Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [78]
That made the real man infinitely more fascinating.
Not to Hassan, however—or because he’d known the real man for longer. And though he was subtle, steering the discussion to Venice and Archimedes’ recent journey aboard Lady Corsair, she could see that his route would take him to her. Archimedes must have seen it as well, and—perhaps protecting her from questions she might not want to answer—not-so-subtly turned the conversation back around. Amused, Yasmeen watched their back-and-forth until she sensed a hint of frustration in Archimedes’ reply. Their maneuverings had been entertaining, but not worth hard feelings.
At a pause in their exchange, Yasmeen met Hassan’s eyes and said, “I won’t think it rude if you ask.”
The man colored slightly. Archimedes lifted his wine to her.
“Then tell us all, my wife.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but Hassan didn’t waste any time. Shaking his head, he said, “Not all, please. I merely wondered if you were from the same house as Nasrin.”
Nasrin, the wild rose. “Temür Agha’s guard?” she guessed.
Hassan nodded. Archimedes had gone utterly still, his gaze fixed on her face as if not to miss a word. Because she’d mentioned the guard, or because he was learning more about her, information that didn’t come from stories or rumors?
The idiot. If he wanted to know, he only had to say so. She would tell him.
Not here, however. No, there was another story that she wanted to hear, and it wasn’t her own. She needed a full picture of the man who might be responsible for the death of her crew, not rumors and stories. She wanted to hear it from a man who knew him.
“I knew of several gan tsetseg by that name,” she said, “but there are also many I don’t know. I was raised in Constantinople.”
“It is unlikely you know her, then. Nasrin was from the Pun-jaab, but was raised by the house in Daidu.” Then, in a careful tone, “Constantinople?”
“Yes.” She held his gaze. “I escaped while Temür Agha razed the city.”
He gave a deep, resonating sigh. “You must have been young. That is why you were not altered.”
“Yes.” The mechanical flesh and weapons weren’t grafted on until after they were fully grown. It had been near that time for Yasmeen—but this was also not what she wanted to hear, and she didn’t care to be subtle when she steered. “Archimedes told me that I was wrong about Temür—that he hadn’t been the one to burn the city.”
“No,” Archimedes jumped in immediately. “He did burn it. I only said he was a Horde rebel.”
“He was destroying the rebellion.”
“You are both correct,” Hassan said. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the teapot, but Yasmeen couldn’t determine whether it was with emotion or age. He paused before refilling his cup, as if noticing that she’d finished her glass of wine. “Shall I pour some for you?”
“Is it from the New World?”
Humor brightened his face. “Yes.”
“No, thank you. Drinking nothing is better than that.”
“I must disagree; even this tea is better than nothing.” He grimaced slightly as he took a sip. “Though I wish I had thought to stock my own supply. Captain Guillouet does not trust any foods or drink that do not come from the Americas. He fears infection.”
So that was why nothing was fresh. Centuries before, the Horde had concealed the nanoagents in the tea and sugar they’d traded in Europe and northern Africa. By the time they activated their controlling signals, much of the population was infected and helpless to fight back, making their invasions as painless as slipping a greased finger into the barrel of a gun that didn’t hold any bullets.
Setting his cup down, Hassan continued. “There are those in the empire who would not blame him for his fear. When word of the occupations in England and Africa reached Xanadu, it made many uneasy—as uneasy as news of the zombies had a century before. What if the creatures crossed the empire’s walls and great rivers? What if