“I have,” Jacob admitted. “It is difficult not to. When you dance, for precious few moments, you are happy. And, of course, you are very desirable. But I said you could do whatever you like during our hours here. I doubt that includes suffering through lovestruck stares. And I have work to do.”
“You work too much,” Kazimir surprised himself by saying. Surprised Jacob, too, judging from his expression.
“I’ve been inspired,” Jacob muttered at last, looking down once again at the clay in his hands, what might have been the lower half of Kazimir’s face taking shape. “The sooner I am done, the sooner you are free.”
“You aren’t sleeping.” Kazimir heard himself go on. “You drink more than is wise.”
Jacob’s hands faltered. “I cannot sleep without the aid of the wine. I… do not like to think of what happens to you when you leave this place.”
Kazimir pulled in a breath. Several answers came to his lips though he did not voice all of them. “Would you dislike it so much if you had not felt Eros’s dart?”
Jacob carefully put down his clay. “I am not a great man, nor a hero—nor do I think many heroes were great men. I follow my art, and I study the world so I can show it in my work. I believe in beauty, the way the philosophers do, although I do not think that it follows that goodness shows through beauty. There are many people who suffer, and I dislike to think of it, but you I know, and I have been put in a position where I contribute to your suffering, and that pains me. I also love you. That brings a different pain.”
When he looked up, Kazimir quickly glanced down to the tray of water and wine that Jacob had once again brought for him. He poured some wine and drank it to wet his throat. He thought, if Jacob’s nights were to be restless and haunted, then he would rather have it be for a sweeter reason than Kazimir’s suffering.
“I do not mind if you watch me,” Kazimir told him, voice cool but his skin stinging with heat. He shook his head, making his hair appear as though he had just bedded someone gentle, and parted his lips while he waited for Jacob’s reply.
Jacob was very still, the clay forgotten. “You honor me, golden one, but if you don’t…”
“It is my choice.” Kazimir set down the cup and Jacob fell silent.
Jacob would understand what choice meant. Kazimir knew he would. It sent a shiver down his back and made him move slowly as he returned to his exercises, demonstrating his form and the strength of his bare thighs.
He danced until his legs were shaking. Jacob did not touch the clay again until Kazimir was done.
IT WAS DANGEROUS to play at having power. It made Kazimir reckless and slow to answer the King, made him forget to lower his head as he should.
He did not want to return to Jacob’s workshop the next day, but the King was impatient for his automaton, and Kazimir could not test him further. He was almost relieved to see Jacob at the forge with a slew of servants to assist him. It spared him from having to speak, to explain his exhaustion and his mood.
Kazimir went into the workshop on his own and Jacob did not object. Because Kazimir did not feel like dancing, he poked at the piles of unused ore, at the numbers and lines carved into numerous wax tablets, the bits of clay Jacob’s hands had shaped into tiny versions of Kazimir. Jacob depicted him smiling, his hair down, his movements free.
Kazimir ended up sitting carefully on the edge of Jacob’s cot in marvelous, wondering silence, and must have eventually fallen asleep. He woke to Jacob’s worried face above him and Jacob calling his name.
“I’d have let you sleep, but I thought it might not be wise. The King….” Jacob left the rest unsaid. He had shadows beneath his eyes. Kazimir could have pulled him down to sleep beside him and it wouldn’t have meant anything except that they were both so tired. He thought of it, while still in his startled daze, and again on his long walk back up the mountain—a fantasy of sharing a bed to rest.
Jacob would have allowed it. Jacob might even have welcomed it.
Kazimir thought he would have as well, and let the thought lull him to sleep when he finally returned to his chambers that night.
THE CONSTRUCTION of the likeness began in earnest after Jacob had his materials assembled and had once again ordered all the servants from his workshop in order to protect his secrets. He had a large cloth raised to hide the work from Kazimir, although Kazimir was not banned from his rooms. Jacob didn’t ask before raising the curtain, but Kazimir knew it had been done for him.
Kazimir did not want to see the work, felt something twist in his chest at the idea of Jacob’s hands shaping his body and reaching into it to tug at his insides. He asked about the mechanisms to make his arms move, the gears thrown about the benches and tables, but he did not ask to see his likeness, or even what the pieces were made of.
Jacob halted his work behind the curtain whenever Kazimir was with him. His fingers remained greased from his clockworks, as did his hair. But his gaze stayed sharp until the afternoon Kazimir hurried into the warm confines of the workshop to find Jacob still, his eyes dull and his lips stained purple with wine.
He focused immediately on Kazimir’s face, as Kazimir had known he would. “I’d heard he….”
The bruising on Kazimir’s cheek and neck were growing darker. Kazimir lifted his chin. “I will not feel shame.”
Jacob blinked like a donkey drunk after getting into a pile of fermented fruit. “Why should you?” He frowned. “You are agift, and I wonder… I wonder if the other gods are watching him, after all. He is still favored, and by someone powerful, but the others must have heard our prayers. I had a plan, golden one, but I don’t think I can see you like this much longer without doing something rash.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Kazimir struggled to make the offer. It left him flushed and uncomfortable though revealing his bruises had not. “Will it bother you if I stay, like this?” He gestured to his face.
Jacob’s eyes widened. “Your presence is never a burden. You are a gift. Those were my words, and I meant them.Iam the one who bothersyouwith my anger and my staring.” He lowered his voice, which had risen with the anger he’d spoken of. “He hurts you.”
The bruises would not heal faster for speaking of them, so Kazimir did not. “You do not value yourself much, inventor. You are also a gift, and not to be risked by upsetting the King.”
“I value myself more than some others do,” Jacob argued, pointedly.
