The mountain air was a thin, freezing needle in my lungs, and every jolt of the wagon sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through my gut. My hands were numb, frozen to the iron railing of the boiler, but the heat from the firebox was the only thing keeping me from shattering into pieces. We'd been climbing for six hours, and the engine was starting to sound like a dying animal—a wet, rattling cough that echoed off the canyon walls.
"The pressure is dropping, Alaric," I shouted over the hiss of escaping steam. "We have to stop. Now."
Alaric didn't even look back. He was hunched over the steering lever, his knuckles white, his eyes fixed on the narrow, crumbling ledge ahead. "If we stop, the scout's backup catches us. We keep moving."
He's going to kill us. He's going to push the boiler until the rivets fly out like bullets.
"It's not a horse! You can't just whip it into moving!" I lunged forward, trying to grab the primary valve. My ears were ringing with the scream of the safety vent.
Alaric's hand shot out, catching my wrist and twisting it away. He didn't let go. He yanked me forward until I was pinned between the seat and the shaking iron of the machine. The scent of his sweat and the hot, oily breath of the engine smothered me.
"I'm sending you back," he said.
The world stopped. The rattling of the engine faded into a dull, distant hum. I stared at him, my breath hitching in a chest that felt ten sizes too small. "What?"
"At the next junction. There's a trading post. I've arranged for a courier to take you to the northern coast." He finally looked at me, and his eyes were hollow, stripped of the fury and replaced with a cold, terrifying finality. "I'll keep the engine. I'll draw the search parties toward the border. You disappear. You change your name. You never draw a circle again."
"No." The word was out of my mouth before I could think. "You can't. You don't even know how to vent the secondary chamber. You'll blow yourself to hell in five miles."
"Better me than you."
"I'm not leaving!" I struggled against his grip, my boots skidding on the coal-slick floor. "I'm the only reason this thing is still turning!"
"You're the only reason I have a target on my back!" Alaric roared, shoving me back against the crate of tools. "Every minute you're with me, you're closer to a cage. You think I'm protecting you? I'm just prolonging the inevitable. In the north, you have a chance. With me, you have a grave."
He's giving up. He's throwing me away because he can't control the stakes anymore.
"I don't care about the north," I hissed, my voice shaking with a mix of rage and a desperation that made my throat hurt. "I chose this. I chose to light the fire. You don't get to decide when I'm done."
"I'm the Captain, Elowen. This isn't a debate. It's a removal for your safety."
He turned back to the road, his jaw set in that immovable line I'd learned to hate. He was serious. He was going to drop me off like a piece of unwanted cargo at some dirt-path trading post and drive off to die with my machine.
Panic flared—ugly, sharp, and stupid. I looked at the control panel. I looked at the heavy brass bypass lever. If the bypass was open, the engine would lose all torque. It wouldn't explode, but it wouldn't move.
If I break it, he can't leave me. He'll have to stay. He'll have to let me fix it.
I didn't think about the scouts. I didn't think about the ledge. I reached out and slammed the bypass lever into the 'drain' position.
The effect was instantaneous. The roar of the engine died into a pathetic gurgle. The wagon shuddered, lost its momentum, and began to roll backward toward the cliff edge.
"What did you do?" Alaric screamed, grabbing the manual brake.
The brake screeched, sparks flying as the wood pads fought the iron wheels. We stopped six inches from the drop. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of my own frantic breathing and the wind whistling through the gorge.
Alaric didn't move for a long time. Then, he stood up and turned toward me. The look on his face wasn't anger. It was something much worse. It was disappointment.
"You broke it," he said, his voice a low, terrifying whisper.
"I saved myself," I snapped, though my hands were shaking so hard I had to hide them in my cloak. "You can't leave now. You're stuck here."
He stepped toward me, his boots crunching on the coal. He didn't stop until he was inches away, his shadow looming over me like a mountain. He reached out and grabbed my cloak, pulling me toward him until our chests touched.
"You think this is a game? You think if we're 'stuck' together, everything will be fine?" He laughed, a short, jagged sound that had no humor in it. "Look down, Elowen."
He forced me to look over the side of the wagon. Down in the valley, three miles back, a line of torches was moving steadily up the pass. They weren't scouts. They were the King's Heavy Cavalry.
"They'll be here in twenty minutes," Alaric said, his breath hot against my ear. "And because you wanted to play with the levers, we don't have enough steam to build pressure for a restart. You didn't save yourself. You just ensured we both die on this ledge."
This is bad. I screwed up. I really, really screwed up.
"I can fix it," I gasped. "I just need to seal the bypass and—"
"There's no time." Alaric reached into his belt and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. He shoved it into my hand. "The keys to a safe house in Oakhaven. There's a horse tied to the scrub oak fifty yards up the trail. Go. Now."
"Alaric—"
"Go!" He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, his eyes burning with a desperate, lethal light. "If they find you with me, they won't just kill you. They'll use you to find every other engineer in the underground. You aren't just a girl anymore. You're a blueprint for a rebellion they want to crush."
I looked at the pouch, then at the torches in the valley. I could hear the distant sound of horns.
"I won't leave you," I said, my voice finally steadying.
"You don't have a choice."
He reached for his sword, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the trail behind us.
A shadow moved in the brush. A single arrow hissed through the air, thudding into the wooden frame of the wagon, inches from my head.
"Run!" Alaric shoved me off the wagon and into the dirt.
I hit the ground hard, the wind leaving my lungs in a painful wheeze. I looked up to see Alaric standing on the driver's seat, his sword drawn, a lone silhouette against the rising moon. He looked like a king of nothing, defending a broken machine on a dead-end road.
I looked at the trail. I looked at the pouch.
I didn't run. I crawled back under the wagon, my fingers searching for the bypass valve in the dark.
If I leave, he dies. If I stay, we both die.
I chose the fire.
I grabbed a stone and began to hammer the valve back into place, the sound of the cavalry's hooves growing louder with every strike.
Above me, I heard the clash of steel on steel and Alaric's grunt of pain as the first scout reached the ledge.
The valve wouldn't budge.