"I'm glad Alister didn't try to kill Viera. That's something, at least."
"Hmm." Cristof's lips tightened.
Taya reached out and took one of his hands. "Are you holding up all right?"
He closed his eyes a moment.
"They'll execute him. The Council won't forgive him for killing a decatur."
"Can he bargain?" Taya thought of Neuillan's blinding and exile and wondered if Alister would consider that any better. But Cristof shook his head, looking troubled.
"I don't see how. The laws are clear."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I." He paused. "Viera isn't. She wants him dead."
Taya nodded. It wasn't hard to imagine how furious Viera must be, finding out her husband had been killed by her cousin, instead of both of them dying in the same tragedy. She searched for something reassuring to say.
"You know, she's still angry and grieving. But she's not heartless. She'll change her mind, in time."
"Maybe. But it won't matter." He drew his hand back. "We talked last night. I thought I owed it to her to tell her what we'd discovered. But she got so angry that I had to leave. I couldn't stand hearing her shouting that she wanted him dead. Even after everything, I don't want him to die. Again."
"Of course you don't," Taya said, quietly. "If you did, you wouldn't be human."
"He tried to kill me."
"I don't think he was thinking straight."
Cristof leaned back in the chair and massaged his forehead. Lines of tension ran vertically down his brow and bracketed his mouth. "I wonder if he's ever thought straight. Sometimes I think there's some kind of poison in our blood. Alister's just like our father. Charming, charismatic, and violent."
Taya bit her lip.
"And the worst part is, it doesn't make any sense," he continued. "He didn't have to kill anyone. Pins didn't know who was buying the Engine cards, and Caster's vote might not have swayed the entire Council. Alister was powerful. He was building up a following among the decaturs. Why couldn't he wait? Even if the vote had gone against him, he would have had years to get his program accepted."
"I don't think his ideas would ever have been accepted," Taya protested. "He thought people could be controlled, like little analytical engines he could program to do whatever he wanted."
"He was always good at getting his way. But up until now, he'd never done anything to hurt anybody. I thought his ambition meant he was a natural leader. I let him take over the estate because I thought he'd do a better job than I would."
"Don't start blaming yourself," Taya chided him. "You're not responsible for your brother's decisions."
"What if my decisions affected his?"
"You can't start thinking that way. It'll make you go crazy."
"Crazy's already in my blood."
Taya frowned. Cristof needed shaking out of his black mood before it overwhelmed him.
"That's stupid," she snapped. "You're not crazy. You're nothing like Alister. For one thing, you aren't charming, charismatic, or violent."
Cristof's distant gaze snapped back to her. She lifted her chin.
"You're a slagging pain in the tailset and sometimes, very rarely, you show signs of being a little sweet. But you're not crazy."
He stared at her, several expressions warring on his face. At last he settled for a crooked, humorless smile.
"Only very rarely?"
"At best."
"I see." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me. I'm talking too much about myself. I didn't mean to come here and complain."
Taya leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.
"I want to help. You know that, right?"
"Yes."
"So I'm not going to let you waste your time being bitter and self-pitying."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
"Pretty close." She dropped a hand on his leg. "Look, you did the right thing. And Alister did, too, by confessing. Now he's going to need you. He's all alone in that cell, facing execution, and he's going to need his older brother to support him. That's all you can do for him now, so if you love him, do it."
Cristof drew in a deep breath and nodded once, his eyes still screwed shut.
"Viera's going to need you, too," Taya continued. "You don't have to agree with her. Just let her be angry and let her know that you're not going to abandon her."
He opened his eyes, giving her a bleak look.
"It would be easier if you were with me. They both like you better than they like me."
"That's not true. But I can be there if you want me." She shrugged. "I'm grounded for two weeks. I'd rather be an exalted's personal assistant than sort mail up at Dispatch."
He put his hand over hers, holding it.
"Do you have to consider it a duty? Wouldn't you do it as a friend?" His voice was strained.
"Of course I would. But let's make it official, anyway. ‘Friend’ won't get me out of stuffing mail bags." She tilted her head, looking at his tense expression. "Thanks for asking, though. You have your moments, exalted."
The lines in his face smoothed, almost imperceptibly. "Am I up to ‘rarely’ yet?"
"No, but I don't expect miracles."
He laughed, once, a gasp that contained less humor than it did relief, but Taya was still glad to hear it.
"Taya Icarus, I don't know why you humor me, but I'm glad you do."
"You'll pay me back." Taya tugged his hand, struggling to her feet. "To start off, you can carry my chair into the foyer. I want to watch the master clockwright at work."
He rose, clinging to her hand, and gave her a wry, grateful smile.
The late morning sun streamed through the foyer's front windows, and Cristof set Taya's chair in a pool of light. She laid her crutches on the floor next to it and sat to watch.
The exalted's deadpan humor returned as he began to work. He explained each step and brought over the dirty clock parts for her to clean and oil. "It's only fair," he pointed out. "I learned your job, so now you can learn mine." Taya made a point of complaining about the messy work just to please him.
Watching Cristof fix the clock gave Taya time to examine him. She enjoyed watching the satisfaction on his face as he replaced a worn spring or polished a gear back up to a dull shine. With his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, only the castemark on his copper cheeks revealed that he was anything other than a regular craftsman. The sharp angles and furrows of his face had become familiar to her now, and the smudge of grease on his nose, where he'd shoved his glasses back up as he worked, amused her.
Taya chewed on her bottom lip, watching his grease-blackened fingers as he deftly reconstructed a gear fitting, and thought about their one kiss next to Oporphyr Tower.
Any other man
, she mused,
would have come in and greeted me with a kiss this morning. Alister would have — but she thrust that thought away. Alister would have, but it wouldn't have meant anything.
Why hadn't Cristof? Was it just his social ineptitude, or was he starting to separate himself from her in anticipation of returning to Primus?
She bit too hard on her lip and winced, straightening up.
He'd better not withdraw. Not when I've just started to like him.
At last he cleaned his hands on the rags in his toolkit, closed the clock case, and wound it up again. Both of them fell silent, listening to its loud ticking as it filled the room. Shortly after noon. The repair had taken two hours. Taya thought it would have taken less time if she hadn't been there distracting him with questions and jokes.
"Oh! I still have your pocket watch," she said, remembering. "It's upstairs."
Cristof glanced at her, then away.