My stomach twisted into a hard, cold knot as the bile rose in my throat. The morning sun was too bright, cutting through the tall windows of the palace corridor like a blade. A group of court ladies stopped their hushed chatter the second I walked past, their fans snapping shut like the clicking of predatory insects.
"Heretic," one whispered, not even bothering to lower her voice.
"I heard the Bishop nearly choked on the fumes," another added, her eyes raking over my dark, stiff gown. "The Captain keeps a strange pet."
The panic hit me, sharp and jagged. I could feel the sweat pooling at the small of my back. They know. The pump story didn't hold for an hour. If the court decided I was a threat to the natural order, Alaric wouldn't be able to protect me; he'd be the one forced to hand me over to the Inquisition.
I kept my head down, my boots thudding against the marble floor. I needed to find the southern pass maps. If we were leaving, I couldn't go in blind. I steered toward the Royal Archives, my breath coming in short, shallow hitches.
"Lady Ainsworth."
Lord Harrington's voice was like a heavy weight dropping on my shoulders. I stopped. He was standing by the entrance to the council chamber, flanked by two men in black robes—legal inquisitors for the Crown.
"Lord Harrington," I said, my voice barely a thread.
"There is an inquiry into the events at the foundry," he said, stepping into my path. He smelled of old parchment and expensive snuff. "The Bishop has filed a formal complaint regarding 'unnatural screams of metal.' These gentlemen have questions about your... soul."
"I was merely assisting Captain Veyron with—"
"The Captain isn't here to lie for you now, Elowen." Harrington leaned in, his eyes hard. "Where are the drawings you were seen clutching yesterday? The ones with the cylinders?"
My chest tightened. The designs are in my bodice. If they search me, I'm dead. Alaric is dead.
"I burnt them," I lied. My heart was a frantic drum against the paper hidden against my skin. "They were failures."
"Is that so? Then you won't mind a search of your quarters. And your person."
One of the inquisitors reached out, his gloved hand moving toward my arm. My ears started to ring. I backed away, my heel catching on the edge of a rug. I was a second away from bolted, a move that would have confirmed every suspicion they had.
"Take your hands off her."
Alaric appeared from the shadows of the doorway behind them. He didn't look like he'd slept. His uniform was crisp, but there was a lethal edge to his posture that made the inquisitors freeze. He walked toward us, his spurs jingling with a sound like a countdown.
"Captain Veyron," Harrington said, narrowing his eyes. "This is a civil and religious matter. You have no jurisdiction here."
"The Lady is a ward of the military," Alaric said, stepping directly between me and the inquisitors. His back was a solid wall of blue wool, shielding me from their stares. "Any inquiry into her work is an inquiry into my command. Are you questioning my loyalty to the Crown's defense, My Lord?"
"I'm questioning the nature of her work! She is playing with forces that—"
"She is playing with hydraulics," Alaric cut in, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. "Which is my direct order. If you want to discuss the 'nature' of my orders, we can go before the King right now. I'm sure he'd love to hear why you're obstructing the fortification of the southern pass while the border is under threat."
Harrington's face turned a mottled purple. "This isn't over, Veyron. You can't hide a witch behind a rank forever."
"She isn't a witch. She's an architect. Now, get out of my sight before I report this harassment to the Marshal."
The inquisitors looked at Harrington, then back at Alaric's hand, which was resting casually on the hilt of his sword. They retreated. Harrington lingered for a second, his gaze darting to me—hiding behind Alaric's shoulder—before he spat on the floor and turned away.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My knees felt like water.
"Follow me," Alaric muttered, not looking back.
He led me into a small, private anteroom and slammed the door. He didn't wait for me to thank him. He grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the center of the room, his face twisted in a mask of fury.
"What did I tell you?" he hissed. "I told you to stay in the quarters. Why are you in the halls?"
"I needed the maps! I can't build a road through the southern pass if I don't know the elevation!"
"You almost got yourself stripped in a public hallway, Elowen! Do you have any idea how close Harrington is to breaking my authority?"
"Then let him!" I shouted back, my frustration boiling over. "If I'm such a burden, give me to the Church! At least then I won't have to wait for you to decide when I'm allowed to think!"
Alaric's grip tightened until I winced. He shoved me back against a heavy oak sideboard, his body pinning me there. The room felt tiny. The air was thick with the scent of his anger and the cold, metallic smell of the palace.
"You think I'm doing this for fun?" He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "I just lied to the High Inquisitor for you. I just threatened a Peer of the Realm. If you go down, I go to the block with you. Do you understand that?"
He's scared. The Captain is actually scared.
"I didn't ask you to lie," I whispered, though my hand had found the front of his tunic, holding on for dear life.
"You didn't have to. You're the only thing in this godforsaken city that's worth a damn, even if you are a stubborn, reckless fool."
He let go of my arm, but his hand moved to the side of my neck, his thumb pressing into the hollow of my throat. I could feel his pulse. Or maybe it was mine. It didn't matter. We were tied together by the same rope, and it was getting tighter.
"They're coming for the quarters next," he said, his voice calmer but more terrifying. "I can't block them twice. We move tonight. Not in an hour. Now."
"But the coal—the iron—"
"I've already moved it. My scouts have a wagon waiting at the laundry gate." He looked at the bodice of my dress. "The drawings. Are they on you?"
I nodded, my face flushing.
Alaric reached out, his hand hovering over my chest. For a second, the world stopped. The romance wasn't a slow burn; it was a sudden, violent spark in a room full of gunpowder. He didn't touch the paper. He touched the skin just above my collar, his fingers cold and rough.
"Keep them there," he said. "If we get stopped, I'll draw their fire. You run. Don't look back. Don't wait for me."
"Alaric—"
"That's an order, Elowen."
He grabbed a heavy traveling cloak from the chair and threw it over my shoulders, pulling the hood up to hide my face. He looked at me one last time, his eyes searching mine for a sign of the girl I used to be. He didn't find her.
"From this point on, Lady Ainsworth is dead," he said, opening the servant's door. "You're just a nameless mechanic on my payroll."
We moved through the back stairs, the smell of lye and old stone filling my nose. Every shadow looked like an inquisitor. Every sound felt like a trap. We reached the laundry gate, the damp air of the docks hitting my face like a slap.
A single, unmarked wagon stood there. No horses.
Six of Alaric's most loyal men were standing guard, their faces hidden behind scarves. They looked at Alaric, then at me.
"Is the boiler mounted?" Alaric asked.
"Yes, Captain. But she's heavy. Without a team, we aren't moving an inch."
Alaric looked at me. "Make it move, Elowen. Or we die in this alley."
I scrambled into the back of the wagon. The prototype was there, bolted to the frame. It looked like a monster in the dark. My hands shook as I reached for the coal, the black dust staining my fingers.
Choice. If I light this, there's no going back. I'm a rebel. I'm a fugitive.
I struck the flint.
The fire caught. The water began to hiss. The pressure gauge started its slow, agonizing climb. I looked out the back of the wagon and saw the palace guards turning the corner with torches.
"They're here!" I screamed.
Alaric jumped onto the driver's seat, his hand reaching for the steering lever I'd rigged. He looked back at me, his eyes dark with a grim, final sort of hunger.
"Hold on," he said.
The engine let out a guttural, earth-shaking roar that echoed off the stone walls like a thunderclap. The wagon lurched forward, wood groaning against iron, as a cloud of black smoke swallowed the alleyway.
We weren't just leaving the city.
We were tearing a hole in history.