Page 29 of Still the Sun

They move away from the stairs, and I can no longer hear them. I pull away, back toward Machine Two.Repeat mistakes.What mistakes? And the involvement—did he mean with Casnia’s search, or somethingelse? My skin pebbles anew, sending a shiver across my shoulders and down my spine.

I want to ask. I’ve never shied from confrontation. And yet not knowing how either tower keeper will react to my eavesdropping concerns me. Emgarden needs the scrap metal. I’m not ready to leave these machines. Moseus made it sound like there was no one else who could help, and while I could lean on that ... I determine it would be better to play it safe.

Still, it’s notmyfault they didn’t keep tabs on me, so I resume my work on Machine Two as though nothing happened.

It’s not until I’ve finished my calculations that I realize they’d been speaking in another tongue, and yet somehow, I understood every word.

Chapter 10

“I need a tool.”

Moseus looks up from averyold and damaged book in his lap as I approach. I wonder where he got it. Books are rare. Expensive and hard to make. He sits in his room, the door propped open. A lamp gleams from the wall outside.

With a raised brow, he explains, “You’re welcome to whatever you can find—”

“It’s not a tool either of us has.” Entering the dim room, I hand him my slate. Retreat for that lamp, but his eyes must be sharp because he reads my scrawl and diagram just fine. “I need something in this specific shape, with a head like this.” I point. “It’s the only way I’ll be able to attach the flywheel on Machine Three.” If it could telescope, that would be even better, but I’m not about to push my luck.

“I haven’t seen anything like this in the tower.” Moseus’s words are measured, as always, but I detect a flare of annoyance. He passes the slate back, then rubs the space between his eyes. He must be feeling worse than usual.

“The blacksmith in Emgarden, he could make it within a cycle, I think—”

“I do not want to involve your blacksmith. Not again.” Moseus closes his book and sets it aside. “Show me.” A second passes. “Please.”

I walk him up to the third floor, where I’ve gotten Machine Three looking like ... well, a shape, whereas before it was ... not as good ashape. Heartwood has come up in my absence and studies the machine, somehow looking paler than usual. He and Moseus exchange a tense glance, and I wonder if they’ve argued. I also wonder about the words I overheard before—past mistakes—but I try not to read too much into it. Speculating won’t get me anywhere.

I show Moseus the flywheel and the frame I assembled for it, then gesture to the pieces of machine embedded in the ceiling. Explain as best I can the mechanics of it, and yes, I’ve already tried alternatives, and yes, I really do need a special tool, and no, I can’t carve it out of wood.

“Perhaps she should spend her time elsewhere,” Heartwood murmurs. He doesn’t look my way.

“Perhaps she should fix the damn thing,” I retort, earning myself an approving look from Moseus, and ...

Why does Heartwood always look so ... sad?

Soft feelings,I tell myself. Some people just have thicker skin than others. I probably offended Entisa every other sun. She was like that. Soft.

I inhale slowly, letting the air fill every crevice. “If you two don’t have a way to make what I need, I can’t fix it. Arthen is trustworthy. He didn’t make a fuss about the handle for Machine One. I don’t have to give him a lot of detail. Send me home with more scrap, and he won’t complain.”

“Arthen?” Moseus repeats.

Before I can reply, Heartwood answers, “The blacksmith.”

I wonder when I told him about Arthen, then realize it was an easy deduction. I recall the knife still weighing down my pocket. I try to school my face as I study Heartwood, but I’m even worse at hiding my feelings than he is, and I look away before my stupefaction reveals me.

“Also, this.” I move to a turbine two-thirds as tall as me. Grab one end and heave so its exposed center faces the men. “This needs to turn.” I point to an axle I’ve managed to fortify with some fasteners. “But it’s missing ... something that goes here.” I point to where a belt shouldbe, or something like that, probably protected in a box or other casing. “I’ve dug through this mess twice and haven’t found it.”

“And you haven’t taken it?” Moseus asks me, though he pointedly looks at Heartwood as the words leave his mouth. Heartwood’s lips press into a thin line.

Straightening, I scowl. “Yes, Moseus. I decided to take some random pieces necessary for fixing the machine, and then to ask you for them. No, I didn’t take them. The way you’ve kept this space, I wouldn’t be surprised if one got knocked out the window.”

Because really, it’s a mess in here.

One of the aforementioned windows now fully occupies Heartwood’s attention.

Moseus sighs. “See what you can do. Ask your smith for the tool. Be—”

“Discreet,” I finish for him. “I will be, though no one in Emgarden is jumping at the chance to get their fingers in your machines.” Except me, and my fingerprints cover every millimeter of them.

“Please do so.” Moseus resumes his tranquility. “Before the mist lifts.”

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