Stitching Snow (16 page)

Silence hung around us like the cold on Thanda. Unbreakable.

“Princess,” Kip said fi nally, “I’m sorry.” No more excuses, so I turned. “Sorry for what?” 146

R.C. ll E WI S

“For ignoring you far too long. Are you all right?”

“Aye, the doc did a fi ne job patching me up.”

“That’s not what I mean. Eight years on your own, and Thanda is not a gentle planet. How have you been all this time?” Oh, so he didn’t mean ignoring me since we walked in the room, or even just since I arrived on Candara. I glanced at Dane, who knew exactly what my life there had been like. He stared out the window, unfaltering. “All right enough. Or I was, anyway, until a certain impulsive Exile crashed near my settlement.” Kip ran a hand through his hair and paced a stretch of the marble fll oor, but said nothing further. Dane continued to pretend I wasn’t there.

Another uncomfortable silence loomed. I had to break it.

“How does all this marble hold up with the quakes?” That got Dane’s attention. “With everything going on, you want to know about architecture?”

“Dane,” Kip cut in, holding up a hand to silence him. “Our fi rst permanent settlements two hundred years ago didn’t hold up so well, but we learned. The marble’s been modifi ed, and all our buildings here in Gakoa have been carefully engineered to cope with the stress.”

“Ah, stress,” I said. “Good to know
something
around here copes with that.”

Dane shot me a look, proving he felt the dig. “Any other questions?”

“Aye, for Kip. When did you leave Windsong?”

“Same time you did,” Kip answered. “Or nearly.”

“Not enough time to get Dane’s father and the others out with you?”

147

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Kip sank onto one of the dusty benches, his manic, pacing energy drained. “No. I thought . . . I thought if I went to the embassy, if I even sent word to warn them, it would be taken as a sign of collusion. If I just left, I thought the queen would believe I acted alone, wouldn’t make the connection that I’m Candaran. I didn’t know an entire half of her plan was to blame the embassy for your death. Even when I didn’t return, she framed them for an attack.”

“You didn’t even
warn
them?” Dane burst out. “You just left them? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“How could I? You know your father is a brother to me. How could I tell you I made a choice that landed him and so many of our people—so many of my friends—in Matthias’s prison while I walked free? The choices I made, Dane, so many . . . I’m not proud of them.”

Kip and me staring at the knife, staring at each other.

“It’s not only the choice you made that haunts you,” I said quietly. “It’s how close you came to choosing the other way.”

“What?” Dane pressed. “What do you mean?”

“Like he said, he was the one ordered to kill me.” I turned to Kip. “I saw it when you held the knife. I saw you consider it.”

“Princess, no! That’s not what you saw,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about
using
the knife! I was thinking about whether to keep it and bring you with me.”

My memories of it seemed so clear, though. Kip looking at the knife, trying to decide if I had enough of my mother in me to be worth saving.

Maybe I’d been the one wondering that, not him.

“Why
didn’t
you take me with you?” I asked.

“I thought—I don’t know. I thought you should have a chance 148

R.C. ll E WI S

at a life away from all this, including us. That you were safer away from me and the wrath I was bringing down on myself. So I sent a nine-year-old to fend for herself on the next best thing to a prison colony.” Disgust sharpened the edge of each word.

“I fended well enough, didn’t I?”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have had to. Forgive me, Princess.”

Now I understood why he let me convince him not to sneak me away a second time. He couldn’t repeat his mistake. Except it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not the part where I ended up on Thanda, anyway.

“Nothing to forgive. I told you, I’m all right,” I said. “But Dane’s father and the others certainly aren’t.” Dane spoke up. “My father would’ve done the same thing.

He would have saved you even if it meant prison for them. How could anyone let a child die to save themselves?” Those shouldn’t have been the only choices, with others paying the price to keep me alive. It made my fi ngers twitch with the same helpless energy I’d had ever since my escape. Energy that told me to do something when there was nothing I
could
do.

Or would do.

Kip straightened his shoulders. “That’s why I’ll do everything I can to convince the council not to trade you. We can’t give Olivia another victim.”

Another.
“Did she kill my mother, then?” Something fll ashed across his eyes. Pain. “I don’t know whether she did it herself or had it done, but yes, I’m confi dent it was her.”

Oh, I knew Olivia well enough. She’d likely have done it herself. Only . . . why had she left the job of killing me to someone 149

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

else? Maybe to make sure Father never connected it to her. Or maybe the idea of killing a child was too distasteful, even for her.

I wasn’t a child anymore.

While I thought on that, Kip continued. “You may have doubted me, but I never had to question. I always saw Queen Alaina in you, Princess. I still do. She was very brave. And Dane,” he added tersely, “I’ll not have you speaking against a woman who did nothing but sacrifi ce for our people.”

“If I’d had all the information I
should
have, I wouldn’t have said it,” Dane said, giving Kip a meaningful look. “I’m sorry, Essie.”

They were both being too nice, too sympathetic. I hated it. Kind words didn’t change anything. They didn’t bring my mother back, remake my childhood, or return me to Thanda.

They didn’t return Dane’s father or end the killing on Windsong, either.

The twitchiness in my hands sharpened. Too much standing around talking. Too long without doing anything. My mind swam with codes and algorithms, trying to push away the memories of my mother. She pushed back.

Always do what needs doing, even when it’s hard.

She always knew what needed doing, or so it seemed. Then she got herself killed.

Windsong needs you.

I hadn’t just failed her. I’d failed an entire planet. Maybe two.

I couldn’t stay in that room, couldn’t take the view, couldn’t face the two Exiles. I turned and strode back to the door. It wouldn’t open.

“Dane, let me out of here.”

150

R.C. ll E WI S

If he heard the tremor in my voice, he didn’t show it, just keyed in the code for me.

“Tell the guards I’m going down to visit the drones, and I’ll break anyone who tries to stop me.”

151

15

IT TOOK ME TWICE AS LONG as it should have to fi nd the spaceport hangar on my own, but Dane had clearly called ahead as requested. No one gave me any trouble. The attendant even opened the shuttle’s hatch for me.

“Will there be anything else, miss?” he asked.

My glare was enough to send him scurrying back to his station.

I went aboard, knowing I’d be left alone. With the shuttle’s landing struts held by the hangar’s docking clamps, I couldn’t have stolen the thing if I’d wanted to. Some of the tension leeched from my body as I walked into the engine compartment and caught a slight whiff of coolant. The shuttle was the one truly familiar place on Candara. Best of all, there were things to do. I found the drones on standby.

“Wake up, you two.”

Their little lights sparked to life, but I noticed a slight high-pitched whine as Dimwit’s systems came online. “Dimwit Essie.” R.C. ll E WI S

That was all it took for tears to press at the corners of my eyes.
This blazing emotional nonsense is getting right embarrassing.

“I missed you, too, you walking disaster. Sounds like that business with the solar screen might’ve done a number on you.

Cusser, how are your systems doing?”

“All systems nominal, Essie. Assistance required?”

“You want to help stitch up Dimwit? Grab the gear.” Cusser got the requested items, but its arm fell dead before it got back to me, causing it to swear even more colorfully than usual.

“Truly, what do you do with your actuators when I’m not looking?”

“Cusser blowout Cusser.”

“Shut it, Dimwit.” Cusser’s retort was unexpected but unsurprising. It had certainly heard me say the same thing enough times.

“Settle down, I’ll get both of you stitched,” I said.

Without my own computer and tailored diagnostics, it wasn’t quite the same, but I settled in and started tinkering. The usual patch worked on Cusser’s arm. Dimwit had a few connectors loose—whether from the stunt with the solar screen or ordinary wear and tear, it was hard to say. I tightened those up and tested out the contacts on its primary circuit boards.

The work soothed me, drawing the itching-and-twitching out of my hands. Circuits and actuators, puzzles and programs . . .

that was the world I belonged in. The one that made sense.

A pair of voices approached outside the shuttle. I tensed and paused in my work until I could make out what they said.

“—told her not to bother.” Male voice, sounded young.

153

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

“As you should. I keep telling you, Pondu, looks aren’t everything.” Also male, but more gravelly, possibly older.

“I know, I know. So what have we got today?”

“General systems check on number eight, and a complete power boost on number eleven. Come on, now, you need to keep up.”

Their footsteps faded as they walked on. Just a couple of maintenance engineers. I got back to working a stitch on Dimwit’s rear pair of legs. They’d sounded a touch grindy.

“Come on outside,” I said after a moment. “Let’s see if you can run, Dimwit.”

We exited through the hatch but only got two more steps before both of Dimwit’s back legs locked up. Cusser swore on Dimwit’s behalf, probably out of sympathy. I sighed and crouched down to fi nd the problem. The legs were losing the signal somewhere along the way. Probably more loose connectors than I’d expected.

I spotted the two engineers across the hangar, doing that systems check on a small hover-vehicle. They spotted me, too, but looked more curious about the drones than me. They eyed Dimwit for a minute before turning back to their work. With my scarf covering my hair, I wasn’t that interesting. Their voices carried easily, but beyond their checklist, all I gathered was that the younger one—Pondu—had a girlfriend the other, Mikat, thought he shouldn’t be with.

“There, can you at least move the left one now, Dimwit?” It could, but only through the fi rst joint. I went back to tracing out connections.

“Whatcha doing?”

I jumped at the voice behind me, but quickly relaxed. It 154

R.C. ll E WI S

belonged to a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old. She looked like she wanted to come closer but wasn’t sure she dared.

“Just repairing this drone. What are
you
doing?”

“I’m here with my dad.” She pointed to Mikat but kept her eyes on the drones. “What are their names?”

“This here’s Dimwit, and that’s Cusser.” She frowned. “Those aren’t very nice names.”

“Aye, you’re probably right, but they’re fi tting.”

“Why do you talk funny?”

“Tatsa!” Mikat called out before I had a chance to answer.

“What’re you doing over there?”

“Systems checks are
boring
, Dad.” He gave her a defi nite Look but spoke to me. “Sorry, miss, is she bothering you? She has a particular fascination with robots.”

“Please can I help?” Tatsa asked. “I’m a really good helper.” I supposed I didn’t mind, though her father might if Cusser decided to demonstrate how it earned its name.

“It’s fi ne,” said another voice behind me. This one was familiar and got Mikat to smile and turn back to his own work. “I’m sure Essie could use a hand.”

Tatsa’s eyes lit with similar recognition. “Hi, Dane!”

“Hi, there,” he replied, sitting on the fll oor next to me. “I bet Essie needs the rest of her gear. Still in the shuttle?” I nodded, and Tatsa scurried up the ramp to retrieve the case.

“What’s wrong with Dimwit?” Dane continued, but more quietly. “I didn’t botch something when I adjusted his programming, did I?”

The urge to say yes tempted me, but I didn’t have any reason to believe that was true. The tone in his voice made it hard to concentrate, so I kept my eyes on the drone. “I don’t think so.

155

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Just need to tighten up the signal transfers, and its gait calibration might be out of sync.”

Tatsa jumped off the side of the ramp with my gear bouncing against her leg. “Here you go! What do you need?”

“A narrower signal tracer, for starters.” She handed me the right tool before I could explain what it looked like. Not a bad assistant, even if she was awfully small.

Then again, I was that small once.

“Do you come here often with your dad?” I asked.

“Kind of. Why?”

“Just seems like it could be dangerous with all the shuttles and equipment.”

She shrugged. “Nah, I’m careful. It’s just as dangerous for you.”

“Dimwit Essie protect Essie.”

The little girl giggled at the pronouncement, but I rolled my eyes. “You think you’re going to protect me, do you? Did you get a defense subroutine I don’t know about?”

“Essie writes all drone subroutines,” Cusser answered.

Tatsa bounced on her toes. “You
should
program them to fi ght! I bet they’d be great at it.”

“Not a bad idea,” Dane murmured. I dared a glance at him but couldn’t read his expression. Like he was thinking about something else, but then he shook it off. “Does Cusser need anything?”

“No, I—Don’t say it, Cusser!” Its arm chose that moment to lock up again. “I
just
fi xed that.”

“Come here, I’ll take a look,” Dane said. “Maybe Tatsa will have some ideas.”

He set to work while I kept at it with Dimwit. Tatsa handed 156