The King’s Secret

(The Zero Enigma XIII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: The Zero Blessing
Book Two: The Zero Curse
Book Three: The Zero Equation
Book Four: The Family Shame
Book Five: The Alchemist’s Apprentice
Book Six: The Family Pride
Book Seven: The King’s Man
Book Eight: The Lady Heiress
Book Nine: The Family Name
Book Ten: The Zero Secret
Book Eleven: The Family Secret
Book Twelve: The Alchemist’s Secret
Book Thirteen: The King’s Secret

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Contents
Cover Blurb
Chapter One: Adam
Chapter Two: Lucy
Chapter Three: Adam
Chapter Four: Lucy
Chapter Five: Adam

Cover Blurb

For centuries, the Kingdoms of Tintagel and Garstang have been rivals, battling endlessly over the borderlands with neither kingdom able to win a decisive victory, let alone knock the other out once and for all. But now, Garstang has unlocked the secret of recreating ancient war machines and unleashed an army out of nightmares, a magical-mechanical force grinding its way through once-impregnable defences and advancing on Shallot. Giant metal monsters stalk the land, crawling metal locusts tear through walls and defences, flying machines hover overhead or roam far behind the lines. And nothing can stand in their way.

For Lucy Lamplighter, disgraced and sent into de facto after the civil unrest in Shallot, the war represents a chance to redeem herself, even at extreme risk to her life. For Adam Mortimer, reeling after the events in Kirkhaven, the war represents a challenge that can neither be denied nor won. But as both monarchs reveal their secrets, and newer weapons of war take the field, devastating the land around them, it becomes clear that the price of victory will be terrifyingly high …

And in the shadows, the real threat is slowly inching into the light.

Prologue (Five Years Before Now)

Hans tried, desperately, to hide his resentment as he made his way to the schoolhouse.

It was a rule that all children had to have at least two days in school per week, at least until they came of age, and no one made any exceptions for peasants, apprentices and others who had no realistic hope of earning the grades they needed to join the civil service or become one of the king’s warlocks. Hans had tried his hardest, but he’d never managed to cast so much as a simple spell, let alone master the basics of reading, writing, and a hundred other skills one needed to rise in the world. He’d been lucky his uncle had agreed to take him on as an apprentice – there was always room for a new apprentice at a blacksmith’s forge – and going to school now felt like a sick joke, a waste of time when he could be learning the trade. But the law was the law. The last family that refused to send their children to school had been taken away and no one had ever laid eyes on them again, driving the lesson home.

The schoolhouse was a towering building of red brick, a waste of resources that could have built a dozen private houses, something the village desperately needed. It was easily large enough to house the hundreds of schoolchildren, from eight to sixteen, shambling towards the gates, their movements making it clear they wanted to be somewhere – anywhere – else. He frowned as he saw the handful of horses outside, their caparisons marked with the king’s livery, then hastily lowered his eyes when he saw the young woman standing behind them, gaze flickering over the children as they walked past her and into the school. It was rare to see a young woman in a position of authority, which meant she was almost certainly a powerful sorceress as well as being of noble blood. Hans felt an odd little prickle as her eyes passed over his body, a faint sense of unease running through him. He half expected to find himself turning into a frog. But instead, he walked into the school and directly to the assembly hall. It was disturbingly quiet.

Hans felt cold, despite the warm air. It was normally rowdy, despite the best efforts of the headmaster and his teachers: friends chattering away, bullies harassing their victims, swots trying desperately to finish their homework before the teachers collected their jotters and discovered they hadn’t completed their work. The headmaster himself normally stood on the podium, dressed in robes Hans couldn’t have afforded if he worked every hour of every day for five years, prattling away about honour, glory, and the duty each and every citizen, from the highest to the lowest, owed to King Frederick VIII of Garstang, their lord and supreme master. Now, he was standing at the corner of the room, speaking to a handful of newcomers in the king’s livery. Hans had no idea who they were, but they had to be important. The headmaster normally expected everyone to bow and scrape to him. Now … he was the one doing the bowing and scraping.

Serves him right, Hans thought. It was impossible to respect the headmaster, no matter his rank. The man didn’t work for a living; he merely bossed around others while lording it over those who did. Now he knows how it feels to be ground under.

The lines of students normally kept shifting, as toughs pushed the weaker kids to the front while inching towards the rear. Hans was a past master at getting to the rear himself, relying on his greater strength to ensure he wasn’t close enough to be singled out by the headmaster and branded a disgrace before the entire school, but now the lines were barely moving and he found himself right at the front. A chill ran down his spine as the remaining students hurried into the chamber, including a handful of known troublemakers. They too were forced to the front. Hans would have found it amusing, if he hadn’t felt so exposed himself. The headmaster always singled out one student for punishment and he was in the danger zone. And neither his father nor his uncle would be likely to listen if he insisted he’d been picked at random …

A newcomer, dressed in noble robes, walked onto the stage and stood in front of the gathered students. Hans heard the rear doors shutting with a bang, a grim reminder they were trapped … and that anyone who was late would wind up in very hot water. The nobleman’s eyes surveyed the room, his gaze managing to convey the impression he’d seen more impressive specimens staggering out of the local alehouse, making their way home to a furious wife. Or perhaps lying on the sawdust, sleeping it off.

“Young boys and girls,” he said. His voice was quiet yet firm, echoing around the chamber in a manner that owed much to magic. No one spoke, not even the handful of troublemakers at the back. “You are here to be tested for a very special kind of magic. If you possess it, you will be honoured beyond the dreams of this” – his voice took on a hint of disdain – “quiet provincial town. If not, you will return to your quiet provincial lives.”

Hans felt a hot flash of irritation. His magic had been tested already; they’d all been tested, and he had little. If any. The handful of students who showed real aptitude for magic had been taken away a long time ago, their families paid the king’s coin and told their children would return as adult magicians, if they returned at all. He had no idea why the nobleman was doing all this – probably because he could? – but it was a waste of time. He had never managed a single spell.

He wanted to say it out loud, to ask why they were wasting his time, but he didn’t dare.

The nobleman drew a spellcaster from his belt. Hans felt a sudden lassitude fall over his mind, a sense that he should remain still – his brain switched off – until he was released from the spell. He stumbled a moment later, the spell letting him go. Rage and frustration, both, boiled through him as he stared at the nobleman, trying to keep the resentment off his face. It was bad enough that noblemen galloped through the cornfields, trampling the crops underfoot, or insisted merchants should overlook their debts, but to steal his free will … it made no sense, and he would not tolerate it. It took all the willpower he had not to clench his fists. Showing any hostility to a nobleman, however well deserved, was a flogging offense. Or worse.

“Interesting,” the nobleman said. “Come forward.”

Hans tried to keep his anger out of his voice and failed. “Why …?”

The nobleman snorted. “Look behind you.”

Hans turned … and stared. The other students were just standing there, faces as blank as their minds. A chill ran down his spine as he stared at Rodolfo, a boy who never shut up, and Martina, a girl so pretty almost every young man in town was trying to court her. They were both just … still, as if someone had somehow turned them off. He turned back and stared at the nobleman, who was studying him impassively. 

It was hard to speak, harder still to speak clearly. “What … what just happened?”

“The enchantment I used has little effect on those with a certain talent,” the nobleman said, as if Hans should already have known it. “You shrugged it off, which means you have the talent.”

He stepped off the podium and walked to the door. “Come.”

Hans stared after him, eyes flickering around the room in horror. Everyone was still. Even the headmaster was standing there, face as blank as his students. The rest of the noblemen were gone already …

“I …” Hans swallowed and started again. “What’ll happen to them?”

“The spell will wear off,” the nobleman said, dismissively. “They’ll be fine.”

He reached the door and motioned for Hans to follow. Hans forced his legs into motion and staggered after him, feeling as if the world had just turned upside down. A carriage was already waiting outside, the door gaping open. He stopped as he realised he was being taken away, just like the rest of the magically powerful students …

“Get in,” the nobleman ordered.

“My family,” Hans said, desperately. “And my master … ah, my uncle …”

“They will be informed, and rewarded for raising you,” the nobleman said. “Get in.”

Hans briefly considered running, but it would do him no good. There was no cover, nothing he could use to hide, and even if he did manage to get away the aristocrats could track him down easily. He’d have to hide within the forest and that would end badly. He barely knew how to take care of himself, and if the nobles posted a reward the bandits and outlaws would probably help track him down.

He scrambled into the carriage, trying not to marvel at the sheer luxury of the interior. He’d never ridden in anything like it. The nobleman joined him, shutting the door and sitting down as the carriage rattled into life. Hans stared out the window as the vehicle picked up speed, the streets slowly giving way to croplands and grazing fields. He’d never been more than a couple of miles from his hometown. Now, he had the feeling he was never going to see his family again.

“Tell me about yourself,” the nobleman said.

Hans felt his temper flare. The words slipped out before he could stop himself. “Why should I tell anything to a man who hasn’t even introduced himself?”

The nobleman’s face twisted, like the headmaster’s when he found himself confronted with a student he didn’t dare punish. Hans took heart from it, even though he knew taunting a nobleman was asking for trouble. If his talent was so rare they were resorting to testing students in their quiet provincial town, as the nobleman had referred to his hometown, it was unlikely they were going to kill him on the spot.

“I am Count Graf,” the nobleman said, finally. “Mage Commander of the Royal Magic Corps.”

Hans kept his face under tight control, hiding his relief as best he could. He’d heard of the Royal Magic Corps, everyone had. They served the king and the king alone … he wondered, numbly, why they’d come for him? He didn’t have a single spell to his name. The sorcerers and mages of the Royal Magic Corps were supposed to be able to turn entire armies into toads with a wave of their hands, but he couldn’t even summon a tiny flame to light the forge or a gust of wind to cool a newly-forged blade.

He leaned forward. “Why me? I can’t cast any spells.”

Graf smiled, rather coldly. “Believe it or not, young man, that is precisely the point.”

“I don’t understand,” Hans said. It felt like a dream – or a nightmare. “Why me?”

“Don’t worry,” Graf assured him. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Chapter One: Adam

Caithness was burning.

I watched, from what I devoutly hoped was a safe distance, as the advancing Garstang army and their obscene war machines trekked towards the city. The darkness hid nothing, not from me. It was a force out of the darkest depths of history, a mechanical nightmare that hadn’t been seen since the days of the Thousand Year Empire, a force – I feared – we might not be able to stop. Small tripods – scouting machines – darted forward, moving with a combination of eerie grace and speed that chilled me to the bone, their mounted spellcasters hurling fireballs and lightning bolts at possible threats or whatever else caught their pilot’s eye. Larger tripods and crawling machines followed at a slower pace, their struts tearing up the road from the border to the city; flyers shot overhead, raining down death and destruction on the dour grey stone. Caithness wasn’t built of wood, thank the Ancients, but it was only a matter of time until it was utterly devastated. The walls and buildings had never been designed to stand up to such a horde.

“Pinch me,” Caroline muttered, from behind me. “It’s a dream. A nightmare”

I reached out and pinched her arm, hard enough to hurt. Her face twisted in pain, an instant before she pinched me back. The stab of agony failed to wake me from slumber … I told myself not to be silly, no matter how easy it would have been to pretend it was nothing more than a nightmare. I had wondered, in my school days, how many of the stories of the Thousand Year Empire had been exaggerated over the centuries, how many of the wonders of that age had been made up of whole cloth. I knew, now, that the stories had been – if anything – understatements. The rolling army approaching the city appeared utterly unstoppable. I swallowed, hard, as I saw balls of light arcing into the air, flying over the walls and coming down within the city itself. They vanished momentarily before giant fireballs rose into the air a second later … the ground rumbled beneath my feet, the giant thunder crack reaching my ears and racketing onwards. If I felt bad here, I dreaded to think what it must feel like in the city. 

“Stay here … no, go to the campsite,” I muttered. The army was nearing the fortress now and we needed to know what happened when the mechanical nightmare encountered fixed defences. “If I don’t come back, get back to Kirkhaven and send a message south.”

Caroline shot me a sharp look. “They’re more likely to underestimate me.”

“The king might listen to you,” I reminded her. “Let me go.”

Caroline scowled, then conceded the point with a nod. Technically, we were in disgrace. We’d failed to seize the flying city and then we’d fumbled our mission at Kirkhaven Hall. I’d done my best to take all the blame, which might just let Caroline convince him of the sheer magnitude of the impending disaster. The fortress would have dispatched a rider south, I was sure, and if the commander was on his toes he’d have ordered a handful of observers to watch from a safe distance, but the early reports might not be believed. Hell, I wasn’t sure if our reports of the incident at Kirkhaven had been believed either.

I turned away, muttering a handful of obscurification spells to hide myself as I slipped through the night. It wasn’t easy to pick my way through the rough landscape surrounding the town, even with the best night vision spells the sorcerous researchers had been able to devise, but I stayed low and kept walking. The night sky was alarmingly clear and I found myself beseeching the Ancients for rain. The enemy had timed their offensive well, I conceded sourly. It never seemed to stop raining at times, along the border, but tonight was as clear as any invader could wish. I hoped that would change, as I hid myself in the shadows and watched a scout machine striding past. It was hard to tell if the pilot missed me or if he simply didn’t care. A lone man, no matter how dangerous, was no threat to his machine.

I took a risk and leaned forward, studying the tripod as it strode into the distance. I’d thought the entire army was composed of Objects of Power, a remarkable and seemingly impossible feat, yet up close I had my doubts. The flying city I’d seen in the Eternal City had been a single machine, and the meksects that tended to its innards were almost animalistic, but the tripod was crude, as if someone had bolted one piece of machinery to another. I sucked in my breath as it moved inwards, recalling just how difficult it was to make such a device without having it decay into rust and ruin almost at once. The plans for forging war machines hadn’t been lost, but the techniques had.

Caitlyn Aguirre managed to figure it out, I reminded myself, but could she churn out so many war machines so quickly?

I didn’t believe it. Forgery wasn’t my strong suit, but even a team of dedicated Zeros would take weeks to forge a single war machine, let alone a whole army of them. There weren’t that many Zeros! The government had tried to test everyone who showed signs of little or no magic, ever since they’d realised what was missing from the ancient documents, but only two had been discovered, at least within the borders of Tintagel. I couldn’t believe Garstang had found so many, not when our neighbours were so backwards. They barely tolerated female mages and their aristocracy made ours look like saints. It was difficult to believe they’d even found one, let alone that they’d been able to convince the poor bastard to work for them. But they’d clearly succeeded …

The thought haunted me as I slipped down to the closest vantage point. Fortress Caithness towered over the North Wall, a giant structure bristling with heavy spellcasters and other weapons of war. It was a strange combination of magical and mundane devices, capable of dominating the roads and blocking any advance from the north; the walls were hardened, protected by wards so powerful they should have been able to shrug off any assault, ensuring the fortress would remain intact even if the city itself fell to force or treachery. The planners had been certain the fortress would survive, deep in the enemy rear, giving the troops inside a chance to harass their supply lines. I’d seen those plans myself and they’d looked solid. But right now, it was clear they’d been based on false assumptions.

I forced myself to watch as the giant tripods opened fire, their spellcasters unleashing wave after wave of raw magic into the fortress. Wards capable of deflecting almost any threat shuddered under the impact, the charmed walls turning black as the enchantments started to waver and break. The fortress returned fire, their spellcasters lashing out at the enemy vehicles; I felt a flicker of relief as one tripod staggered and fell, only to lose even that as the rest started to dance around. They were hard to hit, I realised numbly, and armoured to the point that even a handful of hits weren’t enough to bring them down. The crawling machines stayed to the rear, half-hidden in hollows, and opened fire, their projectiles rising up and falling on top of the fortress. The noise was unbearable. Even from my distance, I could feel the air prickling with raw discordant magic. It was too much.

Aim for their legs, I thought, as more magic tore through the air. Try and take them out …

A low rumbling battered my ears as the fortress started to crumble, its wards shattering one by one. The charmed walls fell quickly, waves of magical balefire seething through the spellcaster ports and wiping out their crews … normally, balefire was easy to counter if you knew the right spells, but the defenders had too many other things to worry about. Something exploded, blowing out a chunk of the wall and opening a gash in the remaining defences. I cursed as I saw the soldiers advancing from behind the war machines, hurling themselves into the remnants of the fortress. Others were heading into the city itself. I kicked myself for not having seen them earlier. They’d been hidden within the shadows, my eyes drawn to the light.

The defending fire died away. I cursed. The kingdom hadn’t lost a major fortress for hundreds of years. Now … I hoped the defenders had the sense to abandon their posts, flee into the city, and change their military tunics into something a little more civilian. Garstang was bound by treaty to deal honourably with prisoners, but the sheer force they’d unleashed against Caithness showed a frightening lack of concern for civilian casualties. Even if they hadn’t been deliberately targeting civilians, I knew  they must have killed hundreds … perhaps thousands. The recent events at Kirkhaven had sent thousands of refugees fleeing in all directions and some had gone to Caithness, only to discover they’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I hoped they’d have the chance to get out before the city was sealed off for good.

I watched for a few moments longer, then turned and hurried away, circumventing the city as I made my way back to the vantage point. Hundreds of people were fleeing, some heading down the king’s road to Templeton. I shuddered at the thought of the coming nightmare, when the enemy force made it down to the city. Templeton was heavily defended, if only because it was the key to roads leading to Shallot and Tintagel City. If the enemy took control, they’d be able to cut off the entire set of northern provinces from the kingdom … or keep advancing, aiming to crush Shallot before we could produce war machines of our own. I cursed again as I saw the refuges, most dressed in nightclothes with a handful of cloaks thrown over their garb. They didn’t look remotely ready for the rain and cold. Some might find shelter, in nearby towns and hamlets, but others would walk into the bog and drown before they realised they’d killed themselves. There was nothing I could do to help them, not now. I knew my duty.

Damn you, I thought. Caithness had fallen, but the fires were still burning brightly. How many people have you killed?

Something flickered, in the darkness. A faint sheet of light … a ghostly form, barely humanoid. Ice crawled down my spine. I’d hoped the ghosts that had plagued Kirkhaven were gone, their unquiet voices stilled by the release of the soul trapped within the bog, but they were still there … harmless now, we thought, but some of the ghosts we’d seen earlier had been very dangerous. I gave the ghost a wide berth, keeping my eyes on it. The lack of any eyes looking back at me was oddly disconcerting. I made a mental note to add the ghost’s presence to the report, although I had no idea what my superiors would make of it. They had a full-scale invasion to worry about.

The darkness seemed to fall again as I kept walking, picking my way down the rough stony path. Caithness had fallen behind the hills, but a grim orange-red glow lit up the air. The dour city woke with the dawn and went to sleep with the dusk, unlike many others, and there were no streetlights to assist drinkers making their way home or make life difficult for footpads. Now … the city was burning. I shuddered helplessly. 

I relaxed, slightly, as I saw Caroline waiting for me. I filled her in as we packed up and headed to Kirkhaven Hall, wondering if we should split up. There was strength in numbers and it was rare for King’s Men to be sent out on missions alone, without at least some back-up, but there was no way we could stand up to even one tripod. Not until we figured out how to beat them … my heart sank as I recalled just how few primitive nations had managed to slow the Empire’s invaders down for more than a few hours. The Empire had talked about a mission to civilise the natives, and to its credit it had brought the benefits of then-modern magic, but their invasion would have been world-ending for the locals even if it did work out in the long run. It was hard to imagine the local leadership wouldn’t have been rounded up and slaughtered, the local magicians invited to add their blood to the Empire’s great families, the local merchants shoved aside … Garstang wouldn’t be even that civilised. They’d wanted a gateway to the sea for centuries and if they took ours …

“The fortress will have sent messengers south,” Caroline muttered. “Right?”

I nodded, although I had no way to be sure. The enemy could have sneaked horsemen into the empty lands behind Caithness, with orders to kill any messengers and dispel vapour spells. It was hard to keep word from spreading, but it wouldn’t cost the enemy very much and the rewards would be more than worth it. The longer the gap between the invasion and the king hearing about it, the longer it would be before reinforcements started heading north. Worse, perhaps. The reinforcements would have no idea what they’d be facing, when the invaders regrouped and continued their march south. Templeton might fall as easily as Caithness.

The skies darkened. I breathed a sigh of relief as the rain started to fall, hoping and praying it would quench the fires as well as slow enemy movements. The tripods were massive, but I could imagine their pilots steering them into a bog and discovering – too late – that they’d doomed themselves. If there was any bottom to the bogs, it had never been discovered. The thought of a tripod slowly sinking made me smile, although I feared it wouldn’t happen. The enemy had had years to plan the invasion. It was likely they’d had more than enough time to get their hands on local maps.

I cursed as the rain kept falling, the water drenching our clothes and leaving us looking and feeling like drowned rats. Kirkhaven Town was still half-buried in the mud and sinking fast … I was so tired it took me far too long to realise that the landslide had dammed up the river, leaving water lapping at the homes and shops that had once made up a small and yet thriving community. We turned west and made our way up to Kirkhaven Hall. The Mistress of Kirkhaven – Isabella Rubén – might be able to help us. If she was there …

“She’s gone to the city to get help and attend her brother’s wedding,” Sandy told us when we made it there. She looked like a drowned rat, running around trying to attend to the hundreds of refugees who’d been crammed into Kirkhaven Hall. “What’s the hurry?”

I told her. Kirkhaven was off the beaten path, the combination of mountains and sound-quenching bogs ensuring no one would hear the invasion as it swept over Caithness and headed south. It took hours to drive from the village to the city normally – now, with the Garstang war machines, the ancients alone knew how long it would take – and most of the villages preferred to pretend the world outside their borders didn’t exist. I had seen it before, over the last couple of years, but it was still difficult to understand. It really shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d grown up in Shallot, gateway to the kingdom – and the world. My childhood had been filled with tales of bold explorers who had sailed the seven seas, learning about the world in the wake of the Empire’s fall; I’d known, from birth, that there was something bigger out there, a chance to become someone powerful and significant. The villagers didn’t have that, not in any real sense. There was no point of dreaming of foreign lands when they would never get to travel, let alone see the world.

But now the world has come calling, I thought, numbly. It’s only a matter of time before the invaders find Kirkhaven.

I shoved the thought aside. “Callam went with her?”

“Yes,” Sandy said. A confusing flicker of emotions darted across her face, gone before I could quite pin them down. Sandy had been Isabella’s dorm monitor, a post that would have been difficult even if Isabella hadn’t managed to compromise herself so thoroughly, and then she’d been Callam’s teacher. I felt a stab of sympathy. I’d been a dorm monitor myself and it wasn’t easy to keep some of the aristo brats in line. “They were planning to be back shortly, but …”

“If they do come back, tell them to return to Shallot at once,” I ordered. Isabella was just another sorceress, but Callam was a Zero. He could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. “And we need to borrow your horses.”

Thunder rumbled, in the distance. I hoped it was thunder.

Sandy scowled. “And what should we do, if Garstang attacks the estate?”

I swallowed. It should have been unlikely. Kirkhaven was just another tiny village, so small that calling it a village was an exaggeration. But Isabella had turned the estate into a productive enterprise and Callam, of course, was worth far more than his weight in gold. We might have lucked out, I reflected sourly, that she’d had to go south for her brother Akin’s wedding. The enemy had excellent reason to attack Kirkhaven as soon as possible. They’d find it tricky to send more than a small force, but the estate was practically defenceless.

“Keep your heads down, try to avoid attracting attention,” I ordered, finally. It was unlikely the villagers would be harmed. Garstang would need them to feed and supply its forces. “The king will send his army north soon enough.”

But I hoped, as we prepared to ride south, that I was wrong. The world had changed. The invasion was proof nothing would ever be the same …

And if the army wasn’t ready for what it faced, it would be the end.

Chapter Two: Lucy

“You ruined my wedding.”

I tried not to flinch at Cat’s words. It was hard not to argue, not to say my piece … even though I knew, despite myself, that it would be pointless. I felt as if I had been hauled up before the headmistress once again, for some terrible crime like stealing her strawberries or clambering over the walls to sneak to the nearby boys’ school, only this was worse. Far worse. Cat - Caitlyn Aguirre – had been a friend. She had deserved a proper wedding day, a day of joy and happiness at finally tying the knot with her husband Akin, and I had ruined it. There was no way to avoid the truth. I had fucked up and it had cost us all dearly.

And she isn’t my friend any longer, I thought, numbly. How can she be?

I kept my hands clasped behind my back to keep them from shaking. Cat and Akin made a cute couple – Cat’s dark skin and darker hair contrasting with Akin’s pale skin and blond hair – and yet, they had enough political power between them to break me. The headmistress had been strict, and prone to shouting at her students, but there had been limits to her power. The worst she’d ever been able to do was six of the best. Cat and Akin could blacklist me and my family, such as it was, or ensure my debts were called in early, or generally destroy my life without ever quite crossing the line into outright illegality. It wasn’t as if the Great Houses would go out on a limb for me, after the chaos I’d caused. Too many aristocrats had come very close to dying, two days ago. They wanted someone to blame.

“Why?” Cat’s voice rang with pain. She’d always valued me as a friend. “Why?”

I stared at her numbly, a churning morass of grief, guilt, and that horrible feeling when you wish something had never – never, never, never – happened. If I could turn back time … I couldn’t. No magic ever invented could send me back in time, let alone undo the effects of my choices. I had had my reasons and yet, in the face of their anger, those reasons seemed as flimsy as the Lamplighter family fortune. I could lose everything but my life. Perhaps even that was at stake. Cat and Akin were nowhere near as vindictive as their siblings, but I’d ruined their wedding. I could hardly blame them if they wanted to take me to the rim of High Shallot – the flying city – and toss me over the edge. It was no less than I deserved.

“Why?”

The question tore at me. Why indeed?

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Which answer would you like?”

It was hard to keep the sullen tone out of my voice. I had fucked up and yet … I gritted my teeth. My reasons weren’t wholly bad and yet …

“The truth,” Akin said. He’d always been one of the more reasonable of the younger generation, even after he’d been forced to assume leadership of his house – and a leading role in the city – after his father’s early death. We weren’t that different, but … I told myself not to be silly. Akin had been knifed in the back by his own family, repeatedly, yet … he hadn’t had to bring his house back from the very brink of bankruptcy. I had. And it might have cost me everything. “Why?”

I forced myself to look at him. “You remember when I set up the meeting between you, Alana, and Louise?”

Akin winced. Louise hadn’t exactly been a friend – she’d been the leader of the reformists, a champion of everything from secret ballots to unions and rights for the workers – but Akin had respected her. I’d respected her too, when my relationship with Gary had led me and my house into the radical fringe. It hadn’t been that radical, to be honest. They hadn’t wanted to tear down the system, merely reform it. I hadn’t had anything to lose, I told myself. I hadn’t inherited any patronage network, when my father died and I’d been called home to take his place. House Lamplighter had only been a Great House by courtesy. Very few aristocrats had been willing to give me the time of day, and most had sought to exploit me, trading peanuts for my vote in Magus Court. Cat and Akin had been amongst the few who hadn’t, which made my betrayal all the more profound. I had lost two of my friends and probably doomed my house.

“It was clear, at that point, that there was going to be war,” I continued. “The reformists were on the verge of being pushed aside by more radical factions, people who genuinely wanted to tear the system down rather than improve it. Louise’s murder at the hands of a rogue member of your house only ensured there would be war, a war to the knife that would shatter the old order beyond repair. You know as well as I do that the rebels had figured out a way to slip through the wards and destroy entire mansions.”

Akin winced. His mansion had been destroyed, leaving behind a crater seething with tainted magic. It hadn’t been the only one.

“The war had to be ended, as quickly as possible,” I said. “The reformists were losing the battle for influence amongst the rebels, which threatened to ensure whoever won the war would inherit a wasteland. Worse” – I gritted my teeth, recalling just how helpless I’d felt when the senior aristocrats had confronted me – “it was clear the council was going to absorb House Lamplighter, along with the other lesser houses.  You were there! You know what happened.”

“I defended you,” Akin said, flatly.

I met his eyes. “Tell me you could have kept them from absorbing my house after the war.”

He said nothing. Akin had always been an honest man.

“We needed to end the war,” I said, echoing my earlier words. “We came up with a plan. We’d smuggle troops onto the flying city and force an end to the war, before the city was destroyed or the radicals took complete control. We thought we could make it happen … and the only chance of getting so many aristocrats in one place was your wedding. It wasn’t personal. It was … desperation.”

Tears prickled in my eyes. I blinked them away, angrily. I had no right to cry.

“I didn’t realise Zadornov had a plan of his own,” I continued. “I didn’t know he was a foreign agent, or that he intended to crash the flying city and destroy Shallot; I didn’t know …”

No, my thoughts pointed out, sarcastically. But perhaps you should have wondered why a man like him was helping the rebels.

“You didn’t know,” Cat repeated. “Seventy dead, on both sides, and over a hundred injured… and you didn’t know.”

I swallowed, then nodded. Act in haste, repent at leisure … it might as well be the family motto. My father had always been a gambler, draining the family fortune on one desperate get-rich-quick scheme after another, and clearly I’d taken after him more than I thought. I’d told myself I was doing the right thing and in one sense I had – the war had ended – but neither Cat nor Akin would agree. Even if they understood why I’d done it, even if they agreed with my thinking, they would never forgive what I’d done to their wedding. It had been no arranged match, no carefully negotiated alliance between families that included provision for lovers and mistresses and separate lives; it had been a love match, no matter how it had started, and I’d ruined it. They had only me to blame.

“You could have come to me,” Akin said. “We could have worked out a solution.”

I snorted. “And you think the rest of the council, which was happily pouring dragon scales into the cauldron, would have listened?”

Akin had the grace to look embarrassed. The council had wanted to settle matters with the rebels once and for all, not unlike the radical rebels themselves. They’d intended to destroy Water Shallot and rebuild it in their image. Gary and his family would be effectively enslaved, along with the other independent businesses, while the poor would be driven into the water to starve. Or put to work in workhouses. I was a little uncertain of how they’d planned to do it, but they would’ve found a way. The aristocracy had always looked down on commoners who weren’t useful, because they weren’t willing to be used. The chance to put them firmly in their place wasn’t one they could miss.

Cat’s voice was very cold. “What you did was unforgivable.”

“I understand,” I said. I didn’t blame her. If someone had ruined my wedding to Gary – it occurred to me to wonder if that was still going ahead – I wouldn’t consider them a friend either. How could I? “And I am sorry.”

Akin cleared his throat. I eyed him, warily. I’d been held under de facto house arrest for the last two days, while Akin and Cat celebrated their marriage and negotiated with both their fellow aristocrats and the rebel council. Something else they could lay at my feet, I supposed. They should be on their honeymoon now, heading somewhere where they could relax and indulge themselves and … I forced that thought out of my head. It was just something else I’d ruined for them. If I hadn’t fucked up so badly …

You can’t undo the past, I thought, again. You can only learn from it and move on.

“There have been many discussions about how to bring the war to an end,” Akin said, his tone oddly flat. I suspected the negotiations had been acrimonious. Zadornov might have taken advantage of the crisis to peruse his own agenda, but he hadn’t caused the flashpoint nor fuelled the underlying resentment and hatred that had erupted into outright civil war. “It wasn’t easy to come to any agreements, but one thing we agreed on was a general amnesty for everyone who took part in the war, regardless of their crimes. That includes you. Legally speaking, you will not be held accountable for letting Zadornov and his men get onto High Shallot.”

I relaxed, slightly. It wasn’t wholly good news. There were people on both sides who had committed atrocities, from the aristocratic thugs who’d worked to make war inevitable to the rebels who’d burned entire mansions, and they would all get away with it. There’d be some private revenge, I was sure, and yet … I sighed, inwardly. There were quite a few people who’d want revenge on me and had the resources to take it. I might be legally in the clear, but I wasn’t safe. I would never be safe.

“Regardless, it has also been agreed that you will not be permitted within the city,” Akin continued. “Your conduct was disgraceful, regardless of your motivations, and it will be better for House Lamplighter if you are sent into de facto exile. You will not be stripped of your title, but you will not be permitted to exercise any authority within the city until we feel you have learned your lesson and paid for your crimes.”

I felt a hot flash of anger, mingled with the awareness I deserved much worse. “How do you plan on sending me into exile if I’ve been granted amnesty?”

Akin didn’t smile. “Have you heard the news from Caithness?”

I shook my head. “You kept me locked in a suite, remember?”

“Garstang crossed the border, in force,” Akin said. He shared a glance with his wife. “In force is a bit of an understatement. They attacked with an army of war machines right out of the time of legend, the kind of machines only the Thousand Year Empire could produce. War walkers, scout tripods, even flyers. With the benefit of hindsight” – his eyes narrowed – “Zadornov intended to kill both Cat and Callam, as well as drowning the entire city and destroying our workshops and foundries. If he had succeeded, it would be impossible to put together a viable defence. The war would last precisely as long as it took to get their machines to Tintagel City.”

I felt my head spin. The border conflict between Tintagel and Garstang had never truly been settled, and I’d heard the locals often wound up paying taxes to both sides, but neither kingdom had been able to knock the other out once and for all. If that had changed … I swallowed, hard, as I considered the possibilities. The historical records were a little vague about precisely how fast and powerful War Machines truly were, but they might be able to reach Tintagel City and Shallot within days … perhaps less. A flyer could certainly travel hundreds of miles in hours, outrunning any word of its approach. Zadornov had failed and yet, Garstang might still win the war.

“Crap,” I muttered. It didn’t take much imagination to wonder just how many aristocrats were already planning to betray the kingdom, not when there was a very real possibility the war had already been lost. “If they win …”

“If,” Akin said. “King Rufus has asked for our support. For once, we’re not inclined to argue. We’ll be sending armsmen, and newer and better weapons and devices, to Templeton. Cat will be forging more Objects of Power and sending them forward too. It will be a very interesting honeymoon.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Sorry.”

“The invasion wasn’t your fault,” Akin said. For a moment, he almost sounded like his old self. “The Great Houses have decided to send an emissary to Templeton, officially to ensure our contribution to the war effort is not wasted. That emissary will have our full support, and trust, and everything else she needs to do her job. You will be that emissary.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“You,” Cat confirmed.

I stared at them. If there was any aristocrat the rest of the aristocrats neither liked nor trusted, it was me. I was, at best, the fool who’d let Zadornov take a shot at the entire city. At worst, I was an outright traitor. There would have been voices demanding my hanging, regardless of the risk of restarting the war, or my enslavement or … something, anything, worse than death. And they were sending me to a position of great responsibility …

My heart sank. It was an exile, and it was perfectly legal. No one could suggest it was a punishment, quite the opposite. But I would be away from the city for years, perhaps decades, never to return unless the council chose to invite me home. My children – if I had any – would never have a chance to grow up in Shallot or attend Jude’s, although that might not be a disaster. They’d be known as the traitor’s kids. No one would talk about Isabella Rubén’s childhood disgrace any longer, not after what I’d done. My name would go down in history as an example of someone who’d gotten away with outright treason. Isabella, at least, had the excuse of being twelve. Me? I was old enough to know better.

“You did something stupid,” Akin said. “Something arguably treasonable. You might have been played for a fool, as were many of us, but the consequences of your actions are impossible to overlook. You will have this one chance to redeem yourself, by representing our interests and upholding our relationship with His Majesty even as it is sorely tested by the fires of war. Should you do well, you may be permitted to return to the city.”

“May,” Cat said.

“I understand,” I said. I more than deserved my fate. “And House Lamplighter?”

“You can appoint a custodian,” Akin said. “I suggest you choose carefully. The custodian will be in charge for quite some time.”

I didn’t bother to hide my irritation. House Rubén had hundreds of possible candidates, men who were senior enough to be viable custodians and yet not quite senior enough to threaten the patriarch’s position. House Lamplighter had very few, and many had chosen to marry out and devote themselves completely to their new families. I’d planned to marry Gary, have children and raise them to serve the family … that plan, I supposed, was dead. Hell, the marriage might be dead too. Gary and I were very fond of each other, but his father was probably consulting lawyers, trying to figure out a way to break the betrothal. My lips twisted painfully. It had been hard enough getting the agreement in the first place.

“I understand,” I said. “And …”

I took a breath, forcing myself to stand tall and meet their eyes. “I never meant to risk the entire city …”

“But you did mean to ruin the wedding,” Cat said. “How could you plan something like that and not think you’d ruin the wedding?”

Her words stung, because they were true. “I knew what I was doing,” I said. “And I am truly sorry.”

“So you should be,” Cat said. Her tone was flat, but I could hear the pain and anger. “You will no longer be welcome on High Shallot. Not ever.”

“You have two days to put your affairs in order,” Akin added. “After that, you will be dispatched to Templeton.”

If we have to put you in chains, my thoughts added, silently. It was customary for exiles to be chained up, marched out of town, and only released once the city was out of sight. That I was being spared that treatment didn’t mean I wasn’t going into exile. If I do a good job …

I kept my face blank. It wasn’t going to happen. We all knew it.

“I won’t let you down,” I said. “I’ll …”

“Really?” Cat’s voice was hard. “You already have.”

Chapter Three: Adam

The world felt … wrong.

It was hardly the first time I’d ridden through hostile territory – or territory that could turn hostile very quickly – but it felt … wrong, discordant, as if the world itself had been knocked off its axis. We galloped past towns and hamlets that appeared quiet and peaceful, as if they had no idea they were in the path of the oncoming storm, and yet I felt uneasy, as if unseen eyes were watching me. I couldn’t help glancing back time and time again, towards the distant hills that hid Caithness and the invasion force, yet there were no visible signs of trouble. Even the smoke was gone. And yet, I still felt as if something was right behind us, breathing down our necks. If I hadn’t been so desperate to reach the city, I would have suggested getting off the King’s Road. We were dangerously exposed even through there was no visible threat.

We paused at a messenger post long enough to swap horses and brief the handful of men in charge. They knew something was up – a messenger had fled Caithness, thankfully – but they didn’t believe our warning. I wanted to shout and swear at them, even though I understood. The landscape was peaceful and unchanged, unmarred by advancing machines of war and other impossible threats. They didn’t really believe there was an entire army of war machines advancing towards them. It was just another border skirmish, one that would be settled after a few hundred lives had been lost on both sides. The hell of it was that I wouldn’t have believed the report myself, if I hadn’t seen the army personally. It was just so far outside the scope of their imagination that it was just impossible.

“They’ll see it soon enough,” Caroline said. She looked as rattled as I felt, her eyes constantly flickering upwards. “And when they do …”

I scowled as we mounted the new horses and resumed our gallop. How fast could the army move? The scouts had moved with astonishing – and terrifying – speed, to the point I feared they could easily outrun a horse. Worse, perhaps. The king’s beasts might be engineered to gallop faster and longer than any purebred horse, but there were limits. They could gallop about five miles before they had to slow down and rest … the war machines, by contrast, didn’t need to stop at all. Even if they were slower, they could compensate by just going on, and on, and on … I didn’t want to know. I wasn’t sure anything could stop them. It was going to cost thousands of lives even to try.

“We’ll get there in time,” I said, more to reassure myself than her. There would have been vapour messages dispatched, right? The king and the cities would have some idea of what was coming? No one would make such a report for a joke … I hoped. I’d spent my teenage years in a school where pranking fellow students was seen as a way to sharpen your magic, but there were limits. “If we do …”

The landscape shifted as we continued onwards. Some towns and hamlets seemed unconcerned, if indeed they knew what was coming, while others appeared to be on edge, the locals trying to go about their business while keeping a wary eye on the northern mountains. I guessed the messenger must have stopped to trade horses, warning the locals what was coming before resuming his own gallop. There didn’t appear to be many refugees on the roads, but that would change soon enough. I felt a twinge of guilt as I glanced north myself. How many refugees had I left behind? How many were already dead of exposure – or worse – after being driven from their homes?

I let the thought slip from my mind as Templeton finally came into view. It was an old city, nearly a thousand years old, and it sprawled across the valley in a manner unmatched by either Shallot or Tintagel City. The city had expanded rapidly, swallowing up dozens of smaller towns and hamlets; I gritted my teeth as I realised the walls, and fortresses, were hardly as modern as they needed to be. Templeton was too far from the border, the planners had said, to need extensive fortification. They’d done some work when they realised the secret of making Objects of Power was out, and it was only a matter of time until someone started forging war machines, but it was nowhere near enough. Caithness had been a far tougher target, at least on paper, and Caithness had fallen in hours. There was no getting around it. We were deep shit.

“They either don’t know or they don’t take it seriously,” Caroline muttered, as we neared the north gates. The fortress looming over the city looked tough, but the stone walls might as well have been made of paper. “They’re not manning the walls or sending out scouts.”

“No,” I agreed. “We’ll just to wake them up.”

The sentry eyed us with a bored expression, rather than summoning reinforcements or his superiors. I groaned inwardly. The man should be – needed to be – far more alert. It was just a matter of time before a tidal wave of refugees arrived, probably with enemy agents accompanying them. It was what I would do. It was easy to spot a stranger in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, but harder when the place was drenched in people fleeing the oncoming storm. Hell, they should be preparing to absorb the tide and send them somewhere else. It just didn’t look as if they were ready for anything, let alone everything.

“Stand up,” I snapped, showing him my enchanted tattoo. “Where is the garrison commander?”

The sentry straightened, his eyes frightened. I tried not to enjoy it too much. “Sir … My Lord … I … uh … Major Andrews is with General Bothell … sir, I …”

“There is a war on,” I snarled. The messenger had to have reached the city … hadn’t he? By the ancients, I hoped the vapour messages had reached much further south. “Why are you not on alert?”

“Sir … I … my orders are to …”

I cut him off. “Summon a five-man squad to man the gates,” I snapped. It wasn’t quite exceeding my authority, although that would be a matter for debate. “And then you will escort us to the general.”

Caroline shot me a warning look. I ignored it as the guard led us across the courtyard, into the city itself, and straight towards a towering mansion. I’d expected something akin to Shallot, with the mansions all concentrated in the richest part of the city, but instead they were a little more spread out. I made a mental note to look up the details later. Templeton was nowhere near as independent as Shallot, but the city fathers would still have a great deal of authority and influence. They weren’t supposed to have any control over the garrison, yet … a wise CO would certainly seek to work with them, rather than risk a clash with the locals. I suspected General Bothell was a little too close to the locals. He certainly didn’t seem to be taking the reports very seriously.

My eyes narrowed. There was no sense of urgency in the air, no sense the city might be attacked at any moment … I winced, inwardly, as I saw a line of schoolchildren making their way back to the schoolhouse. They should be in their homes, protected by their parents, or being moved south. A wave of unreality threatened to overcome me as we stopped in front of the mansion. The contrast between Caithness and Templeton was just unreal. It was easy to believe the invasion was just a nightmare. If I hadn’t pinched myself …

“Two King’s Men, here to see General Bothell,” our escort told the butler. The man looked us up and down, his eyes managing to imply he didn’t think we were worth one moment of his master’s time. “Please take them to him at once.”

“Please,” I echoed, holding up my tattoo again. “This is urgent.”

The butler bowed, then led us through a maze of corridors to a giant office. I felt my heart sink. It was possible General Bothell was a wealthy aristocrat, although such men were rarely put in command of fixed defences and fortresses, but it was far more likely he was corrupt … hardly uncommon, but a major headache whenever it was uncovered. It was always difficult to remove a high-ranking and corrupt official; and doing it under pressures of wartime would be a nightmare. I found myself contemplating less legal ways to remove him if push came to shove, as we were shown into his office. The general’s uniform did not inspire confidence. The combination of gold braid and a distinct lack of campaign ribbons was deeply worrying.

“It is always a pleasure to meet one of His Majesty’s special agents,” General Bothell said, standing. He was slightly overweight, another bad sign. The middle-aged woman on the nearside of the desk didn’t look much better. “This is Mayor Tanya of Templeton …”

“You should have received a message from Caithness,” I said. I would pay for cutting him off later, I was sure, but there was no time to be polite. “There is a war on.”

“Caithness can be held indefinitely,” General Bothell said. “We were just discussing ways to …”

I cut him off again. “Caithness has fallen,” I snapped. I supposed that explained the lack of panic. Everyone had assumed Caithness would be able to hold out for weeks, perhaps months, giving us plenty of time to assemble an army and march north. “The city was attacked with war machines. The fortress was destroyed within an hour of the battle beginning.”

General Bothell gave me a suspicious look. “Are you sure?”

“I was there,” I said, flatly. House Lamplighter had come up with a spell for transferring a memory into a memory orb … I could use it to share my memories. It was supposed to be difficult, if not impossible, to fake a memory. “The fortress fell. The city fell shortly afterwards. The enemy will be pressing south as soon as possible, General, and you have to be ready.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mayor Tanya managed.

I tried not to glower at her. She looked like a wealthy merchant, the kind of person who would put her thumb on the scales if you didn’t watch her like a hawk. My father had been a honest merchant and I’d heard him grumble, time and time again, about merchants who thought nothing of cheating their customers. It was never enough to get them in hot water and yet … they gave everyone else a bad name. I wondered, idly, just what she’d been discussing with General Bothell. If it was something I’d have to report to the king …

“The invasion is underway,” I said. The messages should have reached Shallot by now … I hoped. It had taken us nearly three days to reach Templeton and the enemy could be hard on our heels. “We have to get ready to stop them.”

General Bothell scowled. “And you expect us to believe this … cock and bull story?”

“I’ll share my memories,” I said. “But you have to get the city ready as quickly as possible.”

“I see,” General Bothell said. He rang the bell for the butler. “If this is some kind of joke, or exaggeration, I’ll break you.”

I resisted the urge to call him out – or simply knock him down – as the butler stepped into the room. I had been raised to be honest, something my instructors had praised. A King’s Man was not supposed to lie, or even say something that was technically true and yet dangerously misleading … not unless there was no other choice. We had to be trustworthy and that meant we had to prove we could be trusted, even if it was to our own detriment. The butler listened to his master, bowed, and retreated in search of a memory orb. There was no time to wait for his return.

“Get the troops on the battlements and start digging earthworks,” I said. “Call up the militia and arm them, then get them digging too. We need pits and other traps”- I glanced at the mayor – “we need to be preparing for refugees too, perhaps a siege. Get guards on the shops and start conserving food and water … start thinking about moving the children out of the city and then …”

“We don’t have any plans for being besieged,” the mayor admitted. “The possibility was never considered.”

I bit down several sharp responses. “They have war machines,” I snapped. “We knew that was a possibility.”

General Bothell snorted. “So many?”

That brought me up short, my earlier thoughts returning to haunt me. It was difficult to forge a single war machine, let alone an entire army of the mechanical monsters. Even if Garstang had somehow gotten a head start, how the hell had they put so many together so quickly without us ever getting a hint of it? They’d need an entire army of magicless craftsmen to make it work and they didn’t have such an army … did they? Zeros were rare. There couldn’t be more than a handful in Garstang and that was being optimistic, It was far more likely they’d found a shortcut. We liked to pretend we were better magicians than our neighbours, and I wanted to believe it was true, but they weren’t stupid. For all I knew, they’d birthed a true genius.

The butler returned, carrying a pair of memory orbs. I took the one he offered me and pressed it to my forehead, muttering the spell under my breath. The sensation was thoroughly unpleasant – it felt as if my brain were being scrubbed by a wire brush – and I felt flickers of pain as the last of the memories were copied into the orb … I told myself, grimly, that I had no choice. General Bothell took the orb, closed his eyes and pressed it against his own forehead. His eyes sprang open a moment later. I felt a moment of dark satisfaction. That must have hurt.

“Impossible,” General Bothell breathed. He passed the orb to the mayor and then looked at me. “That’s … that’s impossible.”

“It’s happening,” I snapped. “It’s happening right now.”

“But …” Mayor Tanya staggered, then braced herself. “If they can move that quickly …”

“They could be here within the day,” I said, meeting the general’s eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

Caroline leaned forward. “Or do you want my memories too?”

The general’s lips worked silently for a long moment, then he nodded curtly. “I believe you.”

“Good.” I looked from one to the other. “Declare martial law. Call up the troops, call up the militia, start planning and digging like I said. Get the messengers ready … we’ll copy the orb memories and send them south as quickly as possible. Hopefully, word will have reached His Majesty and he’ll already be assembling reinforcements. If we can hold the line long enough, we might be able to come up with our own war machines and other surprises.”

Mayor Tanya looked pale. “And if we can’t …?”

“We will,” I said, firmly. “We have Zeros of our own. And a flying city. We’ll be able to come up with something.”

I met the general’s eyes. “You allowed the defences of the city to weaken,” I added. “I understand your thinking, but it has proved incredibly dangerous. Technically, I should report your negligence to the king” – or remove you myself, I added silently – “but I will refrain from doing so as long as you do your upmost to prepare the city for war. This is your one chance to correct your mistake. Do I make myself clear?”

General Bothell flinched. “I didn’t know this was coming …”

“It was inevitable,” I snapped. “It became inevitable the moment Caitlyn Aguirre worked out the secret behind forging Objects of Power. The plans for forging machines of war are hardly rare, General. There are copies in every major library. And you did nothing to prepare for the coming storm. I understand your thinking, like I said, but the results are likely to be disastrous. This is your second chance. You will not get another.”

“Understood.” General Bothell lowered his eyes. “I won’t let the kingdom down.”

“Good.” I stood. “Assign us rooms, then give us some writing supplies. We have reports to get out before the storm reaches this city. Our time is very short.”

Mayor Tanya frowned. “How long do we have?”

“Days, at most,” I said. “Assuming nothing happens to slow the Garstang army, perhaps not even that.”

The general summoned the butler again, who arrived so quickly he must have been waiting outside the study. I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign as he led us to a guest suite, so luxurious I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. The aristos regarded the servants as pretty much invisible, which meant they had plenty of opportunities to listen to supposedly private conversations. A lone spy could do a hell of a lot of damage, their presence unsuspected even if they were standing right in front of the aristocrats. My lips twisted, although it wasn’t funny. If the enemy didn’t have spies in Templeton, I’d eat my hat.

“Be careful,” Caroline warned, after we checked the suite for magical or mundane surveillance. “The general won’t like being pushed around like that.”

“I know,” I said, as I sat on the bed. It made my blood boil. If the man had done his job, the city would be in far better shape to defend itself. “But we don’t have time to be nice.”

Chapter Four: Lucy

Cat hadn’t been messing around, I noted, as I left their office. A giant meksect was waiting for me outside, one metallic and yet oddly organic-looking hand indicating I should walk ahead of it to the teleport gates. My back prickled as the insect-like machine followed me, moving with such eerie silence it was easy to forget it was there. I tried not to jump repeatedly as I walked down the corridor, my eyes flickering from side to side. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in trouble, for schoolgirl prank or desperate stunt to rebuild the family fortunes, but it was easily the worst. They’d shown me a cruel mercy, avenging themselves in a manner I could hardly resist. And no one would take my side if I objected. 

The sheer size of the flying city awed me, making my heart twist again. A small army of meksects and craftsmen were repairing the damage from the final battle of the war, and centuries of neglect under the eternal city, but … I couldn’t help kicking myself, once again, for what I’d done. They could have left me begging on the streets or hanged me or … perhaps it would have been kinder, if they’d left me unable to appreciate the opportunities I’d chosen to discard. My logic seemed sound, still, but … 

I shook my head. I couldn’t blame them for wanting rid of me. I had acted poorly. They would never forgive me.

I stopped in the teleport chamber and started to take one last look around the flying city. The meksect reached forward and pushed me into the teleport gate, its blank face seeming to laugh before the world blinked … I gritted my teeth at the sudden disorientation, wishing I’d had a moment to close my eyes, then forced myself to look around. The teleport gate outside my mansion looked abandoned, as if Cat was no longer interested in allowing it access to High Shallot. I couldn’t blame her for that either. Who knew who else would try to board the flying city?

The thought mocked me as I turned and stared at Lamplighter Hall. It had been untouched by the fighting, and I’d done a great many repairs over the last few months, but it still managed to look alarmingly decayed, as if the building was on the verge of collapse. It wasn’t too far from the truth. I’d done up a handful of bedrooms and suites, as well as the ballroom and surrounding areas, but far too many rooms and passageways had been sealed off and left to rot, at least until I could get the money to repair them. I supposed that was a problem for my custodian now. I groaned as I walked through the door, emptiness and silence surrounding me. The staff had been given orders to find shelter elsewhere, just in case. I’d have to call them back, if they were still interested in working for me. Or my house.

Something moved, in the shadows. “My Lady?”

I blinked. “Tilly?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Tilly said. She was a maid seven years younger than me, hardly the sort of person who should be left in charge of a hall. I’d always been short-staffed, but … “They told me to remain behind, to greet you when you returned.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a younger girl left to take the blame for some atrocity perpetuated by an older student, but I’d expected better from my staff. “Make me a cup of tea and bring it to my office, then … take a message to Gary. Ask him … ask him to visit me.”

Tilly curtsied and hurried away. I felt a stab of guilt as I made my way up the stairs. The staff might be considered guilty by association, just because they’d worked for me. I hoped that wasn’t true, but … it very likely was. Short-term staff weren’t expected to be loyal; long-term staff, and I had a handful who had been with the family before I’d even been born, were expected to be loyal unto death. They’d be blamed for my failings, as if they’d ever been in a position to put me in my place. The thought was absurd. Even a senior servant lacked the power to discipline an aristocrat. It was just …

I gritted my teeth. Would Gary come? It would serve me right if he didn’t. Our betrothal had started as a match of convenience, even if it had become something more. His family would be urging him to ditch me, now my name was less than mud. It was ungrateful – I wouldn’t have become so invested in reformist politics if I hadn’t been engaged to Gary – but it was also common sense. A traitor like me could have no friends or family, for fear they’d be dragged down too. Gary would be fine, if he cut ties immediately. Who could blame him?

My office looked untouched, but I checked automatically as I sat behind the desk and forced myself to think. There weren’t many possible custodians … for a moment, I seriously considered refusing to appoint anyone, leaving the family to fall into dust. Most of my relatives had severed ties or weren’t worth keeping around, although they didn’t deserve to be cut loose … nor did the handful of servants, workers and others who depended on me. The business network was hardly traditional and yet … I sighed, again. I would send a message to Uncle Jalil, ask him to serve, and listen to the lecture he was sure to give me without a fuss. He’d never bothered to hide his feelings, when he tried to advise me before …

“Your tea, My Lady,” Tilly said. “I … I’ll go to fetch His Lordship.”

My lips twisted – Gary was no lord – as she left, leaving me with no excuse to avoid the paperwork. A small pile of letters waited for me … I opened the first, winced inwardly at the brief statement cutting ties with me, then moved on to the second. They all had the same basic message, to the point I wondered if someone had got them all working together. It probably wasn’t a conspiracy. The wording was fairly standard. It just felt like everyone was ganging up on me.

And can you blame them? I scowled as I read the last letter. Even if they wanted to support you, they wouldn’t risk alienating Cat and Akin by doing so.

I heard someone knock at the door and looked up. Gary was standing there, as ruggedly handsome as he’d been the day I first laid eyes on him. He wasn’t as well-tailored as an aristocrat, nor as perfumed, but there was something about him that was real. My male counterparts were dressed more like actors playing a role, hiding their own thoughts and feelings behind a mask, while Gary was open and honest in a way few aristos would willingly match. My heart twisted painfully. I had enjoyed a freedom unknown to my peers and yet I’d tossed it away. And I had done it with my eyes wide open.

“Lucy,” Gary said. He looked relieved to see me and yet worried … the fact he had come to see me was probably a good sign, despite everything. If I’d been the supplicant, I’d be expected to visit his father’s workshop instead. “I … are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” I admitted. One thing I had learnt at Grayling’s was not to cry – at least not where anyone could see. Admitting weakness was asking for trouble. “Are you?”

Gary hesitated, visibly. “Dad’s a little torn, as you know. He’s working with the new council and … well, the war is doing wonders for craftsmen.”

I snorted, humourlessly. We’d just finished one war and now we were having another? It didn’t seem right. And yet … I studied him for a long moment. His simple tunic was tight enough to reveal his muscles, showing off in a way that wasn’t quite showing off … I felt my stomach twist at the thought of losing him, remembering times we’d kissed and fondled in a manner that had come very close to crossing the line. I wanted to hug him again and yet … were we still engaged?

My lips twisted. One other thing I’d learnt was that it was better to know the worst immediately, rather than risk being surprised.

“I need to ask you,” I said. “What did your father say about us?”

Gary said nothing for a long second. I felt my heart turn to ice. Normally, it was the young woman who was supervised, even controlled, by her family … but for us, it was the other way around. Gary had a little more freedom than any male aristocrat, yet if his father changed his mind it would be hard to argue with him. And I had disgraced myself …

“I told him I was going to stay with you,” Gary said, with a weak smile. “If you’ll have me …?”

I took a breath. I wanted him, in all senses of the word. But I didn’t want to ruin him too.

“Gary, I love you” – it was the first time I’d said that – “but is it wise?”

Gary met my eyes. “You wouldn’t have gotten into this mess if we hadn’t encouraged you,” he pointed out. “My father … he should be a little more understanding.”

“Right now, my name is mud,” I said, dryly. “Your father cannot be blamed for wanting to cut ties.”

“My father can be a prat at times,” Gary said. “I told him I wasn’t going to abandon you for doing something he urged you to do, not when it landed you in the shit. We had a long and bitter argument about it.”

My heart clenched. Gary’s father could disown him – or worse. “And …?”

“We agreed I could go to Templeton with you,” Gary said. “My brothers and sisters will grow up and … if it doesn’t work out, my father will quietly cut me out of the direct line of succession. I’m a charmsmith. I can find work anywhere. Dad … well, he says he doesn’t want to cut me out completely, but …”

“He will if he has to,” I finished. I could understand his logic. The family came first. “Are you sure …?”

Gary walked over to sit on my desk. “If you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

I had to smile, despite the guilt. “Gary, this could ruin you.”

“I know.” Gary leaned down to look at me. “But I’ll take the risk.”

We kissed, our lips brushing lightly. I thought suddenly of my bed – the lack of servants meant a lack of prying eyes – and pushed the thought aside, burying it under worry and guilt. I had messed up and … by the ancients, I didn’t deserve him. I stood and wrapped my arms around him, feeling safe as he returned the hug. Gary deserved so much better than me and yet I couldn’t bring myself to kick him out. I kissed him again and again, wondering if we could change our names and find work somewhere outside the city. It wouldn’t be that hard. Gary was right. A charmsmith could work anywhere.

But I have a duty to the family, I thought, numbly. And to the kingdom.

“We’ll be leaving in two days,” I said. “If you change your mind …”

“I won’t,” Gary said. “It isn’t fair. You shouldn’t be singled out.”

“It’s a deep and personal betrayal,” I said. There was no getting around the simple fact I’d ruined Cat’s wedding. “They have reason to want me dead.”

I sighed, inwardly. The image the aristocracy presented of itself was very far from the truth in so many ways. Too many marriages existed in name only, once the children were born. It wasn’t uncommon for husband and wife to live apart, taking lovers … no one would care as long as they were discrete … and only come together at family gatherings. Everything was fine as long as they committed adultery in the approved manner … no one would really be shocked, I reflected, if Akin and Alana buried knives in each other’s backs. It was nothing personal …

But my betrayal was. And I had known it.

“It isn’t fair,” Gary repeated. “If we had pressed for your freedom …”

“The world isn’t fair,” I said. Grayling’s had taught me that too. “Sometimes, you can only hope it is unfair in your favour.”

And in this case, my thought added mockingly, you’re getting exactly what you deserve.

“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” I added. “I have accepted my fate.”

Gary shot me a worried look. “There are other options …”

“Not for me,” I said. “They have good reason to hate me. Going to Templeton is the best of a set of bad choices.”

I felt my heart twist. Gary didn’t get it. How could he? He’d been raised in a very different world. He would never have to get married knowing that far more than just his happiness rested on the match. He would never have to wonder if the engagement could be safely dispelled or if it would be better to go through it, when so much depended on the engagement becoming a marriage. He would never have to sire a child with a woman he might not love, let alone … Cat and Akin had overcome so much, in the last six years, and I had risked it all. No matter my motives, I deserved so much worse than exile.

“And I will come with you,” Gary said. “If we can’t return … we can’t return.”

I hugged him, tightly. No aristo would do that. Not for me. Or anyone.

I wanted to ask him again to change his mind. He’d be safer away from me. But I didn’t. I wanted him too much.

There was a faint intake of breath, so quiet I wouldn’t have heard it if I hadn’t spent too long at Grayling’s. I looked past Gary and saw Tilly, the maid’s face as red as a tomato. She hadn’t quite caught us in a compromising position, but close enough … I giggled, despite myself, at the thought. Joining the reformists, ruining a wedding and being caught canoodling with my fiancé? I was never going to be invited back to High Society with a record like that.

“Yes?” I gently pushed Gary away, then looked at the maid. Poor Tilly was acting as if she’d caught us naked, her eyes flickering around as if she didn’t know where to look. She hadn’t worked for me very long and in any case, she was too young to know the unspoken rules of living and working in a Great House. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, General Augustus sends his compliments and a detailed briefing letter for you,” Tilly said, stammering slightly over the unfamiliar words. She really shouldn’t have been answering the door. I made a mental note to get the rest of the staff as quickly as possible. “He also requests the pleasure of your company at Castle Lancelot, tomorrow morning. His messenger is waiting downstairs.”

I took the letter and tried not to groan. I wasn’t going to get much time to myself over the next couple of days, clearly. It made me wonder if I was going to be given actual authority or if I was just going to be the city’s agent in name only, while someone else made the real decisions. Probably the latter. It wasn’t uncommon for a big-name aristocrat to serve as the official representative, eating and drinking and attending all the right parties while the real work was done by someone who was trained to keep a low profile. The king was reputed to have a small army of private agents, all trained to handle the work without drawing attention to themselves, and so did the Great Houses. House Lamplighter was perhaps the only Great House that didn’t. I couldn’t afford them. And I couldn’t object to having no real authority either. It was just another nail in the coffin of my life.

“I’ll write a note for the messenger to take back,” I said, finally. A verbal message would be considered rude, if there was no particular hurry. “And then … go see the rest of the staff, ask if they want to come home.”

Tilly looked pale. “Yes, My Lady,” she said. “Ah … I …”

I sighed. I knew just what it looked like when someone wanted to ask a question, but didn’t quite dare. “Spit it out.”

Tilly hesitated, visibly. I tried not to groan. I wasn’t in the habit of beating servants or transfiguring them or anything else and yet …

“You can talk freely,” I assured her. “My word on it.”

Tilly spoke so rapidly the words blurred together. “What if they don’t want to come back?”

“Then tell them no hard feelings,” I said. I couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave the sinking ship. They knew the dangers of leaving and … if they wanted to leave anyway, I would let them go. I wrote out a quick note for the general and held it out. “Go.”

Tilly started to reach for the note, then started to curtsy, then hesitated before reaching for the note again. I tried not to laugh as she backed out of the room. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t turn her back on me. I wasn’t the king!

Gary snorted. “Is she new?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I’m sure she’ll fit in just fine.”

I allowed myself a smile as I kissed him again, then turned to the envelope. “Will you stay with me?”

“Tonight?” Gary reddened. “Is that a good idea?”

I flushed, too. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m finding it hard to care.”

Chapter Five: Adam

“We got word from the scouts,” General Bothell said, the following morning. “There’s no sign of an enemy advance, but refugees are already heading south.”

I scowled. The general had given us a comfortable bedroom, for the night, after we’d written our reports and copied more of our memories, and I couldn’t help feeling we weren’t being allowed to take the invasion seriously. The fancy breakfast – seventeen different dishes, served by maids in revealing outfits – didn’t make me feel any better. I wasn’t fond of field rations, and I had traumatic memories of eating gruel and mush because it was all we could afford, but there were limits. They could have stored the breakfast for the refugees and fed us a simple meal of bacon and eggs. Or even mince mush.

“Make sure you get them heading further south,” I said. Templeton was too close to the front lines to serve as a clearing hub for evacuees, let alone a semi-permanent home. The kingdom would need to set up a reception centre somewhere well clear of the enemy advance … I cursed under my breath as I realised no one had any idea where that might be. Templeton had once been more than far enough from the border to serve as both reception centre and military command post. “And start getting people out of the city too.”

“The mayor is working on it,” General Bothell assured me. He didn’t seem to take any offense to my tone, somewhat to my surprise. King’s Men had wide authority, true, but he had the right to complain to the monarch if I pushed him around too much. I wasn’t sure if it was a good sign. A strong man in his position would be doing a hell of a lot more to prepare for the oncoming storm. “There are problems convincing everyone to move.”

“Get them moving by force, if you have to,” Caroline advised. “The more people in the city when the enemy arrives, the worse it is likely to be.”

I nodded in agreement, although I understood the mayor’s problem. Most citizens couldn’t afford to drop everything and leave the city, not when it would mean leaving their homes and shops unprotected. A merchant like my father could lose everything if he had to flee, up to and including his money in the bank. He might prefer to take the risk of being caught behind the lines, rather than becoming a penniless refugee who would never be able to rebuild even if he wasn’t exploited or victimised by whoever was running the refugee centres. I made a mental note to make sure the centres were closely supervised, just to make sure they were run in an open and transparent manner. It might make the difference between an orderly evacuation and resettlement or a riot.

“We’ll do our best,” General Bothell said. He ate slowly, savouring every bite. The food was good – I mentally congratulated his chef – but time was not on our side. “We’re just a bit unprepared for war.”

I opened my mouth to demand to know who was responsible for that, but Caroline kicked me under the table before I could say a word. I glowered at her, even though I took her point. The world might have been changing, but there had been no reason to expect an invasion out of the time of legends, let alone one that seemingly came out of nowhere. Normally, border wars grew out of border skirmishes, giving both sides more than ample warning to prepare for outright conflict. This war was different. There had been no warning signs, as far as I knew, before the enemy had stormed the border and taken Caithness. If there had been, they’d been ignored. I made a mental note to look into that too. There had clearly been a colossal intelligence failure.

“We do need to move,” Caroline said. “How much time do we have before the enemy resumes the advance?”

The general kept eating. I forced myself to think, mentally composing an even longer report to the king and his generals. The kingdom would have to adapt fast and that meant … I suspected they’d need to relieve General Bothell or at least arrange for a superior office to arrive and take command. I briefly considered arranging an accident for the general … it was illegal, without the king’s direct orders, but it was very tempting. Perhaps I could do the deed and cover it up. Several ideas ran through my mind, only to be dismissed. There was no way to do it without making it obvious.

“We received a vapour message from the capital,” General Bothell said, as he finally pushed his plate aside. “The kingdom is calling up the troops and preparing to send us reinforcements.”

I nodded, trying to hide my irritation as I mentally considered the map. Vapour messages couldn’t convey more than a handful of paragraphs and they certainly couldn’t convoy memories, which suggested the king and his generals might not understand what they were facing. I had composed the messages myself, using all the right codes to indicate the warning was no exaggeration, yet … would they believe me? I felt like the poor reporter trying to write stories about High Shallot, a very real flying city out of the time of legends. There were no superlatives that could both convey the sheer enormity of the flying city and be believed by readers who hadn’t seen the city with their own eyes. My detailed reports and memories would still be on their way to the capital. It would take several days for them to reach the king.

“Good,” Caroline said. “And now, if you please, we’ll inspect the defences.”

General Bothell seemed irked but called for his cloak instead of arguing. I checked my spellcasters carefully before following Caroline and General Bothell out of the dining room and out into the open air, all too aware that enemy spies might have already reached the city … if they hadn’t been there for years, buried under a cover story that made them look harmless. There was certainly a nasty edge in the air, people glancing northwards with wary eyes as they hurried about their business. I saw that a handful of shops had been closed and boarded up, while others had been seized by the City Guard and turned into makeshift soup kitchens. I hoped someone was keeping good records of everything they’d seized. If the kingdom didn’t pay compensation, the merchants would be a hell of a lot less cooperative in future. And we needed their cooperation.

I felt my lips twist as we neared the fortress. A small gaggle of men stood outside, making their way through drills in a clumsy manner that suggested they hadn’t been called up for refresher training for years, if ever. I tried not to groan at the collection of outdated uniforms and tunics, likely to cause confusion on the battlefield if they weren’t replaced in time. The drill instructors putting them through their paces, thankfully, seemed to know what they were doing. I hoped they’d have long enough to prepare the men before they faced their first – and likely their last – test. If the enemy arrived before we were ready …

The sentry blocked our path as we neared the fortress. “Sirs, I have orders from Major Andrews not to allow any entry without his permission.”

General Bothell bristled. “Do you know who I am, soldier?”

“Yes, sir,” the sentry said. “But I have my orders.”

I hid my amusement with an effort. The poor bastard was trapped between two superior officers, unsure which set of orders he should follow. There were precedents for both, and if the affair mushroomed out of control the sentry could find himself facing some very serious charges indeed. I didn’t blame him for being worried. Doing the wrong thing – or even the right thing – could end very badly. Disobeying a superior officer under martial law was a hanging offense.

“I understand,” I said, before General Bothell could muster a response. “Please, could you send a message, informing the major that he has visitors?”

The sentry shot me a grateful look as he summoned a messenger boy and dispatched him to find the major. I nodded back, feeling a twinge of relief. The major had the right idea to bar entry, if only to ensure spies found it harder to get into the fortress. General Bothell would probably agree, once he got over his anger at such cheek. I knew the type far too well.

Major Andrews proved to be a tall, handsome officer with a reassuring air of competence. I hoped it wasn’t fake as he exchanged salutes with his commanding officer, checked our tattoos and welcomed us into the fortress. The interior seemed empty, and some wide passageways had been narrowed by sandbags and other makeshift defences; his office, overlooking the fields outside the fortress, let us see hundreds of men digging pits, preparing traps, and piling earth against the city walls. Normally, it would be a foolish tactic; now, it might give the city a fighting chance. Teams of sorcerers worked in droves to strengthen the wards, roaring and chanting as they put their spells into place. I hoped it would be enough. I feared otherwise.

“We’ve been evacuating the slums and dismantling them,” Major Andrews said. “It’ll make life a little harder for the enemy.”

“Harder for us too,” General Bothell muttered. “Where have you been sending them?”

“The park,” Major Andrews said. “The aristos refused to open their manors.”

“We’re under martial law,” I reminded him. “They can be forced to let the poor sleep in their manors.”

My lips quirked at the thought. I’d grown up poor, my entire family crammed into a shop … the hell of it was that we’d lived in luxury, compared to some of the true unfortunates in Water Shallot. I’d shared a room with my siblings; I knew people who’d had to share with their entire extended families. It had been obscene to visit aristocratic mansions and see just how much living space they had; even the children enjoyed entire suites big enough to house an entire poor family. It would do them good to see how the other half lived, I thought, although I had a suspicion that many were already loading their carriages in order to flee south. It was probably for the best. The people with most to lose were the ones most likely to suggest coming to terms with the enemy, rather than fighting to the last.

“The council wouldn’t approve,” General Bothell pointed out. “The aristocrats pay most of the taxes …”

“We’re under martial law,” I repeated. “Who cares what they think?”

Caroline shot me a sharp look. I sighed and changed the subject. “What other precautions are you taking?”

“We’re calling up the militia as fast as possible” – Major Andrews waved a hand towards the wall, in the general direction of the men I’d seen outside – “and arming them after a brief refresher course. So far, the scouts have reported nothing, but … that will change. I’ve got the alchemists working on brewing exploding potions and other surprises, including some that might damage Objects of Power. Or at least the men using them.”

General Bothell shook his head. “How the hell did they make so many?”

I exchanged glances with Caroline. “Perhaps they ransacked a ruined city and recovered a few dozen machines, ones they could repair.”

The general gave me a sardonic look. I scowled. He had a point – a broken Object of Power was impossible to repair, as the collapsing spellform tended to turn the entire structure into a fused and charmed ruin – but I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Caitlyn Aguirre had managed to repair a flying city, of all things … perhaps Garstang had managed to repair a bunch of war machines. Or perhaps they’d recovered a working foundry. What else could it be?

“We did see strange energies around the city near Caithness,” Caroline put in. “If the ancient sites are coming back to life … who knows what can be recovered?”

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Most ancient cities – metallic ruins; some dead and cold, others contaminated by strange magics – had been either searched from top to bottom or cordoned off after too many fortune hunters had gone into the city and never come out again, or come out horribly warped and twisted by the poisoned magics. The Eternal City itself had been a maelstrom of dangerous powers, one contaminated beyond repair … except Cat had managed to salvage a flying city. I hadn’t gone back to the city since then, but I’d heard through the grapevine that thousands upon thousands of scavengers were already making their way there as word spread. Whoever found the next flying city would be able to write their own ticket.

“Everything taken out of a dead city is worse than useless,” General Bothell said. “No enchantments. Brittle metals. Curses, in some cases. The enemy must have built their army from scratch.”

I stared out the window, eyes lingering on the northern hills. Dozens of refugees were visible, the cavalry moving to intercept the refugees and steer them towards the tents we’d set up outside the city walls. They’d be interrogated, in hopes of learning more about enemy movements – and to make sure they weren’t spies – and then ordered to keep moving. Templeton didn’t have room for them.

“There should be more,” I muttered.

Major Andrews coughed. “Sir?”

“There should be more refugees,” I said, softly, Caithness hadn’t been a particularly big city, as cities went, but she’d had the largest population for hundreds of miles. “Where are the rest of them?”

“Locked up in Caithness,” Major Andrews said. “Or ordered to head north instead?”

I shrugged. On one hand, the enemy would prefer to keep the roads clear of refugees. Their war machines might be able to travel cross-country, striding through forests and across rivers as if they were little more than minor impediments, but the rest of their army would be tied to the road. The infantry could travel cross-country too, in theory; in practice, the rougher the ground they had to cover the longer it would take to do it. And yet, on the other hand, clogging up the southern roads with refugees would make life harder for us. The bastards had already shown a frightening lack of concern for civilian casualties. They could smash their war machines through a crowd of refugees and …

My stomach heaved. I’d seen horror in my life, from warlocks practicing dark magic to the grinding mundane horror of being trapped in poverty, but the idea of someone galloping a line of war machines through a crowd of refugees was just appalling. It was … I swallowed hard, reluctant to show any hint of weakness to the older men. They might not respect me if I threw up in front of them.

“The reinforcements are on the way,” I said, instead. I hoped the king was sending a proper commanding officer too. “Caroline and I will head north, in a bid to discover just what the enemy are doing.”

General Bothell raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to stay and supervise? Or fight?”

There was a challenge in his words. I chose to ignore it.

“We’re not needed for supervision,” I said, instead. By the ancients, I hoped that was true. “You and Major Andrews appear to have it well in hand. As for fighting, we’ll be back before the shit hits the fan.”

I looked north again. There was no smoke against the bright blue sky, nothing to suggest the enemy army was on the march. That bothered me more than I cared to admit. The enemy should be moving south as quickly as possible, scattering or destroying our garrisons and driving millions of refugees out of their homes. Merely taking Templeton would isolate the border provinces, making it harder for us to reinforce or retake occupied land. Hell, the mere act of pushing south would be devastating for our morale. The army was composed of brave men – they had all volunteered, there were no conscripts amongst them – but no one wanted to die fighting an unstoppable force. If the troops came to believe the enemy were unstoppable …

My eyes narrowed. Why had they slowed?

“We do need to know what they’re doing,” I said. “And we’re the best at getting in and out of tight spots.”

General Bothell nodded. “You’ll have all the support we can muster,” he said. “And good luck.”

“Keep preparing for war,” Caroline said. “We need to be ready.”

I exchanged glances with her. I hoped to hell the general wouldn’t let his troops slack off once we were gone … he’d seen the memories, he should know what he was facing, but there was a real chance some urgency would go out of his efforts once we were gone. I made a mental note to share the memory orbs as widely as possible, just to ensure everyone knew what was coming. It felt wrong to offer my memories so openly, but … better that than the alternative. If half the population came to believe we were lying, or exaggerating, or …

“We won’t let up,” Major Andrews said. His lips quirked. “But the longer they take to come after us, the better.” 

I couldn’t disagree. There were limits to how quickly the walls could be strengthened, and the troops prepared for war, and the more time we had the better. And yet, every general worthy of the name knew the last thing you wanted to give the enemy was time. Why were they giving us time? Had they outrun their supply lines already? Or were they up to something?

We didn’t know. But we had to find out. Fast.