gave no indication that he had heard her yelling. He wore a long black coat of felted wool that fell to his ankles and his smooth head, dappled like an eggshell, framed a warm face that smiled through a soft white beard.
“Good morning,” he said brightly. “My name is Alani.”
Vera poked her head out, interrupting. “Pardon me, Lady Rae.” Vera’s tone didn’t indicate that she wanted to be pardoned. “But there ain’t no fucking red glass to change out!” Then she disappeared and slammed the door, leaving Taelin outside.
* * *
“T HOUGHT she was exotic, did you?” Sena smirked. “It’s all right. I’m not jealous.”
“Why are we talking about this?” asked Caliph. His neck was hot from the conversation.
“Oh, be serious. That priestess costume she wears? That’s just for show—”
“Just for show?” Caliph started laughing. “Well she’s a damn good fake then. She bought that horrible ruin with her own money.”
“Not her money.”
“Whatever. It’s her money now. Daddy’s name isn’t on the account at Crullington. Maybe I just handed a trade bar to a theologaster but—”
Sena’s smirk faded away. “Maybe you did.”
“Maybe I did. It doesn’t matter. It’s political.”
The night of her arrival had blown over. His desperate search, the way she had avoided him: the argument had already come and gone. Another stone tipping the pan toward something he didn’t want to think about.
The thermal crank’s fan had kicked in. He sat across from her in the east parlor watching the hot breeze tug her oiled ringlets. When she leaned forward in the chair, legs braced in an elegant K, shoulder extending so that her fingers could deposit an unfinished cup on the coffee table, Caliph coughed.
An angelus bell sounding from Temple Hill cleared his thoughts, reminding him of the time. “You’re sure you want to come with?”
“I’m all packed.” Sena looked up from her position, stretched between cup and chair. The filigree in her skin went chromium with the dawn. Caliph remembered phrases: crystallized guanine in the dermis. She had once called the markings her iridocyte idiom. Words he had been forced to look up.
“Caliph?”
“Sorry. I’m … tired.” He stood up and stretched. “You’re absolutely sure you want to come?”
“You already asked that.”
He rubbed his temples. “I know. It’s just that this trip might not be perfectly safe. This speech I have to give…”
“Important one. I know.”
“You could say that.”
“There’s a lot riding on this trip, Caliph.” The way she said it made it sound more like a warning than an acknowledgment.
“All right. But we have to leave by twelve.”
“My ships are ready.”
“Ships?”
She sat back. “I’m taking the Odalisque and the Iatromisia. ”
“I see. So we’re taking three … three airships,” he spread his pinkie, ring and middle finger like an array of weapons, “when we only need one? Why do we … I mean, why do you want to do that?”
She stood up, walked over to him and draped her hands around his head. Despite a cup of loring tea, the scent of her breath remained almost perfectly neutral. “Caliph, you’re bringing the Pandragonian priestess. I haven’t asked you why.”
It felt like she had punched him. “How did you know that?”
She breathed—which he knew was a presentment—and closed her eyes. When her lids slid shut she looked almost exactly as he remembered her from college. But when her lashes unzipped, like black vinyl, they revealing glistening alien pools.
“Trust me,” she said.
But he couldn’t.
“You know I brought you something,” she said. “But you were so upset the other night, I didn’t give it to you.”
“Oh? Was it a birthday present?”
She nodded and her fingers produced a wooden carving that resembled his collection of tiny figurines in the high tower’s display case—except that this one’s workmanship was not as elegant.
“Good morning,” he said brightly. “My name is Alani.”
Vera poked her head out, interrupting. “Pardon me, Lady Rae.” Vera’s tone didn’t indicate that she wanted to be pardoned. “But there ain’t no fucking red glass to change out!” Then she disappeared and slammed the door, leaving Taelin outside.
* * *
“T HOUGHT she was exotic, did you?” Sena smirked. “It’s all right. I’m not jealous.”
“Why are we talking about this?” asked Caliph. His neck was hot from the conversation.
“Oh, be serious. That priestess costume she wears? That’s just for show—”
“Just for show?” Caliph started laughing. “Well she’s a damn good fake then. She bought that horrible ruin with her own money.”
“Not her money.”
“Whatever. It’s her money now. Daddy’s name isn’t on the account at Crullington. Maybe I just handed a trade bar to a theologaster but—”
Sena’s smirk faded away. “Maybe you did.”
“Maybe I did. It doesn’t matter. It’s political.”
The night of her arrival had blown over. His desperate search, the way she had avoided him: the argument had already come and gone. Another stone tipping the pan toward something he didn’t want to think about.
The thermal crank’s fan had kicked in. He sat across from her in the east parlor watching the hot breeze tug her oiled ringlets. When she leaned forward in the chair, legs braced in an elegant K, shoulder extending so that her fingers could deposit an unfinished cup on the coffee table, Caliph coughed.
An angelus bell sounding from Temple Hill cleared his thoughts, reminding him of the time. “You’re sure you want to come with?”
“I’m all packed.” Sena looked up from her position, stretched between cup and chair. The filigree in her skin went chromium with the dawn. Caliph remembered phrases: crystallized guanine in the dermis. She had once called the markings her iridocyte idiom. Words he had been forced to look up.
“Caliph?”
“Sorry. I’m … tired.” He stood up and stretched. “You’re absolutely sure you want to come?”
“You already asked that.”
He rubbed his temples. “I know. It’s just that this trip might not be perfectly safe. This speech I have to give…”
“Important one. I know.”
“You could say that.”
“There’s a lot riding on this trip, Caliph.” The way she said it made it sound more like a warning than an acknowledgment.
“All right. But we have to leave by twelve.”
“My ships are ready.”
“Ships?”
She sat back. “I’m taking the Odalisque and the Iatromisia. ”
“I see. So we’re taking three … three airships,” he spread his pinkie, ring and middle finger like an array of weapons, “when we only need one? Why do we … I mean, why do you want to do that?”
She stood up, walked over to him and draped her hands around his head. Despite a cup of loring tea, the scent of her breath remained almost perfectly neutral. “Caliph, you’re bringing the Pandragonian priestess. I haven’t asked you why.”
It felt like she had punched him. “How did you know that?”
She breathed—which he knew was a presentment—and closed her eyes. When her lids slid shut she looked almost exactly as he remembered her from college. But when her lashes unzipped, like black vinyl, they revealing glistening alien pools.
“Trust me,” she said.
But he couldn’t.
“You know I brought you something,” she said. “But you were so upset the other night, I didn’t give it to you.”
“Oh? Was it a birthday present?”
She nodded and her fingers produced a wooden carving that resembled his collection of tiny figurines in the high tower’s display case—except that this one’s workmanship was not as elegant.
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