Steelhands - Jaida Jones [151]
Balfour’s entire hand was crafted from the finest metal I’d ever seen—brighter somehow than silver, and much more flexible. I was fascinated by its movements, which were fluid and not at all stiff, perfectly mimicking the joints and curves of a real hand. Gradually, I became aware of the napkin growing damp beneath my own fingers. Luvander and Laure had both stopped cleaning.
“Ah,” Balfour said, clearing his throat uncertainly. “I don’t suppose the two of you have heard a little song they’re singing in Charlotte, now?”
“They’re students,” Luvander replied. “Adamo’s students. I doubt they have much chance for hearing anything other than the echoes of his displeasure in their little student heads.”
“We are from the country,” I said, at last managing to look away. I could tell that my scrutiny was making Balfour uncomfortable—I didn’t blame him for that—and I nudged Laure’s foot delicately with my own until she, too, managed to turn her gaze elsewhere. “We aren’t ‘up’ on current gossip.”
“Lost his hands in the final battle,” Luvander said simply. “It was all very heroic, and the people of Thremedon are mad about him because of it. You should listen to the songs one day; they’re quite good.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Balfour murmured.
“How’d you lose ’em?” Laure asked.
I cringed, and even Luvander flinched; Balfour merely looked surprised at the question, as though no one had ever really asked him that before. Leave it to Laure to ignore all sense of propriety in order to satisfy her curiosity—and leave it to me to allow it because of my own curiosity.
“I’d assume the details are a little too grisly to share with such delicate company,” Luvander supplied, when Balfour seemed unable to reply.
“I’m not that delicate,” Laure said.
“I, of course, meant your companion,” Luvander explained. “I’m not sure how prepared he is to hear the details. Don’t take it too personally. I’m not even sure I’m prepared, and I was there, myself.”
“We held tight to the reins,” Balfour said suddenly, our heads whipping round in unison to look at him. “One of the many precautions we took to keep from falling off should we have to dodge a missile attack. They were made of metal, because leather would have burned too quickly, and I’d wrapped them round my wrists. When Anastasia—my dragon—was hit the final time, her neck snapped. My mistake was trying to hold on to her; she moved in such a way that pulled the harness too far, and the reins sliced clean through.”
We were all silent for a moment, each of us falling prey to our own ghastly thoughts. I couldn’t imagine the pain, or what it must have felt like in that moment to realize his hands were gone—what it must have been like to realize that it wasn’t all some terrible mistake, a nightmare from which he could disconnect himself.
“Now we’ve done it,” Luvander said finally, the cheerful tone in his voice wavering only for an instant. “We’ve become sidetracked—just the kind of thing Adamo hates—and where is the old man, anyway? If one of us showed up late, he’d grab us by the ear and dangle us out the window himself!”
“You said you heard voices?” Balfour asked. The moment of recollection had passed, and though he was now as white as a sheet, the faraway look in his eyes had diminished almost completely. He no longer looked like a ghost. “After visiting Margrave Germaine?”
“Yeah,” Laure said, shrugging uncomfortably. “I know it doesn’t sound right, but I swear—”
“Did they say anything?” Balfour asked. Apparently, he was interested enough that good manners no longer applied.
“Nothing, really,” Laure began. She bit her lip, staring up at the mask over Balfour’s head like it was challenging her somehow, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “Maybe a few things. Most I could pick out was my name. Just kept saying it over and over again in the night.”
“I’ve seen Margrave Germaine for these,” Balfour said, lifting his hands to us. I could see some of the gears were still visible at the junction between his thumb and forefinger, breaking the illusion of metallic skin. “I also … heard things.”
“Bastion,