The sun slipped beneath the horizon and the first breath tore through him. He flexed what was left of his wings, shaking off the day-dust, and went to find his wife.
Hannalinde was at the table, her embroidery in her lap, and she gave him a quick, searching glance. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” An afternoon’s thoughts flew from his head. Suddenly, he didn’t know how to talk to her. He sat down at his place and let her serve him from the tray, then ate in silence, as did she.
He finished and pushed back from the table before his parents made an appearance and delayed his departure.
“Are you going to the office tonight, or will you stay home again?” Hanna asked, a note of hope in her voice.
“Going,” he grunted. He couldn’t skip another night or the Zenith would hear about it. Might already have. As he passed her, he grazed a knuckle along the curve of her jaw. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The Nadir’s office was in a worse state than he’d anticipated. Complainants crowded the hallway and waiting room, and the line stretched halfway around the base of the Tower. He didn’t even have time to think about the basket under his desk until it was nearly dawn.
He rushed to finish up the notes in his ledger before sunrise left him frozen here and Hanna wondering where he was. He fumbled under his desk, searching for the basket, but it was missing.
“Keeper!” he called urgently, not wishing to waste time looking for it if someone knew where it was.
Tonight’s unlucky liaison popped her head in the door. She was broad-faced and middle-aged, with a rare cheerful smile under her hood. Most keepers were more somber.
“Have you seen the basket that was under my desk?”
She coughed, trying to hide a laugh. Clearly, she’d looked inside it. “Yes, of course. I put it away in the cabinet myself.” She hurried to the side of the room and retrieved it from a locked cupboard. She handed it to him without meeting his eyes and rushed out, only to pause in the doorway. She motioned to the open door, a question on her face. “Would you like some privacy?”
She clearly thought he intended to use it himself. Flustered, he waved her away, muttering, “No need. It’s for my wife.”
“Lucky woman.” The keeper scurried off before he could apologize or invent another explanation, thank the fallen gods.
Basket looped over his arm and thudding against his side, he made his way up the ladders to the seventh tier as quickly as he could. His wife was not a lucky woman. But she deserved pleasure too, and if he couldn’t give it with his own body, perhaps this would be an acceptable substitute.
He made it back to the eyrie with minutes to spare. Dawn was already creeping across the stone, and by the time he’d set thebasket beside her sewing things, the freeze was climbing his legs. He barely reached his roost before it took him, his head turned toward the window to check how much time he had left.
Unfortunately, that position did not afford him a clear view of Hanna.
In his peripheral vision, she stirred in the nest. He heard the furs whisper as she rose, her soft yawn. Bare feet padded on the stone floors.
Outside the room, the scrape of a chair being pulled out. The knife sawing through bread. The bright, gossipy tones of Carlijn joining her at the table. The two of them talked about their plans for the day while he lay frozen and waited.
Then the conversation ended, a door opened and closed, and Hannalinde’s footsteps returned, moving about the space as she dressed and did her hair. A splash of rosewater perfumed the room.
She stopped. The rustle of linen wrapping being moved aside.
He couldn’t see her at all from his angle, but he heard the intake of breath.
“Oh!” Shock laced through her tone. “That’s…unexpected.”
He wanted to kick himself for being so cowardly as to leave it for her to find. He should have given it to her in person, along with an explanation. He would have, if he had thought about it for more than three seconds.
The rest of the day was agony, waiting to be released from daysleep. He could only imagine what must be going through her mind. Of course, his reputation for depravity preceded him. She had even met Pudding and perhaps heard of the things he’d asked of her. Theperformances.Of course, she would assume he wished the same from her.
By the time dusk fell, he had convinced himself that she hated him, or at the very least, was repulsed by him. He was preparedto move out of the nesting chamber and roost exclusively in his office, should she so wish it…if she would even speak to him.
The dust was still on his shoulders when he found her on the balcony, stitching something inside a wooden frame. He sank to his knees in front of her. “I owe you an apology. I beg that you will hear it.”
She lifted her pale brows, searching his face. “What for? The…gift?”
“Yes. It was badly done. I should have waited to give it to you in person, so that I might explain what it is.”
“I think that’s fairly obvious.”
