“Stink,” she shoots back in the same, but a whisper. Then she falls against him, arms around his neck. She squeezes, pressing hard, ear to ear. The fuzz of his hair tickles her cheek. It doesn’t matter that he smells of sweat and grime—it might’ve been worse. The cell is clean, watered. He doesn’t reek of urine or blood or infection.
Iriset clings to him. Her heart blasts and she feels like everything inside her flares white as lightning. He’s alive—alive!—and they have a chance.Shehas a chance. She tucks her face against his neck and he puts his chin over her head. They breathe together, automatically falling into the eight-count meditation.
Like Amaranth, Isidor’s dominant inner force is falling, the kind of pull that turns the attention of others toward him and inspires loyalty. Though much of his youth had been spent attempting to avoid that attention, as his undermarket empire grew, Isidor learned to manipulate his charisma to gain friends, allies, followers. His daughter has always relied upon it, loved best to reach for that falling force with the spikes of her dominant ecstatic, allow his energy to calm hers. To center her in him.
But in the cell, when she opens to him, his falling force drags at her like a whirlpool. He needs so much, and never has before. Iriset clutches tighter. She breathes carefully.
“What is kitten doing here?” her father murmurs into her mask.
A shudder plunges through her body and she pushes back to look at his face again, but leaves her hands on his shoulders, unprepared to let go. “Getting father out. Have a craftmask wrapped in this cloth mask, and extra clothing, and overlarge slippers. A perfect Iriset mé Isidor mask. Dad must drop shoulders and keep hands mostly hidden in the sleeves. There’s a flow-net woven into scarf to help.”
Isidor’s brow lowers. “And daughter?”
“Must wait here. Only one entered, only one can leave.”
“And then daughter will be imprisoned. You expect me to agree to this?” His calm voice has fooled many, convincing them he houses no anger, nor disapproval. But Iriset knows the calmer he seems, the more danger he nurses.
“These past quads,” she says quickly, following his switch back to mirané, “I’ve been handmaiden to Amaranth mé Esmail Her Glory.”
Isidor studies her again, still frowning. “How did you manage that?”
“Oh, Dad.” She smiles only a little, but proudly. “They believed I was not Silk. The trick worked. Her Glory came for me, thinking I would be a fine addition to her menagerie—and I am. I was. I made her my friend, as much as such is possible, and I’ve spoken personally with the Vertex Seal. He asked a favor of me. I know the ambassador from the Ceres Remnants. And I work with one of the royal designers—that’s how I stole the materials I needed for your mask, and Raia trusts me. Dad, even if they punish me, you’ll be free. Outside this tower you have the allies and power to free me in return. They won’t execute me, as they will you.”
The Little Cat sighs, a small, irritated hum. “I will not trade myself for you.”
“You must! It’s my fault!”
“What is?”
Her pulse roars in her ears and she’s dizzied with panic at the thought of confessing. But she must. He has to know. “They traced me. Silk. They traced my silk imports to the tower. If it weren’t for my mistake, you wouldn’t be here. I can’t let you be executed when it’s my fault.”
“Kitten, I imported those cocoons for you.”
“But—”
“No. You worked for me, I am ultimately responsible. Do not take this on your shoulders.”
“It’s my fault!”
“Stop.” He says it hard, and next he’ll snap his fingers. If she doesn’t stop, he’ll slap her.
Iriset bites her tongue.
Her father glances away. It’s his scheming face.
She waits, though she hates it. Her fingers go cold, then hot.
It takes very little time before her father turns decisively.“You cannot give up this new position, Iriset. Power at your fingertips and allied with the strongest of the empire. You could do anything from that place. Take anything, transform anything. I could never have given you so much.”
Shock widens her eyes. He is her father. He gave hereverything. “Dad! It’s nothing. I don’t need power, or—or riches. We can be safe far away from here. We can flee to the Ceres islands. I don’t need them, I need you.”
“Iriset. They will convict you of human architecture.”
“But—”
“They will know you for Silk. Then Paser’s sacrifice will mean nothing.”
Iriset closes her mouth on all replies. She lowers her eyes. It had been Paser. Her lover is a widow now. For Iriset.
