I did not like the feeling.
The hand left my forehead, and I turned my head upon the thin pillow beneath it to see my once-friend stand, shaking out a cream-colored skirt that tumbled from the back in a ruffle of peacock blue. Her corset was blue, and her beautifully thick hair wound in a tight crown.
She’s to be in Ikenna’s rings...
I struggled to sit up. “No,” I said abruptly.
“Nye!” That other voice again. “The pulleys on the cages need a look-over, get to it.”
“He’s on the fires,” replied a deeper voice, older and roughened. “I’ll see’t.”
“Cheers, Linus.”
“Rest,” Zylphia counseled, her back to me as she reached for the divide in the hanging curtain separating this small sleeping nook from what appeared a greater room beyond. “You require more sleep, cherie.”
I studied the expanse of her smooth, bare shoulders the color of my favorite tea and saw no signal, no sign that I could grasp in my confused state. She simply spoke her advice, and stepped out through the curtain.
“Ginger?” called the voice I could not wholly place.
“Out on the fans,” said that rough voice.
“Right. I’ll do it—Oh, Zylphia, ma’am. How is she?”
I could not hear the answer, but I could imagine what it was Zylphia said. Rest was the last thing I required. I kicked my bare feet over the mattress, pulling the edges of the worn robe together over my bare legs.
I could not afford to take the time to feel guilty for my lapse. That Zylphia would be in the lion-prince’s performing ring this night was not my doing. The Veil was to blame.
And Zylphia willingly worked the part.
Saying this to myself did not ease the guilt fluttering in my belly. How much of that was I carrying, of late?
Not nearly enough. Perhaps too much.
The curtain twitched aside. “You’re awake!” Maddie Ruth stepped inside before I could do more than nod my assent, a bundle of clothing folded over her arm. I realized then that it was her voice calling orders. “I’m so glad. You had us worried.”
I rather had myself worried. “I am quite fine,” I said firmly. “Tip-top shape. Where am I?”
“My room,” she said, as if it were obvious.
Like the last I’d seen her, she wore a sturdy woolen skirt and a simple man’s shirt, though now, the sleeves were rolled high and the heavy leather gloves I’d seen at her belt were protecting her hands. A set of goggles, brass-rimmed and with tinted glass in the frames, was shoved high on her forehead.
She looked quite the working man, were it not for the skirt and the ample roundness of her figure. A bit of dirt smeared her cheeks, or perhaps a kind of grease or oil. The smile she gave me was wide, and more relieved than I had a right to.
Guilt plucked again.
“I rescued your clothes,” she was saying a she set the items beside me. “Or, really, Zylphia did, and I repaired some of the holes.”
“Thank you,” I said, because such things were ingrained. I reached for the items, frowning at the precise stitches I found in the sleeve of the cotton shirt I’d worn. “Maddie Ruth, what do you do here?”
“I fix things. Can you hear the noise?”
“Naturally.”
“That’s the blow-off from the fans.” She turned her back, as if concerned with my modesty. “There’s four sets below the grounds, which keeps the fog at bay.”
Ah ha. One question, at long last answered.
“Why have I never felt a draft?” I asked, quickly dressing while I had the opportunity. Bless Maddie Ruth for her quick thinking. The belt holding all my various gear was still with the rest of my clothing, and my goggles rolled up within. “The engines should cause a wind.”
“They’re precisely designed,” the girl said, studying the scars in her gloves. “What drafts they create are offset by the layout in which they’re placed. If you’re paying right close attention, you can feel a bit of it at certain places, but it’s mild. Most won’t even know.”
I certainly hadn’t. So much for the Veil’s so-called magic. Not at all to my surprise, the mystery turned out to be machine. I found myself grinning, a bit of smug satisfaction. “What fuels the machines?”
“Aether, like the ones in sky ships but different. We’ve got to keep the fires stoked in order to fuel the extraction devices, but then that powers the connectors. The ratio is much lower than full steam needs. Would you like to see?” Maddie Ruth turned as I finished lacing the corset. I tied it off behind me with the skill of long practice. I’d designed it to be easy to tie by one’s self, easy to lace, and not nearly as tight as a true corset should be.
I fastened the collared throat at the nape of my neck, pulling my hair over my shoulder to do so. The length of it had not done well in the interim. Frizzy without the care usually afforded it, I imagined the appearance of it might have sent Fanny into a fit of the vapors.
My smile faded as I thought once more of my family.
How much I missed the life I thought I had hated so much. How things could have been different.
I could have maintained my Wednesday debates with Teddy, truly the best friend a girl could ever wish for. How I missed matching wits and intellect with a man who had not seen me as a dowry or a simpering female, but a peer of scientific thought and entertaining discussion.
How I missed the way Booth would walk down my halls, every step interspersed with the thunk of his silver prosthetic.
If only my chosen husband—a man whose crooked smile had been so difficult to produce, but now I thought of as so dear—had survived our wedding day.
Had I remained, there was no promise of happiness. The marchioness, my mother-in-law of only some days, had sworn to imprison me in my own home, strip me of my loving staff, afford me no freedoms—for a widow could claim none, and all that I owned belonged now to my Lord Compton’s father. Perhaps I deserved such punishment.
No. Such thoughts were useless. I married a good man for the reason of security and care of my family, chose to leave the world below the drift behind, and still the sweet tooth took him away in blood and malice.
Had I stayed above, mourned as I should have, I would have regretted the inability to achieve that which I had all but forgotten this past day.
Revenge.
Guilt transformed to a savage anger so sharp, I hunched my shoulders around it. I pressed one hand against my breastbone, where the ache was all the more acute.
“Miss?”
I looked up, the dull strands of my hair tumbling over my shoulder, to find Maddie Ruth watching me expectantly. Worried, I think.
I forced myself to stand straight. What had she asked me? “Ah,” I said, as if waking from a dream. “The machines. I would like to see them, but not this moment.” I took a steadying breath. “Maddie Ruth, I require help.”
Her eyes brightened. “Help?”
“Two important matters,” I told her. I busied my fingers with my hair, ignoring the gray smudges it left behind as I plaited the length of it. It was thick, unruly, and took great effort to tame as I spoke. “The Veil’s servants have a cameo that belongs to me. It is roughly palm-sized, and bears—”
“Your face?” Maddie Ruth backed out of the curtains. “Or someone that looks right enough like you that it could be an easy mistake, right?” The curtain was still dancing on its cord when she returned, her smile ear to ear. Gold winked at me as she proffered the all-too-familiar disc.
I stared, my fingers still and cramping in the midst of the weave I made of the tangle. “I... What? How?”
“Zylphia brought it,” she said.