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“He’s too long from home,” the older man replies. I don’tknowthat he’s older; he just seems it. Though perhaps his illness ages him. “It happens from time to time. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“I didn’t intend to.” I wince at the defensiveness in my tone.

Moseus doesn’t seem to notice. “Good.”

He makes no comment about my absence the last two mists, so neither do I. “I’m looking more at Machines Two and Three this cycle,” I offer. I haven’t explained my numbering system to him, but it’s not hard to figure out. Machine One is on floor one, Machine Two on floor two, Machine Three on floor three. By that pattern, there should be a machine each on floors four and five, but who knows what the Ancients might have crafted up there.

He sighs. “There is much to do. I can’t ... I don’t understand enough to put the third back together.”

After I get to work trying to unstick that arm beneath Machine Two, I realize I lied. I do concern myself with Heartwood. Namely after he leaves his room and descends the stairs, steps light, brow drawn, eyes focused. Extricating myself, I follow like a scorpion tracking a beetle, until he exits the tower. I stare at the door, debating with myself, but return upstairs and look out the window instead, his silhouette just discernible in the mist. Heading off the same direction as before, not to a privy or a well.

Arthen’s knife feels heavy in my pocket.Where are you going, Heartwood?

I mull over it until I successfully pull a lever—more like a brake release—for the hinged arm, and as I suspected, Machine Two shifts away from the wall. Not by much, but enough for a person to get back there. I follow the seams, positive they outline a door in the wall. They’re perfectly square, each a meter long. Butifthis is a door, its hinges are on the reverse side, and there’s no handle or knob. The only other marking is a natural divot in the stone near the top seam, without real shape or meaning.

I push, knock, and attack it with an array of tools. The stone doesn’t even chip. Did the Ancients make stone alloys, too? More uncertain questions with no feasible answers.

At least nothing in this tower assaults me with waking dreams.

Frustrated, I climb the ladder to the third floor and the mess of mechanics there, my thoughts insufferably pulling to Heartwood once more. Why did he try to stop me before?

Trying to shake my confusion, I organize what I can. Rivets here, gears there, bars that could be one of a dozen things over there, by size. By the time the mist nears its end, I haven’t gotten very far, and Heartwood hasn’t returned.

At least Moseus rewards me with another scrap bag.

The sun burns through the last of the fog as I get to Emgarden, but I pause on the way home, seeing several people out in the streets,shouting and milling about. I hop the broken stone wall around town and spy the doctor, Amlynn. I wave her down.

“What’s going on?” I ask, lowering my bag of goodies to the earth.

“Casnia,” she explains, and my spine immediately stiffens. “She’s missing.”

Chapter 9

Sometimes Casnia wanders. It’s just something she does. She never gets farther than the fields, though. And it only takes a few people to find her.

Half of Emgarden floods the streets.

Trying to keep rising panic down, I ask, “When?”

Amlynn shakes her head. “Gone at least an hour. Salki said she was throwing a fit at first sun, so she went on a walk to give her space. When she got back, Casnia was gone.”

“In the mists?” Casnia never ventures out in the mists.

Amlynn frowns. “Keep your eye out. It won’t go well for Salki to lose another so soon.”

And it won’t go well for Casnia to get lost in the unforgiving dust.

Abandoning my bag, I run for Salki’s home, passing several people calling Casnia’s name. I know the house will have been searched, but I let myself in. Salki isn’t home. The single-room house isn’t much bigger than mine, but I search it anyway, looking for any clues. With so many people about, Casnia might have gotten frightened and hid. She’s done it before.

I find only more of her drawings, as well as her art supplies. She didn’t take them with her.

“Piss and Ruin,” I mutter under my breath, hurrying back outside. The last time Casnia ran was when Ramdinee died. I can’t fathom why she’d wander off now. I take the ladder up to Salki’s roof and shield myeyes from the sun, scanning the town. For a moment I’m sure I’ve spotted Casnia, but it’s only Balfid’s wife, who also has dark hair. Hurrying down, I jog through the streets, calling Casnia’s name, pausing at windows to see if she let herself into another home or tucked herself away in a shed. Casnia’s either exploring or settling into a quiet, safe spot.

Safe spot.Turning on my heel, I dash back to my own house. Throw open the door, but Casnia isn’t here. She wouldn’t fit in the tiny cupboards, and though there’s no lump on my bed, I throw back the covers anyway. I even look beneath the panel in the floor, though it’s too small to hold anyone larger than a baby. Nothing.

Back outside, up my ladder, onto my roof.“Cas!”I shout, looking out. Folk mill outside the town limits, searching the dry, rusty expanse. Others retrace their steps. They’ll have already combed through the alehouse. I try to get a better vantage point by standing on my toes. Determine where Casnia would have gone in the mist. But I can’t even see Salki’s house from here.

Frustrated, I curl my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms as I turn and scan.