Fall

Piper

A sharp click was heard as Piper turned the handle.

You should have tried knocking first, Reine deadpanned.

I did, Piper said. You weren’t paying attention. She stepped back. A new lion knocker adorned the plain wood. It bared its copper teeth at her.

Reine bared her teeth back at the knocker. Lions. They are called the kings of jungles, but leopards are the rulers of everything else! We are superior.

You, I believe, Piper grabbed the ring that was snugly in the lion’s maw, are biased.

Reine flattened her ears at the series of raps that followed. So?

Lions would be quick to prove your statement wrong. Piper let a faint trickle of mirth enter their connection.

Let them! Reine swept her tail angrily as they waited. Maybe a fight would truly settle the score.

You both would be terribly injured over nothing.

“I assume you’re talking again,” Finch said from beside Piper. “I feel left out with this secrecy.”

Piper turned to him. “I don’t ask about yours and Chip’s conversations, do I?”

“No. But an entire mission is not resting on our minds.” Finch furrowed his brows. “For Life’s sake, I will leave you two alone and go back to Elbe if I’m not going to matter anyway.”

Piper shrugged. “If you wish.”

Go away, bird-brain, Reine growled.

Finch’s eyes widened in shock, and he opened his mouth in retort before the door swung open.

His shapeless hat had changed colors from blue to green, and he now wore an intimidating pair of rabbit slippers, but Woodlock still wore his half-dazed mask that covered his quick wit and decades’ worth of knowledge from medical subscriptions.

He gaped. “Piper? Piper Mink?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Piper could see Finch mime, Mink?

That had been Lucy’s name. Lucy Mink.

“Ah…yes. Yes,” Piper repeated with assurance. “How are you?”

“How are you?” Woodlock said. “I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” Piper echoed.

“Butchered by the forest bandits, as the story goes. You had an obituary in the Biscay Trade.”

“An obituary?” Piper said.

Woodlock stared at her hard. “But you must have survived. How?” His gecko fera, Ingram, peeked out of his hat.

“Skill, lots of skill,” Finch spoke up.

Woodlock’s head snapped to Finch. “And you are…?”

“Smidge, Luther Smidge, at your service.” Finch’s Western accent was flawless. He gave a polite bow.

“Smidge. Hm. I think I’ve heard of that name before. A baking family?” Woodlock asked.

“Actually, those are my cousins,” Finch said. “My family prefers the sea.”

Piper marveled at how easily the lies passed through Finch’s lips.

“Ah, I see. Well that must be an exciting trade.” Woodlock opened his door wider. “Do you have time to chat? It’s getting close to sunset, and we have a little time before clients arrive.”

Piper rested her hand on Reine’s head. “Okay.”

Atlas

The tents were canvases of shadow as they passed, marking their shapes as fast and effortlessly as a master painter.

If the mayor of this town found them unacceptable, their silhouettes would be their memorial painting.

The tent flap before them was open in invitation. Southern warriors took positions on either side of the entrance. Atlas knew this formality very well with the introduction of a leader.

The woman with the desert fox hissed a warning. “Behave, or be killed.”

“Thank you,” Milla said in Chestic. Skye trailed after them like a lost fawn.

Atlas ducked down, and entered the tent while Hudson and June were forced to stay with the guards. Inside, it was furnished with a circular rug and a stout, lavish couch that ran the perimeter of the coned tent.

On this couch sat a man. He wore a midnight coat that draped over his leather pants. Upon closer inspection, the coat was dotted with iridescent specks stitched into loose, curling patterns. Stars.

The Impressa constellation was strung along the front of the mayor’s coat like a set of fine pearls. Whomever had made the coat had been well-versed in the night sky.

Milla softly nudged Atlas with her elbow as she said, “Greetings, mayor. We thank you for your hospitality on behalf of King Asher.”

What is she…oh. Atlas met the eyes of the Southern leader. They were a deep brown, but glazed.

He’s blind. Hudson swung his head, searching—

A screech came from outside, and the entrance flap of the tent was torn open. A white and brown blur shot past Atlas’s eyes and suddenly stilled on a T-shaped stand by the mayor.

Hudson peered at it closely. Why, it’s a Peregrine falcon.

The falcon observed them sharply, and in that moment, Atlas knew the mayor was looking through his fera.

“Welcome, ambassadors, to our town of Wisp. If you are from the Northern king,” the mayor spread his hands, “then you must forgive the scrutiny from my warriors. We have been fooled before.”

“Fooled?” Milla said in her smooth Chestic.

The mayor gave a shaky sigh. “They were here not a month ago. With coats of blue and Northern tongues, they argued a trade deal with me. Their manner was harsh and unforgiving. As cold as their language,” he added.

Atlas had been considering translating for Skye, but stopped after the mayor’s words.

“When I didn’t—couldn’t—give them everything they wanted, they thanked me and withdrew from Wisp. But the group came back the next night, doubled in size, and attacked us. They did not take, but only destroyed. We were in flames.”

Life, Hudson whispered.

Atlas thought back to the winter before, when a similar tactic had been used to cut off trade between the North and West. The attack smelled strongly of Queen Celia.

“Did they wear masks?” Atlas asked softly.

The falcon swiveled its head to face him. “On the night of flames, yes,” said the mayor.

“Then this blue party is not from King Asher. It could be from the East-West branch, or an insurgent group named Nora.” Atlas’s legs ached from kneeling in the low tent, and he longed to end the meeting.

“I have not heard of Nora,” the mayor drawled.

Atlas risked a glance to Skye, who was nodding off behind them. Despite the restful days and night of travel, none of them had truly adjusted to the schedule. They were all exhausted, and the boredom alone of not understanding the conversation would have put Atlas to sleep.

Milla followed his eyes to her granddaughter. She gave a small smile. “Maybe we can explain more tomorrow, mayor. When we are a bit more awake to tell you the details.”

The mayor of Wisp scratched his dark chin. “Peaceful dreams, my friends. Tell my warriors to arrange a tent for you.”

“Thank you,” Milla said.

The mayor grunted, and watched them file out.

Kane

Poppy was the first to greet him outside of the throne room. “Prince Kane!”

“Captain Milton.” Kane let the hand he had been resting on Flint drift to his side. “A pleasure to see you.”

Poppy huffed. “Prince, you may call me Poppy.” Her sheep wore its usual armor leading to a size-proportionate set of curled horns. A vein of red had spiraled in the sheep’s horns after Loy’s death. Her silent tribute.

“Of course, of course.” Kane could never be certain of the Captain was joking or not. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I would like to ask the same of you,” Poppy said. “Homer has been briefly called to assist an underground unit.”

Kane nodded. Homer’s fera would be perfect for tight maneuvers and fast action. The tunnels were a place for the lithe.

“And I have taken his position in the meantime,” Poppy concluded. “My subordinate is in training, so soon I won’t have to be on guard duty every time Homer is called away.”

Forgotten your role so quickly? Flint teased, reminding Kane of Poppy’s position of a guard a few short months ago.

Her face grew red when Kane repeated the deer’s thoughts. “A Captain of Guard should be focusing on the bigger objective. I’ve been on strict field work all week, and haven’t gotten a chance to compile my notes.”

Poppy’s complaint was lost to Kane, however. He was already back to the topic of his sister, and King Asher’s promise to retrieve her. “So many waves,” he had vowed. Waves of his wrath to Nora.

Those upbraiders of peace. Those greedy moles! Kane silently shouted. He fisted his hands as they exited the palace. His doubled guards clustered around them.

Flint kept his tone even. We will end this.

Life-willing. Kane glared at the rosy morning around them. A wind gust edged with teeth cut across his cheek. The Northern Mountains never failed to smith and sharpen Elbe’s drafts. He had read in a legend once that the first Elbens had believed Life dwelled on its peaks.

He wished he had dressed warmer than the light coat he had grabbed while heading out the door. Shivers wracked his body. Thea would not approve.

Flint’s emotions colored with worry, then brightened with hope. Look, the Lab is in sight!

And he was right. The solid hunk of the Inventors’ Lab was broken by the neat squares and rectangles of hangars and windows. In the event of an emergency, the Lab could be shut like a clam and nearly indistinguishable at night from the mountains it jutted from.

Although it wouldn’t come to that point. Elbe would stay open and fight until its last breath. There would be no quiet end for their home.

They would find Kit, and destroy Nora once and for all.