Of Shadows and Obsession (5 page)

“Where?” he calls from behind the partition.

“Have you been to the construction site?”

His metal fingers click together, driven by the jolts from muscles in his shoulder, and he steps into the open, fully clothed once more. “I needed some tools.”

“One of the foremen was still there. He told his crew to be on the lookout for you. One of them was injured by a beam yesterday and told us the story while we were splinting his arm. Some think you were just a thief, but others believe the foreman saw the Ghost.”

Bo snorts. “‘Just a thief.’” He comes over to stand next to me as I prepare our tea.

“It’s safer for everyone if that’s what they believe,” I remind him.

“I’ll be more careful,” he mumbles. “I didn’t expect anyone to be there so late.”

“They have received orders to get the slaughterhouse running earlier.”

His eye bores into mine. “You know why, don’t you?”

“Feasting season, of course.” My heart skips.

“No, because they want to make sure they have rations for our soldiers on top of the demand for meat during the feasting season. Gochan One supplied much of the beef for the central part of Itanya, and with the need to feed an army moving west, it is indispensable.”

“We are not at war.” It is a silly thing to say and I know it. We have been on the cusp of war for months. The western province of Yilat is churning with rebellion and revolution, and the sentiment is slowly creeping east. Lost in thoughts of men with guns, I reach for the pot and whimper as my fingers skim over the burner.

Bo’s machine hand moves quickly, like reflex. It snatches the pot away from me. “Let me do this. I never get burned.” He flashes a grin that fades instantly. His impervious metal fingers pour the water over the little pile of tea leaves, then place the lid on the ceramic teapot. “You may be worrying over nothing, Wen.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “He may already be dead.”

My throat aches, like he’s closed those metal fingers around the stalk of my neck. “Melik is alive,” I whisper. Right before he walked away from me to return to the west with his younger brother, Sinan, and all the men from his village, he promised me that I had not seen him for the last time. I believed him.

Bo rolls his eye. “You can’t know that. It’s been a year of fighting and bombing and turmoil in Yilat. The Noor are staking their claim on the west. And this time they have united with the lower-class Itanyai in that province.” He slaps two teacups down and pours the bitter brew. “They are better equipped and organized than they have ever been. They want their own autonomous region.” He fumbles with the strainer as he removes it from his cup, leaving a spray of sodden tea leaves across his meticulously neat worktable. “Don’t tell me you believe your red Noor would sit idly by while his brethren fought for such a ridiculous goal. He was always full of similarly romantic, unrealistic sentiments. It very well could have gotten him killed, just like it almost did when he was here.”

“What nearly got him killed when he was here was the irrational hatred of the Noor.” And the fact that Bo framed him, but I don’t mention that. I never mention that, or how often I’ve had to forgive Bo for it, because every time I think of it, it leaves me hot with anger.

It’s one of the things I hide from him. I doubt he would find it beautiful.

Bo turns his back on me and carries our cups to the table, where he sits down. “He was agitating for more rights for the workers. It made him an easy target.” He puts my cup in its usual place and waits for me to join him.

I use my cloth to wipe his work surface. “You didn’t know him, Bo.” He won’t even call Melik by his name.

“I watched him like I did everyone else.” He grimaces. “More, even.”

I stare at the floor. “I cannot think of him dead. No more than I could think of you that way.”

“Do not compare us.” Now even his voice is made of steel. “I am here. He is gone. Long. Gone.”

To continue this conversation would be like stepping into one of his traps. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my skirt. “I need to go help my father. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

Bo is silent as I walk past my steaming teacup and out of his chamber, as I stride through the tunnel toward the stairs. But just before I reach the door that opens to the world above, I hear a low curse followed by the sharp slam of metal onto metal.

I do not go back to see if he is all right.

Rebecca Skinner

Sarah Fine is the author of
Of Metal and Wishes
,
Of Dreams and Rust
, and The Guards of the Shadowlands series. She was born on the West Coast, raised in the Midwest, and is now firmly entrenched on the East Coast, where she lives with her husband and two children. When she’s not writing, she’s working as a child psychologist. Visit her at
SarahFineBooks.com
.

Also by Sarah Fine

Of Metal and Wishes

Of Dreams and Rust

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