Cyrus sipped from his drinking gourd. It was a homemade tea brewed by Lyla Daniels, the captain’s wife. The gourd itself was small and painted, natural coloring overwritten with the silver and black of Ulciscor. He savored the taste on his tongue as if it were his last drink in the world. She was probably going to kill him.

“Welcome home, dear,” Mrs. Daniels said hesitantly. She opened the front door wider and heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s where you went. I’ve been looking everywhere. I almost contacted Lieutenant Arston.”

Luke and Captain Daniels stood together on the steps, side by side. Cyrus nearly dropped his gourd of tea in shock. He set it on the low table, standing up. Cover him? Mrs. Daniels noticed almost immediately, of course. He said he had no idea where Luke had gone, but a few moments ago she sat him down and began to probe him for answers. He had no idea what to say, and was about ready to give it up. And here he stands, right beside the man he was supposed to be following secretly! Honor-plucked fool! Cover him!

“It’s no fault of yours,” he began apologetically.

As the captain explained what had happened, the fool himself sauntered over to Cyrus, stretching his arms and legs absentmindedly.

“What have you done?” Cyrus hissed. “Now we’re both clipped, chopped, and fried!”

“Relax,” he said idly, rolling his shoulder. Relax!

Something Daniels said caught his attention, and he blurted it out in another hiss. “You snuck into a meeting with General Wolf? Are you insane?”

“Anyway, I can’t share the details, but he and I will be going on a trip tomorrow evening. I’m not sure when we’ll be back. The next morning, I think.”

“You think?” she asked, concern plain in her expression. He nodded. “Is Luke even of age? Why is Wolf bringing a boy along?”

“Yeah,” Daniels said. “So he says. General Wolf is content with his word for now. I wouldn’t trust it, personally.”

Cyrus blinked. “Going?” he whispered. “Going where?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Luke whispered back. “I’m sixteen, by the way.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I will be by the time they figure it out.”

“You don’t think that’s going to cause a problem?”

“I—” Luke cut off as Captain Daniels approached them. His wife retreated. If she were anything like Mary Alder, she’d be starting dinner or seeing to some other task that needed doing. Not because it was expected of her, but because the husband had ‘no idea what he was doing’ as his own mother so often put it. That was one reason Cyrus had decided to become a chef.

Daniels eyed them up and down, as if they were new recruits, though Cyrus didn’t know why he was looking at him that way. He had absolutely no interest in joining the military. His mission in life was to feed and care for people, not fight and kill them.

“Don’t let this one tell you what we’re doing,” Daniels told Cyrus, lightly slapping the back of Luke’s head. He rubbed his head furtively and glared at the man. “It’s a secret for a reason.”

“I understand, captain,” he said.

“There is something you’ll need to do,” Daniels said.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “but I have no interest in it. It’s just not in my blood to hurt people, you see.”

“It’s nothing like that,” the Guard captain said quickly. “Major Linden is mobilizing a scouting unit. One of the Guards— I’m not sure what his rank is— a man named Fauke will be here tonight to ask you some questions about Castitas. Places of interest, the terrain, and so on. Things they might not know.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, I can help with that.”

Was there a chance he could get into the scouting unit? His mind began to work through possibilities, even after Daniels left and Luke leaned back in a chair, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. Cyrus felt like doing much the same, but he went to the study to grab a book and returned to the room to read and sip his tea at the low table. He flipped absently, barely giving the words thought. Even after dinner was served to the pair of them, he distractedly thanked Mrs. Daniels and returned to his thoughts. At some point, Luke said he was going to sleep and left. Cyrus barely noticed. All that was on his mind was what he was going to say to that man.

———

Orcus Alder sat quietly in his prison cell. Truth be told, the place was just a plain old reception room, but they would not let him leave. They, of course, were the soldiers, a pair at every doorway he could see, men clad in brown-and-yellow uniforms of Empire design.

He was in the constable office. So was the rest of the whole clipping village. This lot had jammed as many people as they could into storage closets and holding rooms never meant to contain more than a raving drunkard or a particularly rebellious teenager.

He ran a damp rag across his brow, wiping sweat away. It was stuffy in here, despite the closeness of winter. Most Castitas buildings were not well-insulated, and hearths were necessary to ward off the cold, but this place was a remnant of the old town before the war, and was an exception. Of course, there was also the matter of being prisoner to a conquesting empire. They were spared for now, but how long would that last? How long until they could no longer afford to keep these soldiers idle? Would they trust a spurned village at their backs, no matter how unthreatening they seemed?

“Bring me the next group,” he said wearily.

A dark-skinned man with a youthful face free of blemishes standing off to the side at parade rest walked over to one of the doorways and nodded to a pair of fellow soldiers. He returned to his position wordlessly as one of them turned and cracked open the door. Five people hesitantly advanced through the doorway, accompanied by yet another soldier behind them. They were not chained or bound. The fact that there were eight armed and trained men also in the room would keep thoughts of escape buried very deeply.

The group consisted of two men, one woman, and two children. He recognized them immediately, of course. The last census placed the village population at one-hundred ninety-seven, and Orcus knew every last one of them. Here was the Erly couple— their two boys clinging to their mother’s leg— and Frank Duun, the butcher of Castitas.

He carefully explained to the five of them that so long as they kept their cool and did not provoke the soldiers, their safety would be assured. Vassago Rixator was known to be a man of his word, and he had said as much, but Orcus was not so sure. Still, they were completely helpless in this situation. Soothing his people’s fears would not hurt, even if it was on a potentially false pretense. Frank asked after his two apprentices, and he told him truthfully that he had only seen one of them so far. He waved the man closer and whispered that the lad would likely be brought into the room soon, as he was not on the list of dead. Best not to let the children hear about that list, not right now. Frank moved back, and Orcus smiled warmly at the two boys, kindly reassuring them. As the group was escorted away, he saw that they had stopped clinging to Mrs. Erly’s leg. Perhaps it had done them some good, he hoped.

He rubbed the bridge of his broad nose, exhaling deeply. Mary could have eased the worries of all five of them. The children may have believed him, but he could see that the adults so forthcoming. The thought of his wife reminded him that Cyrus was still missing. Where had the boy gone? Missing. That was all he had been told. He strongly feared the worst, that they had killed him and would not tell Orcus until they had milked him of all his usefulness. Speculating on his son’s possible fate made his chest feel tight. He clung to hope that the boy had managed to escape and reach safety. It was a fervent, unlikely hope, but it was all he could think of.

He called to his guard, and five more villagers were brought in. All adults this time, three men and two woman. Sure enough, there was Frank’s second apprentice, Andre West, a burly produce trader, Robert Grith, the cobbler, Ms. Grant, one of several weavers, and…

And… who?

Who was this woman, glancing from side to side uncertainly? Orcus had never seen her before. Perhaps she was a traveler who had chosen a very bad time to pass through Altair, much like young Luke.

Luke… He thought the boy had died from the fall, but Rixator was not so forthcoming about what exactly had happened. Could he have survived the two-story drop and fled? Cyrus, the Ace claimed he would let him know about immediately, but Luke, on the other hand, was ‘not his concern.’

In any case, what really concerned him right now was this stranger. She was a short woman, just under his own height— much thinner than him, not that that was difficult to accomplish, of course— sporting a utilitarian braid of dark hair and a muted gray dress. He spoke to the others first, again reassuring his people, then motioned the woman closer. She stepped hesitantly, as if she thought he were one of the Daevan soldiers, but she did approach.

“I am sorry about this,” he said softly. “You are a traveler on your way to Mirastelle, correct? I’m afraid you’ve had some very unfortunate timing. I will bid for your safety as with the others.”

For a moment, she blinked emerald green eyes at him. Her shoulders loosened in relief. Was that all it took? If only the villagers could be soothed so quickly. They remembered the Razing, and expected much of the same this time around.

“Are you from the south?” he asked quietly. At the very least, she could not be from Mintaka or Ganymede. Her skin was between pale and tan, which could place her in a number of Daevan countries. “What is your name?”

“Maire,” she said. “From Sirius. Aetas Origo.”

He did not find that strange or coincidental, that Luke and another had arrived within days of each other, originating from the same place. Aetas Origo was the largest city in Sirius and it wasn’t the first time he had seen travelers passing through from there. He just hoped this Maire wouldn’t be the last.

He continued to speak softly with Maire for a moment longer, reassuring her in the way he had with everyone else. By the time she stepped back and was escorted deeper into the building with the villagers, she still held an air of wariness about her. He didn’t blame her.

Orcus spoke with the entire village that day in bunches of four or five. Some, he consoled. There was the elderly Kana Delphy, who had lost her husband Nock, and Lida Rinne, a young woman that had been the carpentry apprentice of her father. Fourteen people died, all in the constable’s office. Though there were only three actual constables, everyone inside had been killed for the sake of the Empire quietly establishing a base of operations. It was only after they had taken over this place that they rounded up the people of Castitas. The eldest son of the Kol family was murdered for the simple fact that he was filling in as a clerk. The usual clerk was feeling faint the previous morning, and a replacement was needed. As it turned out, she had a cold which the Empire was treating, or so they said. He supposed that was one good thing, among a mountain of bad. Night fell when he had spoken with the last group. He asked after Cyrus once more, but the soldier who ran a message to Rixator returned to say that they were still investigating.

He had not slept a wink the previous night, but he did on this night. The sleep came fitfully, and he feared for his son and for the town that had raised him to mayor. It was his job to protect them, but what did you do when you were helpless to protect something? Only Phaethon could help them now. Only Phaethon.

———

The sun had long since set when two soldiers met Rolan Daniels at the door. Cyrus still sat at that low table, studying the gibbous, nearly full moon, clearly visible on this cloudless night. It was a bright orb surrounded by dimmer shapes, stars, stretching across the entire sky.

“You are Cyrus Alder?” one of the soldiers asked as the captain’s uncle left, probably to retrieve the captain himself.

“Yes.”

The man bowed his head slightly. He was tall, but he seemed ridiculously short next to the other man standing beside him. The tall yet shorter man wore his black hair combed back and was dressed in the standard Ulciscor Guard uniform of black lined in silver. A stitching similar to Daniels’s told Cyrus that he was a captain.

“I am Captain Fauke,” he said, raising a hand to his partner and holding another out. “The big lug is Lieutenant Korsak.”

Korsak was perhaps the largest man Cyrus had ever seen— huge, even for a Pruinan man. He must be nearly seven feet tall! His dark hair was cut short, though it ended in a tied tail in the back that reached down to his neck. His silver and black uniform bore a different marking, that of a lieutenant.

“It’s nice to meet you Captain Fauke,” Cyrus said, clasping the man’s proffered hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Likewise,” Fauke said. Informally, he added, “Gonna sit here, that cool?”

“It’s not my house,” he said with a nervous smile. Flocks Above, how was he going to convince them to bring him along?

“Captain, I…” Maybe he should just say it. “I’d like to come along. I don’t know how much experience is needed for this, but… I want to see my village again. Even if it’s just a glimpse from afar.”

Fauke folded his arms and leaned back, craning his neck to share a look with Korsak. He took a deep breath, and seemed to be thinking.

“Zela— er, that is, Major Linden— heard from General Wolf about your… adventure last night. You spent the entire night running from Cathartes assassins. You’re saying you already want to jump back into that boiling mess o’ a stew?”

Did he? Cyrus and Luke had ran themselves ragged through the Pines from Castitas to Ulciscor, resting only once. Normally, a trip like that would take over half a day. Moreover, if someone from the village wanted to visit the city, they would venture west for an hour or two instead and travel up the path to the Southwest Wall instead. The West Wall connected to Ursa, and the Southwest Wall to towns and cities deeper into Altair. The South Wall was not conventionally used— that was why Captain Daniels had been so hostile at first.

It was a terrifying experience. He couldn’t deny that. Returning home, it was as if the world had flipped upside down. Seeing Luke fall, hearing what he said, Daevan soldiers dashing after them, fleeing into the woods… Could he go back?

The thought of the villagers came unbidden. Of Mrs. Delphy, whom he had spoken to that morning. She was making tomato soup for her husband’s birthday. Of Mr. Grith, working tirelessly on another pair of leather shoes even as they conversed. And of his father, responsible for them all. He feared what Terra Daeva had done to him.

Yes, he could go back. He wanted to go back. He wanted to know what had happened, what was happening, even a sliver of information.

“Yes,” he said. “I have camped in this area plenty of times. I can offer advice on which spots are good shelter or good vantage points. If you bring me along, I will be an asset to you, not a burden.”

“Didn’t expect you to actually ask.” Fauke scratched his chin. “It would be more useful than sittin’ here, yeah. How about you let me and Korsak give you a few pointers on keepin’ quiet out in the woods? Watchin’ for twigs, shiftin’ your weight and all that.”

“I… can come?” he asked, surprised.

“Course you can. Just said so. Korsak, we’re leaving. Let these folks know.” The enormous Pruinan stepped— shockingly silent for his size— through the room. Fauke stood. “Let’s head out the Rear Wall and do a bit o’ practicin’, make sure you’re up to this. Sound good?”

He was tired, but he bit back a complaint and stood to join him.

“That sounds fine,” he said. He was determined now. “Let’s do it.”