Page 23 of Still the Sun

“It would be pointless.” Heartwood steps into the room. He seems ... larger, somehow. I can’t help but frown. I hate feeling small. “Moseus and I have already investigated it. There’s nothing to be done.”

“ButIhaven’t investigated it.” I move to the next window, grateful to put some distance between us and secure my wrench-grappling-hook. “I want to see for myself.”

“It isn’t safe.”

I shrug. “Life isn’t safe.”

“Nophe—”

I glare at him. He sets his jaw.

“My name is Pell,” I remind him. I skirt around him and climb down the ladder. Wait for him to stop me, but he doesn’t, which is permission enough. Once he’s down on the second floor, I shove the ladder out the window for a second time. When I exit the tower, I do so alone.

After shaking out my hands and any lingering, nonsensical jitters, I repeat the motions from before. Pulling myself up to the wide lip at the base of the third story, I tie my rope around my waist in a way I presume won’t tear me in two should I fall. The tower isn’t unscalable. There are enough projections to use as foot- and handholds, between windows, lips, and weathering. But it’s not a walk in cropland, either.

I pull myself up to the fourth floor. There are masonry surrounds for windows, but flat, opaque surfaces block the openings. I poke at theedges of one first with my fingers, then with a turnscrew, but Moseus was right—there’s no discernible way to enter the top of the tower, even if the windows were large enough to fit a body. Shifting sideways, I aim for a windowsill on the third tier, one story overhead.

My foot slips.

My heart lodges in my throat as I grab the edge of the window, barely keeping myself upright.Maybe wait for the condensation to dry next time, millet brain.Steadying myself, I climb a little higher, reaching the fifth-floor window, finding it closed off like the others. I also reach the base of the protrusion, and I rest easy once I can get a second loop of rope over a piece of it.

I ...thinkthis is a machine. It’s entirely plated on this side, so it’s hard to tell, and where it connects with the tower is mortared and caulked. No seams I can find. With a grunt, I heft myself up and over so I’m sitting on top of the protrusion. I’d say it’s about five meters long and two meters wide—

Wow. The view from up here is ... intense.

I’ve never been this high up before. I can see all of Emgarden, from the farm on one side to Thamton’s home on the other. The rocky sienna juts of the Brume Mountains cup the south and west like a hand, while the amaranthine wall cuts sharply across the east, glinting like an enormous jewel in the sunlight. Rusty, dry earth stretches far to the north, interrupted by jutting natural chimneys, rocky fins, and the occasional shadow marking a dip or drop. Like the wall, it has no end. None that I can see. I have a feeling I could pack up all of Emgarden and still not have enough provisions to travel far enough to find it, if there is one.

Wrenching my attention back to the protrusion, I run my hands over its smooth covering. Plated up here, too. Peek over the side—yep. All plated. And no discernible seams or screws or anything to get the plates off.

I’m loath to let Heartwood be right, so I investigate anyway, carefully running my hands over the plates, looking for any divots, weathering, seams. From the corner of my eye, I spy movement down below. It’sHeartwood. He loiters down there, watching me, a contrast of pale hair and dark leathers. I ignore him and climb farther out onto the protrusion. He follows my movements. What, is he going to catch me if I fall?

I snort at the idea. More likely I’d crush him and kill us both.

Still, twenty minutes later, I concede. If there’s anything inside this thing, I don’t have the tools to get to it. I knock against thick metal, unable to detect any hollow spaces to drill my way in. Not that I have a drill that can pierce through this.

The looming question remains: Why is it evenhere?

Tired and defeated, I retrace my steps. As I lower myself to the fourth floor, I keep the rope looped on the protrusion and don’t pull it free until both feet are securely on the third floor.

I’m sorry,a voice whispers.I lost my temper.

Spinning around, I’m greeted only by the pieces of Machine Three, though that voice sounded right next to me. Low, quiet,present.

It ... sounded like Heartwood.

But Heartwood isn’t here.No oneis here. Dropping the rope, I rub my eyes, then massage my temples. Listen. A soft breeze comes through the window. A desert wren caws in the distance. Footsteps downstairs.

I open my eyes.I need a break.

I haul everything back inside and situate the ladder again.

Moseus approaches. “There’s nothing to be done on that protrusion.” He doesn’t sound angry, just resigned.

“I’m aware.” I stretch my back. “And Machine Three is a mess.”

He nods, also aware. “Are you up to the task?”

“Yes,” I say without thinking, but I am. However frustrating this tower is, it’s given me a purpose I didn’t realize I needed. When I’m pinched sideways inside Ancient technology, that little ache beneath my ribs fades. I feel more ... whole. Of course, I relay none of that to Moseus. In the better light, I confirm that he does seem healthier, though hardly well. I wonder how he and Heartwood could be so physically similar and yet so notably different. Granted, Heartwood’s health also seems to fail him often, yet he recovers quickly, whereas Moseusstruggles to keep even a hint of color in his complexion. He’s never complained of the situation, at least not to me.

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