by Rance » Fri Jun 14, 2013 10:26 am
The story was in the glamoured woman's eyes. It was in her cheeks as if they were tree-rubbered bellows. The book was poised. The seamstress feared she might have wrought something unforgivable. But they must be sure, she must be sure, as they never had been in Jernoah--
The armored golem burst through the inevitability of that moment, a loud and gleaming, wildly-rattling statue of steel and sharp edges. She staggered back, barely keeping her balance as the Mathymatics tumbled from her hands and smacked against the floorboards. The gauntlet was a pincer, an insect-like extension of the soldier's shoulder and elbow. Those fingers meant for clutching sword-hilts and flails crushed down upon that tongue, seized it, threatened to crush. Throughout it all, the sigil of a tiara-and-vine seemed to gleam like a hot curse in the heart of that armor, laughing and teasing in metal silence.
She could have been satisfied, in Jernoah, to say nothing, to turn her head. But a Greatlady demanded more respect.
"No," Gloria said, and then shouted again, "No," like the word had some kind of subverting power.
She wanted to reach out for his hand, pull it down, away; she thought of pummeling him at the spine of the armor with a fist, but he'd feel nothing. The seamstress was no warhammer on a field of battle. Instead, she spun, eyes alive and afraid. "Call -- call him down," she pleaded of Rhaena. "Call your man away from her. Please. It was by my request that she spoke!"
You're not meant to, to wish people dead, Cherny had told her weeks ago. They had spoken of what was right and what was wrong. This was wrong; this was a place of order, or masqueraded as one. She wished the Marshall were around, for it seemed by steel and scar, she would reign without even a thought of violence. With a hand that in a Dream had wielded a schiavona, long and shining and brutal, the seamstress pointed to the struggling prisoner, but never looked away from Rhaena Olwak, who was always so collected, so calm, so lovely.
"Let me speak for her," Gloria said. "Let -- let me advocate for her. It would only be right. Not like this. Not like this."