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Up the stairs and through the darkened hallways, she made her way back to her quarters on the third floor. Falling to her knees, she reached underneath the bed, pulling out a faded navy trunk.

Her uncle had found it during one of his trips to Harbor Manor, and she’d nearly cried when she saw it strapped to the back of the cart. Inside was everything she treasured. Pictures and trinkets and other things that reminded her of a time when her family had been whole and happy—when her father had still been alive.

It only took a few moments to find what she was searching for tucked away in an old cigar box that had been wrapped in one of her father’s shirts.

Aimee’s hands were shaking as she held up a glamograph of another little girl with yellow hair and a broad smile on her face.

One she’d long thought dead.

Chapter 20

-A letter from Lady Adriana Emrys, Duchess of Ghislain, to her son, Lord Kato Emrys

Kato,

Be glad it is me writing to you rather than your grandfather. We were unamused, to say the least, by your showing at the Arylaan Arms Convention. While you did technically showcase the remote capabilities of our new unmanned prototype, having the Mechanica do what you so eloquently called a “line dance” for the fully assembled Dawn Court and their generals was perhaps not the soundest decision.

The family elders want you punished—they have been pushing me for years to bring you to heel. For the time being, however, I’ve decided to do nothing. I’m not going to tell you that what you did was juvenile. I won’t waste my time reiterating all theways I see you wasting your life, your talents, or your family’s good name on these adolescent pranks.

For now, all I will say is that I’m sorry about Sarah. I heard about the letter that came in the post, and considering the life expectancy of humans, I can guess at the subject.

With all my love,

Your Mother

Kato fell back against a stack of crates, panting. “Maybe we should just let the shades kill us.”

Eula sighed and made a note as she continued her inventory. One of the flash cannons lay disassembled at her feet. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Says the woman who’s been holding a clipboard all morning instead of helping me carry crates up and down and up and down and… You get the point.”

Still trying to catch his breath, Kato took a swig from a canteen filled with water and faeflower, shuddering at the taste. It had been almost two weeks since the battle at Crescent Canyon, and the Marquess was still punishing him. He got the worst guard rotations, was always on duty to build funeral pyres and pile corpses. He was the best Shards-damned crafter in this entire city, and yet the only thing he’d been tasked to repair was toilets, which were somehow always covered in shit.

Two fucking weeks and he was sick of it. Sick of the shit jobs and long hours. Sick of feeling like he’d lost any amount of control over his life.

But most of all, he was sick of Eula Valdaerys.

He had never spent much time with her before the world had gone to hell, but he’d heard of her. According to the other Watchers, she’d been born with a stick so far up her ass, it was a wonder she’d survived to adulthood. She had a fair amount of aether, was a good fighter, but for reasons no one had been able to articulate, she’d never progressed past the rank of Acolyte. She was the Marquess’ favorite, which was perhaps why his leash had suddenly been passed on that morning to“the queen bitch.”

That’s what the Ensigns called her. It lacked imagination, true. But it was accurate.

Especially as she marched up and down the length of the wall, barking orders at both him and the nearby earth mages as they tended to newly planted gardens. Kalahad was among them. Kato had taken the man up on his offer a few times since they’d returned, meeting up at one of the taverns for a drink—which is how he’d learned, among other things, that the High Lord of Earth’s baby brother had a passion for farming. While this wasn’t unusual for an earth mage, it was less common for a man of his standing to specialize in food production. But on more than one occasion now, Kato had listened as Kalahad waxed poetic about crop selection, and field rotation, and something called hydroponics, claiming that in a few days’ time, the earth mages would be producing enough food to feed the whole of Ryme.

Which was great, since then there would probably be more toilets to fix.

“Is there a reason I don’t see a crate in your hands?” Eula asked testily.

“Because these things are heavy.” Kato kicked at a stack of metal sheeting with a mud-caked boot. Today, they were installing the flash cannons from Ebondrift onto the outer wall. The guns were massive, too large even for the cranes, so they were taking them up piece by piece.

Or rather, he was. Eula had done nothing but observe, clipboard in hand, while he lugged crates and materials up a series of dirt platforms the earth mages had installed when the ladders hadn’t been able to hold the weight.

“Seriously,” Kato said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. The wind was cold, but the sun was hot, and all he wanted to do right now was lie down and die. “This gun is made of viridian reinforced with star steel. I could use some help.”

Eula never looked up from that damned clipboard. “All of my other shadow mages are spoken for,” she said, because of course they were. It wouldn’t be a proper punishment if he had help. “So get off your ass and pick up a crate.”

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll be forced to tell the Marquess that he was right. You’re better suited to latrine duty, and I should’ve heeded his advice and asked for your brother’s assistance instead. Skylen would have no problem moving my crates. In fact, we’d probably already be done.”