Chapter Five
Avena
Iwoke smiling.
The expression was unfamiliar enough that I lay still and examined it before making my face return to rest. Warmth lingered in my cheeks. My breathing was slightly elevated, and the muscles beneath my ribs ached as if I had been laughing for much longer than I remembered.
Snow had melted down the back of my neck and made me shiver.
Not actually. My skin was dry, the room held its usual temperature, and the blanket lay smooth across my body. Still, I could feel the path the cold water had taken beneath my collar and down my spine while Declan ran for the porch and I threw another carefully compacted ball of snow at him.
Observation is not cheating.
The thought brought the smile back.
“Good morning, Lady Avena,” Qelos said.
I opened my eyes. Silver citylight spread across the ceiling. “Good morning.”
“Your rest cycle is complete. Would you like the environmental panels opened?”
“In a moment.”
Blue-white light glowed beneath the skin of my arms. It was brighter than it should have been, but I did not close my hands around it. No one was present to see. No one except Qelos, the bracelet, and whatever systems received the data they collected.
“Did synchronization remain within acceptable parameters last night?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Were there any irregularities?”
“Your neural activity remained elevated for thirty-one percent longer than during the previous cycle. Respiratory and muscular fluctuations were also recorded.”
“Dangerous fluctuations?”
“No.”
“Do they require reporting?”
“All synchronization data is retained according to Ministry regulation.”
“Qelos, is laughter considered a harmful synchronization response?”
A pause followed. “Laughter is not included among the listed indicators of neural instability.”
Relief loosened my shoulders.
“Would you like me to record laughter as the cause of your respiratory variation?”
“No.”
“Cause remains unclassified.”
“Leave it that way.”
Being a friend.
I had friends. Orenth had been my friend for years. We worked together, drank tea, exchanged information, and adjusted one another’s schedules when necessary. Our relationship was established and mutually beneficial.
And for some reason, I resented it.
Orenth was already in my work chamber when I arrived. He stood beside the projection table reviewing a border-language dispute, one hand folded behind his back and the other moving through lines of translated text.
“You are early,” I said.
“You are precisely on time.”
“Which makes you early.”
“By six minutes.” He closed the projection. “Your reasoning appears improved.”
I set my case beside the table. “Was it impaired?”
“Yesterday, you asked whether nutritional preparation might have a purpose unrelated to nutrition.”
“That was a reasonable question.”
“It was an unusual question.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Orenth opened the morning file. “You appear rested.”
“I am.”
“Then the residual fatigue has resolved.”
“Perhaps.”
His hand stopped above the display. “Uncertainty has become more frequent.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Does that concern you?”
I considered the question. “Not entirely.”
Orenth studied me with quiet patience. He did not press, which was one of the reasons I trusted him.
“What do you do for enjoyment?” I asked.
Orenth looked up from the document. “Please clarify.”
“An activity you perform because it is enjoyable. Not because it improves your health, work, status, or knowledge.”
“Enjoyment is a beneficial neurological response. Therefore, an enjoyable activity improves health.”
“That interpretation makes the question impossible.”
“Then the question is poorly constructed.”
I leaned back in my chair. “What do you do when nothing useful will result?”
“If nothing useful will result, I do not do it.”
It did not.
Orenth watched my face. “Why are you asking?”
“The question occurred to me.”
“Without cause?”
“Apparently questions can do that.”
His gaze narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but concentration. “I solve historical logic matrices.”
“That maintains analytical speed.”
“Yes.”
“Then it has a purpose.”
“I attend harmonic performances.”
“Which are culturally approved and improve cognitive balance.”
“Also true.”
“I take tea with you,” he said.
The words caught me unexpectedly. “We often discuss work.”
“We often intend to discuss work.”
“And then?”
“You complain about your family. I correct your account of events. You become irritated. Very little is accomplished.”
I stared at him.
“Perhaps tea qualifies,” he concluded.
Warm blue light moved beneath my wrists.
“Yes,” I said. “I believe it does.”
Orenth reopened the document. The moment should have ended there. Instead, I found myself wondering whether he knew he had just described friendship in terms Declan would have understood.
POST-INTEGRATION REVIEW CONFIRMED.
ASSESSOR SELARI.
FIVE DAYS.
The warmth under my skin vanished.
Orenth read the notification without appearing to. “Standard scheduling.”
“I know.”
“Your previous assessment was exemplary.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then why has your pulse increased?”
I closed the notice. “You’ve become overly attentive to my physical condition.”
“You have become physically conspicuous.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be.”
Orenth waited. No rough beard. No blue eyes. No smile trying to hide concern. Only my friend seated across from me, composed and familiar, offering reassurance the only way he knew how.
“I’m fine,” I said.
He considered the answer, then inclined his head. “If that changes, tell me.”
“I will.”
The rest of the workday passed without incident. I completed every assignment, responded correctly to every inquiry, and produced no luminal activity visible enough to draw notice. By the time I returned home, I had almost convinced myself that Selari’s appointment meant nothing.
Plans could change.
“Qelos, open the nectar.”
“The bottle is registered for ceremonial use.”
“I am aware.”
“No ceremonial occasion is scheduled.”
“Open it anyway.”
“Would you like this beverage added to your evening schedule?” Qelos asked.
“No.”
“Would you like the serving associated with Steward celebrations?”
“No.”
“Please identify the purpose of consumption.”
“There isn’t one.”
I drank the nectar slowly. Not because the bottle was valuable. Not because my sister had sent it. Not because celebration was expected.
My behavior was exemplary.
Cold air touched my face.
Declan opened the door before I reached the steps. He wore his grandfather’s flannel and held two mugs.
“You’re late,” he said.
I stopped. “According to what measurement?”
“That’s why it was a safe accusation.”
I climbed the steps. “You cannot accuse someone of being late when time does not move.”
“You can. You just can’t prove it.”
“Still too bitter?” he asked.
I tasted it. “Yes.”
“Good. I’d hate to ruin your expectations.”
Declan had not moved.
“You could have continued without me,” I said.
“That would be called playing with myself.”
His mouth tightened as if he were trying not to react. “Chess. I meant chess.”
“Humans have imprecise language,” I said.
“We like to keep conversations dangerous.”
I sat across from him and examined the board. “It’s your move.”
“I know. I’ve had a lot of time to regret it.”
“You only learned this game yesterday,” he said after I captured his second knight.
“You explained the rules clearly.”
“That was my first mistake.”
“Your first mistake was moving the damaged knight without a strategy.”
“Walter would disagree.”
“Walter was a domesticated canine.”
“And undefeated.”
“Checkmate,” I said.
He studied the board. “I want a review.”
“Of what?”
“The entire process.”
“You lost.”
“I preferred you when you didn’t understand games.”
The light beneath my cheeks brightened. “Another game?”
He looked toward the windows. “In a minute. My pride needs air.”
“Is it always snowing here?” I asked.
“Seems that way.” Declan leaned against the porch post. “Grandpa’s cabin did winter well.”
“A building can perform a season?”
“This one could.”
“What other weather did it perform?”
“Thunderstorms were the best. Rain on the roof so loud you had to raise your voice. Grandpa would unplug everything and sit by the window pretending he wasn’t worried about lightning.”
His fingers tightened around the navy mug.
I did not ask.
After a moment, his hand relaxed. “Summer rain was different here,” he continued. “Warm enough to stand in. The lake would go flat and dark, then the drops would fall from the sky all at once.”
“You stood outside during it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Intentionally?”
“You’ve met me.”
I accepted that answer.
“Which is your favorite?” I asked.
Declan considered. “Thunderstorms, I think. The safe kind.”
“How do you determine whether a storm is safe?”
“Usually by surviving it.”
“That is not a useful assessment method.”
“No, but it’s accurate afterward.”
He sipped his coffee. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your favorite weather.”
“Moderate,” I said.
Declan stared at me. “Moderate isn’t weather.”
“It describes a range of weather conditions.”
“It describes giving up before choosing.”
I frowned at him. “I have had little reason to prefer one form over another.”
“You don’t need a reason.”
“Snow,” I said.
Declan followed my gaze. “Because you’re a natural weapon with it?”
“Because it remembers where you’ve been.”
He looked at me instead of the yard.
“Snow’s a good choice,” he said quietly.
Eventually I said, “What is your favorite food?”
“That’s a serious question.”
“Is it?”
“Very.” He considered with exaggerated concentration. “Grandpa’s chili when it was cold. Fresh bread. Anything cooked over a fire. But if I have to pick one, pancakes.”
“What are pancakes?”
His head turned sharply and he drilled me with his blue eyes. “You don’t know pancakes?”
“I would not have asked if I knew.”
“Right. Sorry. I’m still adjusting to the scale of your problems.”
I didn’t know what problems he referenced but I let it go. “Describe them.”
“Round. Warm. Soft in the middle. A little crisp at the edges if you do them right. Butter on top, maple syrup, maybe berries.”
“That describes their condition, not their composition.”
“Flour, eggs, milk, butter, baking powder. You mix it into batter and cook it on a hot pan.”
“Why are they called cakes if they are prepared in a pan?”
Declan opened his mouth, then closed it. “You know, I’ve never questioned that.”
“Humans seem unusually willing to accept inaccurate names.”
“We save our energy for important things.”
“Like throwing snow?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t believe I have one,” I admitted.
Declan’s expression became grave. “That may be worse than the coffee situation.”
“It is not a situation.”
“It is now.” He pushed away from the porch post. “Next time, we’re making pancakes.”
“You said this was your grandfather’s cabin. Does it contain the necessary ingredients?”
“It contains coffee that never cools and a chessboard that survives impossible women disappearing through it. I think it can find some flour.”
“Impossible?”
“You glow.”
“That is normal.”
“Not where I come from.”
Not where I come from.
Declan seemed to read something in my face. “Normal’s probably overrated anyway.”
“Next time,” Declan said.
“Pancakes.”
“And a rematch.”
“You will lose again.”
“I liked you better before you had confidence.”
“No, you didn’t.”
His smile appeared slowly. “No. I didn’t.”
The porch railing faded beneath my hand. Declan remained clear for another second, blue eyes holding mine.
I opened my eyes beneath the silver ceiling of my bedroom. The city beyond the glass had not yet brightened. My bracelet cooled against my wrist.
“Good morning, Lady Avena,” Qelos said. “Would you like your standard meal?”
I thought of pancakes. Warm, round, inefficiently named, and apparently important enough to cause Declan genuine concern.
“What other options are available?”
Qelos projected three dishes above the bedside panel. The first matched my nutritional targets with exact precision. The second contained slightly more mineral content than recommended. The third included dark violet fruit arranged over a warm grain preparation.
“The first option is optimal,” Qelos said.
I knew that, but I selected the third dish anyway. Because I liked the color. No other reason.