Thirty-Five
One more night.
Sometimes it seems like a thousand years have passed since I broke into Ky’s house and found her with Pader.
But it also feels like no time at all, certainly not enough to completely upend my entire life.
Two months ago I was fighting with Somi and worrying how I was going to pay off Rekas and the Clawmarks.
Now I’m one fight away from winning the Ascent and more money than even Uncle Claw can dream of. A safe place for me and my family.
Not to mention a ticket Above. Not that I plan to take it. But it’s nice to dream.
Ky and I barely talk after my fight with Niami. Star and I retreat to the workshop, where I repair the damage he took from Bitey’s claws and recheck every sigil and centimeter of wire. Star himself tells me this isn’t necessary, but I can’t help myself.
One more fight, against a lunatic who’s happy to crush the opposing master’s skull instead of attacking his runic.
Entop had the right idea, though. All I’ve got to do is run away from him; he’s big, but I can be quicker.
Entop’s problem was that he still had to pay enough attention to the fight to direct his runic, but I can rely on Star to use his own judgment and concentrate entirely on not getting squashed.
It’ll work. I can do this.
I rebuild the REPEL sigwork in Star’s shield, double- and triple-check the BLAST weapons in his carapace, oil his joints, and polish his armor to a fine sheen. Eventually, even he begins to tire of so much attention.
[Demand: go and get some sleep.]
I stare at him, uncomprehending. Sleep seems like a distant dream.
I’m not sure I can.
[Insistence: try. We can lose tomorrow’s fight because of you just as easily as me, you know.]
I smile at him. You want to win that badly, too?
[Obvious: of course I do! I am the best runic in Hod, and that needs to be acknowledged.]
I acknowledge it.
[Clarification: widely acknowledged.]
Fair enough.
[Admission: I also miss the others. Somi and Spike.]
Wait, really? They don’t even know you’re… you.
[Reminiscence: of course. But I have little to do in the tunnels but observe you all. It is difficult not to grow sympathetic.]
Look at you, getting attached to meat creatures.
[Command: silence, meat creature.]
I grin and pat his shell. Once this is all over, I’ll introduce you properly.
[Agreement: I would like that.]
I wonder, again, what kind of thing Star really is. He’s not like Bitey or any of the others, preprogrammed behaviors embedded into sigils and wire. His foundation sigil is THINK, and so he thinks. I haven’t even told Ky about that; she’d probably want me to make another one.
Could I make another one? What would happen if I tried?
I eventually succumb to Star’s insistence and return to the main house to rest, though I have a suspicion hours of staring at the ceiling are all that await me. In the main hall, however, Bradley is waiting for me with an amber-colored bottle in hand.
“Ah, Master Taj,” he says, giving me an avuncular smile. “I was just about to come looking. Miss Kycilea requested that you bring her this.” He extends the bottle to me. “She’s in the blue lounge, I believe.”
“She asked me to bring it to her?”
He shrugs delicately. I take the bottle, a bit mystified, and give an embarrassed cough.
“You’ll have to remind me of the way,” I admit.
“Down the hall that way, and take a left before her quarters. The lounge is the first door on your right.”
I nod, trying to engrave that on my memory; it’d be even more embarrassing to have to request directions again.
This late there are few servants about, and the sigwork lamps are turned down low so the halls are full of shadows.
The lounge door is open a crack, throwing a slice of flickering yellow light across the floor.
“Ky?” I rap at the door with the bottle. “You still awake?”
“Mmm,” she says noncommittally.
The lounge has an actual fireplace, something I’ve not seen elsewhere in the house, and there’s a small fire crackling away.
Unlike cookfires in the undercity, where we burn whatever rubbish we can get our hands on, this smells pleasant and woody.
Ky sits on a velvet couch facing it, leaning on the armrest with her legs drawn up underneath her.
“Bradley said you wanted this.” I look around for somewhere to put the bottle. “Shall I just leave it, or—”
“Bring it here.”
I circle the couch, feeling somehow wary.
The firelight paints Ky in sharp contrasts, but I can see she’s wearing not much more than a nightgown, and not a particularly substantial one at that.
The waterfall of her hair lies on the couch beside her, and she absentmindedly toys with it as she looks up at me.
“Here.” I hold out the bottle, and she takes it. The stopper is already loose; Ky plucks it out, takes a quick swig, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes widen as she swallows.
“This was Father’s favorite,” she says, looking at the bottle. “He never let me have any.” Ky smacks her lips experimentally and frowns. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”
“Was there anything else you needed?” I ask her.
“Oh, sit down, idiot,” she says cheerfully. “I don’t need you to fetch and carry for me, you know, there are plenty of servants for that.”
I sit down at the other end of the couch. It’s not very wide, and Ky’s bare feet are practically touching me. The heat of the fire plays against me, and the flickering light makes the room feel small and close.
Ky takes another experimental drink from the bottle, waiting a little longer before swallowing.
“Definitely an acquired taste,” she says, swiping a tear from one eye. “You want some?”
I shake my head. For a moment we sit in silence, watching the flames.
“I have a problem,” Ky says after a while.
“Oh? Something I can help with?”
“It is. That’s part of the problem.”
I frown, not following. She sits up straighter, pulling her hair into her lap and winding it nervously around her fingers.
“There’s something I… want.”
“Okay.”
“But I shouldn’t want it. I’m not supposed to.”
“Okay.”
“But, you know, says who? My father? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“So I’ve been told,” I say carefully.
“But when I think about it, he’s there in my head, you know? Telling me what to do.” She shifts a little closer, still looking into the fire, swinging the bottle idly back and forth in one hand. “You know what I mean?”
“I think so. Fara’s… dead, too. But sometimes I can almost hear her. ‘If people get hurt, it’s not worth it.’ That sort of thing.”
“She sounds like a good person.”
“She was.” I sigh. “I try to listen.”
“My father was a good person, too. I think. But he was… one of them, you know?” She waves the bottle vaguely. “The Council. The leading families of Hod. He never… questioned.”
“Most people don’t.”
“I never thought about it like this before we came back here. Father was… Father. But after everything, seeing all this again…” She lets out a breath. “I don’t know. Am I making any sense?”
“A little. You have a different perspective now, right?”
“Exactly. What was it you said? It’s easier to look up when you’re at the bottom?”
“Something like that.” I can feel myself relaxing, melting into the velvet cushions. “Can I try the bottle?”
“Sure.” She swings it up to me, and I take it and sip. The liquor is strong and smoky, dissolving on my tongue like I’ve inhaled a mouthful of the flames. It’s powerful, but not entirely unpleasant, and I take a larger swallow.
“Anyway,” she goes on. “I just got to thinking. The final match of the Ascent is tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Everything is going to be decided there.” A shiver runs through her, and she huddles in on herself, her hand gripping her wrist tightly. “Everything. Right?”
I hesitate, but I can’t exactly deny it. “Right.”
“We could both die. Or get thrown in prison forever, or whatever the fuck Devon Dreikin will do to me if he gets the chance. Or—”
“You don’t,” I interrupt, “have to list all the possibilities.”
“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “So if I want something, or I think I want it, even if I’m not really sure and everything feels weird, it seems like I ought to do it now or else I might lose the chance, right?”
“I… What?” I shake my head and turn to her. “Ky, what are you talking about?”
She turns to me, fixes me with those huge eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. I stare back, frozen, as she lifts one hand very slowly to touch my cheek.
“Do…” She swallows, licks her lips. “Do you want to—”
There’s a loud knock on the door.
“Miss? Master Taj?”
Ky’s face abruptly turns beet red, and she scrambles to the other side of the couch as though I’d grown thorns.
“Bradley!” she shrieks. “I thought I told you—”
“Forgive me, miss,” the old man interrupts. “But there’s been a messenger. From… Master Alzimyth. He requests Master Taj visit him at once.” Bradley gives an embarrassed cough. “I thought that you ought to know immediately.”