would be sad to see them go, though he knew the entire city was holding its collective breath. The final departure of the Fannings was, to many, the ultimate sign that Aerie was now in the hands of its own people.
'Where is the bastard?' Venera roared at a footman. He pointed down a covered walkway that connected two of the residence's buildings. 'He's going to pay for this one,' she told the man before continuing on. The footman watched her go, then turned to see Hayden lumbering up behind her. He and Hayden exchanged a glance and a shrug.
Though she kept walking at top speed, Hayden slowed to a stop about halfway down the gallery. Warm sunlight was streaming in through its leaded-glass walls; several ventilation panes were angled open, and a slight breeze teased the gauzy white curtains that had been pulled back to let the light in. The light shone across the polished stone floor, reflected in pale squares along the ceiling, and surrounded and embraced everything in the space.
'There you are!' sounded faintly from somewhere ahead.
'Venera, what's wrong?'
A pair of wood-framed glass doors led to a little sitting area outside the gallery. Hayden dismissed his virtual windows and laid his hand on the latch.
'What's wrong?' she roared. 'What's
Hayden paused, looked to where two figures stood silhouetted in the next parlor--one, hands on hips, curved up as if to take off into the air, the other, ramrod straight, looking down at her.
'Chaison, I don't know how to do this...' As he put his arms out to encircle her, Hayden turned back to the doors. Smiling, he turned the latch and opened them.
Warm air, laden with the scent of flowers and grass, coiled around him. He stepped outside, and at that moment the icons of scry that had surrounded him blinked out. Today's outage was over.
It was quiet here, save for the buzzing of insects and intermittent birdsong. The gallery doors opened onto a little semicircular patio, not more than ten feet across, bounded by a low stone wall. Two white benches made angles on either side of the doors; over the little wall, luxurious gardens began.
There had been a time when Hayden couldn't still the churn of thoughts in his head. He'd spent his days thinking, scheming, worrying, and rationalizing. When he first lit this sun, he'd been too focused on its spectrum and modulations to take in the fact that this was the project his parents had given their lives for. When that realization finally caught up to him, it had come in the form of sorrow and grief, and at the height of his success, he'd found himself running away from the very sun he'd worked so hard to build.
Since that time he'd been so wrapped up in the miseries of his own past that he barely noticed the world around him. He'd given up caring about the suns he designed; but things had changed the day he met that indomitable history tutor, Leal Hieronyma Maspeth. His reemergence hadn't been sudden--more like slowly waking from a dream. Finally, today, and maybe for the first time, he was entirely back.
If he mentioned this to Leal, she would of course lay the cause at the feet of the countess of Greendeep, who managed to appear everywhere Hayden went lately. There was something between them, no doubt of that. But there was more to this feeling than that--more, too, than simply laying his past to rest.
Hayden stepped up to the stone wall and laid his fingertips on it. The stone was warm, almost as though it were alive. He felt the long slow breaths coursing in and out of his own body, and faintly, the presence of his pulse.
He leaned back and tilted his face up to the sun. He'd spent so much time thinking about its calibration, its dynamics and tolerances--it was long past time he should do this.
The heat of its fire sank into him in slow waves, penetrating under his skin, washing down his throat and shoulders, settling into his entire body. He closed his eyes, and the air teased his hair. Birdsong and his breath; the heat of a sun; he had all he needed.
He emptied his mind of thought, and let it fill with a vast and comforting radiance.
TOR BOOKS BY KARL SCHROEDER
About the Author
Karl Schroeder lives in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, with his wife and daughter. In addition to writing science fiction, he consults on the future of technology and culture for clients, such as the Canadian government and army. His Web site is www.karlschroeder.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
