sapphires in its mouth to act as a tongue, and she lined its upper lip with tiny diamonds to represent the pits such snakes used to detect the warmth of living prey.
Magic wouldn’t work without symbolism.
In its empty sockets, where the brass opened gaps to show the bone, she set two lumps of red amber to serve as its eyes. But not before, with her jeweler’s tools, she carved the shape of a brain in gray coral and hinged it within.
That was what she was working on when, on the fourth day, Kaulas came to the door in person. Bijou did not speak to him herself. They had an unspoken agreement. They did not bother one another during projects.
Bijou told the kapikulu who guarded her door to turn Kaulas away. It was a measure of the courage of kapikulu that the man did as she asked, with no blanching or temporizing, even in the face of a necromancer.
She could not turn away Prince Salih, who appeared the next day. It was his house that she lived in—or his father’s house, which would eventually be his brother’s. Not quite the same thing, perhaps, but much as she itched to be about her work it was a foolish Wizard who alienated her patron.
And this was not, she had to admit, a matter of life and death.
The kapikulu admitted him to her laboratory. He looked strangely at home there, standing in his good linen robes on the fire-scarred floor, among acid-stained slate work tables.
She had to let him in and hear him out. But she didn’t have to stop her work. Well, all right: protocol would have demanded more courtesy. But Bijou and the prince were friends.
He crossed the room to stand opposite her, watching as she manipulated her delicate tools. You couldn’t squeeze a stone brain into an intact cranium, of course—so she’d hinged the snake’s skull, and was now making delicate attachments with gold and platinum wire to hold the brain steady within. The flashes of color veining the boulder opal caught light as she angled the stand this way and that. For a few moments, the prince simply stood, hands folded, and watched her.
It wasn’t the first time. But she didn’t think he’d just dropped by out of curiosity this time.
For the first time, she wondered what it meant to Kaulas that Prince Salih had privileges he did not.
“Bijou,” the prince said at last. “Why do you work so feverishly? Nobody’s death is at hand.”
She squinted through a loupe and twisted two fine wires together. She didn’t know how to say what she’d learned, how to express what she was missing. That thing—that human thing—that had always been a mystery to her was now laid bare, and acknowledging it had become a passion, an obsession. Like a fresh grief, it was never far from her thoughts.
Finally, helplessly, she set her hair-fine pliers down. She reached for a soldering iron, the tip smoking-hot, and paused with it raised in her hand.
“If I make something real,” she said to the prince. “Something tangible. Then no matter what happens, what was real is real.”
“Are you in love with her?” he asked.
The idea had never occurred to her. Her hand was trembling, so she did not touch the wires, even though she knew the iron was growing cold.
“No,” she said finally, having examined her emotions. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Then what? I’ve never seen you…” He sighed. “So engaged with anything that was not your work, or a combat, or a contest.”
Bijou shrugged. She set the iron to heat once more. She took the loupe out of her eye.
“We have a lot in common,” she said.
“Like Kaulas?” His face was calm, placid. She did not know if he’d intended it as a gut-punch, or just a point of information.
“I’m not surprised if he’s wooing her,” she said at last. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
The prince stroked his beard, a frown pulling long lines into existence around his eyes. “I care about you,” he said. “And Kaulas. And I need you both.”
“No one is alone,” Bijou
Magic wouldn’t work without symbolism.
In its empty sockets, where the brass opened gaps to show the bone, she set two lumps of red amber to serve as its eyes. But not before, with her jeweler’s tools, she carved the shape of a brain in gray coral and hinged it within.
That was what she was working on when, on the fourth day, Kaulas came to the door in person. Bijou did not speak to him herself. They had an unspoken agreement. They did not bother one another during projects.
Bijou told the kapikulu who guarded her door to turn Kaulas away. It was a measure of the courage of kapikulu that the man did as she asked, with no blanching or temporizing, even in the face of a necromancer.
She could not turn away Prince Salih, who appeared the next day. It was his house that she lived in—or his father’s house, which would eventually be his brother’s. Not quite the same thing, perhaps, but much as she itched to be about her work it was a foolish Wizard who alienated her patron.
And this was not, she had to admit, a matter of life and death.
The kapikulu admitted him to her laboratory. He looked strangely at home there, standing in his good linen robes on the fire-scarred floor, among acid-stained slate work tables.
She had to let him in and hear him out. But she didn’t have to stop her work. Well, all right: protocol would have demanded more courtesy. But Bijou and the prince were friends.
He crossed the room to stand opposite her, watching as she manipulated her delicate tools. You couldn’t squeeze a stone brain into an intact cranium, of course—so she’d hinged the snake’s skull, and was now making delicate attachments with gold and platinum wire to hold the brain steady within. The flashes of color veining the boulder opal caught light as she angled the stand this way and that. For a few moments, the prince simply stood, hands folded, and watched her.
It wasn’t the first time. But she didn’t think he’d just dropped by out of curiosity this time.
For the first time, she wondered what it meant to Kaulas that Prince Salih had privileges he did not.
“Bijou,” the prince said at last. “Why do you work so feverishly? Nobody’s death is at hand.”
She squinted through a loupe and twisted two fine wires together. She didn’t know how to say what she’d learned, how to express what she was missing. That thing—that human thing—that had always been a mystery to her was now laid bare, and acknowledging it had become a passion, an obsession. Like a fresh grief, it was never far from her thoughts.
Finally, helplessly, she set her hair-fine pliers down. She reached for a soldering iron, the tip smoking-hot, and paused with it raised in her hand.
“If I make something real,” she said to the prince. “Something tangible. Then no matter what happens, what was real is real.”
“Are you in love with her?” he asked.
The idea had never occurred to her. Her hand was trembling, so she did not touch the wires, even though she knew the iron was growing cold.
“No,” she said finally, having examined her emotions. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Then what? I’ve never seen you…” He sighed. “So engaged with anything that was not your work, or a combat, or a contest.”
Bijou shrugged. She set the iron to heat once more. She took the loupe out of her eye.
“We have a lot in common,” she said.
“Like Kaulas?” His face was calm, placid. She did not know if he’d intended it as a gut-punch, or just a point of information.
“I’m not surprised if he’s wooing her,” she said at last. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
The prince stroked his beard, a frown pulling long lines into existence around his eyes. “I care about you,” he said. “And Kaulas. And I need you both.”
“No one is alone,” Bijou
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