Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] Read Online Free Page B

“I gave up on modesty months ago.”
    He did, and when he saw her leg, he cursed softly. “Mechanical.”
    Kali studied her prosthetic leg, trying to see it through the stranger’s eyes. It was a complex device of brass, leather, and wood, carefully calibrated to move as smoothly and with the same range of motion as a normal leg made of flesh and bone. The apparatus strapped to her upper thigh, kept on much the same way a garter belt held on stockings. Though it wasn’t necessary to give the leg the shape and form of an actual limb—all it really needed to do was function properly, and beneath her skirts, no one could truly tell what it looked like—she’d taken pains to shape the metal and carve the wood so that it resembled her other, whole leg. Vanity, perhaps, but when a woman lost her leg, she could be forgiven for a little pride.
    Few people had seen her prosthetic leg. She hadn’t been eager to show it off. A few doctors had run her through some tests to see how it functioned. They’d looked at her like a science experiment, not a person. Not a woman. Other than the doctors, however, nobody had laid eyes upon the evidence of her broken life, her ruined body.
    Until now.
    She stared at the unknown man. Waiting. Watching. Her heart slamming against the inside of her ribs. As though this feral stranger’s opinion mattered.
    It shouldn’t. It did.
    Slowly, he crouched down. Through the wild tangle of his hair, his expression was . . . fascinated. No disgust or horror. No looking at her as if she were an attraction at a traveling fair, displayed beside the conjoined twins. But genuine wonderment—not revulsion—gleamed in his eyes.
    Her head grew light, muddled with confusion.
    “Scuttle me,” he murmured. “Never seen its equal.”
    “Have you seen a lot of cripples and their fake limbs?”
    His gaze was solemn. “Sailors see many wounded men. With injuries far more severe than yours.”
    An odd heat crept into her cheeks.
    “The sawbones and tinkerers try to fit them with artificial limbs,” he continued, “but none that I’ve seen are so advanced. So elegant.”
    More heat filled her cheeks to hear her prosthetic called elegant . She pushed herself to sitting and dug through the tools and pouches on her belt. “It’s doubtful you would see anything like this. Since I made it.”
    His shocked gaze shifted from the leg to her, the surprise plain in his eyes.
    “I planned and built the thing myself.” She tugged at her left foot, pinned beneath the rocks.
    He lifted some of the larger stones, casting them aside easily. Soon, her leg was free.
    “I didn’t trust the design to anyone but me.” And with many, many weeks of recovery, she’d needed something to occupy her time. She removed her small screwdrivers and pliers from her toolbelt to repair the damage wrought by her fall.
    She pulled off her boot and adjusted the screws that joined the foot to the ankle. The sooner she fixed the damn thing, the sooner she could get away from him.
    Satisfied with her repairs, she tugged her boot on. She ignored his outstretched hand and clambered to her feet. Carefully, she tested her weight on the leg, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when it held. Fixing the prosthetic wouldn’t be a problem—if she were at her workbench or even using the table at the cottage—but she seldom had to make field repairs. At least it would hold enough to get her back to her little hut.
    She examined the shotgun, worried that she’d damaged it with her fall, but aside from some scratches on the barrel and stock, it seemed in good condition.
    At least he didn’t press her with questions—what had brought her here, how long she planned on staying. And she wouldn’t ask him the same questions.
    Still, she couldn’t help her curiosity. He wore a long navy coat, patched in places and a little threadbare, with tarnished buckles. Standard naval issue. All of his clothing seemed clean but slightly ragged, from his linen