The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(21)
“I can’t keep a pet aboard,” I told him. That crack to my ribs must have jolted something loose in my brain because I was talking to him like he was a person. “You need to find your own kind.” I pointed at the water.
The chittering, which had been soft and pleasant before, grew louder. He sounded like a squirrel scolding me for getting too close to its tree, only a hundredfold. The wind was already blowing eastward, and the cloth billowed as my ship began to move. Philine appeared from between the buildings, her face red, her baton held at the ready. I wasn’t clear yet.
I seized Mephi by the scruff, ready to toss him overboard. Beneath the wet outer layer, my fingers brushed his thick, dry undercoat.
His cry turned plaintive – a piercing, wailing sound. My chest tightened in an almost instinctual panic. He was, after all, just a baby. He was alone in the Endless Sea, and though I’d rescued him, I’d brought him to this other island, wholly unfamiliar. What if he couldn’t find others of his kind? What if he couldn’t hunt enough for himself? Would I be leaving this creature to die a slow and painful death? What would letting him stay a little longer even cost me?
Disgusted with myself, with my weakness, I dropped him back on the deck. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”
His wailing stopped mid-cry. He didn’t run off as I’d expected. With a satisfied prrreeeeeet, he deposited the fish at my feet.
I dashed to the sails and wondered again if I’d been imagining him swimming toward my boat, back at Deerhead Island. I sighed – I’d likely never know. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
I just couldn’t know how much.
8
Lin
Imperial Island
I held out a nut. “Come on, little spy,” I cooed. “You’re still following orders. Just one nut. It won’t hurt.”
The spy construct twitched its cat ears, grooming its face with paws a little too large for its squirrel body. Its tail curled around the rafters, holding it steady. Constructs didn’t have much personality, but this one watched the nut with one eye.
The sleeves of the servant uniform scratched my wrists as I reached into my sash and produced another nut, flourishing it next to the first. Now I had the spy construct’s full attention. Its tail uncurled and it took a half-step forward.
“That’s it. Come on down. The witstone isn’t going anywhere.” Sunlight filtered through the shutters of the storage shed, bright bars across the weathered wooden floor. Boxes of witstone, standard Imperial-sized, were stacked one on top of the other almost to the ceiling. A cloth was draped over one box; a half-measure sat loose on top of it.
The spy construct took another few steps toward me and then jumped onto the highest box, its tail and whiskers twitching. I’d seen it creeping around after me as I’d walked the palace halls. My father, keeping an eye on me. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t enjoy a little treat in the meantime. There were no guards for this fortune of witstone, but spy constructs watched all the servants. And this spy construct, like all spy constructs, reported to Ilith, Construct of Spies. And Ilith preferred to eat thieves slowly rather than imprison them.
Claws scratched against wood as the spy construct scampered closer. I did my best not to move, though my arm ached from holding my hand outstretched. And then it took the first nut from my fingers. An animal would have dashed away with its prize. But the construct just stayed where it was, eating the nut. I’d already noticed it; it had already given up trying to remain hidden. So what was the point? I examined the way its parts all blended into one another like a creature born this way. Father did good work.
The sinking of Deerhead Island had changed things. The Construct of Bureaucracy was worried about the refugees and where they would go. The Construct of Trade wouldn’t stop talking about the loss of the witstone mine. The island governors had already started writing to Father – a few offering to take in some refugees in a gesture to try to curry favor, and others had already stated their intentions not to take in any. Whatever instability already existed in the Empire, this event would widen the cracks. And there was still the matter of why the island had sunk at all. I tried not to think – what if all the islands sank? What if this was part of the islands’ migratory pattern we knew nothing about, spaced hundreds of years apart? I took in a deep breath. If that were true, I could do nothing to change it. What I needed to focus on were things I could change – and that included staying my father’s heir so I could take his place when he died.
I pulled back the rough sleeve of the servant’s uniform and offered the second nut to the construct. It sidled even closer this time and took it. Its beady black eyes regarded me. Could a construct ever like someone? This one enjoyed nuts; why not a person? And if it did enjoy someone’s company, could that loyalty ever overcome the commands written into its shards? I’d confused constructs before by forcing their commands into contradictions, and the four first-level constructs that helped Father to govern seemed to have some modicum of personality – but what about a third-level construct like this spy?
But I was here for other reasons. I’d seen these spies watching the servants, and I was hopeful that Father hadn’t completely altered its original commands. My memories might not have been as good as Bayan’s, but I watched the world around me more closely. I’d seen a servant go out into the city on her day off. When she’d draped a coat over her uniform, the spy construct following her had simply stopped.