Copper & Snow

Winter’s Verse Part I

Nicole Hayes

To those of us without a sense for appropriate timing.

ONE

Winter's Mettle

Drip.

Drip.

Someone really ought to check the pipes in Lexia Tempest’s office. How was a girl supposed to take a nap with all this dripping about?

The crop master’s daughter withdrew her long legs off her desk and righted her chair out of her dozing position. The stacks of papers waiting for Lexia’s gilded seal stood like tall towers, piled hundreds deep, in silent judgment. In fact, during this Founding Season, there wasn’t a sound in the entire building aside from…

Drip.

With a sigh, Lexia eyed the culprit. In a room with a dozen copper pipes pumping steam for heat, it should prove difficult to single out the leaky one, but she’d found it yesterday. Upper right corner of the rose-glass room, closest to her desk. A small elbow dripped onto a steam main.

Lexia had just paid for the last copper re-pipe… What? Three months ago?

Well.

Her father had paid for it, and she was sure Gauge Snow had loved that. Although, to be fair, she knew little about the twenty-nine-year-old bachelor since Lexia’s father refused to let her set foot in a room with him, let alone reintroduce her to the man. They hadn’t seen each other since they were children.

No, instead, Lexia heard all about Snow’s arrogance and avarice from her father and Axis. But facing off with this leak in her office, Lexia had a few of her own choice words for the Count of Copper.

Her black leather pants creaked softly as she stood and crossed the room to the exterior wall made of rose-colored glass. Through the fog, Lexia glared at the impractical Cathedral built entirely of the precious metal on a hill in the town’s center. Train cars on iron tracks helixed through the humid clouds surrounding the steam empire’s most recognizable monument. Once through the Copper Cathedral’s security, they’d arrive at the mine depot where their labor made up a third of the planet’s occupations. Winter’s occupations.

Another third worked the plantations, scattered across the planet, growing food and fibers to supply the world with nourishment and textiles. This was Leon Tempest’s domain, and, as his daughter and inheritor, it was Lexia’s future.

Factories employed the final third under Axis’ father, Valve Flicker. Within the stacks of machinery, laborers took those materials from the plantations and processed them into goods for consumption. All to keep shelter over their heads and food on the table.

Everyone was beholden to the mighty triumvirate: copper, cotton, and construction.

Even Lexia, who worked on her own merit and not her father’s reputation. Proof positive seeing as she was the only one in the office today. She glanced at the brass clock on the wall with its fancy scroll. It said one hour until closing. When Lexia blew the air from her cheeks, it fluffed her bangs as she considered how badly she wanted out of this pinstripe corset. But she wore it for a reason.

That reason was six inches taller than Lexia with soft green eyes and short burgundy hair and enough steam coming off his honed body to power all of Winter. Dinner with Axis in an hour. A night with him was the only way to kick off Founding Season with a bang, assuming she could keep his mind off work.

The People’s Prince never stopped advocating for laborer’s rights, even when facing his father—

No.

Lexia didn’t want her thoughts to go there this afternoon. Tonight was about the young couple and not the struggles they’d inherited in their respective industries. With two easy strides, she returned to her desk and retrieved a compact from the top drawer.

Waves of white hair cascaded down Lexia’s shoulders. Soft gray eyeshadow emphasized the depth of her black eyes. Was burgundy lipstick the right choice or was it too on the nose? She swept her bangs a little to the side and re-powdered to cover her pale blue freckles, dusted across her temples. Against her white skin, they often drew too much attention. They reminded the public of her mother, and Lexia was her own woman, now twenty-three years old and ready to take on the empire.

Fifty-five minutes left, and she could leave for the most important date of her life. Axis would ask tonight. Lexia was certain. She looked down at her breasts and straightened the blouse beneath her corset to better distract her suitor before spritzing more perfume across her pulse points.

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Axis loved the smell of summer rain.

Surely the primping ate up another thirty minutes. Lexia glanced at the clock and frowned. Only one minute had passed.

With a sigh, she poured herself back into her chair and lit her ink pad. The flame ignited, and Lexia took the first page off the pile of work. It was a report of unionizing activity among the orchard employees. One of their lifers, a man named Kol, had provided the findings. The document included a request for more resources. This would prevent an uprising asking for outlandish demands.

Lexia held her hand over the flame and let it kiss the golden gear strapped to her palm. Once hot enough, she sealed the report with her signature and moved onto the next.

Sometimes the only way to move a work day along was to get some actual work done.

The steam whistle sounded the end of the work week, and it wouldn’t sound again until after Founding Day. Lexia made it through the last stack of paper and felt better about her time spent. She left her office as tidy as possible, then rushed on her four-inch stiletto thigh-high boots onto the thoroughfare.

There were two major arteries to the city: Tempest Boulevard and Flicker Avenue. Both spread out diagonally from Snow Plaza, forming a triangle in the heart of the city. Most people traveled by streetcar or train. The trains went overhead, roller-coasting on steam-powered tracks. Her family could afford the luxury of personal cars with drivers, but Lexia wanted to take the city’s pulse tonight. So she walked through the twilight under lamps fueled by Flicker wicks: a hybrid of Tempest fuses and Flicker engineered filaments.

To Lexia’s delight, the Founding Parade had already started down the boulevard. She loved the dancers in their bright costumes, and the bands with their brass instruments and drums. But her least favorite part were the floats.

Each one represented a different stage of Winter’s establishment ten years ago now. The first float, which she’d missed, was bright enough to still see on its way. It represented the electromagnetic pulse on a world powered by electronics.

Lexia had gone outside in time to glimpse the worst float, and it made her frown.

A life-sized replica of a younger Gauge Snow warned the planet’s congresses of the phenomenon. It was backed by the Copper Cathedral, half-constructed in those earlier times. The replica was just after he’d bought all the copper mines in the Ignis Crater to prepare for what would come next.

His prescience had always bothered Lexia.

The third float represented the fall of civilization as pre-Winter knew it. The old name for the planet was illegal to speak, and Lexia hadn’t heard it since she was a girl in braids.

The fourth float boasted another life-size statue of Snow, but this one was made from solid copper. It depicted his rise to reestablish order out of chaos, and he’d gladly donated the copper for it. While fawning at the statue’s feet, the young women on the float wore low-cut blouses and bloomers over fishnets.

A chill made Lexia shiver in her ankle-length duster, and she pressed on while trying to enjoy the music on her walk. Further down the cobbled street, she noticed a wall of people blocking the sidewalk. A thrill replaced the chill.

Lexia touched her hand to the steam cannon holstered on her hip beneath the coat as she made her way through the crowd. Some recognized her and lowered their heads in deference, stepping out of the way. This was typical in a throng this size, but she was still polite enough to say, “Excuse me. Pardon me,” as she forced her way to the front.

There.

As Lexia had suspected, two men were pressing their backs to one another. Both of them had rapiers! A sword duel was less common these days, and she couldn’t wait to see how this one played out. Once they’d reached the ten paces, another man who refereed for them whistled for the duel to start.

The man on the left, with green hair and brown eyes, turned first and brandished his weapon at his opponent.

The second fighter, with blond hair and purple eyes, backflipped away on one hand, dazzling their audience.

Lexia already knew who would win the fight just by their stances, but it was exciting to watch them trade blows. Sparks flew when their swords clashed; the blond man bore down on his opponent with more strength and skill.

The green-haired man, desperate not to lose, reached into his boot and withdrew a dagger. He thrusted it into the blond man’s gut.

A dirty move, and the crowd booed. Lexia included.

The blond man with more skill whirled away and swiped the green-haired man’s wrist, cutting into the veins. He dropped the cheating dagger with a wounded cry. He couldn’t resist the instinct to clutch his injured wrist to his chest, and the blond man sought his opening.

After one deft thrust into the green-haired man’s heart, Winter was short another citizen tonight.

Lexia had witnessed a hundred duels in her lifetime. ‘Dispute resolutions’ were their legal names. It was not only illegal to kill outside of a duel, but pre-meditated, cold-blooded murder would see you cast in copper and hung on the Wall of Pain.

Which just so happened to be the front door to Gauge Snow’s Cathedral.

Lexia fought another shiver and moved on through the crowd. She tried her best to ignore the body being lifted by the undertaker. She wasn’t cold-hearted; this was simply how things were done on Winter.

Maybe two steps later, Lexia stopped and sighed. Without turning around, she said, “It seems silly for you to hide behind me when I can distinguish your steps in a crowd.” When she turned, she wasn’t surprised to find her unwanted bodyguard looking disgruntled under the lamplight.

Rhyme never looked happy. His arched brows reminded Lexia of a hawk, and they were furrowed to deepen the frown on his thin lips. His arms were folded across his chest—too broad for her liking. His prosthetic leg with its copper casting and its steam tank jutted out from his hip with entirely too much sass for an employee. Her father’s employee.

Rhyme rubbed the stubble on his chin while he contemplated, “What would Dr. Tempest think of you rushing over to witness a duel, endangering yourself?”

Lexia turned around and kept walking, gesturing her nonchalance as she said, “He’d probably thank the bodyguard before you who taught me everything I know in self-defense and dueling etiquette. They were using swords, Rhyme. Not projectiles. I was fine.”

As Rhyme followed, his prosthetic made a distinctly empty footstep compared to his boot. He humphed in that gravelly voice of his with his rugged features and his braided hair. He was handsome, but no one could compare to Axis. Not to mention, Rhyme was about ten years older than Lexia, and she never really fancied older men.

Rhyme asked, “Why don’t you ever submit your schedule so we can plan your security better?”

Lexia laughed, letting that question answer itself. She didn’t have to answer to him, anyway. There was a good chance even her father didn’t know about her plans tonight.

Ah.

Lexia couldn’t have timed her arrival at the restaurant better herself. She turned to ask Rhyme, “Can you please be discrete tonight? I don’t want Axis nervous.”

Rhyme looked at the narrow Victorian cottage with its turrets and wrought-iron fencing. It was a secret shared between the couple—a place they liked to go and pretend they were normal without all the glitz and glamor of balls and galas. No pressure. The perfect place for Axis to ask her to—

“I don’t think my shoulders can fit through the door, little Heiress.” Rhyme smirked.

Lexia rolled her eyes and went inside, ready for the most important engagement of her life.