“The water system is nearly complete,” Torim reports during our morning brief that we’re still desperately struggling to normalize within our ever-shifting schedules.

  For our daily stand-up, we all huddle into the snug side room that had once been used as a war room, and is now overflowing with vellum and slates spelled with various record-keeping metrics. A handful of chairs are stuffed into corners, and the central table has been pushed toward one end to act as an oversized desk. Since we are no longer at war, and due to the color of the tiles that swirl over the walls, we’ve taken to calling it “the red room.”

  “We’ll be ready to connect to the plumbing system within the next two days,” the dracid continues. “Assuming the underground tanks are complete.”

  I glance to Dizzi, who’s perched on a chair and fiddling with a stone that she’s etching runes onto.

  “Dizzinir,” Mirzayael snaps, and the harpy jumps.

  “What?” She looks around to find all eyes on her. “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, the tank plans are basically done. Just need some finishing touches. And then Fyre can whip the structures up in a snap, right?”

  “Finishing touches?” I press.

  “Okay so I’ve been a little distracted with the fireworks,” Dizzi admits, grinning. “They’re just so much fun! I found a way to spell a delay into the explosives so we can time them better. Do you think you could refine some more potassium nitrate for me? I’m almost out.”

  Mirzayael gives me a flat look. “Why must you encourage her?” she thinks at me privately.

  I force myself to keep a straight face. “Celebration preparations are important, too!” Honestly, though, I delight in learning artificing from Dizzi just as much as she delights in learning chemistry and aerodynamics from me. The applications of fusing of both skillsets is undeniably entertaining. As Dizzi once said; if I didn’t have some creative outlet, I’d lose my mind.

  “I’ll produce more of the compound once the plumbing designs are complete,” I tell Dizzi. I can feel Mirzayael’s satisfact even as Dizzi wrinkles her nose.

  “I’ll get it done by the end of the day,” she promises with a sigh.

  “Speaking of celebration preparations,” I say, turning to Nek, “what do our food stores look like? How feasible is our schedule?”

  He folds his arms, leaning against the wall as his tail swishes lazily behind his legs. “Agate says we can make it work. If we can spare more water from the supply, we can focus on soups, stews, and spiced drinks, which would stretch our food stores much further.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Torim says.

  Mirzayael nods appreciatively. “Any other immediate concerns?”

  Nek’s tail stops.

  “Yes?” I prompt.

  “It’s not a concern, exactly,” he says. He looks at Mirzayael when he answers. “But the scouts are starting to grumble about guard duty with the Jorrians.”

  I grimace. This isn’t exactly a surprise.

  “Do you foresee any conflicts?” Mirzayael asks.

  Nek grimaces. “Not immediately, but… Well, the uncertainty about the Jorrian’s fate isn’t helping anything. How long will they be here? There may only be two of them, but we’re all on rations, so of course some guards are complaining about any amount of food being handed over to the prisoners. Several guards have also voiced that they feel the activity is a waste of time. They’d rather be helping with preparations for the festival, or working with Agate’s agriculture team, or even volunteering with the textile group.”

  “They don’t feel productive,” I surmise. And if they’re turning their frustration on the Jorrians, that could be problematic. We need to give them something to do that makes them feel like they’re contributing.

  Mirzayael looks at me. “We’ve discussed expanding their training previously. I think it’s time to explore that option.”

  We have, though briefly. In the immediate aftermath of the Fortress’s ascension, Mirzayael expressed frustration at the disorganization she and Torim had witnessed in their guards and scouts during the Jorrian attack. Fyrethians were not trained soldiers. Most only had enough weapons training to hunt arctic prey. Mirzayael was worried that next time, against a different threat, they might face higher losses. I liked to hope there wouldn’t be a next time. But I can’t stake the future of this kingdom on a wish.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask her.

  “Formal training and scheduled drills,” she says. “I’ve been working on a plan with Nek and Torim. Right now our groups of scouts are disjointed, each still largely gravitating toward those they were familiar working with before our colonies joined. We need to split them into integrated squads and set up a rigid training structure to develop better cohesion.”

  “I didn’t realize that was an issue,” I admit.

  “It’s not a serious problem,” Torim chimes in, “but it’s clear the underground Fyrethians are not used to working alongside harpies, for instance, which has exposed gaps in coordinated training capabilities. More formalized training would not only help with this, but would improve overall morale, I think. It feels good to feel competent.”

  “Can we afford to spare the workforce?” I ask the others. “Nek, you mentioned many of the scouts were splitting their time by helping with other groups. Would creating a dedicated guard negatively impact our overall productivity?”

  “We’ve fifty-four individuals who currently act as part of the guard,” Nek says. “If we turn it into a dedicated full time position, that number might drop slightly. That’s less than two percent of the total population.”

  “We can afford it,” Mirzayael assures me. “And by the time we interact with other nations, we’ll want to have something formal and effective. If for no other reason than to ensure everyone feels safe when outsiders are walking through our streets.”

  “Not to mention,” she adds privately, “this might help with your Role Range.”

  I’m sure it would. But she’s right that Fyrethians simply feeling safe would itself be a valuable asset. When people are nervous is also when they’re most likely to do something dangerous or rash.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “I defer to your expertise,” I say.

  “Good.” Mirzayael turns to Torim. “When your work is done with the water system, we would appreciate your leadership back within the Guard.”

  He tips his head. “I would be honored.”

  The meeting finishes up a few minutes later. There’s always knots we have to work through, but to be honest, I’m surprised things are progressing as smoothly as they are. Shelter has long since been established. Water is nearly taken care of. Our food supply is still in a tenuous position, but approaching stability. Once we reach land, the harpies can help make up any deficit by collecting food from below—not to mention, there’s been talk about attempting to fish, though the logistics of that are still being worked out. All together, we’re in a good position to start focusing on security and morale.

  Once the Jorrians are dropped off, I’ll feel like I can finally sigh a breath of relief.

  “Have you thought about what we should do next?” I ask Mirzayael as the meeting disperses and everyone begins to trickle away.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Next after what?”

  I splay my hands around us. “After all this. Once all the emergencies are dealt with and everything’s become routine.”

  “I’m not sure this will ever feel routine,” Mirzayael says. “There will always be something to preoccupy us.”

  Probably more true than I would like. “Okay then. In the midst of dealing with our non-routine, what do you think we should be working on next?”

  Mirzayael purses her lips in thought. “I would like to increase the security of the Fortress. Not from a training and guard standpoint, but by exploring more of the Fortress’s capabilities. You’ve told me there’s much buried in these walls we still don’t yet understand.”

  Of course she’d go right back to security. “We can investigate the defensive spell circles in the watchtowers if you like.” At least it would be nice to spend some time working with her one-on-one again, instead of the way we’re currently dividing and conquering the never-ending to-do list.

  “I think we should also investigate the offensive capabilities,” Mirzayael says.

  My heart sinks at the suggestion, and I know she can feel it.

  “There is no shame in being able to fight back,” Mirzayael says. “Once we run out of wind arcana and this castle lands, we won’t be able to so easily pick it up again and flee the next army that marches on our doors. We’ll need to be capable of putting up a fight.”

  “I know,” I say. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I spend a moment attempting to sort through my feelings on the matter, and Mirzayael graciously waits for me.

  “Alright,” I say. “But I propose a compromise. If these systems will be operated by guards, then we’ll need more than just you and me—and possibly Dizzi—to work through them. Let’s assemble a small team of artificers and commanders to decipher and practice operating the spell network. We’ll start with defensive capabilities only. Once we’ve a good understanding of the spells, and we’ve created a system for safely training guards on their use, I’ll feel comfortable moving to the offensive capabilities.”

  Mirzayael is already nodding along. “But,” I add, “I want to treat the offensive research more discriminately. We should use the defensive research phase to determine those responsible enough to be brought into the offensive research phase. I don’t want everyone in this castle to have the knowledge and capability of activating some death ray on a whim.”

  Mirzayael folds her arms, drumming her fingers against herself. “In a scenario where the only ones who are familiar with the weapons become injured, operation of the weapons systems being common knowledge could save us.”

  “If their operation is common knowledge, that could also lead to outsiders easily learning to wield them against us,” I counter. “I would rather have potential enemies underestimate our offensive potential than view us as a flying war machine.” Not to mention, entering into relations with outside communities will certainly be easier if they don’t start off assuming we’re dangerous.

  “Hmm.” Mirzayael frowns at me, but it’s a thoughtful look rather than one of distaste. “That is a fair point. Fyrethians are all too familiar with being underestimated, but it is tactically a good position to be in. They won’t prepare appropriately if they don’t know what we’re capable of.” She nods curtly. “Alright, I can agree to this compromise. Defense systems first, then handle the weapons systems with more discretion.”

  As I understand it, since neither of us find this plan ideal, that must make it a good compromise.

  “What about you?” Mirzayael suddenly asks. “What had you wanted to work on next?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, I was just thinking I never had the chance to use the bathhouse before we repurposed it as our water facility. It would be nice to get that up and running again.”

  Mirzayael stares at me for a moment. Then she bursts into a laugh. “I ask for a city-wide weapons system and you want a bath.”

  I smile sheepishly. “I don’t think I properly defined the scope of my original question.”

  “No,” she laughs. “You didn’t.”

  I’m out in the lowest tier of the city, working with a dwarf named Agate who’s heading our agriculture efforts, when Ollie reaches out to me.

  “FYRE?” He always asks, like he’s calling on a phone and I might not answer.

  Agate gestures to the moss and mushroom fields, which are positioned vertically against the shade of the wall. “We could use more phosphorus for these ones,” he says. “Their growth is a bit stunted, and I suspect the soil is to blame.”

  “I’ll get some more processed,” I promise.

  “Hey, Ollie,” I mentally reply. “What’s up?”

  “MERITIS SAYS THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE WATER.”

  I tip my head. “What kind of something?”

  “HE DIDN’T SAY. I WISH I COULD ASK HIM!”

  Poor kid. He and the young harpy Meritis are quickly becoming fast friends, as much as they can when the communication is one sided. After Meritis got over his initial awe of being in my presence, he and Ollie sometimes show up to ask me to act as interpreter for their conversations.

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” I tell him.

  I excuse myself from Agate and head a safe distance away from the crops before activating a Jet (a lesson learned at the cost of a small crop of button mushrooms the previous week). My stomach flutters with the thrill of flight as I blast into the sky—a thrill I think I’ll never grow used to. Details of the Fortress shrink from view as I circle around the city, finding Ollie in the sky to the north-west. I nudge his mind to get his attention, and he flips back around to fly back to me. Meritis is riding on his neck.

  “IT’S OVER HERE,” Ollie tells me, gesturing for me to follow.

  “I can’t go too far from the Fortress,” I say aloud for Meritis as well.

  “It’s not far,” Meritis promises. “It’s just beneath that cloud over there. If we dip beneath the city you should be able to see it from here.”

  I gesture for them to show me. “Lead the way.”

  Mirzayael notices the mental chatter. Ollie and I weren’t intentionally broadcasting our conversation to her, but Ollie isn’t terribly well practiced with restraining his thoughts, either.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Not sure,” I reply. “Something in the water, it seems. I’ll let you know.”

  We coast downward until the Fortress is a looming shadow overhead.

  “THERE IT IS,” Ollie says, at the same time Meritis points. “See?”

  From this distance, it’s hard to make out against the glare of sunlight on the water. But after a moment of searching, I find what it was they saw. My heart lurches up into my throat. I didn’t think it would happen so quickly. I thought we’d have more time to settle in, first.

  “What is it?” Meritis asks.

  I watch it a moment longer to be sure. “It’s a ship,” I finally say, letting Mirzayael know as well. “It seems we’ll be needing to prepare for company sooner than we thought.”

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