Gregor's hack clattered to a halt, and Taya pushed off from the rooftop where she'd been waiting. She'd taken another dose of painkilling medicine before leaving the station. Despite the medicine, it still ached; a dull sensation at the edge of her awareness, warning her not to overdo anything.
Now she kicked her feet up into the tailset and swept her wings down, seeing Cassi and Pyke spreading out to either side of her.
This part of Tertius was quiet at night, with no tenements, bars, or theaters to attract people and noise. The factories were all closed down and the streets were empty and dark.
The three icarii flew in near silence, concentrating on the airspace around them. The lights from the upper sectors gave the sky a dim glow, and lamps had been lit every hundred feet on the wireferry towers, but it would still be easy to mistake a factory chimney for a patch of shadow or forget about a crosscable stretching diagonally between two towers.
From above, the bombed refinery didn't look very different. In the darkness, the soot and broken windows from the fire weren't visible. A makeshift barrier had been set up around it, but parts had gone missing, pilfered away by neighbors.
Taya tilted her wings and let herself sink lower in a long circle. Pyke stayed high, watching for approaching traffic, but Cassi kept a few body lengths behind her.
The openings where the refinery's windows had been were dark and empty. Taya landed on a factory roof across the way, gasping as she took most of the impact on her good leg. She touched her calf, then made a face and pulled her hand away.
Nothing I can do about it. Tomorrow I can take Cassi's advice and spend the day in bed. Maybe she'll lend me one of her lurid novels.
Cassi cut across to the other side of the street and landed. In a moment she'd unhooded her small lamp and signaled to Pyke, three swift flashes of light reflected from her silvery wings.
Pyke rocked back and forth in acknowledgment and flew back to inform the others that the coast was clear.
Taya perched on the edge of the roof, searching the burnt building. Still no sign of life. She didn't expect any, but anything that kept them all busy seemed like a good idea.
She glanced to her left. The hack had stopped, and the three programmers and Cristof were piling out.
Rifles jutted over their shoulders.
Cristof hadn't been very happy when they'd arrived at Gregor's coach and Victor had pulled the percussion weapons off the floor, where they'd been shrouded in canvas.
"Firearms are restricted inside the city," he'd protested, as Victor had handed one of the guns to him. "Where did you get these?"
"Friends of friends. I thought we'd be going into Slagside ourselves, and I didn't want to go unarmed." Victor had shrugged, handing a rifle to Isobel. "They're just a precaution."
"Vic's playing soldier again," Isobel sighed, examining her weapon. "He and his friends like to think of themselves as Ondinium's second line of defense. You should get some of those lictors’ air rifles, Vic."
"These are cheaper and sturdier."
Cristof gave the bearded man a hard look. "So who are your friends, Victor? Liberationists?"
Victor shook his head. "I don't sign up for causes. I just think that sometimes you have to take the law into your own hands if you want to ensure justice."
"Loose gears don't help a clock run better."
"Life isn't as simple as clockwork, exalted. We both know that."
"What makes you think I'm not going to report you?"
"The fact that you've been bending some rules yourself, lately."
Cristof made a familiar, impatient sound, checking to make sure the gun was loaded, but he hadn't said anything else. Victor had handed the fourth weapon to Lars.
"Thanks, but I can't imagine shooting anybody," Lars had said with a shudder, handing it to Gregor. "You can watch our backs."
The coachman had taken the weapon with a bemused expression.
"What're you going do if somebody draws on you?" Victor insisted. "You may be good in a bar fight, but those ham-sized fists of yours won't be any protection against a bullet."
"I don't see how a skinny little gun's going to protect me." Lars snorted. "I'm too big to miss if somebody starts shooting."
"The idea is that they'll be too afraid of your weapon to shoot."
"How about I just look harmless and keep my hands up?"
Victor hadn't offered the icarii a weapon, and they hadn't asked for one. To carry a firearm would violate one of the most fundamental rules of icarus protocol. They could lose their wings over it. Not even Pyke had suggested it, although he'd gazed at the rifles with palpable longing.
Now Taya watched as Gregor climbed up to the top of his coach and sat down, his rifle by his side. He'd taken the hack around the refinery and parked on Drover's Way, the wide road that led to the biggest gate in Ondinium's walls. He'd seemed just as excited by the late-night mission as the programmers, even though Cristof had assured him that it would likely turn up nothing more interesting than a few piles of rubble and, if they were lucky, a torn copper punch card.
Cristof had chosen to team up with Lars, Taya saw, and Isobel with Victor. The two teams split up, one going left and the other right, to circle the broken shell of the refinery.
She waited until they were close and then kicked off again, taking a long, silent sweep over the building. Pyke did the same, while Cassi, their designated signaler, stayed on her high perch and watched.
Both Cristof and Victor seemed to have had similar training. They stayed in the shadows with their partners, popping up to look through the broken-out windows with their rifles aimed, then crouching and moving to the next. They continued until they met at the far wall and hunkered down to consult.
Isobel stepped out of the darkness and waved. Taya tilted her wings in acknowledgement and turned to see if Pyke had seen. He was heading down, too.
They both landed, Pyke on his feet and jogging to a halt, Taya on her knees. The landing hurt, and she began to wonder why she'd argued so hard to be a patroller instead of a signaler.
It was a stupid question, of course. She'd go crazy sitting away from all the action and wondering what Cristof was doing. Thank the Lady, Cassi had understood.
Pyke walked up as she locked her wings. Sliding a hand under one arm, he helped her to her feet.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she whispered, trying to keep the weight off her wounded leg. He supported her as they joined the small group.
"I didn't see anything from above," she murmured as she joined them.
"No, but the exalted and I smelled something strange," Victor replied. "Ammonia, he says. Smelled like methanol, to me."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know, but it's a funny smell to come from a refinery that's been shut down for nearly a week."
Taya gave the shattered walls a second, worried look.
"Victor and I will go inside to look around," Cristof said to the group. "I want the rest of you to spread out and give an alarm if anyone runs outside. Don't shoot. Just shout. Pyke, can you stay up in the air to follow anyone who leaves?"
"Sure."
"You think there's still someone inside?" Isobel asked.
"Chemical fumes disperse quickly, so the fact that we both smell something worries me." Cristof checked his rifle. "I should probably send one of you back to alert the nearest Tertius station, but I don't want to risk raising a false alarm while the captain has another operation going."
"Send Cassi," Pyke said. "Taya needs to stay grounded."
Taya started to object, and Pyke laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, I just saw you land. Your leg can't take many more jolts like that. You want to hurt yourself so bad you'll be grounded the rest of your life, like Paulo?"
Taya thought of the crippled night watchman and shook her head. Her leg was still throbbing. She had a bad feeling she might have pulled a few stitches.
"I'll stay grounded unless I have to go aloft," she acquiesced. Pyke squeezed her shoulder.
"Why does she listen to you
?" Cristof demanded.
"She likes me better," Pyke said, with a smug smile.
Taya shot them both a disgusted look.
Frowning, the exalted took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. "All right. There are three doors: the big bay door in front and the two smaller doors in back. Gregor can watch the front, and Isobel, you watch the back. You should be able to cover both doors at once. Cassilta's already got a clear view of the west side, so Lars, I want you on the east. Taya, stay with Lars. Neither of you is armed, so if you see someone, stay hidden and shout an alarm."
"Got it." The big man nodded. Taya nodded, too. She would have preferred to be with Cristof and Victor, but she knew she wouldn't be much use with a bad leg.
The group broke up.
Lars and Taya found a doorway where they could sit on the sooty stone steps and see most of the east wall of the refinery. Lars sat on the bottom step, and Taya sat higher, her wings brushing the brick sides of the entryway.
"You okay?" Lars asked, as she bent over and looked at her injured leg.
"I think I'm bleeding again." She tugged at the laces that were tying down the shredded leather of her pants leg and winced. "I hate being hurt."
"You should take it easier."
"I can't."
"Yeah. I understand."
They waited, their eyes fixed on the shadowy building. The gaping windows looked like wounds in its walls, and the rubble in the street glittered with shards of broken glass.
Minutes crawled past, and then Taya saw a glimmer of light inside the building. She straightened, straining to see it again.
A shot echoed through the building, and she was on her feet, stumbling into Lars. He steadied her and they both rushed into the street as a woman shrieked.
Now lamplight was clearly visible from the windows, as if some barrier had fallen.
"Don't move," Cristof shouted, inside the building.
"Come on!" Taya ran across the street and scrambled over broken rocks, hardly noticing the pain shooting through her calf.
"Wait, wait!" Lars wrapped a hand around one of the metal bars of her tailset as she braced her leather-gloved hands on a windowsill. "What are you doing?"
"Somebody might be hurt!"
"Emelie!" Victor's voice, from inside the refinery. "Emelie, wait!"
Lars shoved in front of her, heaving his bulk through the window. Taya waited until he was clear and then started to climb through, only to have the big man grab her by the metal keel and lift her through. She yelped as a wing hit the side of the windowsill and sent vibrations rattling through her armature.
"You're lighter than you look," he grunted, setting her on her feet.
"Ondium." She looked around, getting her bearings. There — the light was to the northwest. "Look!"
They stood in a huge open space filled with equipment that blocked the light, but it was clear that some kind of makeshift encampment had been set up to one side, where several lamps were burning. Lars began to run toward it, and Taya limped after him, cursing the machinery that kept looming up out of the dark and forcing her to swerve or stumble.
Another gunshot rang out, and then a third. Voices began to shout in Alzanan:
"Put your weapons down!"
"I only see one! Where'd the second one go?"
"Toss me that box of bullets!"
Taya flinched, swerving toward the wall again, and ran into a metal staircase. Surprised, she looked up and saw that it led to a catwalk that circled the open workspace.
A door slammed. "Vic?" Isobel's voice.
Taya considered her options. If the catwalk encircled the area, she could get over the firefight, which would give her a chance to shout directions to her friends. On the other hand, it would also make her more vulnerable to stray bullets. Her aching leg reminded her of what a bad idea that would be.
Then she heard a clatter and felt the metal vibrate under her hand as somebody ran above her. She grabbed the staircase railing and half-climbed, half-hauled herself upward.
"Lars, get down!" Cristof cried out as another shot cracked through the building. Taya yanked herself up to the catwalk and saw a figure leaning over the railing, aiming a rifle.
"Wait!" she shouted, panicked. Then, switching to Alzanan: "Stop! You must surrender! The building is surrounded!"
The man turned, his rifle barrel dropping. Taya threw herself forward.
The Alzanan yanked the rifle back up, but ondium and desperation gave her the momentum she needed to close the distance before he could squeeze off a shot. Taya's gloved hands grabbed the weapon's barrel, shoving it aside, and she rammed a metal-protected shoulder into him. The man staggered and the rifle went off, bucking in both of their hands.
Then she tore it from his grasp and he tried to ram an elbow into her ribs, only to hit the metal of her armature keel. He winced and used an Alzanan word she hadn't learned yet.
Taya slammed the rifle's butt against the side of his head. The Alzanan staggered and his legs buckled underneath him.
"Sorry," she said as she kicked him in groin with her metal-toed flight boot. With a strangled groan he collapsed, holding himself.
She put the rifle down with a sense of distaste, then turned and looked over the railing.
From her vantage point over the encampment, she could see everything. The Alzanans had cleared away the fallen rubble to set up a small lair with scrounged blankets and boards serving as makeshift walls. The center was dominated by a work table covered with wire and metal pipes and buckets and cord. The lamps next to it gave off the light she and Lars had seen a few minutes before. Sleeping mats were scattered along one side of the room, and a wagon filled with crates stood at the northernmost end, close to the bay doors in front.
One man was lying on the soot-covered floor next to the table, holding his arm. Blood trickled through his fingers, and his face was pale as his dark eyes darted back and forth.
Three gunmen were crouched by the wagon, two aiming, the other reloading. They were intent on Cristof, who had taken cover behind a low stack of wooden crates. He was digging in his coat pockets for something, but from the looks of things, he wasn't finding it. His rifle was on his lap, its breech open. The crates had several splintered bullet holes in them.
A few feet away, Lars had ducked beneath some kind of heavy equipment that had been twisted and bent by the explosion. The Alzanans had a clear shot at him, but he was low and in shadow and the Alzanan with the gun seemed more worried about Cristof.
She didn't see Isobel, Victor or Emelie, but from where she was standing, she could just make out someone huddled against one of the makeshift walls in an awkward position.
Cristof stopped searching his pockets and pinched the arch of his nose. Then he set the rifle aside and rolled onto his stomach, peering around the boxes.
One of the armed Alzanans tensed, but Cristof ducked back and the man's finger loosened on the trigger.
"Out of cartridges?" the Alzanan mocked, his voice loud.
Cartridges! Taya crouched and began searching the groaning Alzanan at her feet. Her hands closed on the paper-wrapped cylinders. Hoping that all rifles took the same kind of ammunition, she leaned out as far as she could.
"Here!" She threw them down at Cristof, then scampered forward.
The second Alzanan spun toward her, squeezing off a shot that slammed into one of the catwalk supports. The whole walkway shuddered.
"Dammit, be careful!" the fallen Alzanan shouted, hoarsely, in his own language. "I'm up here!"
Taya edged back to him, grabbed his weapon, and kicked him again to make sure he'd stay down.
"Cris!" She hurled the Alzanan's rifle toward the exalted as hard as she could. It clattered several feet beyond him. She'd done better with the cartridges, which were now scattered around his crate.
"I thought I told you to stay outside!" Cristof shouted, snatching up one of the cartridges and loading his rifle.
"There are three men by the wagon. One's reloading. It looks they've got four pistols between them," she reported, gambling that the Alzanans wouldn't take another shot at her voice and risk hitting their friend.
She gambled wrong. She shrieked as the bullet tore into the catwalk and made it shudder and creak again.
"Taya!"
"I'm okay!" She backed up as far as she could, finding a shadowed area out of the circles of light cast by the lamps below. "There's another man by the far wall. He's not moving. It might be Kyle."
"Kyle!" Lars stood, his hands wrapped around a twisted metal bar that he held like a club. "Kyle, is that you?"
Both Alzanans turned to aim. Cristof swore and leaped to his feet, rifle pointed at the armed men.
Lars charged.
"No! Don't!" Taya lunged against the rail, jamming her arms into her wings.
Cristof's shot winged one of the gunmen, who shouted and staggered backward. The other Alzanan fired at Lars and ducked.
Lars stumbled, then grabbed the worktable with his free hand and flung it toward the wagon as he ran. Glass and chemicals flew, and the Alzanan flinched, throwing his arms over his face.
Taya swung her legs over the railing, holding her arms wide.
Cristof stood upright, holding a second cartridge between his teeth as he broke open the rifle's breech.
The third gunner grabbed one of the loaded pistols as Lars swung his metal club at the man who'd just fired. The club smashed into the side of the wagon, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere. His would-be victim whacked him across the shins with his empty pistol. Lars snarled and swung again. This time the Alzanan howled.
The third Alzanan rolled under the wagon and aimed his gun at Cristof.
"Look out!" Taya shouted, kicking away from the catwalk.
It was a short drop, and she took it hard, the ondium barely managing to slow her fall. Cristof was still jamming his cartridge into place when she landed in front of him, her metal wings spread as wide as possible. The Alzanan's shot rang out through the building.
The bullet hit one of her ondium feathers and sent a jolt running through her arm, but that was nothing compared to the agony that tore through her calf as her foot hit the ground. She staggered, her wings sweeping down and clattering on the floor as she tried to catch herself.
Then Cristof was beside her, one arm sliding under hers. Gasping, she threw her arm over his shoulder, her ondium feathers fanned out around his back.
He spun her out of his way and fired his rifle one-handed.
The weapon jerked out of his hand and the bullet buried itself in one of the crates on the wagon.
Lars stomped on the fingers that were reaching for the last loaded pistol, then kicked the weapon away into the shadows.
Taya gasped with pain as Cristof hauled her back behind the boxes.
"Taya?" His face was white. "Were you hit?"
"No." She leaned against him, tears stinging her eyes. She was sure she'd torn out her stitches, this time. "Help me sit."
"What happened?" He lowered her to the floor. His hands were shaking.
Taya shrugged out of her wings, letting them float uselessly around her as she looked at her leg. Blood was seeping around the edges of the torn leather. She rested her forehead against her knee, feeling faint.
Then Isobel rose up from the shadows, a rifle in her hands. She gave them a cursory glance, turned to the wagon, and swung her firearm up to her shoulder in a practiced move.
"Lars, I have you covered," she said, her voice calm.
"It's about time you got here," he growled. Taya heard a thud. Someone grunted with pain. "Keep these assholes in line while I look for Kyle."
"You got it."
Taya felt Cristof's cool hand on her forehead and looked up.
"I'm all right," she said, knowing her voice was thin with pain but unable to make it steadier for him. "Go help them."
"Just a few more minutes," he promised, still looking ashen. He grabbed the rifle she'd thrown from the catwalk and stood, taking aim next to Isobel.
"Got him," Lars roared, in triumph. "It's Kyle! He's all right!"
Despite her pain, Taya smiled.
Fifteen minutes later, Cristof and Isobel finished tying up their captives. Taya sat next to Lars, who had only admitted to having been grazed by a bullet after Cristof had noticed the blood staining his shirt. Now he was bare-chested, his shirt pressed against his side, inspecting the boxes in the wagon.
"This is our engine, all right," he said, fingering a splintered hole. "I hope your bullet didn't go all the way through, exalted."
"If it did, we'll blame it on the Alzanans," Kyle said. As Lt. Amcathra had guessed, he'd suffered a head wound, but his captors had bandaged it. Other than some bruises and scraping, he seemed none the worse for wear.
"Fine with me." Lars stood, then winced and peeled his balled-up shirt away to look at his wound. "I can't believe I got shot for you, Kyle. I expect a raise when we get our next contract."
"Oh, stop complaining," Isobel said, checking a knot. "You're looking good compared to this guy." She gestured to the Alzanan that Lars had caught across the ribs with his metal club. The man was fighting to breathe, wincing each time he inhaled. "He's going to need a doctor."
"He shot me." Lars scowled. "I got scared. I don't like being shot."
"Me, either," Taya said, leaning sideways against a crate. After leaving Isobel to take care of the prisoners, Cristof had helped her lock her wings back and had wrapped her wounded leg in fresh bandages.
"If that's how you react when you're scared, Lars, I'd hate to see you angry," Kyle joked.
"Hello?" Pyke edged in, then relaxed when he saw that everything was under control. "Everyone all right?"
"We're alive," Cristof reported. "Have you seen Victor?"
"He caught Emelie about two blocks from here." Pyke looked serious. "She started babbling about bombs, so he's taking her to the Tertius station in Gregor's hack, and Cassi's flying ahead to warn the lictors. If everyone's okay here, I'm going to head up to Primus to spread the alarm."
Cristof's jaw tightened. "What bombs? How many?"
"She called them triton bombs and said the Alzanans had made about ten of ‘em. They're set to go off at four in the morning. They were supposed to be a distraction while these guys drove the stolen engine out the city gates."
Cristof yanked out a pocket watch and checked it. Diamonds glittered in the lamplight, and Taya realized he was wearing his brother's watch.
"Three more hours." He sounded relieved, then turned a cold look on his five prisoners. "What do you know about the bombs and their locations?"
The Alzanans looked at each other.
"Talk, and your cooperation will be taken under consideration when they sentence you," Taya said, in Alzanan. "Believe me, you'd rather be sentenced as thieves than as terrorists. The Council's not very happy with the Torn Cards right now."
"We're not Torn Cards!" one of the men protested. "Those cards were fakes, to fool the police. Everyone knows the Torn Cards are blamed for everything in Ondinium."
Taya translated.
"He's got a point," Pyke agreed.
"They'll have to prove it in court." Cristof picked up one of the Alzanans’ loaded pistols and set it against a prisoner's kneecap. "Where are the bombs?"
"You'd better tell him," Taya said, in Alzanan. "He's in a really bad mood." She gave Cristof a warning look, but his face was blank. She hoped he was just bluffing.
After a hasty conference, the Alzanans began to talk, and Taya translated. Pyke lingered long enough to get a list of locations, then ran outside to carry the information to lictor stations across the city.
About half an hour later, a group of lictors arrived with a wagon to pick everyone up. They stopped at the hospital to drop off the programmers, Taya, and Cristof, and then continued onward to take the prisoners to the nearest jail.
"You don't have to report in?" Taya asked, as Cristof slid an arm under her armature and helped her up the hospital steps.
"I'll do it tomorrow."
"Do you think the bombs will be found?"
Cristof's arm tightened around her waist.
"I hope so," he said at last. "The Alzanans don't have anything to gain anymore, and everything to lose."
The group split up, Cristof and Taya going one way and the programmers going the other. A physician pulled out and replaced Taya's stitches, a painful procedure that she bore with clenched teeth and tears in her eyes as she clung to Cristof's hand. The physician recommended another dose of painkiller, but she refused. It would put her to sleep, and she wanted to make sure Lars and Kyle were all right.
To her dismay, the physician then proceeded to give her the lecture Cristof had been biting back all evening, delivering stern warnings about infection and permanent muscle damage. He handed her a second set of crutches and ordered her to use them, this time.
Taya meekly agreed to everything he said. Her leg throbbed and her head hurt, and she would have said anything to get out of there. By the time she limped into the main room, the programmers were already waiting for her.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Three stitches and some new bandages," Kyle said, touching the back of his head. "I'll have a bald spot for a while."
"I'm glad you're okay." Taya gave him a quick, awkward hug, careful not to jab him with her armature. "We were worried about you."
"The Alzanans treated me all right. I guess they needed me in one piece to help them with the engine."
"Did Emelie arrange your kidnapping?" Isobel asked, her voice cool. Kyle shook his head, then winced.
"No. In fact, she was pretty mad when she came in and saw me. I think she was supposed to be the only programmer they took. It would have ensured her a comfortable place in the Alzanan court, that's for certain. Having me along reduced her value."
"I'm still going to wring her neck," Lars rumbled. He was wearing his bloodstained shirt again, over the bandages around his side.
"How did they catch you?" Taya asked.
"It was my fault. I surprised them. I couldn't get over Alister's arrest, so I went down to the engine room to do some work, and suddenly there I was, staring a bunch of Alzanans in the face." Kyle shook his head, then winced. "I'd like to say I put up a fight, but I'm not like Lars here, charging a bunch of armed men with nothing but a stick. They knocked me down before I could do anything."
"Lars was worried about you," Taya said, looking over at the big man. "He's the one who raised the alarm when he found the engine missing."
"The lictors thought you might be involved in the theft," Isobel added, "but Lars never doubted you."
Lars was turning red, and the two women shot each other satisfied glances.
"Thank you," Kyle said, looking up at his friend with affection.
"I'm going to go see if I can find us a hack," Isobel said, rising. "You two want one?" She looked at Taya and Cristof.
"Yes." Cristof stood and handed Taya her crutches. "I'm going to drop you off at your eyrie and pay your landlady to keep you locked in your room until I return."
"You won't have to," Taya said, standing. An icarus on crutches. She sighed and began to limp down the hall. "I told you I'd behave myself, now that we've got the engine back."
Cristof kept pace next to her. "If you're behaving yourself, why did you set up poor Lars back there?"
Taya paused and glanced over her shoulder. The large programmer was slumped down in his chair, shaking his head as he said something to Kyle.
"I didn't set him up. I just wanted Kyle to know what happened. Lars might not want to admit that he cares, but as soon as he heard that Kyle was in that corner, he charged right in without a second thought."
Cristof was silent a moment.
"You did the same thing."
"Me?"
"You put yourself in front of a bullet for me. You could have been killed." He took a deep breath. "In fact, for one very bad moment, I thought you had been."
Taya blushed, looking down at her boots.
"Well… you were so busy trying to defend Lars, you weren't paying any attention to defending yourself."
"It was a very brave thing to do." He tilted her head up. "I'm not going to forget it, and I'm not going to forget the way my heart stopped when you stumbled."
Taya didn't know what to say, and then she didn't have to think of anything, as he pulled her into his arms.
"You know," she said, after a moment, "someday you should do this when I'm not wearing my armature."
"Maybe tomorrow. Although," he added, "I'm not going to let you leave the eyrie, and the way your landlady keeps hovering around us, we may have to spend the entire day sitting in the foyer admiring how nicely the eyrie's clock keeps time."
Taya grinned. Rules or not, she'd think of some way to get Cristof alone. If Gwen still harbored any hopes of breaking them up, she was going to be disappointed.
"How about you bring me lunch and tell me and Cassi and Pyke everything we'll be missing tonight, instead," she countered. "The Slagside raid, the bombs, what's going to happen to Emelie and the Alzanans — we'll want to hear it all. I know you're not going to sleep tonight until you find out, anyway."
"Don't forget which one if us is in charge now," Cristof countered. "You promised you'd do whatever I say."
"For a while," she amended. "As long as you don't get too annoying about it."
He sighed. "I will do my best to avoid being bossy, rude, prudish, a pain in the tail, or too rarely sweet. Will that do, icarus?"
"Yes." She gave him a thoughtful look. "It should be quite a change of pace."
He gave her a dark look and she laughed, hugging him.