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“That will not do,” he roared. “Not at all! Stories are the wealth of humanity! My wife would not forgive me if I denied you the key to that wealth.”
He took to giving me lessons after every breakfast in his stateroom. But they were abandoned after Xana burst into the room in a panic. I learned later that she had just heard news of the Reaper’s demotion at the hands of the Senate, his murder of the captain of the Wardens, and his disappearance from Luna.
Heavy shit.
The news has turned the moon into a madhouse. Protests clogged the boulevards on the day we returned. A crowd of hundreds of thousands flowing like a tide of Cimmerian ants, calling for the Reaper’s arrest, the Sovereign’s impeachment. But they were met violently by a mass of the Reaper’s worshippers. The Watchmen had to disperse the clashing mobs with heat beams and gas.
Does me good to know I’m not the only one who’s lost faith in the Sovereign.
“Sophocles!” I call out again, following a narrow track of gravel past the base of another estate. “Sophocles, where are you?” I feel watched. He’s playing games again. I crouch low and move off the path in between two sycamores to search the bank of the lake. A black swan stares at the shore. There! Jutting out from behind a tree trunk is a bushy red tail, swaying in the breeze.
I creep forward, minding the twigs under my new shoes. Quietly, carefully. The tail moves with excitement. I burst around the tree, and Sophocles pounces on me in a flurry of red fur. Laughing, I let his weight take me to the ground, where he licks my ears till I have to wrestle him off. His cold nose pokes at the side of my neck. I reattach his collar.
Then I hear a strange pop through the trees. I walk toward the sound. In a small clearing, I find a concrete block of a Gray warden speaking with a slender Copper with a familiar face. Though I crouch barely twenty meters away, I can’t hear either man. It’s almost like magic. The Gray shoves a finger into the Copper’s chest as if scolding him. The Copper looks away, my direction.
I dart back into the trees, hauling on Sophocles’s leash. Whatever was happening wasn’t my business. I pull Sophocles along the path back to the Telemanus estate. At the side door, I’m moving so fast I run straight into someone and almost fall down. I look up into narrow, cold eyes. A woman with a face like tree bark stares down at me. She’s Gray and built thicker than any man in Lagalos. I’ve seen her twice before, always quiet and in the shadows of things. The servants say she’s a Howler, and before that, a Son of Ares. Her eyes turn to me as if she could sense me watching. A chill goes down my spine at standing so close to a bloody Gray. I feel like I’m back in the mine as I mumble apologies. She steps past me and continues down the hill.
Feeling twice as small as I did before, I pull on Sophocles’s leash and make for the estate.
—
I find Liago curled over his botany desk like a long length of old ivy. He’s an old Yellow, maybe seventy? People age slower outside the mines. They use crèmes on their faces. Injections. Laser therapy. Makes some of them look positively deranged. In the mines, you wear your age proudly. You got white hair? Bloodydamn fine for you. Must be quick on your feet. Proud thing, that.
Liago seems to agree very much with my people. His face wrinklier than my father’s knuckles. All crags and fissures and little patches of scaggleweed facial hair. The top of his long-jawed head is crested by great plumes of white hair. Nimble hands prod the base of a slim, violently orange flower. He doesn’t hear the howling of the kettle on his small electric stove.
“Dr. Liago?”
“Lyria!” He wheels around. An odd piece of tech secured by a clear plastic strap around his head covers his right eye, magnifying the pupil hilariously. “By Jove on high, you scared me half to death, sneaking around like that.”
“I’m not sneaking. You’re just deaf as a rock.”
“What what?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You people are so light on your feet.” He looks me up and down. “But not for long. You’re looking pudgier by the day!” His voice takes on an annoying conspiratorial tone. “Found the key to the cupboards, did we?”
“The valets say you’re mad as a sack of cats,” I say very quietly. “And your head is jealous of your ears because they stole all its hair.”
“What what?”
“I asked if you want me to pour your tea?” I ask sweetly.
“My tea?” His eyes widen. “Yes. I was meaning to get that. Like it extra hot, you know! And pour one for yourself too. It’s my favorite green tea from Xantha Dorsa. Martian, like us. You like tea, yes?”
“I’ve had tea with you four times.”
“Really? Of course you have. It was a test.” He stares at me shrewdly, though I’d wager a good pair of boots that he’s thinking about what sort of jam he’ll have on his midmorning toast.
“Can’t today,” I say. “Bethalia would lash me. Got extra duties.”
“Nonsense. She runs you ragged. Spare a moment with me.” He winks. “She’s got a soft spot for old Liago. I can get away with murder.”
If anything, it’s the other way around. Liago dotes on the old Pink like a lovesick drillboy, sending her flowers he designs personally for her. That would have done the trick on you, Ava. Personal flowers. I let Sophocles off the leash to sniff around the floor and I bring Liago his cup of tea, glancing at my reflection in the shining silver surface of one of his medical machines. My cheeks do look a bit plumper. Not a bad look, that.
“What’s that?” I ask, gesturing to the flower Liago’s bent over. Its stem is pale white and slender. A deep violet stains its buds, which are shaped like human dancers.
He looks lovingly down at the flower. “This? Oh, my dear. This is my pride and joy. Thirteen years it’s taken me to perfect the supple grace of her genetic code. And a lifetime of research. Which is why my greenhouse back in Zephyria is littered with infant renditions. It’s the echo of a woman I once knew.”
I tilt my head and draw close to the plant. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s poisonous,” he says. He smiles when I don’t recoil. “I designed it to sense kinetic reverberations in the air. Reach out…touch it gently.”
