'I didn't think it would be my brother.'
'I don't know if it was! It might be a coincidence. He's probably got a good explanation for everything.'
Another moment of silence stretched between them. Alister's blank expression transformed to amazement.
'I knew he was angry when he left, but I didn't think he would do anything this rash. Clock repair made sense. But to spend years pretending to be something he isn't….'
'You think he's involved, then?'
Alister seemed to shake himself. 'No. No. I don't think he is. I'm going to talk to him. He's family, Taya. Our parents are dead, and we're all we have left. It must be a misunderstanding. Or perhaps he doesn't realize what's he's gotten himself into. Cris can become so focused on his work that he doesn't notice what other people are doing around him. He could be an innocent dupe. And if he's not innocent…' Alister looked away, gazing at the clock on his table. 'Then I'll tell the lictors. And, Taya—'
'What?'
'Stay away from him.' Alister met her eyes. 'He knows you overheard him last night. If he's involved with the Torn Cards, then you could be in danger. I don't want you to get hurt. That's one thing I'd never forgive him for.'
Taya felt guilty for the warm feeling that filled her.
'I'll avoid him,' she promised.
'Good.' He pushed himself away from the table and took her hand. For a change, his fingers were cold, and she thought she felt them trembling. 'Thank you for telling me, and thank you for letting me deal with this myself. Cris and I have our differences, but he means a great deal to me.' He paused. 'As do you.'
The warm feeling intensified. Taya started to take a step back, to try to defuse the moment, but Alister wouldn't release her.
'Why do you keep backing away from me?' he asked, holding her hand captive.
She swallowed.
'You're an exalted,' she said, unsteadily. 'We're…' She gestured around them with her free hand, trying to indicate the office, the whole situation.
'I know things are confusing right now. But they won't always be like this.' He moved closer, pulling her in. All at once her flight leathers felt too constricting, the harness straps too tight. Her heart hammered and she laid her free hand flat on his chest, meaning to hold him away. For a moment she faltered, feeling the hardness beneath his robes. Then she mustered her thoughts and pushed, stepping backward again.
'Not now,' she said, struggling to maintain her dignity. 'You're upset.'
'Yes, I am,' Alister agreed, releasing her. 'So?'
Taya squared her shoulders. 'It just — it doesn't feel right. I might be getting your brother into trouble. You should be angry at me!'
'I'm not. I'm grateful for your warning.' The decatur studied her. Taya flattered herself that he looked disappointed that she'd pushed him away. She certainly was.
But she also knew she was right. To share a first kiss, now, after that kind of news — she didn't want the moment to be tainted by anything bad that might happen afterward.
'Talk to Cristof first,' she pleaded.
Alister sighed, turning and looking out the window again. 'Perhaps that's wisest, under the circumstances.'
'Thank you.' She felt a pang of regret as she gazed at his strong profile and watched the morning light gleam in the jewels and gold that caught back his long hair and brightened his neck and hands. The wave tattoo was dark against his cheek. A muscle there tightened as he stood, lost in his own thoughts.
'I wish you had brought me a pair of wings, instead of this news.'
'I'm sorry.' Taya took another step backward. 'Will you send me a message when you know more?'
'Yes.' He paused. 'Fly safely, Taya Swan.'
'I will. You be careful, too, exalted.' She bowed and took her leave.
Chapter Eight
She hadn't lied, and she wasn't breaking her promise. She was going to avoid Cristof.
Just not his shop.
She picked up another set of messages from Dispatch, on her way down, and spent an hour and a half delivering them. Once they were gone, she flew to Gryngoth Plaza and landed by the statue, then hurried to Jayce's dressmaking shop.
Cassi's nephew allowed her to store her wings in his shop, but it took her half an hour to get away from his interrogation about the party. At last she promised to tell him everything over lunch later that week and grabbed another cloak to cover her flight leathers.
'That's two you've borrowed,' Jayce pointed out as she left.
'I'll bring them both back tomorrow,' she promised. 'Really. And the dress, too.'
'It's intact?' he asked, disappointed.
'Well, it was close,' she admitted. 'Or it might have been. But Viera Octavus was looking out for my virtue.'
'Damn,' Jayce muttered, waving her off as he turned back to his dressmaker's model. 'Try harder next time.'
She made a face at him and left, thinking ruefully about her almost-kiss.
Next time, I won't pull away
, she promised herself, heading down to Tertius.
When she reached the marketplace, she pulled the cloak's hood up to cover her face and hair. An 'Open' sign hung on the front of Cristof's shop, but the door was closed against the autumn chill and the sooty air. Taya settled in to wait, crouching in an alley across the street.
I'll stay for an hour,
she promised herself.
Then I'll report back to the dispatch office. And I'll work an extra hour this evening, to make up for all this lost time.
Half an hour later, a man descended into Cristof's shop. Taya couldn't get a glimpse of his face, but shortly after his arrival Cristof left with him, pulling on his coat and, characteristically, frowning.
Taya waited until they were around the corner before she scurried down to the shop door.
The quality of locks in Tertius hadn't improved since she'd been a little girl. The loose frame wiggled under her hand, and with some ruthless jabbing with her utility knife, she managed to jimmy the locks and yank the door open. Cristof would notice, but this was Tertius. Break-ins happened all the time.
The dimly lit shop was still filled with whirring and clicking. Taya went straight to Cristof's desk, searching his papers.
Diagrams for clockwork mechanisms abounded, but none of them looked like a bomb to her untrained eye. She searched through the drawers, not sure what she was looking for. A torn punch card, maybe, or a half- constructed bomb. Instead, she found tools and broken clockwork.
Nothing. She turned to his filing cabinet. Bills, receipts, work orders. Cristof's filing system was as orderly as his brother's was chaotic. Even his handwriting was neat, each letter tiny and precise. He'd been telling the truth about getting most of his commissions from Secundus and Primus, she noticed.
She stepped through the curtains into his living quarters. Shelves of books; a wardrobe; a small, neatly
