“Out of the nine elders, there are three that you should focus on,” Nico said quickly and quietly. “Beringer, Griffith, and Lawrence. The others will wait for their opinions before speaking.”

I repeated the names under my breath as we continued the hike to the top of the base. When I spoke, my voice was strained. “Tell me more about them.”

“Each elder handles a different sector, and Beringer is their appointed leader. He’ll be at the head of the table, but he doesn’t talk much. Lawrence is his right-hand man, but you’re most likely to hear from Griffith first—she likes to play devil’s advocate, and she’s very isolationist.”

“How should I gain their favor?”

“All you can do is be honest. They all hate Keon. Just convince them that this is in Amberasta and Bellgate’s best interest.”

“Okay,” I acknowledged, and for the rest of the hike, I focused on my labored breathing, trying to interrupt the constant stream of worst-case scenarios traipsing through my consciousness. Nico had spent the past two days impressing upon me the importance of not offending the elders—if they deemed me a threat to Bellgate, they could have me removed.

Finally, we reached the peak of the rock that served as Bellgate’s military base. I turned and looked over the canyon, taking deep breaths to calm myself. The wind was warm at the top, and I twisted my hair into a bun to keep it from blowing into my face. Nearby, a hawk glided on thermals, looking for a rodent in the dusk. “Okay,” I whispered, “I’m ready.”

“Wait,” Nico said, grabbing my arm, “are you sure about this?

I turned to face him. He sounded almost unbearably anxious, and I noticed that he’d forgotten to button the top of his uniform. I smiled poignantly as I tucked them into place. “I wish there was another way, but we have a responsibility to the Amberastan people. It is that simple.”

“My recommendation can only go so far,” he snapped. “If something goes wrong–if they think you’re a spy or usurper–it’s your head on the chopping block.”

I raised my eyebrows, taken aback. “Until this war is over, you can’t protect me, captain. Just as I can’t protect you.” He looked down at me, his expression hard and unreadable, and I shook my head to break the tension. “Come on. The elders are waiting.”

I could hardly breathe as we pulled open the heavy wooden door that marked the entrance to the elders’ meeting room. The inside was cool and cavernous, with a high ceiling and sanded walls. In its center was a long table constructed from dozens of interlocking planks, around which sat nine men and women, all dressed in tan camouflage decorated with thumb-sized medals. At the table’s head was a man in his late sixties with broad shoulders, a stoic face, and a set of dull red scars. Elder Beringer.

The elders fell silent as Nico and I entered. I crossed my fist over my chest and bowed in a sign of deference. “Welcome,” a woman said, “rise and say what you must. We have agreed to meet with you on Captain Nico’s recommendation, but we will not have our time wasted.”

She must be Elder Griffith, I surmised. I thanked her and clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking. “My name is Anabelle Laurent. A month and a half ago, I arrived in Bellgate from Karakul. The captain accompanied me.” I gestured in Nico’s direction, and he nodded. “I live with Sarah, sister of Corporal Muriel, and work in the gardens. But I believe that you already know all of this. What you may not yet know is that I was born and raised in the capital, and while I lived there, I was a member of the city’s resistance.”

For the first time, the elders’ expressions portrayed surprise and distrust. I pushed forward. “On the night that the Blood Dove was stolen, our group infiltrated the Fortress with the intention of stealing valuables and sensitive documents, but we became implicated in something much bigger. While we were inside, there was an explosion. I was knocked unconscious, but when I recovered, I saw two groups fighting: the police and a dozen men in grey camouflage. The group in grey killed the police and all of the resistance members. I escaped through the window, and I was the only one who survived the initial shoot-out.”

I glanced at Nico out of the corner of my eye, checking to see if he had noticed that I lied about everyone being killed. If he remembered that Owen had survived, he didn’t show it, and his face remained an impassive mask.

“You mean to say that you were inside the Fortress that night?” A leader asked, looking at me skeptically. From his place directly to the left of the leader, I suspected that he was Elder Lawrence.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you escaped alone?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at Nico. “Why did we not hear of this before?”

“He didn’t know,” I interjected, “I told no one.”

“This is fascinating,” Elder Griffith commented, “but I fail to see how it is relevant.”

If she’s trying to intimidate me, she’s succeeding. “Sorry,” I muttered, “I’m getting there.”

“Go on,” Lawrence urged, shooting Griffith a pointed look.

“While I was inside, I noticed that the security cameras were damaged, there were no guards or patrols, and the alarm was disarmed. It was eerily quiet. Then, when Captain Nico explained to me that the king likes to frame Solokia for domestic attacks, I realized that he must’ve staged the robbery. He certainly had a motive—it allowed him to declare war.”

There was some conversation amongst the leaders. Finally, Griffith spoke again. “Do you have proof of these claims?”

I reached into the satchel at my side and pulled out a scroll. It was heavy in my hands, a reminder of the many days of work and study that had gone into its creation. I took a deep breath and spread it out on the table in front of the leaders, and they leaned in to inspect my work. Before them lay a detailed map of the Fortress compound, reconstructed from memory. I had included everything from the main rooms to the minutest of features, like the name of the ingrainer, the locations of the alarm panels, and descriptions of the artwork that had adorned the halls. I had also taken special care to label the areas that only someone on the inside would know: the underground tunnels, the trapdoors, and the pipeline through which I’d escaped.

For a moment, the elders were speechless. Then, finally, Lawrence spoke up again. “Much of this was previously unknown to us. It does imply an intimate knowledge of the Fortress layout.”

A female elder whose name I did not know raised her hand tentatively. “Yes… I cannot corroborate the details, but the location of the major points of interest all match my data.”

I fought back a smile. Finally, the energy of the room is shifting in my favor.

“So,” Lawrence continued, “it was my understanding that you had a proposal today. What do you want us to do with this knowledge?”

“Well, sir, a week ago the captain asked me to accompany him to Bushnell to seek out usable materials. While we were there, I found what we believe to be an old printer. I suggest that we use it to copy and distribute a pamphlet outlining Keon’s involvement in the theft. We can include my story and the blueprint as proof. When the Amberastans know Solokia did not attack first, they will be more inclined to join our cause.”

There were murmurs around the table, although I noted that Elder Beringer had yet to speak. “That is impossible!” One of the elders exclaimed. “Our squads would be in danger, and it would be only a matter of time until word about Bellgate leaked out.”

“Our squads are trained not to speak a word about Bellgate, not even under the pressure of torture,” another snapped back. “Since when has the army been your responsibility, anyway?”

“Wait,” I said, raising a hand, “There’s no need to endanger the soldiers at all. The pamphlets could be distributed remotely, from the air.”

There was a sudden silence. “I did not realize the existence of such technology was common knowledge,” Lawrence said slowly, glancing at Nico.

“I do not know if it exists,” I was quick to clarify, “the idea simply came to me.”

The elder’s face relaxed, and the debate started up again. “It may be viable, but a remote-controlled drone or even a trained bird could be traced back to us.”

“It would need to self-destruct. Returning to Bellgate is too great a risk.”

“We cannot be so uneconomical with our technology.”

Nico cleared his throat. “What about incendiary balloons, such as the Austrians used during the 1800s?” My brow furrowed. I hadn’t recognized a single word that he said, but the elders all developed pensive expressions. “The cost is low, and the balloons would be launched near the major cities when the wind is right. They could dump the pamphlets, then self-destruct.”

A male elder I did not recognize steepled his fingers. “Captain, that is an excellent idea. The spectacle would ensure that the pamphlets get everyone’s attention. Then the only issue would be launching the balloons without being discovered.”

“They could be launched in the morning, under the cover of fog.”

Griffith shook her head, and I resisted the urge to grit my teeth. “I’m not sure about this plan,” she argued, “it seems to add unnecessary risk. We-”

“If I may speak,” I interrupted, determined to act before hesitancy seized the others, “I understand that my suggestion carries a certain danger. But this is the time for active resistance; we cannot keep this knowledge from the public. Every day, thousands of Amberastans die in a meaningless war. Shouldn’t they know that Solokia never betrayed them? Shouldn’t we, as the only autonomous body not under siege, finally begin to challenge Keon in earnest? If not now, then when?”

There were looks of surprise around the table, and I had the impression that my outburst had impressed some of the leaders and offended others. When conversation broke out again, it continued for several minutes without pause. Each of the elders spoke up, offering opinions based on their area of expertise. When they’d finished, the debate seemed to reach a stalemate, with Griffith and the other isolationists refusing the plan outright. I glanced at Nico, growing concerned that a consensus would never be reached.

For the first time, Elder Beringer cleared his throat to speak, and the room fell quiet.“I support this plan,” he said firmly, “and suggest that we begin production of the balloons tomorrow morning.”