kissed.
It was not the kiss Caleb remembered from the night of the blackout. That had been soft and harsh and strong, but a human softness, a human harshness and a human strength. This was a god-kiss, skeletal teeth touching lips cool and strong as marble, two colossal powers driven by a need that was not desire, an eagerness that was not passion. One was the shadow cast by the other, but which was which?
Or was each the shadow cast, and neither one the caster?
Thorns pierced the King in Red and Heartstone-in-Mal, and spread, weaving through Kopil’s bones and coursing in Mal’s blood. Barbs curled out of Kopil’s eye sockets and burst Mal’s eyes from the inside, flowered between his teeth and ripped her throat and tongue as they tied, and tangled, and became one.
Seventy-thousand-page contracts sitting in the RKC archives erupted with unearthly light. Blood signatures burned into reality; silver glyphs appeared on stone circles and obelisks throughout Dresediel Lex and in cities around the world, as if etched in an instant by giants with diamond chisels. The pacts built by hundreds of Craftsmen over thousands of billable hours were loose strands of rope, and the kiss one pull tightening them to a knot.
Seconds passed, grains of sand falling down a well deep as forever. Through ticks of agony Caleb wondered how Mal could bear the pain.
The deed was done. The thorns joined. Heartstone Holdings was itself no longer, subsumed into RKC; Red King Consolidated was itself no longer, transformed by consuming Heartstone.
Mal’s lips clung briefly to Kopil’s teeth, so gently did he pull away. Before she fell, she clutched him tight, leaned in until her cheek brushed the side of his skull, and whispered into his earwell: “Still interested?”
She sank to the stage. The lightning frame of Heartstone left her and wound about the King in Red, a separate form at first, then a swelling within the firestorm of his being, then merged entirely and gone.
Caleb collapsed into his own skin. Others glanced about in confusion, wondering at the significance of Mal’s last words. Some code between her and the King in Red, a joke or dare: speculation whispered through the awed hush.
Caleb did not wonder. He turned to Teo.
“I have to go,” he said, and fought toward the door.
18
Caleb sprinted through twisting halls and passages, all alike. By intuition and dumb luck he soon found an iron door fitted with latches resembling eagle’s claws—a former fasting chamber that served visiting speakers as a green room. Mal would be there now, resting. Caleb touched the door, the latches gave, and he tumbled into a small room hung with yellow-and-black tapestries. Ghostlight danced in iron braziers on the walls.
Mal, Alaxic, and the King in Red sipped sparkling wine around a stone basin in the room’s center.
She would be resting, yes. Or else celebrating the deal with two of the city’s most powerful Craftsmen.
“Mister Altemoc?” The King in Red sounded shocked, even amused. Caleb backed toward the door.
“Hi,” he said. “Sir,” and “Sir,” again to shrunken Alaxic, who regarded him with narrowed eyes and a thin, warped smile. “Excuse me. I should, um. Go.”
Don’t say anything, he begged Mal with his eyes.
“Caleb! What a surprise!”
“Ms. Kekapania.” Kopil’s skull revolved from Caleb to the woman beside him. “Are you and Mr. Altemoc acquainted?”
She raised her glass to Caleb first, then to the Deathless King and Alaxic. She drank. “We’re dating, actually.”
“Dating?”
Caleb and his boss spoke at the same time. They looked at each other, then back at Mal. She shrugged. “I wasn’t convinced at first, either, but he’s persistent.”
The blood red sparks of Kopil’s eyes winked out, and returned. Caleb had never seen the King in Red blink before.
“I didn’t know she worked for Heartstone when I met her,” he said.
Mal raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have come after me if you knew who I was?”
“It would have changed the way I approached you. Yes.”
She raised her glass in a salute and downed its contents.
Kopil’s shoulders shook. A noise like grinding gravel issued from somewhere below the hinge of his jaw.
The King in Red was laughing.
“I’ll leave,” Caleb said, and reached behind him to open the door. He did not want to take his eyes off the three Craftsmen. “I’m so sorry I burst in. I didn’t expect anyone would be here.”
“Sure, sure, sure.” Kopil nodded three times. “Take the day off.” He spun his finger bones in a circle above the basin. Water droplets took the shape of miniature nymphs, who skidded over the surface like skaters over ice. “Let us all celebrate Alaxic’s retirement.”
“The pleasure is mine. I leave you to inherit the rising salaries and health-care costs of my employees, my tempestuous engineering department, and my other bureaucratic diseases. I, meanwhile, will retire and find a hobby. Gardening, perhaps.”
“Lord Kopil,” Mal said, “may I escort Caleb out?”
“Of course. Go. Get out of our hair. Metaphorical hair, in my case. Try not to kill him. Hard to replace good people these days.”
“Lord Kopil, Lord Alaxic.” Mal said as she bowed to each. “It’s been a pleasure. Let’s do this again soon.” She grabbed the sleeve of Caleb’s jacket, and pulled him into the hall after her. Behind them, the water nymphs began to scream. Their high-pitched cries pursued Caleb and Mal through the maze of passages.
“What is going on here,” Caleb said when he thought they were safely out of earshot. She turned on him with a finger to her lips, and said nothing more until they reached the front door of the pyramid and stepped out into sunshine.
“How’s this?”
“Not far enough. Why don’t you buy me a drink?”
Mal raised her hand. A four-foot-long dragonfly fell from the sky with a whir like a thick book’s pages being fanned, and landed on Mal’s outstretched arm. Translucent wings split sunlight into a rainbow haze. Another dragonfly landed on Caleb’s shoulder, bowl-sized eye inches from his face. He flinched, and resisted the urge to brush the insect away.
Mal laughed at his shock, and stroked her opteran’s thorax. Broad wings twitched in anticipation. “You don’t take fliers often?”
“Isn’t the airbus good enough for you? These things,” he said with a flick at his opteran’s exoskeleton, “are expensive.”
“They are expensive,” she allowed. “And your Concern just closed the largest deal in its history. Celebrate.”
Her teeth gleamed in the sunlight. The creature perched on her forearm regarded him with many-faceted eyes, each facet quizzical.
Optera were descended from smaller bugs the gods and priests had used to ferry packages across the city. After Liberation, Craftsmen swelled the creatures’ size, gave them unnatural strength, and changed their diet. Instead of other bugs, fliers fed on the souls of those they bore aloft. “There are stories,” he said, contemplating its feathery proboscis, “of young Craftswomen riding these things drunk.”
“I’ve heard them.”
“They get so caught up in the flight that they forget to land. The opteran brings a husk back, or nothing at all.”
“Some girls don’t know when to quit,” Mal said. “Same for boys.”
