“Oh!” she said. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“I might be getting old, but I’m not frail,” he said, then grabbed hold of her. “You ready?”
“Always,” she said, feeling an exquisite thrill from anticipating the flight. She leaned into him.
He propelled them upward, using the metal installations he’d had erected here to give him a series of appropriate anchors. A rushing, exhilarating ascent with wind in her hair, and the insignificant world became more tiny. Until it was only the two of them and the sky.
Wax landed them carefully on the platform outside their suite. As he took back his crutches, Steris fished for her notebook.
“I think…” Wax said. “I think I’m going to be all right.”
“Good,” she said, flipping a few pages. “I have a Wayne quote for the moment.”
“A what?”
“I figured,” she said, “it would be a way of remembering him. To keep a few appropriate lines handy. Is that … morbid? That’s morbid, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said. “I mean, it might be, but he’d approve.”
She grinned. “‘Oi,’” she said. “‘Here you carried a girl all that way, mate, and you didn’t grab ’er butt, even a little?’”
“You just made that one up.”
She proffered the notebook, showing the line written there.
“Well, I mean,” Wax said, “we’ve got to do as he says.”
“It’s the only proper way to honor the dead.”
He seized her then, pulled her into a kiss, her figure sculpting to his and pushing against him in all the right places. It felt amazing — like they were liquid, aligned, alive, alight.
And yes, a proper butt-grab was involved. It almost toppled them to the side, unbalancing Wax on his good leg. They broke the kiss before an accident could befall them, but stayed close.
“Thank you,” Wax whispered. “For being you.”
“It’s the only thing I am good at,” she said. “Other than throwing cows at people.”
Wax frowned.
“That is something Wayne said on occasion,” she said.
In response to that, he looked to the sky. “Thank you, Wayne. Wherever you are. For letting me have this. For making me live.”
She forced him inside then, so he could sit. He wasn’t supposed to put weight on that leg, cast or no cast. Even if he could cheat by making himself lighter.
Unfortunately, Kath had been a little quicker than she’d expected, and the kids were already back from the Harms estate down-Basin. So Wax, in flagrant disregard for medical instructions, knelt and scooped Max up in an embrace.
“Daddy!” Max said. “You did it! Kath says you did it!”
“Did it?” he asked.
“Stopped the bad guys! Saved the world!”
“I suppose,” Wax said, “I did a little of both. Wayne helped a lot though.”
“Jennid at school,” Max continued, “says that you’re also supposed to get the girl when you save the world. But that part is stupid. I don’t like girls.”
“What?” Wax said. “Not even Mommy?”
“Dad,” Max said, with an exaggerated sense of long-suffering — as if this were the most obvious thing a boy had ever had to describe. “Mommy’s not a girl, she’s a mom.”
Steris smiled, moving over by Kath as Wax took little Tindwyl and held her tight, letting her grab at his sideburns.
“This came for you,” Kath said softly, taking a letter from her handbag. “A short time ago. It looked important.”
“Thank you,” Steris said, taking the letter — which was addressed to her — and noting the governor’s seal on the front.
Her panic was immediate. She’d worried about this. She’d written down the possibility, but surely it wouldn’t … it couldn’t …
She ripped it open, her hands shaking with terror. He’d need a new vice governor, now that he’d formally fired Adawathwyn. Surely he wouldn’t …
Dear Steris Harms Ladrian,
I would like to meet with you and discuss a possible appointment in my government. Considering your invaluable service during the recent crisis—
Oh no. Oh no. Not that.
— I have decided to ask you to accept a position as the city’s Disaster Preparations Officer. I would assign you a seat on my council and provide a task force for your use, ensuring the city is prepared and outfitted for any and all potential disasters or relevant dangers.
Please reply with times that will work for you, so we can sit down and talk. On a more personal level, I’d like to give you my most sincere thanks. I am being hailed as a hero and a decisive leader. I would not deserve either of those accolades without your intervention.
Disaster … Preparations Officer?
She blinked.
Why … that wasn’t terrifying at all.
That might actually be fun.
Wax gave Tindwyl to Kath, then hobbled over to Steris — nodding passively as Max explained at length about the new marbles game he’d been playing. Looking over her shoulder, Wax read the letter, then took her by the elbow.
“Steris,” he said, “that’s wonderful.”
“I don’t deserve it,” she said. “The tsunami wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared it would be.”
“Love,” Wax said, “you do deserve it.”
She turned to look him in the eyes.
“What if instead of quoting Wayne,” he said softly, “we honored him in a different way. What if we decided to make an effort to let ourselves be happy? What do you think of that, Lady Ladrian?”
“I think, Lord Ladrian, I should like that very, very much.”
And she could already imagine an entire list of plans to make certain it happened.
ALLRIANDRE
FIVE DAYS AFTER DETONATION
Allriandre climbed the steps one at a time. Feet like lead. Legs like slag. Back bowed, as if weighed by bars of steel. Her ashen clothing bore a few new marks from the forges, which threw sparks when she passed. Her job didn’t involve working those — she sorted bits of metal for melting down.
When she arrived at her small flat — on the seventh floor, in a building with no elevator — she could already hear Miss Coussaint yelling. Despite her exhaustion, Allriandre picked up her pace. She hurried to the door and threw it open, to where her daughter, Ruri — three years old and still small for her age — huddled in her blankets. Terrified again.
“Why would you think toothpaste was for drawing?” Miss Coussaint shouted. She was a woman with a hierarchy of chins, the last — most swollen — one lording over the others like a terrible regent. She glanced up as Allriandre entered, then held up the toothpaste jar. “Did you see what she did this time?”
“I’m sorry,” Allriandre said, exhausted, but she scooped up Ruri as she came running into her arms to escape. “Thank you for watching her.”
Coussaint looked her up and down, noting the dirty face, scraggly hair, burned clothing. “Rent?” she demanded. “It’s been three days.”
“He’s never been late with a payment before.” Wayne, the man who’d murdered her father. “I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”
“I need to do some renovations,” Coussaint said. “Maybe when he comes, you can—”