An unblade could have ended them, of course. But they were useful, and unblades rare.
When Perceval looked up, she saw Gavin perched equitably on Rien's fist, his swanlike head turning from side to side, crest fluffed and burning eyes sealed. She thought of the necromancer, Rien's lover whether Rien thought Perceval knew it or not, and shuddered. It would be foolish to think they were not observed.
"First we must find you accommodation," Benedick said, and it was done. The last of their honor guard broke apart. Benedick summoned his majordomo. For a few moments Perceval and Rien (with her attendant basilisk, head now tucked under his wing as if he had any need of sleep) and Tristen stood, flotsam adrift in the center of a great empty room at the front of Benedick's house, balanced over the yawning depths of holographic tiles of indigo blue. And Perceval noted Rien's inward smile.
"Sister?"
Rien shook her head as if shaking off a trance. "Just thinking."
Perceval nodded, waiting companionably. Tristen, she thought, was pretending not to listen. And Gavin lifted his head, stretched, and began to preen the hair behind Rien's ear.
Eventually, in the face of all their silences, Rien sighed and said, "In Rule, it would have been me making up the sleeping chambers."
"You miss your place," Perceval said.
"No." Rien glanced at her, at Tristen. Gavin tugged her hair; she reached up and placed a hand on his wing. "Yes. It wasn't much of a place."
"It was safe," Tristen said brusquely, "and you knew it."
Rien stared from him to Perceval, and Perceval thought she was expecting disapproval. She kept her own face neutral; she nodded slightly.
The corners of Rien's mouth ticked up. She stepped around Perceval, Gavin meanwhile executing a maneuver half-hop and half-slide down her arm to come to rest upon her hand like any bird at peace upon a swaying limb, except the three alabaster coils of tail looping her wrist.
"Father?" Rien stammered, before she had approached Benedick very closely at all. She said it so softly, as if she had never heard the word before, that she was obliged to say it again to turn his head. Perceval flinched for her, but Rien persisted. "Father."
"Yes, Rien?" He turned, raising one hand to stay his majordomo, without any show of impatience at the interrupted conversation.
"Perceval and I would like to stay together. And close by Tristen, please."
"Of course," Benedick said. "That simplifies things. Thank you, Rien."
As for Perceval, she watched, hoping she presented an air of impassivity. No doubt at all, she was in for it, and she deserved whatever she was going to get.
Pinion wrapped her protectively, whether in response to the chill or the quick hug she gave herself, she did not know. The translucent wings were warm; their touch made her shiver.
Who was this Dust, who spoke to her through the mechanical parasite that had grafted itself to the severed scars of her wings? Who was he to demand her hand in marriage?
She did not want to ask Benedick, and she did not see why Rien might know.
And as for Rien—as she requested, so it was done. Within the quarter-hour, Perceval and her sister were ensconced in a small chamber with twin couches. It was warmer here, the walls heavily draped except alongside the wide, glazed window. There was a big desk and a fainting bench, and a dresser and a wardrobe for all the things they did not own. The furnishings were russet and brown accented here and there with white and yellow, pleasant and durable. A small heater glowed in the corner, making the room cozy.
Rien set Gavin on the back of the desk chair and sank down on the couch closer to the door. Perceval crossed to the window and pressed her hands against it. The glass was the same temperature as the air inside: double or triple glazed, then, and if she angled her head she could see light reflecting off the other panes. Where her shadow blocked the interior lights, she could see through. She stared down the long snow-frosted bank to the black lake below, the ice-sheathed trees beyond shimmering in the first gray mirrored light of morning, and waited for Rien's wrath to crest.
"You lied to me," Rien said.
"I edited," Perceval admitted. "But it came out well enough, didn't it?"
"You implied you knew him, that he would take us in."
Rien had not had her symbiont yet when the conversation occurred. She could not possibly recall it accurately. Perceval herself did not remember what it had been like to live solo, but she knew enough Means to have an idea of their confusion, the muddy imperfection of their thoughts. She wondered if that was already receding for Rien, if Rien had noticed how crisp new memories were in comparison. "I said it was not presumptuous for his daughters to call on him in time of need."
"Space you," Rien said, and Perceval laughed. And then Rien caught on and laughed, too. "Already done, huh?"
"Yes, rather." Perceval put her back to the polycarbonate and leaned against it. With a shudder, she realized she could feel the glass against the feathers of the parasite wings. They were infiltrating her nervous system. Becoming part of her in truth.
There was a twinge of pain. She looked down. She was twisting a shadow feather between her fingers; the feather tore free, and its edges sliced her hand. "Dammit."
She dropped the feather on the floor and licked the blood from her thumb. The cut sealed itself, a thin blue line in her flesh, and she let her hands fall and knot in the fabric of her trousers.
"So," Rien said, sliding off the couch, "you said that when you challenged Ariane, it was because she was behaving villainously."
Perceval imagined the taste of blood. Ariane's blood. They were safe now, more or less. They had escaped, and if anyone could prevent total war, it was Benedick Conn. It was time to think of other things again. "I'll pay her back, one of these days."
Rien crouched and picked up the feather from the floor. Still hunkered, elbows on her knees, head bent, she said, "So tell me of her villainy."
Perceval stood and stared at her, folded arms and folded wings. And then the hard line of her mouth crumpled, and she smoothed both palms across her stubbled scalp.
"It'll grow," Rien comforted.
"I was thinking of keeping it shorn," Perceval said. "It was vanity." With her head still bowed, she continued. "The story you wish to hear is not in all things a flattering one."
"I don't need to hear Ariane flattered—"
"What about me?" Perceval stared, then, dark eyes and dark lashes in her pale, square face.
And Rien swallowed. The warmth of a flush stung her cheeks. She looked down quickly, as if studying the translucent feather in her hands. A smear of blood stained the tip of the pen azure. She smoothed the vanes; they were unlike any bird's feather she'd ever held.
"Trust in my love," she said, and heard the rustle of Perceval's nod.
"I made a lot of errors." Perceval's voice went thready.
"I forgive them," Rien said. "You said you were on errantry."
"Yes. I don't know what you know of Engine—"
"Nothing," Rien said. She thought of stories, of demons and angels, of cannibals and terrorists. "Nothing upon which I can rely. I have an Engineer in my head now—"
"Hero Ng."
Who was, Rien thought, somewhat shocked and bashful to be called Hero. But then she reminded him that he'd earned it with his death, and his embarrassment subsided. "I will not find it tiresome if you explain."
"Just so," Perceval said, and sat down on the floor with a flumph and a fluttering, her long legs bent every which way. "It is incumbent upon the knights of the realm to patrol, to keep peace and enforce the rule of law as far as our domaine's influence stretches. We also go out looking for damage, and mend it where it can be mended. We do not travel the same route in the same order always, so none may know too far in advance when or where we shall be, and so that we may provide maintenance to little-habited areas. But by the same token, it is good to know the inhabitants, who can be trusted and who will look for any advantage. Some of them ..." She bit her lip, as if remembering suddenly that Rien had been a Mean herself, a week since. "Rien, would you reach me down a drink, please? If I am meant to talk through to supper?"