5. FIVE
FIVE
ATTILATIA
Location: Poqualle District, Seraphinden
When her shift at Aethertech Mechanics ended, Attilatia returned to the little stone house she shared with Thedexemore in Poqualle district.
She unlocked the door with a standard key—it would have been unwise to use visible distortion apparatus off Skywalk—and paused at the threshold into the kitchen.
Her Dasha had always believed that the inhabitants of a home left an energetic imprint that lingered long after they departed.
She categorized such ideas as orchids—beautiful at surface level, but with little hardiness to support them when the roots went sour.
But now, the sentiment rang especially true.
She didn’t want to admit it, but with Thedexemore enlisted in the Red Wing, their home did feel different.
It felt empty.
She shook the feeling, shutting the wooden door behind her with a clack.
The sun had yet to rise. Attilatia had never installed distortion lamps on their walls upstairs, and the sconces never held flame.
The darkness was a comfort. It reminded her of her childhood home in the Azadonian underground.
The unlit space was perfect: cool, clean, neat as she’d left it that morning, without Thedexemore leaving crumbs or dishes or dirt. Perfect.
Perfectly empty.
She fidgeted with her bracelet. It was a simple thing—thin silver, finely braided with a single, powerful bead looped onto it—and yet she doubted any simple trinket had ever weighed more.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt this way if she hadn’t set her brother up for failure.
He was desperate to become a soldier, but her arrangement with Roskaad Thyatira ensured he wouldn’t engage in combat.
Even training was risky, considering prejudices against Azadonians.
It would be too easy for an accident to happen.
Attilatia veered into her room and peeled off the Aethertech Mechanics jumpsuit in exchange for a white tipiana dotted with crimson swans. Then, determined to chase away the emptiness with a warm cup of tea, she returned to her kitchen.
In Poqualle, the aqueduct which ran from the Skywalk brought a line into most homes.
With the turn of a faucet, the spout bubbled and frothed.
Attilatia filled the kettle. She stooped at the woodstove and started a fire.
As the water warmed, she pulled several small ceramic pots from the shelves lining the walls.
Tea was a ritual, and while some rituals were strictly done for the sake of tradition, this one made sense.
A pinch of freshly ground cinnamon—good for the heart.
From another jar she plucked lemon balm, to help with sleep.
From a third, she unrolled three thumb-long leaves, dry as paper, tough as tendon.
Her mother had liked these. She could no longer remember what they did.
From the fourth, she pulled a tuft of pillowy moss—to help with her headache.
The moss was, by far, the most expensive item in the kitchen and strictly illegal.
Just another thing Nelfindar had ruined for her.
In Azadonia, ‘moss’ had been used as a topical anesthetic.
Brewed into tea, it reduced inflammation and left the head clear, steady, calm.
In Nelfindar, slumlords synthesized the very same moss into a tablet that was addictive, altering, and life-ruining.
A loud mewling broke her routine. At the window, a dappled cat pressed his paws against the glass.
Beyond, Attilatia couldn’t help but notice how four weeks had let the weeds go rampant in Thedexemore’s garden.
The stray had made a habit of waiting for him there.
She opened the window enough for the mottled creature to slip inside.
“Begging again, Toronoff. What do you have to say for yourself?” She stepped to the stone cooler and withdrew a bottle of cream.
Several fingers’ worth spilled into a teacup on the floor.
The animal padded forward to lap at it, chest rumbling.
She ran her fingers through his fur, hoping it wouldn’t shed all over the floor.
She would rather not have to sweep again.
“Don’t get used to these handouts,” she scolded. “They will not last.”
The kettle began to steam and she removed it from the stove, but left the fire burning to warm a date cake she’d kept stored in waxed linens.
A wooden table with four chairs—a laughable thing, really, as there had never been more than the two of them—stood beneath the window.
When she sat in one with teacup in hand, the cat hopped into her lap.
“You’re really working it, eah?” Her mouth pulled to one side. She was so bored she was talking to a cat.
She sipped at her cup. The aromatic liquid tasted of spice and bitters and sweetness all in one.
She needed it. Ever since she’d seen Hashod—Chief Operator of Aethertech Mechanics—cavorting with Tera’thians, things had been tense…
but at the same time, not tense enough. She had thought that when Thedexemore left, she would have a chance to deal with the previous month’s onslaught of troubles.
But they had since fallen silent: no more highmoon lurkers, no more misplaced papers or shifted quills at her desk, no more assassination attempts.
No more visits from Roskaad Thyatira.
She sipped again, and her eyes darted to the bottle of wine on her shelf—the one he’d given her. It was her favorite. How he had known, she could only guess.
“Don’t drink the wine. Save it.”
Her body warmed in a way that had nothing to do with tea, and her teeth tucked into her lower lip. She had enjoyed working with him, as much as she’d tried not to. And then he’d promised her things no one else could. He’d been a generous lover—well, that was an understatement.
She stared at the wine. The wine stared back.
But there had been that marking on his chest. And the lie as to how he’d received it. One lie was all she needed to keep her hackles raised.
Attilatia sighed. She’d been looking forward to a relaxing night alone. Hadn’t she?
She looked around the empty room and felt, for a spine-shivering moment, like the empty might be catching.
She stood, setting the half-empty teacup onto a coaster. Toronoff mewed in protest but hopped from her lap and scurried dutifully to the door.
“Sorry,” she said earnestly, pulling the wine from its shelf. She grabbed her dark oculars from a hook. Time to face the rising sun.
An hour later, she found herself outside Pinto’s door.
She’d communicated through light signals to the old silk-trader that she was coming, but never received a response.
Probably because Pinto, like Thedexemore, understood the signaling contraption she’d built him in concept, but hadn’t bothered to learn the codes to fully make use of it.
She knocked, causing the dust from the molding to fan out and form a particulate crown atop her head.
Her nose crinkled. Fates, did Pinto need a maid.
She was sure he could afford one, the stingy bastard.
Muted footsteps sounded behind the door and several deadbolts scraped in succession.
The door opened a slit. Pinto’s smile cracked wide.
“Atti, Atti, I’d hoped that was you.” He spoke in their home tongue.
Attilatia’s lips twitched. It wasn’t a thing she often heard. A wrinkled hand reached through the opening and pulled her inside. The door closed, and Pinto swished behind her to relock the deadbolts.
“And you’re wearing the silks I gave you.” He walked in a circle around her. “Ah. Yes. Simply exquisite.”
Attilatia swatted him away. “You’re like a hyena, eah?”
He chortled and turned towards his cluttered yet extravagant sitting area. “Still worried I might want you for a snack?”
She blushed. “No. That’s—”
“What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t give you a good ribbing for it for the rest of your life?”
She couldn’t help smiling.
“What’s this? You brought wine? A little early, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “Well. My day is at an end. But this is not for drinking.”
“No?” He raised a silver eyebrow.
“No. I want you to have it tested for poison. If I remember, your regular stackers partner is an alchemist. Let’s make use of that.”
Pinto clicked his tongue and sat on his favorite chaise. “Passed into the final cavern last winter.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
“That’s the way we all go.” Pinto shrugged. “Which is why I have another dear alchemist friend. We brunch together every other ten-day.”
Attilatia doubted there was a single person of affluence in all of greater Seraphinden whom Pinto hadn’t invited to tea. “Do you have another distortion engineer somewhere in your pocket too?”
“No, Atti. You are the one and only.” The grooves in his forehead deepened as his black eyes widened. “Let’s talk about this wine.”
“It was gifted to me.” There was no need to go into details. “But it makes me nervous. I wonder if it’s been tainted somehow.”
Of course, Pinto made his own assumptions. “That wouldn’t be very romantic of him, would it?”
Preservation help her. “Well. I’m nearly sure the problem is that I’m not very romantic. And I’m overthinking.” She sat beside him.
“You could just toss it,” he suggested, shooing away a number of throw pillows.
“But wine is Creation’s apology for social obligations.”
“So you just want us to test a tiny bit so you can drink the rest, should the results return negative?”
“Naturally. Wouldn’t want to insult the Fates.” She’d spent so long without having an amicable conversion with anyone that wasn’t Dex. It was such a relief to just…
“I like this version of you, Atti.”
The heat from her cheeks was answer enough; she did too.
“Consider it done,” Pinto said. “It’s a busy time. I could have it back to you in about a ten-day, if you aren’t in a hurry?”
“No,” she said, deciding not to tell him that her quarry wouldn’t be returning for a couple months.
Silence settled neatly between them, multiplying invisibly until he squinted at her. “You know this wine isn’t poisoned, Atti?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“I’ll test it anyway, to put you at ease. Is there something more bothering you?”
“The Ratka.” She said it knowing the Shadewalker’s mark was a topic Pinto wished to steer clear of.
His mouth pulled into a line. “Please tell me you haven’t been putting any more energy into the Ratka.”
“No. Well. Yes. But I’ve been discreet.”
Pinto swore under his breath.
Attilatia realized she’d been rolling the bead of her bracelet between her fingers and released it. Pinto was proving to be observant. Better to not draw attention to it. “It’s important, Pinto. If Dexe and I are to survive—”
“If you want to survive, you’ll keep out of the Shadewalker’s business.
” He put his face in his hands. “Listen… I’ll see if I can arrange for someone to give you some information.
You just have to promise me that afterwards you won’t keep looking for answers.
You have to believe me when I say there are things moving beyond Nelfinden borders that you simply cannot control. ”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll believe that when I understand it for myself.”
“We will see.” He stared at the drawn curtains. “Today is your off-day, yes?” She nodded. “Let’s plan for next ten-day. And don’t you even think on the subject until then. Understood?”
“Thank you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I expect you’ll be leaving now?”
Attilatia shifted. Was he asking her to? Or was he just assuming she would now that she had what she’d come for? “Ahm...”
She had no plans for the day; she hadn’t been able to get access to the ruxechorin she needed to continue her usual experimentation. With nothing to do, the company of someone who did not resent her might be welcome. But she was hardly accustomed to invitations without manipulation behind them.
“I thought I might stay longer. I’ve noticed you have some dusting which needs to be done, and thought maybe…” She sounded like an imbecile.
But the creases around Pinto’s eyes deepened, and his smile shone brighter than the white beard around it. “I would be delighted.”