Hunger woke Silas. It clamped around his stomach like a vice, sending sharp pangs through his core. He turned onto his side, pulling his knees to his chest. The position did nothing to ease the pain. Opening his eyes revealed a nightstand. A drinking glass rested on its surface, full of a cloudy white liquid. The sight of it increased the tempo of Silas's pulse. He bolted upright and tore away the covers draped over his body. Silas was lying on a large, plush bed in an unfamiliar room. The ceiling was stone, yet the walls and floor were sterile white. Silas recognized it instantly—an impossibility, given what he knew had happened. He was in the logics wing of the Garrison Mordant. And sitting across from him in a high-backed chair was none other than Ilyra Curne.

  Silas dove under the covers. Hadn't he watched Ilyra die? Yes, her face melted off. He'd seen it. Vera was alive. She shot Ilyra with her flarepistol.

  No. That wasn't right either. Vera died before Ilyra did. She had been executed because Silas helped the Unspoken release a biological warfare agent. Then what—

  "Silas, drink your Powder of Neuroleptic."

  Silas gripped the covers tighter. That voice sounded like Vera, yet he knew it belonged to Ilyra Curne.

  The covers were torn away and the glass was thrust into Silas's face. Ilyra said it was Powder, but instinctively he knew it was poison.

  Then Silas remembered drinking Powder, and the truth materializing. Cautiously, he accepted the glass, trying not to look at the person holding it. The bitter Powder settled in Silas's empty stomach like a hot coal, burning as it went down.

  The Powder quickly took effect. While it was kicking in, Silas reacquainted himself with reality. Vera and Pa were alive. Ilyra was dead. The Archarbiter… What had become of him? Silas remembered Ravelin sending a crossbow bolt through his hip. That injury alone could have killed him. Then the Garrison Mordant exploded. Could Sorne have escaped in time with his injury? Silas didn't think so. He hoped he was right.

  Ilyra's face softened, sharpened, reshaped—until Vera sat before him instead. She watched him with a concerned frown, her eyebrow twitching rapidly. When Silas's fear dissolved into recognition, Vera smiled wide. With a relieved sigh, she sank back into her chair.

  "I trust you've gotten enough sleep?" she said, snorting a laugh. "Perhaps you're not a mouse after all. As far as I know, mice don't hibernate."

  Silas wondered how long he'd slept. Based on Vera's reaction, it must have been quite a while. Yet fatigue still weighed down his limbs and fogged his thoughts. When he focused inward, he felt his aether slightly replenished, yet still dangerously low.

  Can my aether be healed, or will I be stuck like this forever? Silas knew Echo could help him, but he no longer trusted her. He alone was responsible for damaging his aether. It was his duty to fix it, not anybody else's.

  Silas stared at Vera's shoulder, concerned for her injuries. She looked well—perky and energetic. But she had a track record for not giving herself time to rest. Vera noticed Silas's lingering gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut when Silas hopped out of bed. Explanations could wait until later. First, he needed to eat.

  Silas tripped over his trailing trouser legs. When had he changed? He was glad to be out of his filthy gown, yet confused. Whose pajamas was he wearing? They were so big on Silas, the shirt alone could have been a gown.

  At least these are men's pajamas, Silas blushed, remembering the unfortunate day he fell asleep in Vera's garments.

  A chuckle from the doorway startled Silas. Oscar was leaning against the frame, raising his eyebrows at Silas's unsuccessful attempt at rolling the sleeves to his wrists.

  "They're mine, in case you're wondering," Oscar explained, pushing away from the doorframe. "We've no children's clothes here, and everything that was yours was destroyed along with the Garrison Mordant." Oscar grinned at Silas's ruddy cheeks.

  Silas fought the urge to stomp his foot in response to Oscar's tease. Recovering his composure, Silas pointed at the back of Oscar's head. Again Silas wondered how long he'd slept for. The last time Silas saw him, Oscar had sustained a serious head injury, yet here he was, looking healthy and spry.

  "You wish to know about my injury?"

  Silas nodded.

  Oscar flicked his eyes to Vera. "That physick is surprisingly skilled. He took care of Vera and me. Concussed, I am, but healing well. It's your psyche we were concerned about."

  Silas looked to Vera for confirmation. She nodded, rotating her injured shoulder to demonstrate her mobility. Satisfied, Silas smiled sadly. Their injuries disheartened him, but seeing them well slightly lessened the guilt.

  Silas's stomach clenched painfully and loudly grumbled its grievance. Vera and Oscar laughed.

  "Food awaits you in the kitchen!" Vera proclaimed, climbing to her feet.

  Silas noticed her stiff movement. The small smile fell from his face.

  Vera and Oscar flanked Silas, exiting the bedroom. Gaping in wonder, Silas was led down a corridor of similar layout to the Garrison Mordant's logics wing. The floor was white tile; the walls a pristine, paneled finish. Yet where the Garrison Mordant had a brightly lit white ceiling, this facility was capped by nature. Dry stalactites protruded from above, some so low Oscar had to duck to protect his healing skull from further insult. Silas dimly remembered descending underground with Vera after watching her boiler explode. At first, Silas assumed that foggy sequence of memories was nothing more than a dream. His surroundings expelled the uncertainty.

  Silas peered up at Vera. Where are we? he wanted to ask.

  "Food first, questions later," she said as another low rumble issued from Silas's stomach.

  Oscar ruffled Silas's hair, to the boy's chagrin. "Your stomach speaks for you. It's impressively extraverted for an organ belonging to you."

  Silas humphed, walking faster. Behind him, Vera and Oscar snickered at each other, exchanging jests. Their humor brought a spring to Silas's step.

  Silas tipped his head back and sniffed, drawing a familiar aroma into his lungs. Immediately his mouth began to water. Skipping into a run, Silas allowed his nose to guide him in the direction of the delectable fragrance. It smelled like Pa was cooking.

  As he got closer, the scents diverged into unique signatures. Hunger sharpened Silas's imagination. He could practically hear bacon sizzling in the frying pan, see wisps of steam drifting upwards from mugs of coffee, feel the crunch of crust between his teeth as he bit into toast fresh from the oven. Without slowing, Silas burst into a large kitchen. An aging man sat in a wheelchair, cracking eggs over a bowl in his lap. His eyes widened, spilling over with tears.

  "My lad!" Pa cried, clunking the bowl of eggs onto the countertop.

  Silas sagged onto a nearby stool. Could it be? Deep blue eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles, a jagged scar on the side of his neck, greying hair tied with black ribbon. Vera hadn't lied—Pa was alive!

  Pa crashed into Silas, enveloping the boy in a bone-crushing hug. Silas's shoulders shook with sobs, his tears dampening Pa's apron. Pa held him like if he let go they'd never see each other again. When the shock wore off, Silas wrapped his arms around his grandfather. In silence, they cried, their tears washing away each other's worries.

  Vera and Oscar remained in the corridor—giving the two space. When Silas stopped crying, Pa leaned back, holding Silas by the shoulders.

  Studying Silas, Pa said, "You've had me so worried, lad. I'm relieved that you're alright."

  Silas's mouth fell open. "Why were you worried for me? You're the one who got mauled by a carrion wolf!" When he signed, Silas noticed the absence of a splint on his finger. The digit felt stiff and sore, but he decided the splint was no longer necessary. The finger would regain strength only if Silas worked it regularly.

  Pa shook his head, wiping away Silas's tears with his thumbs. "My lad, none of this would have happened if I'd protected you better. I should have known this was coming. I knew your resonance was growing stronger, that the Unspoken would hear you and come to investigate. This is all my fault. If I'd told you sooner, If I'd done something—"

  Silas cut him off, raising his arms to sign. "It's not your fault. I read the bundle of parchments you left at Coldspire Depot. You did what you thought was right, what you thought would protect me. Please, don't blame yourself. I don't want your apologies. I just want—"

  Silas stopped, staring at his hands. That last sentence didn't need to be spelled out. Silas leaned in for another hug. He had everything he wanted between his arms.

  Silas's vociferous stomach prompted Pa to return to his cooking. Silas seated himself at the kitchen island, trying not to drool as he watched Pa scramble eggs. Vera and Oscar entered the kitchen, seated themselves on either side of Silas. A few words were spoken, but Silas wasn't paying attention—hunger was all he knew.

  He cleared his first heaping plate in minutes, chasing down forkfuls of greasy bacon and hearty omelets with noisy gulps of juice. Tasting Pa's food for the first time after everything that had happened activated the waterworks again. Sniveling, Silas alternated blowing his nose in a tissue and shoveling food into his mouth. As he downed his second and third plates, Oscar and Vera shared a knowing look, trying to conceal their amusement behind napkins and drinking glasses.

  Silas finally set his fork down when several newcomers entered the kitchen from a second door. Ravelin strode in, her face bare, scar on full display. Silas fiddled with his napkin to stop himself from staring. She had lost her mask at some point during the battle at the Garrison Mordant. Was she choosing not to wear it now? Or was she waiting for the opportunity to purchase a new one?

  Kessara and Dr. Veyl trailed in after Ravelin, chatting quietly. When the physick spotted Silas, he grinned, the corners of his eyes creasing. Kessara and Ravelin huddled around Pa, loading their plates with food. Dr. Veyl approached Silas.

  "All right, lad?" he asked, scrutinizing Silas's face. "Is the Powder working? Let me know if the dose needs adjusting."

  Silas nodded, then hunched his shoulders to his ears. Needing Powder of Neuroleptic embarrassed him. How fragile was he to lose his sanity over simple grief? He should have been able to see through the Archarbiter's lies. Instead, he'd fallen into Sorne's psychological trap. Going forward, he had to be stronger.

  Silas gaped at the scene before him, almost fearing the Powder wasn't working. Pa, alive and well, cooking breakfast for this ragtag group of people Silas had stumbled into over the past several weeks. Vera, Arbiter of Aberrations and Oscar, her Warden conversing with his grandfather like they were old friends.

  Former Arbiter, Silas reminded himself, remembering what Ilyra had said. That must make Oscar a former Warden as well. What's going to happen to them now that they've been branded as traitors?

  Ravelin had most likely also abandoned the Arbiter title, especially after what she did to Sorne. What of Kessara and Dr. Veyl? Had their careers, too, been compromised by their affiliation with Silas? Silas hid his tight fists beneath the kitchen island. Guilt filled the space in his heart that should have been bursting with gratitude.

  The last person to barge into the kitchen surprised Silas so much he nearly fell out of his chair. Halven Quirin—Prime Machinist of the Covenant of Fallen Stars—breezed through the door. Then, he approached Silas, his face unreadable.

  "Hello again, child." Quirin said, peering down at Silas. "Welcome to the current headquarters of the Covenant of Fallen Stars."

  This time Silas did fall out of his chair. Vera's quick hands caught him before he sprawled to the floor. "You're as clumsy as ever," she said, patting Silas on the back before letting him go. While Silas couldn't see her face, he could hear the smile behind her voice.

  "Let's retire to the dining hall," Quirin said, nodding at the door he'd walked through. "That way, we can discuss everything you missed during your stay at the Garrison Mordant."

  Everyone filed out, following the Prime Machinist through the swinging door. Silas waited for Pa, who was struggling to squeeze his bulky wheelchair around the island.

  "I'm alright, Silas," Pa said, swatting away Silas's attempt to pilot his chair. "Go on ahead. I'll meet you there in a moment."

  Silas stayed to hold the door, his eyes lingering on Pa's blanket-covered legs. He may have been imagining it, but he swore Pa's legs looked thinner than he remembered. Perhaps the blanket was impairing his perception.

  Pa rolled down a long corridor, the wheels of his chair squeaking with each rotation. At the end of the hall, a set of double doors opened into a spacious cafeteria. Rows of empty benches scattered the space; only one was occupied. Unlit chandeliers were strung between dangling stalactites—the room illuminated by something Silas couldn’t see. Distorted shadows lilted in the dim light, startling against the white floor. In the emptiness voices echoed, small talk bouncing along the walls and cavernous ceiling. Pa wheeled himself to the end of a bench, setting down a pot of coffee and several empty mugs. Silas slipped into the narrow seat, Vera to his right. Greedily, she slid a mug toward herself, filling it to the brim. Silas eyed the black liquid with both distaste and curiosity. Maybe it would help him overcome the fatigue that was already muddying his thoughts.

  Quirin slammed his palms to the benchtop. A hush immediately descended, the Prime Machinist's gesture sealing lips and squaring shoulders. Silas straightened, mimicking the body language of those around him. It was clear Halven Quirin controlled the space. Silas glanced at him, then dropped his gaze, wringing his hands above the benchtop. All eyes were glued to Halven Quirin, yet only Silas garnered the machinist's attention.

  "Silas Harrow—product of Project Concordia—I welcome you again to the Covenant of Fallen Stars."

  Silas bowed his head, anxious energy warding off his fatigue. Before the public address, Vera wanted nothing to do with Halven Quirin or the Covenant. What had transpired since then that led to her change of heart?

  "Your allies have chronicled what has happened to you between now and when we last spoke," Quirin continued. "There's no need for you to recapitulate. However, you are uninformed of what occurred in Droswick and beyond while you were contained within the Garrison Mordant. Allow us to catch you up to speed."

  Oscar cleared his throat. When everyone turned to him, he laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. A sudden kick under the bench encouraged him to speak. Even without Vera's proud smirk Silas knew she was the culprit.

  "I-I'll begin," Oscar stuttered, swallowing hard. His confidence improved with every word, calming his jitters. His focus narrowed on Silas, addressing him like nobody else was listening.

  "After our interrogation of the Prime Machinist” —Oscar jutted his chin at Quirin— "I did as Vera and I planned. I took Machinist Quirin to the Imperial Crownhold, deposited him in a cell. Then I waited. After the public address, Vera intended to flee with you, Silas. The plan was to meet up at the Imperial Crownhold and hightail it out of the city. We intended to escape into the hinterlands with you and live there for a while until things had settled." Oscar hung his head. "In retrospect, the plan was… desperate at best, but it was all we could think of. We suspected the Archarbiter aimed to take you in, and we wanted to avoid that at all costs."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Silas nodded absently. The day before the public address, he eavesdropped on the conversation between Oscar and Vera in her living room. No specifics were mentioned, but Silas was able to tell whatever scheme they concocted was hasty and dangerous.

  "I waited and waited, but neither you nor Vera came back to Crownhold." The memory pulled Oscar's lips into a frown. "When I could wait no longer, I left Crownhold to investigate. I returned to the Foundry School. It was immediately apparent the plan had failed.

  "Evidence of chaos and violence was everywhere I looked. An angry mob still lingered—supporters of Baron Dannel demanding your execution. I snuck around in the evening shadows, listening, hoping to overhear what had transpired. A group of women were gossiping near me. They spoke of an Arbiter declared traitor, then grievously wounded protecting the 'Unspoken boy.' This Arbiter had been sent to the Sanctorium for treatment, they said, and the child was ordered by the Archarbiter to accompany her. I knew they spoke of Vera and you. I rushed to the Sanctorium, fearing what I found there would be hopeless.

  "Before I even stepped foot inside the facility, I could tell something was wrong. There were signs of a fight—scuff marks and blood in the dust before the Sanctorium's entrance. When I walked into the lobby, I stepped on something thrown to the floor." Oscar stopped to reach into his pocket. He placed the rectangular black object on the benchtop and slid it toward Silas.

  Silas gasped. He never thought he'd see the notepad Vera gifted him again. Its top right corner was bent in, the pages warped. Silas brushed his fingers over the blemish, a smile finding his face.

  "I threw it at the Archarbiter when he tried to take me," Silas signed, pausing to let Pa translate for him. "I don't think it helped much, but it definitely angered him, and that's enough to satisfy me."

  A wave of laughter followed. Silas hugged the notepad to his chest, allowing his cheeks and ears to flood with bashful heat.

  "I assumed as much," Oscar said after his chuckles ceased. Then, his voice dropped low, tone somber. "I retrieved your notepad and hurried to find an orderly. She led me to Vera's room. I-I—" Oscar fumbled, failing to find the words. "I didn't know what to do. Vera was so hurt. And she was manacled to the bed. She looked so poorly, I honestly didn't think she was going to live. And if she did, how was I supposed to free her?"

  Vera shifted in her seat, worrying at a hanging thumbnail. When Oscar sheepishly glanced at her, she shot him a look that untied his tongue.

  "A-anyways… I sat in the chair beside her bed for a while, thinking. Out of options, I returned to the Imperial Crownhold. When I delivered Machinist Quirin's breakfast, he offered a solution to my problems."

  Halven Quirin's eyes never left Silas. When Oscar finished speaking, Quirin took an unhurried sip of coffee, watching Silas over the brim of his mug.

  "Indeed I did." Quirin set his mug down with a heavy thud. "Oscar was clearly distressed, and it was obvious by Vera's absence that the public address had not gone in her favor. I offered Oscar a deal: my help in rescuing you and Vera in exchange for my freedom. You see, child, I needed you to come with me to the Verdancy Array. Need, rather, but we can discuss that later." He waved his hand as if to swat away the thought. "Your abduction by Archarbiter Sorne forced me to put a wrench in that plan. First, I needed to get you free. To accomplish that, I needed help.

  "Vera's combat expertise was essential to your rescue, yet her injury was a pressing concern. While she recovered, I worked on a rather… explosive key to your manacles' lock. I sent Oscar on an errand to bring me the materials I needed to design my blueprints. This gave Vera time to recover, and exposed Oscar to the city where he might overhear rumors."

  Oscar cut in, eager to say this next part. "Silas, the rumors and gossip were ridiculous. If you thought the tabloids were bad before the public address…" Oscar scowled, shaking his head. "I'll save you the trouble of knowing what heinous things the public was saying. But there was one consistency among the nonsense: that you had been taken to the Garrison Mordant. I relayed this information to Machinist Quirin, who said nothing other than, 'How perfect.' I didn't understand what he meant by that at the time, but now I do."

  Silas followed Oscar's gaze to Kessara, whose eyes twinkled with pride. Silas's jaw fell open. The blueprints for the explosive devices Kessara set off… They were designed by Halven Quirin?

  "You recognize my handiwork, I see." Quirin pressed steepled fingers to his grinning lips. "Yes, the gears were turning, so to speak. Everything was falling into place. I taught Oscar how to use the Covenant's information network to relay my instructions to Kessara. In the midst of all this, Vera regained consciousness."

  Vera hummed, considering Silas with an expression the boy couldn't quite decipher. Sadness? Fear? Silas beamed at her until she stopped looking so heavy-hearted.

  "I remember bits and pieces of the public address's aftermath. Silas, I urged you to run, but of course you didn't." Vera flicked him on the side of the head. Silas rubbed the spot, sticking out his tongue at Vera's crooked grin.

  "I remember you watching over me in the Sanctorium. Again, I asked you to run, but it was too late by then. The next thing I remember was Oscar looking especially grumpy in the chair beside my bed. I asked him if you were safe, but then I noticed the notepad resting in his lap and knew that you had been taken." Vera laughed into her palm. "It's a good thing my wrist was chained to the rail, or I'd have torn my stitches trying to run after you."

  Silas could clearly picture her doing exactly that.

  "Oscar informed me that I was now a member of the Covenant of Fallen Stars, inducted on his behalf without my consent. I gave him a thorough reprimand, then thanked him for handling things so well on his own. I was originally vexed to be affiliated with an organization so treasonous, but I had already been publicly declared a traitor. Why not embrace the title?"

  Silas had been listening to Vera raptly. How casually she spoke of her treason made him blink in surprise. He still didn't understand why she—why everyone present—was willing to go so far for his sake. Silas continued to listen, but looked over Vera's shoulder. He couldn't meet her gaze.

  Voice faltering slightly, Vera said, "I tasked Oscar with informing Machinist Quirin that I would participate only if he included your pa in his Sanctorium breakout. Elias, no offense, but I couldn't care less what happened to you at the time, yet I knew your grandson would be distraught if we abandoned you and something happened. Your culinary and brewing prowess make me glad for this decision every day."

  Pa rolled his eyes. Vera slurped her coffee until her mug was empty, then refilled it.

  "This is where I come in," Ravelin said, struggling to make eye contact with Silas. He was trying to figure out how to look at her without staring at her exposed scar.

  "Where do I begin?" Ravelin mumbled, pursing her lips in contemplation. "Silas, I—" She shook her head. "I didn't like you at first, but I'm sure you already knew that. I resented you, blamed you for everything that had happened. Before Vera met you, things were going so well. Then you showed up. For whatever reason, Vera wanted to protect you. She nearly got herself killed because of you. My Juniorship under her was torn away from me. Because of you."

  Ravelin's words hammered into Silas, validating his guilt. Finally, he could make eye contact with her. He urged her to continue—wanted her to fuel the fire of his self-hatred. But when she regarded him, her glistening eyes conveyed forgiveness. Silas couldn't fathom what he'd done to earn it.

  "Archarbiter Sorne approached me while I was recovering after you—" Ravelin cut herself short, then restarted. "He approached while I was recovering in the Sanctorium after the public address. After expressing how sorry he was about Vera, he offered to train me in her place. If I worked under him for a while, he would instate me as the new Arbiter of Aberrations, bypassing the usual proceedings to be promoted a Senior Arbiter. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity. He went ahead to the Garrison Mordant with you, and I followed a few days later when I was discharged from the Sanctorium.

  "I was excited for the opportunity to learn at the Garrison Mordant. Where better could I gain hands-on experience working with the Unspoken? Yet the Archarbiter used me as his errand girl while he engaged in his favorite hobby: making your life a living hell.

  "Your suffering was the Archarbiter's obsession. At the time I didn't like you, but still his behavior left a bad taste in my mouth. I needed to know why the Archarbiter was so fixated on you. I tried finding the answer in the archives, but of course, anything of relevance was redacted, and I couldn't ask the Archarbiter for help. I decided to observe him instead. Some personal vendetta against you seemed to drive everything he did. Your pain delighted him. It baffled me. He abandoned his primary work in Droswick for his sick, twisted craving for revenge. I don't know what you could have done to him as an infant to drive such rage, but I will find out. He can try to cover up his past all he wants, but he cannot hide forever."

  Silas perked up at this. Sorne's rant before Ravelin shot him with her crossbow rose to the surface of his memory. Sorne claimed that Silas was the reason for his misfortune. What misfortune? He's wealthy. He's the most powerful man in the Empire second only to the Emperor. What more does he want?

  "The longer I spent with him," Ravelin said, "the more I disliked him, and the more I feared for your life. I eventually got so fed up I decided to pen a letter to Oscar, sent to the Imperial Crownhold. I slipped in some information that would be of use to him if he decided to try getting you out. I was foolish to send that letter; the Archarbiter could have intercepted it. Luckily, the Covenant did first, and Kessara reached out to me."

  Kessara giggled. For whatever reason, this made Ravelin blush.

  "By the time Elsbeth tried sending her letter, I had already received word from Machinist Quirin about the upcoming escape operation." Kessara inhaled sharply. "Silas, I'm sorry. I completely forgot to introduce myself." Across the benchtop she extended a hand. "I'm Kessara Lynth of the Covenant of Fallen Stars—apprentice of Halven Quirin."

  Silas gaped at Kessara's hand. "But I thought you worked for the Garrison Mordant!" he signed.

  "I did," Kessara said after Pa had translated for her. "But as a spy for the Covenant. My documents claimed I was a medical machinist, but my real specialty is in firearm design and explosives. Rather, firearms are my specialty and explosives are my master's, but he's taught me everything I know." She flashed Quirin a grin that he returned with a wink.

  "Together, Elsbeth and I searched for anyone else who might be interested in our cause. Dr. Lutheran Veyl wears his emotions on his sleeve. It was easy to see he wanted to protect you, Silas, so we approached him. He agreed immediately, no questions asked. The physick scurried off to plant a message in books for you to decipher. I thought that was a rather roundabout way to inform you of the machinations in the background, but he insisted, so we let him do as he pleased."

  Dr. Veyl nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, lad. Did you figure it out? Did you crack my code?"

  Silas sighed loudly, venting his frustrations. "Yes, I did. But I agree with Kessara. Your little 'I am on your side' could have been whispered into my ear. Was the puzzle really necessary?"

  The physick tugged at his collar. "I thought it was. You see, lad, I figured you wouldn't act convincingly if I told you upfront, and I worried that if I delayed telling you too long I'd never get the chance and your confusion would hinder your escape. I made a bargain, hoping that you would decipher the message around the same time we planned to get you out of the Garrison Mordant." Dr. Veyl dabbed at the corners of his eyes. "Forgive me, lad. I didn't foresee Archarbiter Sorne's cruelty reaching such heights. I'm sorry."

  "It's alright," Silas signed shakily. "What I'm curious about is why you chose to help me. You said you studied Project Concordia's research notes and were interested in finishing what the Covenant started. Was that a lie? Were you like Kessara—working with the Covenant all along?"

  "I didn't lie, lad," Dr. Veyl said, flattening his collar. "I was indeed hired by the Imperial Logisterium to translate Concordia's records into laymen's terms. And I admittedly became… infatuated with you and with Dr. Harrow's work."

  Pa said nothing to this, but narrowed his eyes on the physick.

  "But you're a good lad, Silas," the physick went on, oblivious to Pa's scrutiny. "I saw you only as a research subject at first, but you quickly grew on me. I didn't agree with Dr. Korrel's aggressive experiments or the Archarbiter and General's eagerness to put you in harm's way. They wouldn't listen to me no matter how many times I told them it was in their best interest to keep you sound in both mind and body. Only Kessara and Elsbeth seemed to care, so I chose to follow along with them."

  Pa softened at this. Silas realized how similar Pa and the physick were. It's kind of like I have two grandfathers, he thought.

  "We're glad to have you, Dr. Veyl," Quirin said. "We needed a physick, and it's clear that you're skilled at what you do." The Prime Machinist's gaze lingered on Pa in his wheelchair.

  Pa squirmed. Perhaps Quirin's heavy stare made him uncomfortable. Or maybe Silas guiltily fidgeting with his notepad's bookmark was the cause of his distress.

  "It's true!" Pa gestured at his scarred neck. "The good physick patched me up good as new. If not a miracle, it's a testament to Dr. Veyl's skills."

  "Will you ever walk again?" Silas signed.

  Pa didn't answer, only sputtering at Silas's question.

  Dr. Veyl could read between the lines, even if he didn't understand Silas's signs. "He received a copious dose of carrion wolf venom. The beast's claws injected the neurotoxin directly into his spinal nerves. His paralysis will likely never fully recover."

  Silas ducked his head, tears welling. As if in response to his sorrow, the exhaustion crept back in, threatening to lull Silas into a nightmare. Abruptly, Silas filled an empty mug with coffee and chugged it down like he was taking a dose of Powder. When he came up for air, he was surprised.

  It's not bad. Powder is significantly more bitter.

  "Hmmm." Vera looked at Silas's coffee mug dubiously. "Since when did you start caffeinating yourself?"

  "Aye, lad," said Pa. "You were always very vocal about how much you disliked the smell of coffee. What made you decide to start drinking it?"

  The destruction of my aether. Silas kept this thought to himself. He didn't want to worry the others, not after hearing how much they went through to help him. The caffeine cleared his head a little. If he drank enough coffee, maybe he could coax his aether to heal itself before anyone noticed.

  Dr. Veyl was about to say something, but Ravelin spoke first.

  "Everything went south when Vera and Elias broke out of the Sanctorium," she said. "We knew the Archarbiter would hear of their escape eventually, but we didn't anticipate Senior Arbiter Drascourt coming to tell him personally. We had to speed things along. Then, Silas, there was the whole biological weapon situation."

  Ravelin blew past Silas's dejected reaction to her reminder of what he'd done.

  "By the time Archarbiter Sorne arrived in Droswick, Vera and Elias were already gone. His rage was something to behold. It grew stronger on the drive back to the Garrison Mordant. When he returned, the facility was in lockdown. All he was told was, 'Silas Harrow did this.' Finally, he had an excuse to break you. I'm sorry, Silas, for not stopping him. I tell myself it's because it was too early; that if I acted before Vera and Oscar arrived the plan would fail. Yet I know my own cowardice is to blame. You didn't deserve that, Silas. I'm sorry."

  Nobody said anything for several minutes. Silas studied his empty coffee mug, mind buzzing with caffeine and the echo of Ravelin's words. He wanted to tell her she should not blame herself for what happened. After all, Sorne hadn't hurt him, not physically. All he'd done was lie. Silas was merely too gullible to see through it, and too weak to fend off the despair that resulted. But he didn't say this. Part of him was glad to hear Ravelin apologize. He hoped that going forward, the two of them could become friends.

  Quirin drummed his fingers on the benchtop. To Silas he said, "Now, child, we need to hear your decision."

  Silas tilted his head.

  "Will you work with us, Silas Harrow?" Quirin asked, spreading his arms. "I will remind you of what is at stake, but the decision is yours to make. The planet is dying, but you have the power to save it. I originally wanted to take you to the Verdancy Array to convince you of the situation. I postulated that if you saw firsthand the ripples of destruction in the wake of our failing star's feeble light, you would agree to help us. With Dysol at the end of its life, our crops cannot get enough light to photosynthesize. Until recently, we had time. Dysol is dying, yes, but at a slow, steady rate. Famine was fast approaching, but Brassanthium would not starve for a while yet.

  "The Unspoken, however, have accelerated our apocalyptic timeline. The virus you helped them release was not their only biological agent. They also employ blight. Somehow, they've broken through the security system I designed and dispersed a fungus that has decimated our cereal crops. We thought they'd stop there, but then they attacked our root vegetables. Famine is no longer theoretical—it is happening now.

  "In the coming days, we will mobilize to the next location we suspect the Unspoken will strike. Silas, your job will be to listen. You will warn us when the Unspoken are coming, and we will intercept them before they cause more damage. What say you? Will you do it?"

  Silas didn't respond, overwhelmed with what he'd just heard. Why were the Unspoken doing this? Were they trying to drive humanity to extinction? Finally, Silas signed, "But I thought the Covenant was working with the Unspoken to save the planet."

  Quirin shook his head. "You misunderstood. Your purpose has always been to help us facilitate an alliance that does not yet exist. The Covenant's relationship with the Unspoken has been tenuous at best. The military's aggressive measures in the Western Quadrant have bolstered their hatred of humanity more than ever. Child, you have never been so important as you are now. Quickly, you must act to unite our kind so that together we may prevail."

  Before, Quirin's claim that the world rested on Silas's shoulders was an impossible weight for the boy to carry. With no clear stepping stones toward the unattainable goal of world peace, Silas didn't think he could accomplish anything. But now, he knew what he had to do—what he alone could do. Joining the Covenant of Fallen Stars would give him the resources he needed to fulfill his purpose.

  Silas wanted more than an alliance between humans and the Unspoken; he sought to rewrite history. The Brassanthium Empire was built upon a foundation of lies. Humanity needed to learn the truth. Silas resolved to be the person to tell it.

  "I will join the Covenant of Fallen Stars," Silas signed. "On one condition. You must help me expose the Empire's deceit. After all, we can't expect the human race to work with the Unspoken when they believe the creatures are mindless, feral animals. Help me, and I will help you."

  Halven Quirin smiled, showing his teeth. "Welcome, Silas Harrow," he said, offering a hand for Silas to shake. "I look forward to working with you."

  Silas accepted the hand to a thunderous round of applause. Grinning, he closed his eyes, savoring the sound. Unfamiliar Voices used to scream in his head. Now, for the first time, they'd quieted. Silas had found his Voice. He would use it to safeguard the future.

  END OF VOLUME 1