Steelhands (2011) Read Online Free

had been himself a few moments ago. They probably couldn’t take the difference between Thremedon and thecountryside—always warmer out there, or so I was told—and one of them had taken the liberty of sitting on his suitcase, which made him look both unimpressed and damn tired, too. “Why? Are you interested? I know you’ve a fondness for country folk.”
    “You know,” Royston said, “the more often you say a thing, the less funny it becomes.”

TOVERRE
     
    Thremedon was even more beautiful than I had ever imagined. As grand as she was always described, mere words could not capture her vital essence. Even in my wildest dreams I could not have envisioned such splendor, not to mention the fashions—the delicate brocades and elaborate waistcoats—worn by all the passersby, and not a one of them looking out of place. And the statues of the airmen were taller than the barn back home! We’d arrived in the milliners’ district, and in the windows I could see hats with pearl-droplet veils and—my heart could not be still to see it—real peacock feathers!
    What glory
, I thought, and tried to keep my mouth from hanging open as though I were a dying fish. No matter how I felt like one.
    I was deeply enthralled—and even more deeply grateful that Father had not come with us to the city proper to say his good-byes. His presence would have ruined it, and his disapproval of my gawking would have dampened my spirits. Father belonged in the countryside, with his precious mud and chattel. Here
I
was, ready for the ’Versity’s winter quarter. The weather was frigid, my nose running more freely than a gossip’s chatter, my fingers beginning to grow numb, but I would never wear the woolen gloves that had been packed for me. They were simply too humble for a place so grand, and I intended—for the first time in my life—to belong somewhere.
    Not to mention, at long last, that I was finally free.
    Where would I go first? I wondered. What delightful hole in the wall would be my choice of public alehouses to frequent? When would I meet my first poet; when would I find my first love? It was far more likely in a place like this, and I knew already about all the scandals. I might create one of those myself, depending on the lover I chose totake; the thought itself felt like lightning. Father would hear of the news and clutch a hand to his chest, suddenly quite unable to breathe, but there would be nothing he could do about my actions. He would never leave the manor in order to acknowledge my transgressions.
    “Watch yourself,” a voice beside me said, just before the carriage driver threw my bag at me.
    It almost knocked me down. A suitcase full of woolen gloves and books was bound to be heavy. Worse, it was flecked with mud from the journey over. I attempted to catch my breath though the sudden impact had certainly winded me.
    “You’ve got a little bit of something on your chin,” Laurence said. “I think it’s drool from all that staring. Do you want my handkerchief to wipe it off?”
    I turned to face her, only somewhat indignant. The cold air made her cheeks so pretty, whereas I knew that I would be covered in strange pink blotches all over my skin. She was wearing the dress I’d suggested, the nicest garment she owned—I’d given her my advice in the hopes that we would
both
fit into city life as more than pitiable country bumpkins—green to complement her eyes; without it, they’d just look gray. And the particular color was so flattering on a redhead.
    Chances were, she would have much better luck finding
her
first love in Thremedon than I would. Nonetheless, I would encourage her
and
counsel her on what to wear, for I intended to be a solid friend despite all my jealousies. As her fiancé, I would always be there for her.
    “Well, here we are,” she said. “I bet
you’re
loving this, anyway.”
    “Aren’t you?” I asked.
    Laure shook her head and made a face. “Too cold,” she said. “I told you I