“Cassyll is waiting for you,” Toller cut in forcibly. “It’s good that you’ll have his company on the ride home.”
Gesalla nodded. “It’s very good—after all, you might have decided to take him into the sky with you.”
“What are you saying? The boy has no interest in flying.”
“He had no interest in guns, either—until you put him to work on those cursed muskets. Now I see almost as little of him as I do of you.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Toller stopped his wife in the busy, high-ceilinged corridor, waited until a group of officials had moved out of earshot, and said, “Why didn’t you come out with it last night?”
“Would you have changed your plans?”
“No.”
Gesalla looked exasperated. “Then what would have been the point in my speaking out?”
“What was the point in coming to the palace in the first place?” Toller said. “Was it to cause me pain?”
“Did you say pain?” Gesalla gave an incredulous laugh. “I heard about your plunge into insanity with that beast of a swordsman, Karkarand, or whatever his name is.”
Toller blinked at her, thrown by the apparent change of subject. “It was the only way…”
“Now you’re going up there when there is absolutely no need for it. Toller, how do you think I feel, knowing that my husband would rather court death than go on living with me?”
Toller strove for a suitable answer, gaining time through the fact that two clerks carrying ledgers were passing close by and giving him inquisitive looks. This was the sort of situation in which Gesalla could strike a near-superstitious fear into him. Her oval face was hard, pale and beautiful, and behind those grey eyes was a mind that could far outpace his own, making it impossible for him to best her in an argument, especially an important one.
“I know there is little evidence of it thus far, but this is a time of crisis,” he said slowly. “I am only doing what is required of me, and I hate it as much as…” He allowed the sentence to tail off as he saw that Gesalla was shaking her head emphatically.
“Don’t lie to me, Toller. Don’t lie to yourself. You are enjoying all this.”
“Nonsense!”
“Answer just one question for me—do you ever think of Leddravohr?”
Again disconcerted, Toller conjured up then drove from his mind a vision of the military prince, the man whose hatred had altered his entire life and with whom he had fought a duel to the death on the day their ships had touched down on Overland all those years ago.
“Leddravohr?” he said. “Why should I think of him?”
Gesalla produced the sweet, sweet smile which often preceded her deadliest thrusts. “Because you were a pair of sixes, you and he.” She turned and walked away quickly, her straight-backed figure slipping through barriers of people with an ease he could not emulate.
Nobody can say that to me, he thought in dismay, trailing in Gesalla’s wake. In spite of his efforts to overtake, she had passed through the arched entrance and was in the sunlight of the forecourt before he reached her side, and Cassyll was already bringing two bluehorns forward.
Cassyll Maraquine was as tall as his father, but the maternal component of his build was evident. His physique was of the lean and long-muscled type, giving him the capability—as Toller had learned through a number of failed challenges—of running for two or three hours at a stretch with virtually no diminution of speed. He bore a strong resemblance to his mother, with a fine-featured oval face and thoughtful grey eyes beneath a widow’s peak of black hair.
“Good foreday, mother, father,” he said and immediately gave all his attention to Toller. “I brought samples of the new batch of pressure spheres. Not one of them has failed or even distorted under test, so we can start producing reliable muskets right away. I have them in my saddle bag—do you want to see?”
Toller glanced at Gesalla’s set countenance. “Not now, son. Not today. I’m leaving it to you and Wroble to take care of the production planning—I have other work in hand.”
“Oh!” Cassyll raised his eyebrows and gazed at his father in open admiration. “So it’s really true! You’re going aloft with the first of the fortresses!”
“It has to be done,” Toller said, wishing that Cassyll had reacted differently. He had been away from home on the King’s business during much of his son’s upbringing and had always considered himself blessed in that, far from showing resentment, the boy had regarded him as a glamorous adventurer and a father of whom to be proud. There had been no sense of competition with Gesalla for their son’s mind, even after the boy had developed a strong interest in the new science of metallurgy, but now the triangular relationship was changing and presenting difficulties—just when Toller was least able to deal with them. The first two sky fortresses had been constructed in only a few days, far too short a time for a thorough study of the problem areas, and the forthcoming ascent was looming so large in his thoughts that all else seemed slightly unreal to him. In his heart he was already soaring up into the dangerous blue reaches of the sky, and he had become impatient with earthly matters.
“I’ll speak to Wroble before nightfall,” Cassyll said. “How long will you be away?”
“Perhaps seven days on this first ascent. Much depends on how smoothly the operation proceeds.”
“Good luck, father.” Cassyll shook Toller’s hand, then held one of the bluehorns steady for Gesalla to mount it. She swung herself up into the saddle with practised grace, her divided riding skirt giving her full freedom of movement, and looked down at Toller with an expression which seemed to indicate an odd mixture of anger and sadness. The silver streak in her hair shone like a military emblem.
“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck also?” he said.
“Why should I? You assured me the ascent would be perfectly safe.”
“Yes, but…”
“Goodbye, Toller.” Gesalla wheeled the bluehorn away and rode off towards the palace gates.
Cassyll gazed after her in perplexity for a moment. “Is anything wrong, father?”
“Nothing we are unable to put right, son. Take good care of your mother.” Toller watched Cassyll mount and ride after Gesalla, then turned and walked back into the palace, moving like a blind man opposed by currents of humanity. He had taken only a few paces when he heard a woman’s footsteps hurrying behind him. The idea that it might be Gesalla coming back to put things right between them was irrational, but nevertheless he felt the beginnings of a surge of gladness as he halted and turned to face the person who was overtaking him. The emotion subsided in disappointment as he saw a petite, black-haired woman in her mid-twenties who was wearing the saffron uniform of an air-captain. Blue patches stitched to the shoulders of the thickly embroidered jupon showed that she had been seconded to the hastily formed Sky Service. Her face was firm-jawed and full-lipped, with unfashionably full eyebrows which seemed poised to frown.
“Lord Toller,” she said, “may I have a word with you? I am Skycaptain Berise Narrinder, and I’ve been trying to see you for days.”
“I’m sorry, captain,” Toller said. “You have chosen the most inopportune time.”
“My lord, this will take but a moment—and it is a matter of some importance.”
The fact that the woman had not been deterred by his refusal caused him to look more closely at her, and far back in his mind there flickered the thought that she would have been highly attractive but for the anomaly of being in uniform. He was immediately angry with himself, and again wished that Queen Daseene did not have so much influence over her husband. It had been on Daseene’s insistence that women had been admitted to the Air Service, and she had prevailed on Chakkell to permit female volunteers to join skyship and fortress crews.