not,” Reese said. “I just think it’s a little silly, is all.”

Irine frowned. “Our apology is silly?”

“No, no, not that,” Reese said. “It’s just… well, when have you ever seen him wearing something like that?”

“All the more reason to make him one,” Irine said.

“Scared,” Bryer said again, shaving another miniature curl from his bird.

“I am not,” Reese said, then waved her hands. “I’ll go get something.”

“Yay!” Irine said.

“I’ll be back,” Reese said, pushing away from the table.

“Make it something good,” Sascha called.

Reese snorted and left them in the mess hall. She reached her quarters before she realized she was stomping and grumbled about that. Nor was Allacazam in her hammock, which irritated her more. In the end, she dropped onto her unused bunk and stared at the laundry she hadn’t yet put away.

She should just bring back one of the chalk tablets she’d eaten like candy before the man had replaced her esophagus. It would serve him right. And the peppermint ones were pink, which would match. What did they think they were doing, making him jewelry? As if he could care about them… one day, they’d all be dead and he’d still be around, forgetting them.

Reese was still on the bunk when the door chime rung.

“Come in,” she said.

Irine padded inside and sat next to her without asking permission.

“Don’t be mad,” the tigraine said.

“Why would I be mad?” Reese asked.

“Because we’ve never given you a gift like this,” Irine said.

“I wasn’t thinking anything like that,” Reese said.

“Oh yes you were,” Irine replied. “It was on your face when you left.”

“You must have mistaken me,” Reese said.

Irine snorted. “Are you jesting? You think a Harat-Shar doesn’t recognize jealousy? You’re crazy. You must have forgotten how many people I grew up with.”

Reese folded her arms across her chest and ignored the tail that wrapped around her waist from behind. After a moment she said, “Well, why haven’t you given me something like that?”

“You won’t like the answer,” Irine said.

“I’m not surprised,” Reese said.

“You didn’t seem like you’d want it.”

“And an Eldritch would?” Reese asked, incredulous. “Has he given you a reason to think he’d care more about you than I would?”

“It’s more like he’s given us fewer reasons to think he wouldn’t,” Irine said.

Reese scowled. “Try that one again.”

Irine sighed. “Hirianthial is just mysterious. You’re prickly.”

“You’re saying I push people away.”

“See? You knew exactly what I meant,” Irine said. Her tail tip twitched against Reese’s ribs until finally Reese had to pet it, just a little.

“I don’t mean to be prickly,” Reese said.

“We know. And we like you too. We’re just not quite sure if you like us. All the time.”

Reese stroked the orange fur a few more times, then unwrapped herself from the tigraine’s tail. She walked to the bathroom and opened one of the drawers, picking through the contents until she found a plain wooden box in the back. Maybe petting Harat-Shar tails gave a person supernatural sensitivity… or maybe the wood simply seemed finer than usual because she hadn’t touched it for years. Reese opened it and selected one of the blonde beads in it, rolling it between her fingertips and savoring the wood’s cool, spicy fragrance.

Irine approached, stood in the bathroom door.

Reese gave her the bead. “Here.”

“I’ve never seen you wear these,” Irine said quietly.

“I stopped wearing them long before I hired you and Sascha,” Reese said.

“Why’d you stop?” Irine asked.

“I didn’t want them to lose their smell,” Reese said. “They were special.”

The tigraine’s ear flicked forward. “Something changed?”

“I thought those were better times,” Reese said and patted Irine’s fingers closed over the bead. “I was wrong.”

The tigraine engulfed her in a sudden hug, all fur and musk and swift Harat-Shariin heartbeat. Reese was so surprised by it she almost forgot to hug back. But then she did and she thought she could get used to it.

The raspy lick up her cheek, though, was too much. “Irine!” Reese said, laughing.

The Harat-Shar beamed. “I couldn’t resist.”

After the girl had left, Reese studied the box with the remaining beads. She wondered what to do with them. As remnants of Mars, she supposed she should burn them as unnecessary reminders of life before the
Earthrise
… but they smelled too good, and their tree would never grow another branch to replace the one she’d used to make these. It seemed like a waste to destroy the far-flung remnants of an uprooted tree. Reese closed the box and hid it back in the drawer.

“We have your apology ready,” Irine said at the door. “Can we come in?”

Hirianthial set his book aside. “Of course.”

Sascha followed Irine inside, carrying a thin case... and then Kis’eh’t entered, holding Allacazam, with Bryer trailing. His room could barely hold them all at one end, and yet he was so surprised to see them that he couldn’t quite concentrate on the mental noise of their presence.

“This is quite an entourage,” he said.

“Everyone helped,” Sascha said. “So everyone wanted to see you receive it.”

“Except Reese,” Kis’eh’t said, settling onto her haunches with Allacazam between her forepaws.

“Scared,” Bryer said.

“She’s not scared,” Irine said. “She helped too.”

Hirianthial’s brows rose.

“It’s our apology to make, so we made it,” Sascha said. “But everyone contributed materials.” He opened the case, brought it to the opposite edge of the bunk and turned it so that its contents caught the light.

“Jewelry?” Hirianthial asked, reaching for it.

“Hand-made!” Irine said proudly, just as his fingertips brushed it—

—and his eyes lost the room in a wave of good will and contentment. His fingers caught on a square token, and he saw Bryer accept it in exchange for an offering in a temple. Beneath it, a ring Irine had bought at a bazaar to fight a heartache that had seemed eternal at the time. The hum of a Well Drive; the creak of a tree in the breeze and a sense of loneliness and determination; each sensation building on the next from the thinnest crystal at the top to the dusty bell at the bottom, perched on a long braided pin and vibrating with a chorus’s soaring song in a Glaseahn siv’t.

Never in his life had an object spoken to him, nor had he ever heard of an Eldritch having such an ability. And yet the feelings were there: the taste of herbs steeped in wine, the wail of a far-ranging ocean tern, the imbued warmth of Allacazam’s crumpled neural fur.

He was so shocked he almost dropped it.

“Is it okay?” Sascha asked with a hint of worry.

“I am... I am overwhelmed,” Hirianthial said. “I have never received such a generous gift.”