"Alister?" Taya felt a jolt of recognition. She'd already heard Cristof use that name today. "You don't mean—" But of course he did. It made perfect sense. "Decatur Forlore is your brother?"
Cristof's hands stopped.
"I thought you knew."
"No, I didn't." She faltered. "But, if he's your brother, why are you living down here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he's a decatur, and he's still speaking with you. So why doesn't he bring you back to Primus?"
"I have no interest in going back to Primus." His voice had turned cold, but Taya forged on.
"But you don't want to be outcaste, do you?"
Face twisting in rage, Cristof turned and slammed a hand down on the table.
"My brother and my caste are none of your business, icarus!"
Taya flinched, then slid off the chair and dropped to one knee, pressing her palm against her forehead.
"I'm sorry, exalted," she said, furious at herself. How could she have forgotten her manners around an exalted, even an exalted in exile?
Some future diplomat!
"Stand up." Cristof's voice was tight.
She glanced at him. His face was pale with anger. She bowed again, feeling sick.
"I'm sorry, exalted," she repeated.
"Dammit, icarus, stand up!"
She scrambled to her feet, bracing herself for a slap.
"Look at me!"
She risked another glance and saw him glaring at her. She dropped her eyes again, not daring to anger him any further.
"You see?" he asked bitterly. "That's exactly what I hate about my caste. You're brave enough to stab a Demican who's twice as tall and as strong as you are, but all an exalted has to do is raise his voice and you're on your knees."
"I apologize," she said. "I was out of line."
"Look at me when you talk. You're not a slave."
She swallowed and looked up.
He started to say something, then closed his mouth and scowled. For a second the only sound in the shop was the ticking and whirring of the clockwork around them. They stared at each other.
"What's your name?"
"Taya Icarus, exalted."
"Icarii stand outside the caste hierarchy. The next time an exalted shouts at you, stay on your feet and answer him like an equal."
"I can't do that, Exalted Forlore."
"Why not?" His voice was sharp.
"It wouldn't be respectful. An exalted could take away my wings, if he wanted." She shivered at the thought. "I'm sorry I made you angry."
"I'm not going to take away your wings, icarus. I'm barely an exalted now, anyway."
"You still wear the castemarks."
He touched his copper-skinned cheek, his scowl deepening.
"Do you think wearing them makes me a coward? Do you think I should burn them away, or ink them over?"
"No," she protested, sensing she was on dangerous ground again.
This man is a test in diplomacy all by himself.
She reached for her armature, pulling it toward her and untying it from the table. The sooner she could get out of here, the better. "I think you'd be foolish to give up your caste. The Lady granted you an exalted rebirth for a reason, and it would be sinful to treat it lightly."
He fell silent, and she slipped on the armature and reached for her buckles.
"Do you like being an icarus?"
"Yes, exalted." She tightened the straps. The cut on her shoulder was going to hurt on the way back up, but she was eager to leave. "I wouldn't want to be anything else."
"Then it would be foolish of the Council to take away your wings at the whim of an angry exalted. The city barely has enough icarii as it is. If you understood how valuable you were to Ondinium, you wouldn't be so intimidated by authority."
She didn't answer, busy with her armature.
"I have to adjust this outside," she said after a moment, sliding her arms into the wings long enough to lock them into tight-rest, which pressed them close to her body. She lost no time in escaping the small, noisy shop but, to her dismay, Cristof followed.
Outside, the light from the gas streetlamps washed the narrow street in black and white. Taya unlocked her wings and spread them out, testing the joints and tilt, making sure the feathers closed and opened correctly. Everything seemed to function.
"Go straight back to your eyrie until you can get your shoulder tended," Cristof directed.
"I will." His peremptory tone was grating, especially after he'd made such a fuss over icarii being equal to exalteds. She had to bite back the urge to point out his hypocrisy. "I—"
The clocks in his shop began to chime, a hundred different bells ringing at the same moment.
A loud explosion ripped through the air and the ground trembled.
Taya whipped around and saw flames rising in the distance. She took a step forward.
"Don't!" Cristof snapped.
"They'll need—"
"Others will attend to it." Cristof grasped her arm. "Your armature is damaged and you've been hurt. You'll only be a danger to yourself and the rescue crew."
Taya laughed humorlessly and pulled away from him.
"Sorry, exalted. Equal to equal, I've got a job to do, and I don't have time to argue with you about it."
He cursed as she ran down the street and lifted her wings to catch the wind.
Chapter Four
he cook at Taya's eyrie brewed tea out of the bitterest black leaves ever exported from Cabiel. Normally the drink was enough to give the twenty or so icarii who lived at the boarding house the jolt they needed to face the day, but this morning Taya yawned over her cup and wondered if she could get away with going back to bed for a few more hours. Her muscles ached, her cuts throbbed, and her wings were in the smith's shop, being repaired.
"Hey, Taya!" Pyke burst in, waving a newspaper. "You're awake!"
"Barely." She grimaced as he sat next to her and spread out the pages of
The Watchman
The ink smelled fresh, and Pyke's fingers were smeared with black as he stabbed at the headline that blazed across the front page.
TERRORISM!
Torn Cards Attack Wireferry, Refinery
Night of Horror!
Taya frowned and skipped down the stack of headers to the story.
"You're in there," Pyke said, pointing. "Both of us get a mention, but you're the hero, see?"
"I don't remember seeing any reporters there." She read further, then gasped. "Look! They quoted me! I never said that!"
Pyke laughed and read the paragraph aloud.
"'I was only doing my duty,’ the modest icarus said. ‘I'm grateful that Lady Octavus and her son are safe and that I was given this chance to serve my city.’ Like you wouldn't have said that if they'd asked."
"I don't think Taya would have used that ‘serve my city’ line," Cassilta said, breezing in and dropping into a chair at their table. "It sounds so fake."
"It's all fake," Taya protested. "The only person I talked to was Lieutenant Amcathra, and that was just to give him my statement."
"Well, that's the glory of having a free press." Cassi grinned at her. "It's free to make up anything it wants."
"You should be flattered," Pyke grumbled. "Nobody faked an interview with me."
"You were just as important," Taya assured him. Without his help, both she and Viera Octavus would have died, or at least been crippled on impact. But only another icarus was likely to realize that.
"I'd love to hear what you'd tell the papers, Pyke." Cassilta pried the cup of tea from Taya's hand and took a sip. "Ick, it's cold. Stay there. I'll get us fresh cups."
"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere."
"Late night at the wedding?" Pyke leaned back in his chair.