“It’s possible that this machine sets up a spell-like effect.” Windwolf motioned to the compressor. “And this shell modifies that effect.”
“Oh, yes. The heat exchanger could be acting like a spell.”
“These are Stone Clan runes. See this symbol?” He traced one of the graceful lines. “This subsection has to do with gravitational force — which falls within earth magic.”
“I didn’t realize it was Stone Clan.”
“Where did you learn it?” he asked.
“My family has a spell codex that’s been handed down for generations.”
“This means that your forefather was a Stone Clan domana.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Such spells are closely guarded. The clan’s powers rest on the control of their element.”
“Maybe he stole it.” That appealed to her, a master thief as an ancestor.
“With your family’s sense of honor, that is unlikely.”
That pleased her more. She abandoned the tracing to roll over and smile up at him. “So my family is honorable, eh?”
He put his warm palm on her bare stomach to rub lazy circles there. “Very. It shows in everything you and your cousin do.”
“Hmm.” She enjoyed the moment, gazing up at him. The look in his eyes always made her melt inside. It still stunned her that someone could be directing such love toward her. How did she get so lucky? Of course her brain cared more about puzzles. “But I couldn’t feel magic before you made me your domi.”
Windwolf shook his head. “The magic sense is a recessive trait. It would have quickly vanished in the following generations of mating with humans.”
“Would I be able to use their spell stones?”
“I doubt it very much.” Windwolf shook his head. “Only part of that is ability, though; the rest is politics. Even if you somehow retained the needed genes, the Stone Clan will not train my domi.”
“That’s a bitch.”
There was a slight noise and Windwolf glanced toward it. One of the sekasha that came with him, Bladebite, took up post by the door from the machine room into the warehouse. The pallets with the black willow filled the dim room now. The door out to summer was just a distant rectangle of light on the other side of the tree. For a moment, all of their attention was on the still tree. Thankfully, the siphons were working — she could sense no overflow of magic — and the tree remained dormant. She needed to finish up so they could kick on the compressor and take the refrigeration room down to freezing. The siphons should allow the compressor to work without the spell.
“I do not like you working close to that thing,” Windwolf said. “The sekasha would not be able to kill it if it roused.”
“I know. It usually takes dynamite and a bulldozer to take one down. But I think my dreams are saying that it’s a key to protecting what we have.”
“Dreams are hard to interpret.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s one thing I did learn with the whole pivot stuff — this dream stuff is counter intuitive. What feels like the wrong thing is sometimes the right thing.”
The Queen’s oracle, Pure Radiance, had foreseen that Tinker would be the one person that could block the oni invasion of Elfhome — the pivot on which the future would turn. Oracles seemed to operate on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle; apparently telling Tinker how she was going to stop the oni would keep Tinker from doing it. Considering Chiyo’s mind reading ability and Sparrow’s betrayal, it was just as well that the oracle had been obscure. Thinking back, though, Pure Radiance must have known more than she told Tinker; having Tinker dragged to Aum Renau and kept there for three weeks allowed Tinker to strengthen her body, build a strong relationship with Pony, and learn skills she needed to kill Lord Tomtom, the leader of the oni.
Nevertheless, the key to stopping the oni had been doing what they wanted her to do — which seemed to completely defy logic.
“At least travel with a full Hand,” Windwolf said. “Chose four more — any one of them would be proud to pledge to you.”
“I don’t want to take your people from you. Besides, didn’t you say that once I took Pony that I couldn’t set him aside without making him look bad? How could you give me yours without insulting them?”
“I can not give them to you. They must offer themselves to you. It is their hearts, which I can not rule, which you accept.”
There were times she felt like the conversation had been run through a translator one too many times. “How can I just choose four at random? Wouldn’t that be me asking and you giving?”
“They have let me know that if you need them, they would be willing to go. I have released all of them from their pledge so that they are free to go.”
“All of them?”
Windwolf nodded. “With the exception of Wraith Arrow. I need him. You have gained much respect with the sekasha. And I am greatly pleased.”
“Wow.”
“What do you think of Stormsong? Do you fit with her?”
Fit with her? That was an interesting choice of words. Not “like her” which was what she expected Windwolf to ask. “She’s a pistol. Sometimes it seems like she’s two different people, depending on which tongue she’s speaking.”
“A language can govern your thoughts. You can not think of something if you have no words for it. English is a richer language than Elvish, infused with countless other tongues over time. And in so many ways, English is freer. Elvish is layered heavily with politeness to enforce the laws of our society.”
Tinker considered. Yes, politeness came more readily to her when she spoke Elvish. It was only when she was using the very formal, very polite High Elvish that she noticed — and then it was because it felt like being handcuffed into being nice.
“I like speaking English with you,” Windwolf said. “I feel like I can just be me — the male that loves you — and not the lord and ruler of our household. That we show each other our true faces when we talk like this.”
“Yeah, I noticed that when Stormsong drops into High Elvish, it’s like she puts on a mask.”
“We speak so little High Elvish here compared to court. My mother says that this rough country is making me uncouth — I’m too plainspoken after being around humans so long. She expects me to come home wrapped in bearskins.”
She couldn’t believe that anyone could think of him, and all his smooth elegance, as uncouth. “Oh, please.”
“If you’re determined, you can be eloquently insulting in High Elvish. Court makes an art out of it. I don’t have the patience for that — which has earned me a label of boorish.”
“Idiots, they deserve a bloody nose.”
“My little savage.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I love you dearly — and don’t ever lose your fierce heart — but please, pick no fights, not until you’ve learned to defend yourself.”
She skirted promising him anything by kissing him.
“Are you done here?” He asked much later.
“With this part.” Reluctantly she slipped out of his arms to lift up the paper that had been covering the spell. “I dug through my grandfather’s things and found his notes on this project. I need to compare this to what he has and then fix it. I’ll finish it up tomorrow.”
“Good,” Windwolf said. “There is much we have to do and things I want to do. For instance, I want to talk to you about what direction we’re going with the computing center.”
“The what?” She asked before remembering. When she returned to Pittsburgh area during Shutdown, she realized that technology on Elfhome was non-existent. From electrical power to Pittsburgh’s limited Internet, everything went with the city when it returned to Earth. In a fit of panic, she’d razed ten acres of virgin forest and drafted a small army to start work on building infrastructure. Since she was kidnapped only hours into the project, she hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask belated permission let alone finish it. “Oh. That. I wasn’t sure — you know — if you even considered it a good idea.”