favors.
“He’s the squad leader. What you two do in this workshop is his business—regardless of whether or not it’s in your spare time. And if you don’t tell him, someone else will.”
Lundin nodded, crestfallen. Somehow, he’d hoped that Sir Mathias would help keep the secret; but, of course, the junior Petronaut’s duty to his squad leader came first. “Understood, Sir Mathias,” he said quietly.
Mathias blinked. “Wait… you don’t think I’ll tell him, do you? No! I was talking about some blabbermouth in the Parade squad leaking the news. Spheres! He’d flay me alive if he thought I knew anything about this and didn’t put a stop to it immediately. No, Mr. Lundin; deniability is my only way out of this brewing fiasco. And to that end,” he said, clapping the shoulder of a very perplexed Horace Lundin, “I’m off to have three drinks. Dame Miri!”
“Sir Mathias?”
“Will you accompany me to the pub like a civilized creature, or have you caught the work madness too?”
“Nothing about you at a pub is civilized,” she said. “I’m just going to stay until we get the first disk punched.”
“Well, since I won’t see you before then, happy feastday. None of you saw me here.” Sir Mathias nodded to each of them and was gone, stooping his head to fit through the door into the starlit night.
“Come on, techs,” Dame Miri told them gleefully, pulling up her sleeves. “There’s work to be done.”
Chapter Six
A Journey Of Ten Thousand Paces
Ruched red drapery flowed across the ceiling in Princess Naomi’s chamber, the billowy fabric gathered up every two meters only to spill downwards again in a series of elegant waves. The room felt lower than it was, as a result, and adult visitors found their heads naturally inclining downwards once they stepped inside. It was as if they were bowing to the child princess before they even saw her; a shamelessly premeditated trick of interior design Lady Ceres Mitrono and the other Regents had approved when setting up the heir’s apartments after Queen Tess’ passing. Also, the gilded furniture, in dark wood and velvet cushions, had been made child-sized to let Naomi receive supplicants in comfort. Let the visitors adjust themselves to her . The poor girl needs every advantage she can get, Lady Ceres thought, watching her young charge from the doorway.
The furniture was gone now, except for a single, severe black cabinet. Gone were the tapestries, the music boxes, the sumptuous chaise, and the soft, sculpted animals the princess had loved as a girl. Everything decorative, comforting, and familiar had been removed from Princess Naomi’s chambers when the First Ordeals began. Had it been only six days? Ceres shook her head slowly. It seemed like it had been years since the ceremonial shears had removed Naomi’s long braid, not quite blond and not quite brown; “Like a fine stein of lager,” Mortimer had described it with irreverent bombast, she remembered with a smile. Now the beautiful hair was gone, safely installed in the Haberstorm family vault, and the spiky-headed youth sitting on the floor in silent isolation was no longer the girl she had been. Whether she would emerge from the Ordeals as a successful midling, that sober stage between girl and woman, remained to be seen. And whether she would navigate the Second Ordeals, six years later, to become an adult and claim the crown was so far on the horizon as to be beyond consideration. Not worth worrying about , Ceres thought, her square face creased with anxiety. Not when there’s so much in the here-and-now to fret over.
“Her color seems good,” Ouste said at her shoulder, with an air of accentuating the positive.
Lady Ceres looked down at the court sorcerer, her sturdy arms crossed over her chest. Ouste was older than she by a few years, a woman of willowy build—though, in Ceres’s experience, a
“He’s the squad leader. What you two do in this workshop is his business—regardless of whether or not it’s in your spare time. And if you don’t tell him, someone else will.”
Lundin nodded, crestfallen. Somehow, he’d hoped that Sir Mathias would help keep the secret; but, of course, the junior Petronaut’s duty to his squad leader came first. “Understood, Sir Mathias,” he said quietly.
Mathias blinked. “Wait… you don’t think I’ll tell him, do you? No! I was talking about some blabbermouth in the Parade squad leaking the news. Spheres! He’d flay me alive if he thought I knew anything about this and didn’t put a stop to it immediately. No, Mr. Lundin; deniability is my only way out of this brewing fiasco. And to that end,” he said, clapping the shoulder of a very perplexed Horace Lundin, “I’m off to have three drinks. Dame Miri!”
“Sir Mathias?”
“Will you accompany me to the pub like a civilized creature, or have you caught the work madness too?”
“Nothing about you at a pub is civilized,” she said. “I’m just going to stay until we get the first disk punched.”
“Well, since I won’t see you before then, happy feastday. None of you saw me here.” Sir Mathias nodded to each of them and was gone, stooping his head to fit through the door into the starlit night.
“Come on, techs,” Dame Miri told them gleefully, pulling up her sleeves. “There’s work to be done.”
Chapter Six
A Journey Of Ten Thousand Paces
Ruched red drapery flowed across the ceiling in Princess Naomi’s chamber, the billowy fabric gathered up every two meters only to spill downwards again in a series of elegant waves. The room felt lower than it was, as a result, and adult visitors found their heads naturally inclining downwards once they stepped inside. It was as if they were bowing to the child princess before they even saw her; a shamelessly premeditated trick of interior design Lady Ceres Mitrono and the other Regents had approved when setting up the heir’s apartments after Queen Tess’ passing. Also, the gilded furniture, in dark wood and velvet cushions, had been made child-sized to let Naomi receive supplicants in comfort. Let the visitors adjust themselves to her . The poor girl needs every advantage she can get, Lady Ceres thought, watching her young charge from the doorway.
The furniture was gone now, except for a single, severe black cabinet. Gone were the tapestries, the music boxes, the sumptuous chaise, and the soft, sculpted animals the princess had loved as a girl. Everything decorative, comforting, and familiar had been removed from Princess Naomi’s chambers when the First Ordeals began. Had it been only six days? Ceres shook her head slowly. It seemed like it had been years since the ceremonial shears had removed Naomi’s long braid, not quite blond and not quite brown; “Like a fine stein of lager,” Mortimer had described it with irreverent bombast, she remembered with a smile. Now the beautiful hair was gone, safely installed in the Haberstorm family vault, and the spiky-headed youth sitting on the floor in silent isolation was no longer the girl she had been. Whether she would emerge from the Ordeals as a successful midling, that sober stage between girl and woman, remained to be seen. And whether she would navigate the Second Ordeals, six years later, to become an adult and claim the crown was so far on the horizon as to be beyond consideration. Not worth worrying about , Ceres thought, her square face creased with anxiety. Not when there’s so much in the here-and-now to fret over.
“Her color seems good,” Ouste said at her shoulder, with an air of accentuating the positive.
Lady Ceres looked down at the court sorcerer, her sturdy arms crossed over her chest. Ouste was older than she by a few years, a woman of willowy build—though, in Ceres’s experience, a
Similar Books
