Kimia thought about asking where it had been. She decided against it.
She could guess it was resting, eating, or whatever soldiers of its caste did when temporarily released from guarding a chemically unstable yinglet duchess.
“You rested?”
The indrel's head moved slightly.
Kimia accepted this as yes.
“Good.”
Click.
She drank more water.
The soldier smelled different. Cleaner, perhaps.
Its posture seemed less taut.
Kimia realized that it had obeyed her.
Gone away. Recovered, then returned on its own initiative when enough time had passed.
No one had summoned it. That made something ache faintly inside her.
Not badly.
Whiteblood prevented badly.
The sun touched the far roofs.
Kimia watched.
Beside her the indrel stood without judgment.
It did not ask what she had done, but it certainly could smell exactly what she had done.
That was different.
To the indrel, intoxication might not be moral information at all.
Elevated temperature. Altered perspiration. Chemical compounds in the breath. Different pupil response.
A body displaying data.
Kimia found this comforting.
“You know,” she said.
The soldier remained still.
Kimia looked toward it.
“You can smell it.”
Click.
No answer.
“Of course you can.”
She turned back toward the city.
There was no point lying to a creature for whom lies had odors.
Kimia rested her head against the window frame.
The glass had cooled.
Pleasant.
Her thoughts moved slowly.
She knew Tarkhe would return. He would know. There would be questions. Disappointment perhaps. Medical concern certainly.
Tomorrow would arrive with its own architecture.
But not yet.
For the moment there was orange light. Water. Salt lingering on her tongue. The warmth of whiteblood fading through her body, and a silent creature standing guard beside her because it had decided that rest was finished and duty had resumed.
Kimia looked down at the city.
The actress was dressed again. The stage remained. The audience had not yet returned.
For a little while she did not need to perform.