Taya stiffened her back.
'I can't believe you icarii,' he grumbled. 'You're thin enough, but none of you have any breasts. And your legs are too short. And your arms! We'll have to hide your shoulders.'
'What's wrong with my shoulders?' Taya protested. 'I mean, aside from the cut?'
'You're cut? How badly?' Before she could argue, he'd pulled up her shirt and was groaning to himself. 'Not even bandaged. I don't believe this — do you want a scar? Fine, fine, no problem. I can work around it. It's too cold for bare shoulders, anyway. Especially shoulders like yours.'
'What's wrong with my shoulders?' she insisted.
'Muscles aren't ladylike.' He scowled, his pencil flying over a sheet of paper. 'I feel like I'm dressing a boy. Fortunately, I've made dresses for Cassi before, so I know a few tricks.'
'I'm not a boy. And my breasts are just fine, thank you very much.'
'They're fine for a flier. They don't give a designer much to work with. Too big in front and you need too much internal support. Too little and the front won't stay up on its own.' He chewed on the end of his pencil a moment, then started scribbling again. 'I'd sell my soul for perfect breasts.'
'You and me both.' Taya grimaced and sat, sneaking a glance down at her chest. Nobody had ever told her that her breasts were too small before. Great. Now she had something else to worry about.
By the time Cassi returned and dropped several bags in front of Jayce, Taya was ready to go. She wasn't allowed to leave for another hour, though, only escaping a little before noon.
'Don't worry,' Jayce assured her. 'I won't let you down. Cassi, I need her three hours before the party. Minimum. Four would be better.'
'She'll be here,' Cassi said, grinning. 'Make the family proud, Jayce.'
Released from the shop, they hurried to a tearoom not far from the University and took refuge from the cold autumn wind.
'Thanks,' Taya said, after half a cup of the house's strongest black brew had steadied her nerves again. 'I really appreciate your help.'
'Oh, it's no problem.' Cassi smiled. 'My uncle's a tailor and my aunt makes jewelry. Couture's in Jayce's blood. This is a big opportunity for him, getting his work in front of the exalteds so quickly after graduation.'
'He said I wasn't ladylike and I have small breasts,' Taya admitted. Cassi laughed.
'Jayce likes to whine. You know, if you get into the diplomatic corps, you're going to need a new wardrobe. You won't be able to wear your flight suit all the time.'
'I know. Today made me realize that.'
'Well, if the kid comes through for the party, keep him in mind. It'd be a real break for him.'
'I'll remember,' Taya promised. She wrapped her fingers around the teacup. 'If he can make my chest look bigger, I'll owe him one, anyway.'
They spent half an hour nursing their drinks, then stood and pulled on their gloves, stepping back out in the street.
'Since we've got the rest of the day off, I think I'll go visit my mother,' Cassi said, glancing up at the University clock tower. 'She had a cold last week. You don't mind, do you?'
'No… no, that's fine,' Taya said, jamming her hands into her coat pockets. 'I've got a couple of errands to run, myself.'
'See you for dinner?'
'Sure.' She smiled and waved, then turned and began walking toward Booksellers Row.
Taya liked to stroll through Ondinium's markets, not because of the goods they sold but because she loved looking at foreigners: cheerful, red-haired Mareauxans drinking shoulder-to-shoulder with canny, brown-skinned Alzanans; fur-clad, snow-skinned Demicans comparing weapons with black-skinned Cabisi wrapped in brightly woven long jackets; and swarthy, bearded Tiziri gesturing earnestly to golden-skinned, hairless Si'sierate. She wandered through the streets, listening for new words to add to her range of languages, until she finally reached the booksellers’ and printers’ line of stalls.
The customers in the Row were mostly Ondiniums, so she dragged her attention away from the crowd and browsed through the newspapers and broadsheets, searching for the latest news on the wireferry disaster and refinery bomb. The most recent printing was a three-hour-old broadsheet reporting the timeline for the wireferry repairs and the new passenger schedule. She looked for news about the disaster's cause, but nothing had been reported.
'You going to buy that, then?' grumbled the old woman inside the news stall.
'Oh… no, thank you. I don't take the wireferry.' Taya handed the sheet back over the wooden counter. The woman took it with a gnarled, ink-stained hand, and Taya thought again of Cristof's hands.
Which direction had he been coming from?
Would a terrorist stop to help a woman in distress immediately after he'd planted a bomb?
Annoyed at herself, Taya turned, weaving her way through the narrow streets of book stalls and publishing houses until she reached Gryngoth Plaza. The plaza was dominated by a bronze statue of Lictor Gryngoth on horseback and was built on an outcrop that provided a clear view of the sweeping mountainside below and the majestic range of peaks around them.
She leaned on the low stone wall and gazed down at the smoggy haze that blanketed Tertius.
It was easy to envision Cristof planting a bomb, his long fingers setting the hands of a timer with painstaking precision and getting dirty as he slipped explosives inside grease-covered machinery. He was outcaste. That meant he was unreliable and quite possibly dangerous. Honest citizens didn't reject their caste and carry around air pistols. And he hadn't hesitated to shoot the Demican mugger, had he? He had a violent streak.
Wind disheveled Taya's short, auburn curls and numbed her ears.
On the other hand, Cristof was exalted by birth and by caste, and the brother of a decatur. Could the Lady have let a flawed tool slip through her Forge and get born into a sacred body? Taya wasn't a religious idealist. She knew that accidents happened; that sometimes a good tool was damaged by careless use. Still, exalteds were usually above question.
Usually.
Icarii stand outside the caste hierarchy.
'Fine!' Taya slapped a hand on the top of the wall and straightened. 'Let's see if he believes it.'
'I beg your pardon?' asked a woman next to her. Taya gave her an apologetic wave and strode back across the plaza, toward Whitesmith Bridge.
Ondinium's bells began tolling noon as she walked down the broad, switchback levels of the bridge, jostled by citizens of all castes and inkless foreigners visiting the city on business or to gape at its mechanical marvels. The sector gate between Secundus and Tertius was wide open, but the number of lictors guarding it had been increased, and the lines were long. Taya wished she had her wings as she stood in one of the citizens’ queues, pulling out her identification papers. A number of the other Ondiniums in line gave her inkless face a curious glance, then saw the icarus pin on her lapel and turned back to their own conversations.
Taya had been mistaken for a foreigner before; it was one of the hazards icarii faced when they weren't in harness, especially if they didn't have the copper skin and dark hair of a full-blooded native. Taya had inherited her father's auburn hair and pale skin. Only her mother's dark eyes suggested that she wasn't pure Mareauxan. Once, when Taya had been younger, she'd dyed her hair black to try to fit in. The color had been flat and lifeless against her pale skin, and the dye hadn't set well. Every time she'd washed her hair, the water had turned dark. She had never repeated the experiment.
The lictor at the gate gave her a close look as she stepped up and scrutinized her papers. After a moment he snapped the wallet shut and handed it back with a polite nod.
'Travel safely, icarus.'
'Thank you.' She tucked the wallet back into place and stepped into Tertius.
Nothing differentiated the top of Tertius and the bottom of Secundus; smog and soot darkened both equally.
