Lerna makes a face. “The guards won’t let you, Essun. People new to the comm aren’t trusted. Castrima’s survival depends on it remaining secret.”
Seeing Alabaster again has brought back a lot of the old memories, and the old orneriness. “They can try to stop me.”
Lerna stops walking. “And then you’ll do what you did to Tirimo?”
Rusting hell. You stop, too, rocking a little from the force of that blow. Hoa stops as well, eying Lerna thoughtfully. Lerna’s not glaring. The look on his face is too flat to be a glare. Damn. Okay.
After a moment, Lerna sighs and comes over. “We’ll go to Ykka,” he says. “We’ll tell her what we need. We’ll ask to go topside—with guards if she wants. All right?”
It’s so reasonable that you don’t know why you didn’t even consider it. Well, you know why. Ykka might be an orogene like you, but you spent too many years being thwarted and betrayed by other orogenes at the Fulcrum; you know better than to trust her just because she’s Your People. You should give her a chance because she’s Your People, though.
“Fine,” you say, and follow him to Ykka’s.
Ykka’s place is no larger than yours, and not distinct in any way despite being the home of the comm headwoman. Just another apartment carved by means unknown into the side of a giant glowing white crystal. Two people wait outside of its door, however, one leaning against the crystal and another peering over the railing at the expanse of Castrima. Lerna takes up position behind them and directs you to do the same. Only fair to wait your turn, and the obelisks aren’t going anywhere.
The woman gazing out at the view glances over and looks you up and down. She’s a little older, Sanzed, though darker complected than most, and her bushel of hair is ashblow with a slight kink to it, making it a frizzy cloud instead of just a coarse one. Got some Eastcoaster in her. And Westcoaster, too: Her gaze is through epicanthic-folded eyes, and it is assessing, wary, and unimpressed. “You the new one,” she says. Not a question.
“He came in a few months ago,” Lerna says, distracting you from your new neighbors. For a moment you wonder if he means the strawberry-hay-haired man, and then you realize he’s referring to Alabaster. “Just appeared in the middle of what passes for a town square within the geode—Flat Top.” He nods toward something beyond you, and you turn, trying to understand what he means. Ah: there, amid the many sharp-tipped crystals of Castrima, is one that looks as if it’s been sheared off halfway, leaving a wide hexagonal platform positioned and elevated near the center of the comm. Several stair-bridges connect to it, and there are chairs and a railing. Flat Top.
Lerna goes on. “There was no warning. Apparently the orogenes didn’t sess anything, and the stills on guard duty didn’t see anything. He and that stone eater of his were suddenly just… there.”
“Maybe the stone eaters knew he was coming, but they rarely talk to anyone but their chosen people. And in this case, they didn’t even do that.” Lerna’s gaze drifts over to Hoa, who’s studiously ignoring him in that very moment. Lerna shakes his head. “Ykka tried to throw him out, of course, though she offered him a mercy killing if he wanted.
Sounds about right. “He’s a ten-ringer,” you say. “And an ass. Give him whatever he wants and be nice about it.”
“He’s from the Fulcrum?” Lerna inhales in what seems to be awe. “Earthfires. I had no idea any Imperial Orogenes had survived.”
You look at him, too surprised for amusement. But then, how would he know? Another thought sobers you. “He’s turning to stone,” you say softly.
