Clockwork Heart by Dru Pagliassotti

you a good-looking woman,” Cristof said, sounding annoyed again. “I’m offering you a drink because it would be churlish to drink in front of you, and I’m thirsty.”
    Taya sipped the beer, not sure how to reply. Had Alister Forlore considered her good-looking? The thought warmed her. She’d certainly found him handsome.
    Still looking nettled, Cristof shoved half the sliced sausage, cheese, and pickles toward her. “Have you had lunch yet?” Without waiting for a reply, he dropped into a chair, picking up his food with his fingers.
    â€œIt would be churlish to eat in front of me?”
    â€œYes.”
    For a split second she considered refusing, but then her hunger got the better of her. After all, she rationalized, the invitation might have been ungracious, but it had been an invitation all the same. Like all icarii, she had a healthy appetite.
    She pulled up a chair and sat down.
    â€œThank you, Exalted.”
    For several minutes they sat in the ticking, whirring room, working on the food. The simple but filling meal reminded Taya of the workman’s lunches she’d brought to her father in the smelting factory, back when she’d been a little girl. He’d shared them with her on a wooden bench outside the factory door, covered with dirt and sweat but full of smiles for his oldest daughter.
    Not at all like the dour-faced outcaste across from her.
    Once the edge was off her hunger, she wiped her hands on Cristof’s cleaning rag, picked up the bottle of stout, and refilled their cups. Cristof took his without comment.
    â€œDo you get much business here?” she asked, searching for a subject that wouldn’t annoy him as they drank.
    â€œYes.” Cristof stared into his cup. She thought he’d stop with that curt reply, but then he elaborated, almost defensively. “It looks quiet right now, but most of my customers come by in the morning, on their way to work. I have three clocks and two watches to repair this week. I do well enough.”
    â€œDo many people on Tertius own timepieces?” Her family hadn’t.
    â€œThe factories have clocks, and the overseers and managers bring their clocks and watches down from Secundus. My shop’s easy to reach from Whitesmith Stair.”
    â€œYou do most of your work for the cardinal castes, then?”
    â€œI get some work from Primus, too.” He sounded sour. “Alister doesn’t hesitate to recommend me, and he’s so charming that other exalteds overlook my eccentricities to please him.”
    â€œYou must be good at what you do, or they wouldn’t come back,” Taya said, encouraging him. She felt a certain sense of satisfaction that Cristof was talking to her like a regular person.
    â€œAnyone can do basic timepiece repairs, if he’s willing to learn.” The exalted looked up. “The difficult jobs are restoring heirlooms and one-of-a-kind pieces. That’s my specialty, finding or making unusual parts and fixing old clockwork that’s been allowed to degrade. I repair imports, too. I correspond with all of the major clockwrights on the continent. And sometimes I make my own timepieces, as well.”
    â€œThen you’re a more important artisan than I thought,” she said, pleased to have drawn him out. “May I see some of your work?”
    His sharp cheekbones turned a darker shade of copper, and he looked away, straightening his glasses.
    â€œI don’t have anything here that would impress you.”
    Taya’s eyes were drawn again to the wave tattoo on his cheek. Seeing it here in his shop wasn’t as jarring as seeing it out in the street. Except for his lack of robes and jewels, he could be any exalted who’d doffed his mask in private to speak to an icarus.
    â€œMost of these clocks are common,” he continued, the defensive note returning. “The ones I make on commission are more ornate, but I deliver them as soon