Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 314
her. "I’m done," she said. "You finished me off!"
He was still panting. "Um," was all he managed. Megan
laughed.
For a few hours at a time, he could exchange Armiger the
engine for Armiger the man. At moments like this, he knew he
treasured such times. He also knew that in a minute or an hour,
cold rationality would steal over him, like a settling dew, both
bringing him back to his deeply treasured Self, and driving out
the warmth Megan made him feel.
Spontaneously, he hugged her tightly. She gasped.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." For a few moments he couldn’t bring himself
to let go. When he did, he flopped back, staring at the
embroidered canopy. It was one of the few pieces of bedding
in the palace that had not been shredded for the thousand and
one needs of a military occupation: bandages, lashing broken
spars together, enshrouding the dead. The queen, he thought
idly, was unfair; she would never make a decent general if she
wasn’t consistent with her sacrifices.
"No, what?"
He blinked. Whatever he had been feeling, it was gone
already. "I don’t know," he whispered.
"What don’t you know?" She propped herself up on her
elbow, peering at him in the faint richness of candlelight.
Armiger waved a hand vaguely. "Who I am," he said at
last, "at times like these."
"Yourself," she said. Megan put a hand on his chest.
"You’re yourself." She looked away. "It’s practically the only
time."
He smelled strawberries. Strange; he barely remembered
doing that. Something was slipping away, moment by
moment. He remembered other evenings with her, when after