The cold from the stone floor seeped into my marrow, turning my blood to slush. The boy was dead, my reputation was a rag, and the air in this pit tasted like damp earth and failure. Every time I breathed, my chest felt like it was being squeezed by an iron band that just wouldn't quit.
"He died," I whispered into the dark. My own voice sounded like a stranger's.
I failed. I traded my life for a corpse. God, I'm so stupid.
Outside the heavy oak door, the world was screaming. I could hear the muffled roars of the riot—the people I'd tried to save were now burning the very wagons that carried their grain. The irony was a sick joke that made my stomach turn. A brick slammed against the small, high window of the cell, spider-webbing the glass and sending shards dancing across the floor.
I scrambled to my feet, my knees buckling. I needed to see. My blueprints—the designs for the pressure-release valves, the only thing that could make a steam engine not act like a bomb—were still in that carriage. If they found them, if they burned them, this kingdom was truly buried.
The bolt on the door slammed back with a screech of metal on metal.
Alaric stepped in, bringing the smell of smoke and fresh blood with him. He was missing his coat, his white shirt was splattered with something dark and wet, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked less like a captain and more like a ghost that had just crawled out of a mass grave.
"Sit down," he barked.
"The blueprints," I said, my voice cracking. I tried to push past him, my hands reaching for his damp sleeves. "Alaric, the carriage—the papers in the hidden bench—I have to get them."
"Gone."
My heart stopped. The ringing in my ears became a deafening roar. "What do you mean, gone? They can't be gone."
"The mob flipped the carriage five minutes after I shoved you in here. They're using the wood for a bonfire to roast the horses they just slaughtered." He stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the damp walls until it swallowed me. "You wanted to change the world? Congratulations. You just gave them the fuel to burn it down."
"I have to go out there. I can explain the system, I can show them—"
I lunged for the door, driven by a panicked, stupid hope that I could talk sense into a hungry crowd. Alaric didn't even blink. He grabbed my waist, his arm like an iron bar, and slammed me back against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me, leaving me gasping for air like a fish out of water.
"Explain?" He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His eyes were bloodshot, vibrating with a terrifying, quiet rage. "They don't want an explanation, Elowen. They want someone to hang. And because of your little stunt with the boy, your name is at the top of the list."
"Let me go!" I struggled, my hands clawing at his forearms. "You're just as bad as them!"
"No." He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his grip bruising. The heat from his body was an assault, a reminder that I was small and he was very, very capable of breaking me. "From this second on, you don't breathe unless I give you air. You don't move unless I pull the string. You've officially been declared a ward of the military for 'protective custody'."
Ward? That's just a fancy word for a prisoner.
"You're using me," I hissed, my face inches from his. "You want the engine designs. You think if you keep me locked up, I'll build them for you so you can win your little wars."
"I think if I let you walk out that door, I'll be scraping your brains off the cobblestones by morning." He didn't move away. He stayed in my space, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw—not softly, but with a pressure that forced me to keep my head up. "But you're right about one thing. You're going to build. But not for the people. For me."
He was suffocating. He was the only thing keeping me alive, and I hated him more than the mob outside. My skin burned where he touched me, a sick mix of fear and a dependency I couldn't shake. I looked at his belt, searching for any weapon I could use to gain leverage.
Then I saw it. A small, brass cylinder tucked into his belt. My cylinder.
The one containing the master pressure-valve schematics—the heart of the first engine. He hadn't lost them. He'd stolen them.
He lied. He's letting me think everything is gone so I have no one but him. He's stripping me of everything so he can be my only world.
"Give it back," I demanded, my voice trembling with a new kind of fury. "You thief. You liar."
Alaric stopped at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. The flickering torchlight from the hallway caught the cruel curve of his mouth. He didn't look ashamed. He looked satisfied.
"This?" He tapped the brass cylinder with a gloved finger. "Consider it a down payment on the life I just saved. Again. You're too reckless with your toys, Elowen."
"I'll tell Harrington. I'll tell the Council you're hoarding technology meant for the Crown."
"Do it." He stepped out, the heavy iron door beginning to swing shut. "See who they believe. The fallen noblewoman who started a riot and got a child killed, or the Captain holding the line against the chaos."
"Alaric! Don't you dare!"
I ran toward the closing gap, reaching out to grab the edge of the door. My fingers brushed the cold metal, but I wasn't fast enough. He didn't even look back as he pulled it shut.
"Stay quiet, Elowen," he said through the narrowing slit. "It's easier when you don't fight the leash. I'll be back when you've learned to be grateful."
The door slammed home with a finality that shook the floor. I heard the lock turn. Twice. Then the heavy bar was slid into place.
I slumped against the wood, my forehead resting on the cold iron. I had the knowledge to build a future, but I'd just handed the keys to a man who only knew how to destroy. The boy was dead, my world was ash, and the only person I could rely on was the man who had just stolen my soul.
I reached into my pocket and felt the small, jagged piece of glass I'd swiped from the broken window earlier. I pulled it out, looking at my reflection in the dark. I looked like a ghost.
I looked at the door, then at the glass. If Alaric wanted a genius, he was going to get a nightmare.
I sat back down on the stone bench and began to carve. Not blueprints. Not math. I started carving the date into the wall with the glass, the screeching sound filling the tiny cell. Each scratch was a promise.
By the time the guards came to bring me water three hours later, I hadn't touched the blueprints in my head. I hadn't thought about roads. I had only thought about the weight of Alaric's hand on my neck and how I was going to make him bleed for it.
The guard slid a tray through the slot at the bottom of the door. "Captain says you're to start the southern pass schedules. Paper and ink are in the corner."
I didn't answer. I just watched the tray.
"He said if you don't start, he'll find the boy's parents and tell them exactly whose fault the carriage accident was," the guard added before walking away.
The glass in my hand snapped. A sliver of it sliced into my palm, but I didn't feel the pain. I only felt the heat of the fire Alaric had started.
I grabbed the inkwell and threw it at the wall. The black liquid splattered across the stone, a dark, ugly blotch that looked like a shadow.
Fine. You want a tool? I'll be a tool. But I'll be the kind that breaks the hand that holds it.
I picked up a pen, my hand steady despite the shaking in my chest. I didn't write schedules. I didn't draw roads. I began to sketch the one thing Alaric hadn't seen yet—the design for a high-pressure boiler with a deliberately weakened seam.
If I was going to be his prisoner, I was going to make sure his empire blew up in his face.
The door opened again. Alaric was back, this time with a tray of food that looked too good for a dungeon. He saw the ink on the wall, then the paper in my hand.
He walked over, his boots clicking on the stone, and snatched the paper from my desk. He studied the complex geometry of the boiler, a small, approving nod ghosting over his features. He didn't see the flaw. He didn't see the trap.
"Good," he said, setting the paper down. "I knew you were a fast learner."
He leaned down, his face close to mine, his hand moving to the back of my chair, effectively trapping me. He smelled like cedar now, clean and sharp.
"Don't look at me like that, Elowen. You're safe here. Safer than you've ever been."
"I'm in a cage, Alaric."
"Every woman in this kingdom is in a cage," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "At least yours has an engine."
He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. I didn't flinch. I stayed perfectly still, my eyes locked on his. I wanted him to see the lack of fear. I wanted him to think he'd won.
Because the second he felt safe, I was going to take everything from him.
"Eat," he commanded, gesturing to the tray. "You start the build tomorrow. My men have already moved the iron to the foundry."
"And the Church?" I asked. "The heresy charges?"
"I told them you're performing penance through labor. They're satisfied for now. As long as you stay within these walls, they won't touch you."
"And if I leave?"
Alaric's eyes darkened. He grabbed my chin, his grip tight enough to hurt.
"Then I'll be the one who kills you."
He let go and walked out without another word, the door locking behind him. I looked at the food, then at the drawing of the boiler.
I didn't eat. I picked up the pen and finished the design, adding the final touch to the pressure gauge that would lie to whoever was operating it.
I was the only one who knew the world was about to explode.