I stand in the garden of my estate. The scent of freshly cut grass and coming rain fills my senses with a peace that cannot be real. I'm barefoot. Why shouldn't I be? House Redsong – the tall manor and the town with all its people – will one day be mine. My mother always told me to feel the heartbeat of the land.
And that's certainly no excuse for not wearing shoes.
A great oak fills the heart of the garden. My sister and I used to race each other up that tree all the time, to see who could be fastest. Now there's a raven on one of its limbs. I wave at it.
"A good omen," my father's voice says behind me.
I don't turn. I'm afraid the dream might break if I look. I want to hold onto these moments, at least. It's always futile.
"The raven?" I call into the empty air.
"Our herald," he says.
"But it's not the singing raven," I protest. Strange – in my dreams I'm still a child.
My father chuckles softly behind me. Warm as a blanket on a cold winter night.
"No, the Singer is out hunting at the moment. Who knows, when he returns."
"But he's bound to us, isn't he?"
"Yes, to our house, our oaths, and to us Bleeders. But even a Bloodbeing gets hungry sometimes. Not nearly as much as you did when you were small."
We fall into that pleasant silence I miss so much.
"What day is it?" I ask, still looking up at the raven.
"Tomorrow is your birthday."
The world darkens.
"Then it's not a good omen," I say, and finally turn.
My father smiles at me. I break out in a near panic.
"Tomorrow Blackwood Steel and Gilded Grain will launch a joint attack. They'll ride airships and armored beasts. Our men will die and our house will fall. You and your mother will die... I am afraid."
I know that my words will never truly reach him. It hurts even more.
"Perhaps," my father says, drawing me to him, "but even Death has been sworn to an oath."
A volt lamp hangs over me. It lights the bed I'm lying on, the curtain that encloses me like a wall. The lamp is the latest invention from Voltrum Trust. I've never seen one in person before. There's something of a keen interest. Voltrum is the youngest of the Big Three – how do they still sit at the top?
When I try to study the lamp more closely my body protests. Something keeps me from moving. I search for chains at my wrists and my hips, but there is nothing. The bullets hit me. I know they hit me. My eyes widen.
By the gods, I am alive!
The realization hits as hard as the pain. I bite my lip and taste blood, but I refuse to scream. The year on the road stole my ability to cry out. Instead I force myself to sit up, whatever the cracking and grinding of my ribs, and begin to examine myself.
I find nothing. Really nothing. There's no trace of bullet holes in my chest. Because I find nothing, I start looking around instead. Beside me is a small wooden table. It feels strange to see things still made of wood. On it lie a lighter and a wallet. Both belong to me.
In the distance I hear a clatter. Not the rattle of a locomotive, but a slower, almost menacing clack. It drums through the grey fabric curtains that surround me. I am somewhere in a medical ward. Something on wheels passes behind the curtain, but I can't see it.
A groan beside me. Steps coming my way.
It takes me a moment to recognize Victoria Blackwood. Her face is unmistakable, but she no longer wears the coat of her birth. She's in Black-and-Gold, the uniform of Gearford Academy.
She pauses briefly when she sees me, then steps in and closes the curtain behind her.
"You're awake. What's your name?" she asks, and for a moment I am distracted by the softness of her voice.
This is not the same person who trained a pistol on me without hesitation. Or is she?
I needn't pretend to be in unbearable pain. The first two words die in my throat.
"...Arth, Lady Blackwood," I manage.
She nods and lifts a hand.
"Arth. I'll remember that. Besides, you shouldn't call me Lady Blackwood here. Here I am Victoria."
I incline my head.
"Here? In the hospital?"
"Hospital, you say? Odd. Your friend told me you were extremely clever. That's why I brought you here in the first place."
A bad feeling coils inside me. My friend? What did Keath tell her?
"We're at Gearford Academy. In the infirmary?" I ask.
She nods again, almost pleased. Suddenly she reaches into the pockets of her uniform and produces a small folded scrap of paper and a pen. She unfolds it, scribbles, and refolds it. Then she looks me straight in the eyes.
"Thank you for saving my life, Arth."
If that sincerity is an act, it's a good one.
"You didn't need me, Victoria."
When I say her name I see her brows flick, but she says nothing. Perhaps I should have acted like the name scared me more. To a Redsong it would mean little, but Arth Carter is a trainman.
"It's well known that you're a Steamer," I add quickly.
She frowns. "Known? Then I'll have to speak with my father. That shouldn't be."
Crap.
Luckily she doesn't press it further. She sighs and perches on the edge of my bed. The uniform looks comfortable on her, stretched over lean muscle.
"The assassin picked a good moment. We're not allowed to bring anything into the Academy except clothing and a few personal items. I had nothing I could have used as fuel."
I don't quite understand what she is talking about.
"What I mean," she continues, "is I'm sorry I threw out your other things. I hope the junk... I mean, the things weren't too personal."
"What?" the words burst out of me. "Why did you do that?"
I try to sit up and a bolt of pain stabs through me. I grit my teeth.
"I just told you." She offers me the folded paper. "We can't bring anything into the Academy."
My mouth goes dry. I look at the note and unfold it.
Victoria Blackwood vouches for the potential of Arth ..... Hereby this document confirms the admission of Arth ..... to Gearford Academy.
Signed, Director William Gearford.
Victoria smiles.
"Your room is 94A. Your clothes are under your bed."
She gets up and goes to the curtain.
"Blackwood sends its regards. Ah, and put something on."
The woman who just turned my world upside down steps out behind the curtain, leaving me gaping.
Every thought drains from my head except one.
I am completely naked. And she said nothing.