8. Trust

“Seven months?” Bones’s eyebeams whirled. “Is there nothing that can be done to prolong your life?”

Remora’s lips twisted. “It would be safe to assume that, as the highly motivated heir to the Price fortune, I have done more research on the subject of Seraph half-breed mortality than anyone.”

Bones digested her announcement. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “This . . . displeases me.”

His honesty surprised her into a smile. “It displeases me, as well, though I will admit that I took a bit longer to arrive at such a succinct reaction.”

Remora squared her shoulders. “Part of coming to terms with it means that I had to decide what I would do with the rest of my life. I could spend what little time I have left moping about things I cannot change, or I can do something important. Something that matters.” She gestured to the quietly waiting Thumper, its metal chassis gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.

“Starbirth was real, Bones. I’m convinced the Seraph had something to do with it. Furthermore, I can prove it. I know I can.” Her shoulder throbbed, reminding her of the Thumper’s trial run. She leaned back to pull Bones’s coat away from her chest, grimacing at the blood-darkened makeshift bandage he’d used to wrap her left shoulder. She wiggled the fingers on that hand, pleased when they all responded despite the resulting thrill of pain along her collarbone. Nothing broken, nothing severed, nothing torn. Easily mended, given time and her alchemy set on the Miraj.

“But,” she said, giving Bones a hesitant look, “I cannot do any of this if people know about . . . this. About these wings. Lady Remora Windgates Price has the money and resources to unveil the truth behind Starbirth. A penniless half-breed bastard is powerless.”

“I understand.” His outstretched hand flattened, the feather no longer pinched between his fingers. The barest flicker of wind lifted the tail end of the feather, causing it to skitter toward the edge of his palm.

Remora leaned forward just before it flew away, closing his hand back over the feather that he’d had since the very first night she met him. His metal fingers curled around the black and red feather, forming a cage around it. Her hand felt warm against his fingers. “I trust you to keep my secret safe, Bones. Thank you.”

She met and held his eyes for a moment, hoping he realized just how important it was to her that someone else knew—that not only did he know, he cared more that she was going to die than that she had wings. It made her feel less alone.

He broke the look first, and she pulled her hand away. Clearing her throat, she leaned back and looked to the device. “Now, to fix the Thumper and try again.”

Bones’s eyegleam flickered. “Again? Would it not be wiser to wait? Hackwrench seems a competent cogsmith. He could assist you. Even Serena would be a better choice than I.”

Remora scoffed, finding her discarded corset on the ground behind her. The whalebone clattered against the metal inserts and she turned away from Bones before dropping his trench coat and deftly fitting the contraption around her torso. Bones may have disrobed her out of necessity earlier, but that was hardly an excuse for not maintaining her modesty now that she was awake.

“I am convinced that it is just a power issue. I can tweak the feedback loop to shunt more of the energy to the grounding rod and it’ll be fine.” She paused, allowing her wings to stretch once more before binding them against her back. “Probably.”

Bones hesitated. “I . . . am uncomfortable with this course of action.”

She laughed, affixing the right shoulder strap carefully across her back and tucking the wing beneath the stiff leather backing. The left strap was completely useless, split by the Thumper’s beam, but thankfully the reinforced metal plates sewn into the corset’s body had shielded much of the initial blast.

“You worry too much, Bones. What is the worst that could happen?”

Bones gave a metallic sigh. “I have compiled a list of catastrophic outcomes, but I believe your question was ill-advisedly rhetorical in nature.”

She sucked in a breath and pushed the lower button on the corset’s side seam. With a hiss of escaping air and the whir of moving gears, the side-stays spun and tightened, fitting the undergarment to her form. Her wounded shoulder protested again, but she ignored it for now. Keeping her secret was far more important than any superficial wound. Besides. She’d been without the corset so rarely that she felt exposed in an entirely un-physical way without its familiar embrace.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her dress, lifting the bodice to its proper placement. The dress itself was ruined, of course. A jagged burn line scored across the torso and over the shoulder, bordered with an unattractive bloodstain. A regrettable loss, but she could find a replacement in Bespin.

She stood, lifting Bones’s trench coat. When she turned to give it to him, she saw that he’d spun so that he was not facing her while she dressed. Her cheeks warmed. Surely he had seen anything worth seeing when he’d gone through such effort to bind her wound. “Thank you Bones. Your gentlemanly behavior is much appreciated.”

Bones turned and accepted his coat, slipping it over his thin metal frame. He slipped the feather into one of his pockets, buttoning it shut after.

Remora picked up her pack, removing a few rolled up sheets of paper, a sharpened stick of graphite, and her travel toolkit. A moment’s work, and the power parameters of the feedback loop were adjusted.

She paused a moment, then adjusted it again, slightly lower. Just to be safe.

Standing, finger over the power switch for the Thumper, she couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of concern. The device would work, of course.

Bones walked closer and handed her a large leaf from a nearby tree. “If you insist upon this unsafe course of action, at least test on this first.”

She took the leaf from him with a smile. “Thank you, Bones, that is a wonderful idea!”

He did not release his grip on the leaf. “Do not take my assistance as concurrence.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “I would not dream of it.”

He released the leaf, but remained standing next to her. She smiled to herself as she reached over to the Thumper.

A button press and the Thumper thrummed to eager life. The ground shook even more noticeably this time, but the Thumper’s head lifted and rotated without a problem. The first purple beam shot from the Thumper’s eye into the distance, much paler than the first beam had been. Remora dangled the leaf into the path of the next beam, which struck the thin surface without even a sizzle.

Remora clasped her hands together.

It worked!         

When the beam reached her, it struck against her ribcage, harmless as any beam of light.

It really, truly worked!

The rumbling beneath her feet grew more pronounced and she flung out her hands to keep her balance.

As the Thumper’s head began its third rotation, she saw the grounding rod begin to glow faintly red. It was overheating.

Immediately, she leaned forward and turned off the machine. The rumbling stopped.

“Is it supposed to do that?” asked Bones, eyes on the smoking grounding rod.

“Probably,” she answered, seating herself and unrolling one of the papers. A detailed map of the known world spilled across her lap. She picked up a tool from her toolkit and began measuring against the horizon.

“You are plotting a course?” Bones asked.

She nodded, peering down the arm of a tool. “Triangulation,” she explained. “If I take readings at several different places, marking the precise angle and direction of the beams at each one on this map, I should be able to find all of the pieces.”

“All of the pieces of what?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered, biting her lip as she traced the first angle across the map. “But whatever it is, it’s important, and that purple crystal is a part of it.”