The metal soldiers stare up at her with empty, dark eye holes, the only step she took toward giving them a proper face.
I shiver, wishing Meredy hadn’t had to visit Elibeth today, so she could see this with me.
Karston is by Noranna’s side in an instant, and I hurry to help him lift the bookcase off the soldiers while Azelie collects the spears. Valoria gathers up books, while Simeon shepherds the other students into the courtyard to give Noranna some space.
“This was such a stupid idea,” she groans as she tries to pull one of the soldiers upright. “So stupid. Majesty, I’m sorry for wasting your time this morning. These are going straight in a rubbish heap—”
“Don’t say that, Nora,” Karston cuts in sharply. “You’ve come closer than any of us to thinking up something useful.” His violet eyes are full of concern for Noranna, and perhaps something more, too. He looks at her the way Valoria sometimes looks at Jax.
“It’s all right, Karston,” she says, clearly not all right herself as she pats a metal soldier’s arm and swallows hard. “I failed. It happens.”
“You didn’t fail.” Valoria takes Noranna’s hands, drawing her away from the mess while Karston and I continue putting things back. “You’re experimenting, just like I do. Did, rather, when I still had the time. My point is, do you think I’d have invented anythinguseful if I tossed every past attempt in the rubbish? You’re not giving up.” Perhaps sensing a protest brewing in the younger inventor’s gaze, she adds firmly, “That’s an order.”
As I help drag the three metal soldiers back to the workshop they came from, staring at their blank, eerie faces, I’m more determined than ever to make our volunteer army into the fighters they never knew they could be.
Because no matter how brilliant an inventor Noranna is, she’ll never be able to design what her metal soldiers would need in order to fight a human opponent: brains.
Strong as they are, unless these things can think for themselves—know where to go, anticipate their enemy’s next move, understand when to strike and when to defend—they’ll be completely and utterly useless in any battle to come.
***
At the next morning’s training session, I push everyone harder than ever, even the students from the mage school who decided to join us.
Jax and I are leading hand-to-hand practice today while Danial helps a small group with their wooden swords. At least, that’s the idea. There hasn’t been any sign of Jax yet, Valoria needs to prepare for her next talk with the rebel leader, and Meredy said something about helping Elibeth pick out a new dress for a very important first date. So for now, I have the whole group to myself to command.
“Seen Maxon this morning?” a woman grunts to her sparring partner as she blocks his fingers from jabbing her in the throat.
“Nah. He stayed in bed today,” the man replies, groaning as the woman knocks his feet out from under him. “Good thing, too,” he pants from the ground. “He couldn’t stop coughing last night. Kept me up for hours.”
“Typical Maxon,” the woman laughs as she offers the man a hand up. “Have you considered introducing him to soap? If his hands weren’t so dirty all the time, maybe he wouldn’t catch every little sniffle that goes around.”
“It’s more the company he keeps, if you ask me,” the man chuckles as they get ready to go again. “Always going into the Ashes for something.”
“Less talking, more punching!” I shout, even as I try to remember if I’ve gotten anywhere near the absent man in question during our recent practices.
A cold wind rushes past us, whispering promises of winter, of endless gray days coming soon. It dries my damp forehead and covers the musk of sweaty bodies by carrying over the sweet, lightly tart scent of bergamot trees from the courtyard and gardens.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with sweet air, and gag.
There’s something sour in the wind all of a sudden, something that reeks of strong whiskey, poor bathing habits, and possibly vomit.
“Morning, all,” Jax calls dourly. His dark curls have grown too shaggy, hanging down into his eyes as he staggers onto the grounds. “Sparrow, you started without me?” He clutches a hand to his chest in mock agony. “I’m wounded.”
Karston, who’s got enough natural talent that I’ve asked him to give pointers to another sparring pair nearby, tilts his head toward Jax and shoots me a long-suffering look.
“I’m ready to bust some heads,” Jax says, gripping my shoulder to steady himself as he sways on the spot. The whiskey smell is worse up close, making my eyes water. “Just point to where you need me.”
I try my best to keep my face pleasant. I don’t want to push him any further away than my leaving already did, but I also don’t have time for this.
“Nipper!” I call to the dragon. She quickly found a use for herself during our training sessions: picking up fallen arrows for the archery students—when she isn’t too busy playing chase with Lysander, of course.
The pink dragon, her mouth full of arrows clutched carefully between her pointy teeth, pricks her ears in my direction.
“Bring me my coffee beans, would you?”
After quickly depositing the gathered arrows at the students’ feet, Nipper bounds off on my errand. She’s surprisingly smart, at least for a creature who peed in the central courtyard fountain last night. Her tail swishes behind her as she runs, making me smile despite the pee incident. She’s got my attitude, too.
As soon as Nipper has delivered the coffee beans—and received belly rubs as payment—I shove a fistful at Jax and murmur, “Eat.These should clear your head.”
