Back and forth, Silas paced, locked in an internal debate. Common sense told him to tell Dr. Veyl about his aether problem, but shame and self-doubt held him back. He stopped in front of his new bed and weighed the options.

  If I tell Dr. Veyl, I'll be grounded from this next mission.

  Quirin had predicted the Unspoken would strike again soon—another Verdancy Array greenhouse destroyed. Silas would never forgive himself for failing to act when he could have. Famine was already encroaching upon the Empire. Soon, people would starve—if they weren't already. There was no time for Silas to sit around doing nothing.

  If I can't defend myself from the Unspoken, I'll be a burden.

  When Silas had tried to control Quirin, he'd only given himself a nosebleed. He found humans harder to control than Unspoken, but he'd face more than one at the Verdancy Array. And if they were as strong as the ten Unspoken who offered to train him at the Garrison Mordant…

  Silas shook his head and stomped to the wall, pressing his forehead to the paneling.

  If I can't defend myself, the others will get hurt protecting me.

  Three times now Vera had been injured because of him. Twice it had happened to Oscar and Ravelin. Silas was done hurting others and being useless. From now on, he would be an asset, not a hindrance. The question was how.

  Silas lifted his head and slammed his forehead back against the wall. A resounding boom reverberated along the wall, vibrating into the floor. Neither option sounded good. Since brooding over his aether was getting him nowhere, Silas shifted to the next distressing topic: Halven Quirin.

  Should I tell Vera what Quirin said?

  It was clear the Prime Machinist was the authority at the Underhalo. Vera followed his orders. Even if she knew of Quirin's plan, she could probably do nothing about it. Telling her would be futile. Or make things worse. Vera was fiercely protective of him—for reasons Silas couldn't understand. She'd argue with Quirin. Their fight would strain the Covenant. At a crucial moment, this might prove fatal.

  Silas balanced on one foot—prepared to kick the wall in frustration—when familiar voices echoed down the corridor. Silas planted his foot and crept to the door, listening.

  The voices were muffled by a scraping sound. Beneath it all was a susurration like parchment crinkling. Then, powerful, raucous laughter. Silas recognized it instantly, a smile playing at his lips. Vera and Oscar were back. He opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

  They were in the kitchen. As Silas got closer, the voices became more distinct. Oscar was grumbling under his breath. Silas couldn't discern his words, but by his tone he must have been complaining.

  "My, my, Oscar," Vera said between chortles. "How soft you've gotten these past few weeks. It's only a couple of boxes and bags. Your back can't be that sore." She paused before adding, "Although I will admit Farrow's End was exceptionally crowded."

  Oscar swore. "This—this is not 'a couple.' This is—"

  Silas slipped through the half-open door.

  A comically high tower of boxes balanced precariously on the kitchen island. Surrounding it were shopping bags, so many they spilled onto the floor. A box at the top of the wobbling tower tipped—and fell. It crashed to the ground, ejecting its contents. Silas caught a glimpse of fabric and wrapping paper before a shopping bag tumbled next, smothering the box. Vera folded in on herself, laughing so hard tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Oscar desperately fought to align the tower before the whole arrangement collapsed. He slipped on a piece of tissue paper and landed hard on his bottom. Vera wheezed; Oscar's face bloomed red.

  Silas laughed softly at the chaos before him. Vera startled at the sound. Spotting Silas, she straightened, breathing evenly to regain her composure.

  "There you are, Silas," Vera said, voice warbling with her final dregs of laughter. "Just the person we were hoping to see."

  Vera stooped to offer Oscar a hand up. He refused it and lumbered to his feet, careful to avoid stray pieces of wrapping paper.

  "Could you be a dear and help us unpack this mess?" Vera flaunted a lopsided grin at Silas's enthusiastic nod.

  Sitting at the kitchen island, Silas got to work opening boxes and sorting items. He paused, holding a coat at arm's length. It was a fine piece of tailoring: thick wool dyed black, silver antler buttons down the front, and belted cuffs to adjust the fit of the sleeves. Silas stood and slipped it on. He knew by its size it must be for him.

  "Mhm." Vera held her chin contemplatively. "Oscar, I do believe you were right about his size."

  Somewhere behind the box tower Oscar exhaled loudly. "I told you! The pipsqueak's such a tiny little thing. The smallest size was the only reasonable choice."

  Silas made an indignant sound in the back of his throat and peeled the coat off. Staring at the mountain of boxes and shopping bags, he wondered, Is all of this for me?

  Vera evidently understood his questioning look. Leafing through a shopping bag, she explained, "Most of these are new articles for you to wear. You can't don Oscar's pajamas forever” —Silas blushed— "and we all need to be disguised when we go out in public."

  Silas's expression sagged.

  Vera plopped a long ginger wig onto her head. Fluffing it up, she asked, "How do I look?"

  "Like an old woman trying on her granddaughter's accessories."

  Vera ripped off the wig and slapped Oscar with it.

  Their antics elevated Silas's mood for a moment, but it quickly plunged again. He knew the disguises were necessary. After the Archarbiter's public address, Silas's face was plastered to every shop window in the Empire. Pamphlets bearing his likeness were being distributed en masse. Wherever he went, he would be recognized. But the others only recently shared a similar fate. After destroying the Garrison Mordant to save Silas, anyone not yet labeled a traitor would be soon. They would have to live in secret forever because of their affiliation with him.

  Vera huffed at Silas's pout and encumbered him with several heavy boxes. "Off to your room with you," she said with a dismissive wave. "Try everything on to make sure they fit. It was a challenge to find age-appropriate apparel in your size. Let me know if anything needs adjusting."

  Silas nodded and exited the kitchen, Vera holding the door for him.

  On his way out, Silas had shut his bedroom door. He needed to set down his burden to open it. With a kick, he pushed the boxes inside.

  Vera and Oscar had bought enough clothes to last him one week. Unpacking the boxes revealed seven shirts, seven pairs of trousers, seven pairs of thermal underwear, and seven pairs of socks. There was also the new coat he tried on earlier, a fresh pair of boots, several sets of pajamas, and—to Silas's delight—a pair of gloves. He put them on first, curling and uncurling his fingers. This time, for certain, he would make sure not to lose them.

  The socks were pleasantly warm. When he pulled on the boots, the socks were just the right thickness to avoid pinching his toes against the unbroken leather. Eager to be out of Oscar's pajamas, Silas quickly donned his new attire. Everything fit, but the shirt sleeves and trouser legs were about an inch too long. He didn't mind; they could be rolled up. Clad in his new garb, Silas grabbed his notepad and returned to the corridor. He quickened his pace. Pa's voice had joined Vera's and Oscar's in the kitchen. And by the smell of it, he was brewing coffee.

  The boxes had been moved elsewhere. Vera kept her new ginger wig to annoy Oscar with. Pa turned at the sound of Silas's new boots squealing against the tile.

  "Those look good on you, my lad!" Pa said, handing Vera a mug of coffee. "Albeit a tad long in the limbs."

  "Perhaps I can hem them," Vera offered after a greedy slurp, brushing faux ginger locks away from her lips.

  Oscar scoffed. "You sew?"

  "Why not?" She rolled her eyes. "What? Can you not picture me doing something so lady-like?"

  Oscar raised his eyebrows.

  Silas crept toward the steaming pot of coffee. If he was careful, nobody would notice him swiping a mug.

  "Okay, fine." Vera removed the wig and put it on Oscar's head. Ignoring his sputtering, she said, "I've only done it a few times. But I'd be willing to try again so the mouse isn't dragging his tail on the floor. Speaking of him, what're you sneaking around for?"

  Silas paused mid-pour, hunching over his mug like a burglar attempting to pick a lock.

  "Another cup of coffee today?" Pa asked, turning his chair with a creak. "That's a lot of caffeine for a lad your age."

  Silas pursed his lips and set down his full mug. "I like the taste," he signed. In reality, he was already growing tired again. He knew if he didn't do something, he'd fall asleep in the middle of the meeting.

  Vera chuckled. "He's developed a palate for dark roast, I see. So long as you don't become addicted like me, I see no issue. I started drinking coffee when I was his age."

  "Vera, that's probably why you're addicted," Oscar retorted.

  Silas stared at Vera. She understood what I signed to Pa. She must have had Pa teach her more while I was still at the Garrison Mordant. He was so touched he nearly ran to her for a hug.

  Quirin's sudden entrance made Silas jump, sloshing hot coffee all over his new gloves. Vera snorted at this but lifted her chin in acknowledgement of the machinist.

  "What are you all loitering around here for?" Quirin's clipped words betrayed his impatience. "The others are ready in the deliberation room. You should be too."

  "We were just heading there," Vera said and departed. Oscar hesitated a moment before hastening after her.

  Pa urged Silas to go ahead without him, but the boy refused. Quirin left, not bothering to wait for them.

  In the corridor, Pa whispered, "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but did she just call you a mouse?"

  Silas tittered in response, nearly spilling his coffee again.

  The deliberation room was smaller than Silas expected. A long ovoid table stretched from wall to wall, chairs crammed together along its length. All of the seats were filled. Ravelin and Kessara were beside each other, conversing quietly. Dr. Veyl looked nervous close to Quirin, fiddling with his collar. Pa wheeled himself into an empty space near the door. The last available spot was at the end of the table opposite Quirin. Reluctantly, Silas sat. He'd be facing the machinist for the duration of the meeting.

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  The walls were bare, the space illuminated by natural starbloom algae. Behind Quirin was a string hanging from a horizontal protrusion where the wall met the ceiling. Silas wanted to pull the string and see what came down. Ms. Adlewood's classroom had a similar device. It revealed a map of the Brassanthium Empire when unfurled.

  Silas set his mug of coffee down with a thunk and took his notepad out of his coat pocket, open and ready to use. Since Pa was here, he probably didn't need it. But if he got bored, he could doodle to pass the time.

  Quirin watched Silas, steepled fingers held to his lips. Silas squirmed in his seat, averting his gaze. Even if he wasn't sitting across from him, Silas knew the machinist would still be staring at him.

  This went on for a few minutes. The silence was heavy and thick. Throats cleared and feet tapped in an attempt to cut through it, but still it rang in Silas's ears. When Quirin decided the atmosphere was uncomfortable enough for his liking, he stood and pulled the string.

  Sure enough, it was a map—the same one Ms. Adlewood had in her classroom. While hers was plain, this map was heavily annotated. Red circles were sprinkled across its surface. Silas squinted, trying to see what they were marking. To him, the locations seemed random. Every Quadrant had the red circles. Only Droswick—located at the intersection of all four Quadrants—was bare. There was one other difference: two of the circles in the South were crossed off.

  Oh! Silas understood. Those circles mark the locations of the Verdancy Array greenhouses.

  Quirin turned. Pointing to the crossed-out circles, he explained, "The Unspoken have already decimated these locations." He poked the map, causing it to ripple. "They unleashed blight on our cereal crops and root vegetables. Since these facilities were adjacent to each other, it's reasonable to expect them to attack the next closest facility."

  Quirin retrieved a blue marker from his breast pocket and drew a rectangle around a new location. "This is the Arboretum—the Empire's primary source of lumber. If this facility is destroyed, there will be dire consequences for the economy and consumer markets. Furniture, pencils, paper, novelties, and many more will no longer be available for purchase or sale. We cannot let that happen."

  Silas raised his hand. Everyone turned to face him. Quirin nodded.

  "Is the Empire not doing something about this?" he signed. Pa interpreted. "Also, how many days were between the first two attacks? And how long has it been since the last one?"

  "Good questions." Quirin dropped his marker back into his pocket. "First, the Empire is doing something about it, but they employ methods that hinder our goal. Your… weakening of the Western Quadrant's military forces has delayed their most brutal response, but still the Empire aims to fight fire with fire. That is why you are here, child. We refuse to meet violence with violence. You will calm the storm with peace and offerings of alliance.

  "Second, there were five days between the first and second attacks. The last one happened while you were being rescued from the Garrison Mordant. We have three days to reach the Southern Quadrant before the next strike is expected. I will discuss this more at the end of the meeting."

  Silas gripped the handle of his coffee mug with shaking fingers. The operation's success hinged on his ability to negotiate with the Unspoken. Would they even be able to hear him with his aether in its current state? Silas didn't trust Echo, but he was starting to hope he'd see her again soon. She alone could help him. Maybe she'd be at the Arboretum. If she was, Silas could sneak away from the others to seek out her aid. Nobody would notice.

  Quirin reclaimed his seat. "Now to assign roles for this operation. Ms. Stroud” —he addressed her with a level gaze— "will be our lead combatant. Elsbeth is her backup. I hope to accomplish this mission without drawing blood, but if it comes to it, can I depend on you two?"

  Vera smirked, her hand resting on her flarepistol holster. "Of course, Machinist Quirin. For clarification, are you anticipating potential conflict with the Unspoken, or the Empire?"

  "Both," Quirin said with a sigh. "But the Empire is my primary concern. We'll have to be on high alert at all times. I expect the Arboretum to be swarming with Guards, possibly militant troops. If we're spotted, a fight is inevitable." His eyes landed on Silas. "I trust the child's abilities can prevent a dispute with the Unspoken. Again, they are our allies, not our enemies. Your weapons are for defense, not offense."

  Silas gulped down a mouthful of coffee, struggling to move the liquid past the lump in his throat. With a cough he got it down. Quirin narrowed his eyes at Silas's impertinence before continuing.

  "Mr. Brenn, you will be the boy's bodyguard. Keep him in your sight at all times. Don't let him get injured. Protect him from the Empire. Got it?"

  Oscar scowled. "Why do I have the hardest job? That brat has the attention span of a goldfish."

  Everyone laughed. Even Quirin had to press his lips together to hold in his mirth. Silas stared at Oscar. This was the first time he'd heard the man's last name.

  When he was done laughing, Pa secretly signed, "I see you've had a strong impression on them."

  Silas shrugged. "For better or for worse."

  Vera leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "Don't worry, Oscar. Machinist. I'll be there too. He'll be fine." She turned and regarded Silas with a half-lidded gaze. "So long as he behaves."

  Silas sat as tall as he could. Satisfied, Vera eased back into her seat.

  Quirin waited for all motion to still and then said, "Naturally, I will be there to unlock the security apparatus I designed. I will also be analyzing the system for tampering. Somehow, the Unspoken have bypassed the self-immolation protocols at the other two greenhouses. I aim to determine how exactly they're doing it and make modifications to mitigate future attacks."

  Quirin steepled his fingers again, studying Silas like he was a newly discovered piece of ancient technology. "Child, I have prepared talking points for you to present to the Unspoken. We can help you, but only you can control the conversation. The Unspoken understand human speech, but we can't understand them. And a one-way negotiation is not a negotiation—it's a demand. We expect the Unspoken to make requests of us before accepting an alliance. You will tell us what they say and we will help you frame a compelling response." Quirin's eyes drifted down to Silas's notepad as he finished.

  Pa sagged in his wheelchair, wearing a sullen look. Silas understood. Pa couldn't come on this mission. He wouldn't be there to translate Silas's sign language for the others. Silas peered at the empty page his notepad was opened to.

  I must pack extra parchment, ink, and styluses just in case.

  Silas's attention was drawn to movement above the table. Pa signed, "Be safe, my lad."

  Silas smiled. "I will. I promise."

  Silas's reply did nothing to ease Pa's worry. If anything, his grandfather's despondency had only grown deeper along with his grim frown. Before leaving for the Verdancy Array, Silas resolved to spend some time together with Pa. They'd just been reunited, and already they were about to be separated again. Silas imagined himself in Pa's place—forced to sit around at home while someone he cared about left for danger. Under the table, Silas found Pa's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  "Now, for a few words from our supporting members." Quirin bowed. "Dr. Veyl." He turned and bowed again. "Kessara. The floor is yours."

  "I can go first!" Kessara sat at the edge of her seat. "Vera, Elsbeth, allow me to take a look at your weapons before you set out. They must be in top form before this mission."

  Vera drew her flarepistol and slid it along the table. Kessara stopped it before it skidded off the edge.

  "I'll bring my crossbow to your workshop later," Ravelin said. "I left it in my room."

  Kessara clapped once. "Excellent. Additionally, I'm preparing a surplus of ammunition. Vera, you will have plenty of fuel for your pistol. Elsbeth, I'm making you a proper quiver and you are wearing it. Don't look at me like that. You dip your bolt tips in alchemical toxins! I don't know how you haven't poisoned yourself yet, carrying your bolts around in your pockets."

  Vera snorted a laugh and gave Ravelin a look that said, I told you so. Ravelin rolled her eyes at both of them and swiveled in her chair.

  "I-I have but one thing to say," Dr. Veyl stammered, tugging at his collar. "A full apothecary box will be yours to carry. It will have all the essentials for cleaning and dressing minor wounds and abrasions. Naturally, anything severe won't be covered, but we're trying to avoid violence on this mission, so hopefully the apothecary box is more a precaution than a necessity."

  After speaking, Dr. Veyl gave Silas a knowing look. Silas's gaze dropped to his lap. I know, I know, he thought gloomily. I'll bring plenty of Powder. Silas wondered how he was going to wake up in the middle of the night to take all four doses a day. Maybe Kessara could make him an alarm clock? Was that even something machinists did?

  Conversation lapsed into small talk. Quirin observed the babble without comment, merely allowing the exchanges to pass him by. Silas felt like something was missing. Yes, Quirin had said he would be discussing something at the meeting that Silas had asked about. Downing his last drops of his coffee, Silas slammed his mug down like a gavel, drawing the room to order. The weight of every eye on him hunched his shoulders.

  To Pa, Silas signed, "Remember how Quirin said during the tour that he would tell me about why the Underhalo is so empty? He hasn't talked about it yet. Can you ask him to do so?"

  Pa did. Quirin's lips spread into a smile.

  "I've been waiting for you to ask that," he said and stood. As he spoke, he paced the length of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Fourteen syzygies ago, the laboratory that Elias worked at—and that created you—was destroyed, as I know you know, child. The Empire discovered us. The overseers panicked, determined to preserve the integrity of the research even if it meant starting over from scratch. But the destruction of the lab fractured the Covenant of Fallen Stars. Our membership scattered, terrified of capture.

  "We decided to live double lives. I took on the name Quin Warren and founded the Foundry School for Education and Asylum. Warren was a convenient identity to slip into. The man suffered a massive heart attack in his home and quietly passed on without anyone knowing. Our spies learned of his death before the Empire did, so I slipped into his name without notice."

  Vera and Oscar looked at each other, then at Silas. Vera was never able to find out what happened to the real Quin Warren during her investigation after Coldspire. Silas twirled his stylus absentmindedly. The truth of the mystery felt anticlimactic. But at least Quirin hadn't murdered anyone to take on a new identity.

  "Still, the Covenant is scattered," Quirin continued. "Occasionally, we reconvene here for a meeting, but as time has passed, such meetings have grown increasingly rare. It has been several syzygies since we last met in full. Our information network has served us well, but I believe it is finally time we come out of hiding and begin what we initially set out to do.

  "Silas, your existence is now known to the Empire, as is the Covenant's. There's no hiding any longer. Soon, I will gather the full Covenant here at the Underhalo, but this will not be without challenge. Not everyone in the Covenant agreed with creating a being composed of both human and Unspoken genetic material. And some members still believe you should have been terminated along with the laboratory. Elias and I were hiding you in Droswick; nobody else knew. When we gather our members, we must do so strategically to avoid fracturing the Covenant further."

  Silas gingerly set down his stylus and wound his fingers together to hide the way they trembled. The Empire wanted to use him as a weapon. The Covenant—no, the world—needed him to save humanity from destruction. But not everyone agreed. Silas had new enemies now, and they were closer to home than was comfortable. He took a deep breath in and held it before letting it go.

  One thing at a time, he assured himself. The mission comes first. You can worry about everything else when the time comes.

  "How do you aim to approach these… nonconforming members of the Covenant?" Vera asked. "Are they even necessary? Could you cast them aside and replace them with new members who share the common ideology?"

  Quirin shook his head and stopped pacing. "I do want to recruit new members, yes. But no, I cannot cast aside everyone who disagrees with Silas's existence. Most of these individuals were the founding members of the Covenant and of much higher rank than I. Once these members are here, I will be forced to step down and follow their orders."

  Pa tapped a fingernail on the table. "Indeed. We can't expect to dispel our eldest members without them finding out about it. Our hope is that Silas's success with the Unspoken at the Verdancy Array will convince them that he is an asset, not a hindrance."

  Silas froze, his heartbeat hammering against his eardrums. Earlier, he'd told himself the exact same thing; that from now on, he'd stop being a burden. He still failed to see how he could accomplish this.

  You'd better figure it out soon. Silas drew a circle in his notepad and colored it in. It's not like your life and the lives of everyone around you depends on it or anything.

  "That is all for this meeting," Quirin declared from the doorway.

  Silas swiveled around to face him, then rocked side to side. He had just discovered that his chair could spin in a full circle. Jittery with caffeine, Silas couldn't help himself from taking advantage of this.

  "Tomorrow, we leave for the Southern Quadrant," Quirin said, making his best effort to ignore Silas. "Pack your bags. Ready your weapons. And be prepared to depart early. As always, we will travel by SCU. I'll see you in the morning." He opened the door, lingering in the doorway. Over his shoulder he said, "And for the love of the Emperor, don't give that child any more coffee." With these words, the Prime Machinist left, latching the door behind him.

  Conversation once again erupted, voices chattering excitedly. Silas sat quietly, turned back around to face the table. His gaze lingered on Vera's flarepistol, still resting on the polished wood.

  What if my aether fails when we need it most? he worried. If I can't fight with my mind, should I learn to fight another way?

  With everyone else distracted, Silas slipped out of the deliberation room. In the kitchen, he found an impressive assortment of knives. Chef's knives, paring knives, meat cleavers, bread knives, steak knives. Silas chose one at random and carried it back to his room. In a pinch, its sharp edge might save a life.