Steelhands - Jaida Jones [109]
Troius was good with people; even over the roaring between my temples, I saw that Chanteur appreciated the friendly piece of vulgarity and offered us all his first real chuckle that day.
“That is what we had been hoping for,” Chanteur said.
“I believe it’s well established that Verruges will and indeed has already been ‘knocking,’ as you so charmingly put it, for nearly as long as we were at war with the Ke-Han,” Auria replied. “I do not believe our country can agree to something that conscripts us into further conflict, and certainly not one with no conceivable end in sight. Simply put, Volstov cannot afford to agree, despite our desire to show solidarity.”
Chanteur dabbed at his nose, looking drippy but also mortally offended that we hadn’t been moved by the passion of his speech alone. I was curious to hear what he’d make of his defense—that is, if that infernal racket would quiet for long enough to let me listen.
Unfortunately, at just that moment, there was a horrible screeching sound, like metal shearing apart, and I buried my face in my hands, attempting to squeeze it out. My hands were somehow cold through the gloves, even though the rest of me was sweating like it was the dead of summer.
Then, just as abruptly as it had started, the noise stopped. After such intensity of sound, I felt for a moment as though I’d actually gone deaf. If it hadn’t been for the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears, in fact, I would’ve assumed I had. Slowly, the regular noises of the day began once more to filter in; I could still hear the sounds of Auria arguing with Troius, and Chanteur blowing his nose in between interjections; but they seemed distant now, as though my head had been plunged into a bucket of water.
Another voice, one I didn’t recognize, whispered something in my ear.
I jumped—a perfectly reasonable reaction, I thought, given I hadn’t realized anyone was so near to me, but I found I’d been correct in my assumption. There was no one close enough to me for that, and yet I still heard, or even felt, the echo of that voice, the sensation of hot breath against my cheek and throat.
My twitching was severe enough to catch Troius’s attention. He gave me a strange look and broke away from the argument for a moment to write something down on his collection of blank notes at last. Just as though we were two bored students in the ’Versity, he folded it in half and slid it across the table.
I glanced around to see if anyone had noted the action, but Chanteur and Auria were deeply engaged in a discussion about whether or not we were Verruges’s next target if Arlemagne’s sea defenses should fall. No one had noticed, so I read Troius’s note.
Are you all right? it said.
I smoothed the page out carefully, the fingers on my right hand twitching ever so slightly. It was likely a cause of my nerves, but even the smallest of involuntary spasms made me nervous, as though at any moment my hands would begin to fail me again. Was this to be the way the rest of my life was—my hopes raised by a period of good luck, only to be dashed again when the mechanisms slowly wound down once more?
I am fine, I wrote back, and hurriedly shoved the paper in Troius’s direction.
Chanteur was tapping his fingers against the table in irritation now, staring at Auria as if he was pondering declaring a very personal war between the two of them there and then. I mimicked his gesture without thinking, drumming my own gloved fingers quietly against the table’s surface. It was a simple enough act, and yet all at once the grinding of metal started up again in my ears. The sound of it was muted now, like the gears of an enormous clock turning to keep time.
Feeling distinctly foolish, I used one of my own sheets of paper to write a message to Troius. Do you hear anything strange? it asked, and I passed it under the table before I could be tempted to elaborate.
“I am of the opinion that we have been very generous in our talks so far,” Chanteur was saying; it seemed Auria had gotten out of her chair now, the better to look him