Velox pushed open the door to the shabby red-bricked house and crept inside, Cyrus trailing after him. Wall lamps flickered softly along dim orange walls, casting shadows around them as they advanced down the corridor. The guardsman had one hand on the spear slung around his back, grip tight. Every flickering shadow made Cyrus’s heart leap.

They came upon a closed wooden door and Velox nodded toward it, keeping an eye on the darkness further down the corridor. Cyrus put his hand on the handle. Velox set his spear ahead of himself as best he could and nodded again.

He couldn’t stop it from creaking as it swung open. He stepped out of the way and peered through the gap between Velox and the doorframe. The room was brighter than the hallway, lit up by an even-tempered fireplace, iron poker resting against the stones. He saw an elderly woman with white-streaked hair and disheveled clothing, arms and legs bound against a chair she sat upon. A strip of cloth tied around her head and stuffed into her mouth would prevent her from speaking, but she didn’t seem to be awake. Elinor Daniels’s head was bowed, and her eyes were closed.

Velox stepped inside, lowering the spear. As Cyrus entered the room proper, he saw two other chairs holding Lyla, some brown liquid and bits of food spilled over her light pink blouse— as well as Rolan, Deen’s uncle, thick-framed spectacles near to falling off his face.

Lyla was awake, and her eyes opened wide when she saw Cyrus.

Velox slipped his belt knife free and passed it to him.

“Get them free,” he whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

The guardsman positioned himself between the two doors that led into the room after softly shutting the one they’d used. He stood in a corner and held his spear out in some sort of combat stance Cyrus didn’t know, appearing quite tense.

He worked the knife on Lyla’s arm bindings. It was slow and deliberate. He was afraid of hurting her by accident. When the first arm came free, she reached up and tore the gag off, blinking exhaustion out of her eyes. He moved onto her legs, crouching, as she rubbed her wrists alternately with the other palm.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“We knew this could happen someday,” she said softly. Her throat sounded raw, as if from shouting. “My husband is a captain. Here.” She held out her hand for his knife. “I’ll get Aunt and Uncle. Thank you.”

Lyla took the knife and rose on wobbly legs. Long dark brown hair tumbled over her face and around her shoulders. He’d forgotten how tall she was as she made her way to Rolan’s chair and went down on one knee to get at his ropes, cutting him free much faster than he could.

Just like that, he felt useless again. It was like there was a switch in his head he could flip to feel like himself again, but as soon as he relaxed, it turned off again on its own.

“Is there anyone else inside?” Velox asked, eyes glued to the second door.

“None of ours,” Lyla said. “I’m not sure.”

Were there? Something teased at Cyrus. He forced that switch to move and thought. He thought back to the morning. How many soldiers were there? He really thought about it. It was all he could do.

Four, he remembered. Two sitting, two standing.

We already spared Andrews…

One name. Two soldiers.

“There’s a fourth,” he whispered. “Velox, I—”

Too late. The door beside him— the one they’d entered from— swung wide open. Hard, fast, nearly cracking him in the shoulder. Through it burst a fourth man in the Guard’s uniform, face thunderous, steel sword flashing in the firelight. Staring at Cyrus.

And he stared back, stock-still, at his own death.

“Get down!” someone shouted. Velox. “GET DOWN!”

He fell backward, flat on his ass. Velox’s spear diverted the sword’s path. Cyrus scrambled out of the way as their weapons clanged against one another a second time.

Velox was not so lucky a third time. They were too close, and the spear’s advantage had become disadvantageous. The sword took him in the side and he cried out. A booted thump to the gut tossed him to the floor, thudding hard. Another stomp came down hard on Velox’s fingers, and he cried out again, louder.

Memories of another firelit massacre flashed through Cyrus’s mind.

No. No, no, no. Not again.

Not again! He would not watch that again!

Cyrus threw himself at the man, tears in his eyes. Distract him for a moment. It was all he could think of. It wouldn’t work. Velox was pinned down by the man’s other foot. He was going to die. They all were. But on Phaethon’s Honor, he tried. He tried this time, and that gave him peace.

The soldier turned and swung that terrible blade at him. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking—

I’m sorry, Father. I hope you’re all okay. I’m going on ahead.

—and opened them to the sight of the soldier looking off to the side, open-mouthed with horror as a man with thinning gray hair bellowed and rammed a long, thin weapon through the soldier’s stomach and into the door behind him. The soldier hit the door with a crash, sword clanging to the floor.

Old Rolan. With the fireplace poker.

Lyla was on the man a heartbeat later, dragging the knife across his neck, blood spraying all over her blouse.

“You bastard,” she hissed at the dying man. His eyes were glassy, mouth frozen open in surprise. “This is a soldier’s family.”

———

Luke stared lazily out the automobile window, watching buildings and people and horse-drawn carriages pass by in a blur. Some gawked at them. It wasn’t every day you saw so many automobiles traveling together, even in the city. Some among their group were rather large and boxlike, all clustered together. They were packed full of two hundred or so ‘trustworthy enough’ soldiers from the West Wall to accompany them as they knocked on the door, so to speak. The window was rolled up, it was far too chilly outside to keep it down.

Automobiles. He hated these things, but Flocks were they efficient at getting from place to place.

Are you there, Synthesis?

For a very long time. The voice sounded bitter. Do you want something?

What do you think about what we’re doing?

This Vander Wolf business? Verifying that human commander’s intentions? It is a fine idea. Humans are capable of unspeakable acts. I have seen such things firsthand. If you have a hunch that one is poised to stab you in the back, all the better to strike first.

It… sounds like you don’t trust us humans very much.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Of course not. Synthesis thought, its voice like Luke’s, only slightly off, as if the pitch were constantly shifting up and down. On the subject, since I have heard you thinking about it, whether or not I trust you has no bearing on your weaving. Your inability to draw upon the Red you channel through me is a problem of your own making.

What am I doing wrong?

It is always something emotional with you humans. Try starting there.

You don’t actually know? Luke thought.

It is a muscle of sorts, the mechanism by which you pull the colors through me. If something were wrong with that, I would know. The cause must be in that head of yours.

“Are you talking to it?” Aisha whispered, leaning over from the seat beside him. Her breath smelled like smoke, a flowery perfume quickly taking its place. Flocks, she was close.

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“You keep making all sorts of faces. It’s really easy, actually.”

He’d told her about the voice earlier. Major Linden and her armorer had overheard, those two were sitting up front. The armorer— Seila, her name was—was the one driving. Aisha trusted them both, so he’d filled them all in on his being a Weaver, and of the recent conversation he’d had earlier with Synthesis. He’d asked Synthesis if it was okay for him to reveal its existence, and it didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

“I asked it about General Wolf,” Luke said. “Synthesis doesn’t have much faith in people. Says you should deal with someone before they can stab you in the back.”

“It’s not so easy,” Aisha said softly. “When you owe said someone your life. I’d like to ask Vander directly. Even if it means we have to break down the mayor’s door in the middle of the meeting.”

“I’m of the same mind,” Linden agreed. “There is no mistake that there is a conspiracy in this city. Mammon Rigel himself lurks within our walls. We are on the eve of war. Today of all days there can be no doubts. If he is innocent, he will understand.”

“And if he is guilty,” Aisha whispered, so quietly Luke wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it. “I will bear the sin.”

Through the window, he could see the Council Building drawing ever closer. It was the tallest building in the city, though it still paled in comparison to some of the richer sections of Aetas Origo. Those castles and mansions loomed over you, whereas this square stone tower seemed to watch over its cousins like a dutiful knight on a night patrol.

Was it really almost five-thirty o’clock? Aisha’s pocket watch said as much when he glanced over, hearing her click it open. The sky looked as if it could be midnight. He supposed the sun was setting soon, not that anyone would be able to tell amid that sea of rumbling black clouds.

Just over thirty minutes until the conference started.

Are you nervous? Synthesis asked.

Yeah. I am. About what we’ll find. If Vander Wolf is Mammon Rigel, I don’t know if we can protect Ulciscor.

I see. Defending a great number of humans from tyranny and paying a debt you feel you owe to that Deen Daniels fellow. This is what drives you?

Well… yes.

So small. The voice scoffed.

Weren’t you listening to Argent? Luke thought. About using the colors to protect what’s important to me? I won’t become a destroyer. I promise you that. I will do good with this thing we are.

Yes, I was listening. It was the one piece of advice that human gave you that was utterly stupid. I could not believe it came from the same mouth as that nice metaphor about the flask. Such naivety.

Luke’s jaw fell open. He quickly closed it before Aisha could notice.

What are you talking about? he thought heatedly.

They will use you, it said. These humans around you. When they find out what you can really do. It will happen. They will turn you loose on that empire.

They won’t, he protested. These are good people.

And you are a good tool. A perfect one, in fact, for smiting their foes. I have never known humans to shy away from a tool they can use to crush or subjugate other humans. It is practically your defining characteristic as a species.

It was peaceful before… when we had the Asundrian Union…

Merely what children are taught. You are becoming a man soon. It is time to grow up and see the world for what it really is. That Union was born in blood and maintained with massacres. They will use you the same way. A hammer without a nail is just a waste.

He didn’t know what to say to any of that. So he didn’t speak— out loud or with his mind— for the rest of the trip. It was silent, aside from the rumbling of their wheels and the occasional distant clap of thunder, until Major Linden announced that they had finally arrived.

A blockade of soldiers and cordons was waiting for them.

———

“Please don’t die,” Cyrus begged, face streaked with tears. He was sitting on his knees. “Please.”

“Pressure here,” Lyla said to Rolan, indicating Velox’s wound.

When he pressed his hand down where she indicated, she backed away and pulled open the door without a corpse hanging off it, leaving the room in a hurry. Cyrus didn’t think there were any more soldiers, and the three of them as captives hadn’t seen more than the four he described. But they still had to leave as soon as possible.

“Are you okay, dear?” Elinor placed a gentle hand on his back. “I am sorry my husband and niece gave you such a fright.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, another set of tears rolling down. “I did this to him. I did it again.” He buried his face on the floor. He was so exhausted. So tired of people dying on his behalf. What was he? Nobody. Nothing. “I’m sorry.”

A hand fell on his knee. Cyrus raised his head.

“Don’t kill me off yet,” Velox whispered. “Stupid kid…”

“Don’t talk,” Elinor said softly. “Save your strength, young man. That was a brave thing you did. Both of you.”

“We were supposed,” Velox croaked, “to rescue… you people. This is a bit… backwards, don’t you think?” He laughed weakly, then grunted in pain. “Flocks Above. I need a drink.”

Their eyes met.

“Relax. We’re fighters. We know the risks. We do it anyway.”

Cyrus nodded slowly. Velox closed his eyes.

“He’s a tough bastard,” Rolan said after a moment. “He’ll pull through.”

“Language,” Elinor said tersely.

“Oh, you’ll let her say that.”

“You’d better believe it.”

It sounded like an argument, but when Cyrus glanced at them, they were both smiling. Just trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t feel like smiling, but he did feel better.

Lyla returned then, hands full. She held a thick roll of bandages and a small tube of ointment in one and a glass of water in the other. Draped over her arm was a washcloth. She gave half to Elinor, then dropped to one knee and wet the cloth by dumping water over it. At Lyla’s word, Rolan took his hand from Velox’s wound and propped him up instead while she worked to clean it. It was a nasty gash, but it wasn’t as bad as all the blood had made it out to be.

She wrapped Velox’s hand around the glass.

“Drink,” she ordered.

“I was hoping for something a little stronger…”

He rolled his eyes at her glare and downed the water, then spat some of it out, crying out as she rubbed ointment onto the wound.

“Clip my wings!” he shrieked, coughing. “Clip me, that burns!”

“More water, Auntie,” Lyla said. Elinor left with the glass. She started unraveling the bandages, snaking it around Velox’s waist. “Doing great, Quinn. Almost done.”

“I hate getting stabbed,” he wheezed.

“Most people do,” she said, ripping the end of the wrapped bandages from the roll. She tore off another section and tied it together. “That should hold for a few hours.”

“We have to move,” Velox said, trying to push himself up. He shouted in pain and fell back into Rolan. “There’s no time. Those two we tricked out front can come back any minute. Do you have anywhere safe to go?”

Lyla and Rolan glanced at each other.

“The Barnas family?” Rolan suggested.

“Friends of ours,” Lyla said, looking from Velox to Cyrus. “They live just a few doors down. Think that’s good enough?”

“It’ll have to do,” Velox said. He tried standing again, to no avail. “Ah, forget it. Just leave me and get going.” He fished a slip of folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to Cyrus. “Need you to go here. It should be safe. I asked some people to help Lieutenant Seras. I promised him I’d try to help her. That’s where they’ll be.”

“Shut up,” she said. “We’ll carry you.”

When did he have the time to do something like that? Cyrus unfolded the paper and read it. Nothing but an address. He pocketed it.

Elinor came back and offered Velox the glass. He gulped the whole thing down without complaint this time.

“I’ve got him,” Rolan said, hooking himself underneath Velox’s armpits. “You two, get his legs.”

Cyrus nodded. He took the leg that wasn’t near the wound and heaved up with Lyla. Elinor got the front door for them and off they went, onto what would undoubtedly be the next crazy part in the craziest adventure of his life.