Klara’s hands wove between the pole arms of the training dummy as she worked her way around it, focusing on her breathing and pace. No rushed movements, no slow movements. Flow, that was the key. Flow like water around your target until the perfect moment, then hit like an avalanche.

  “Koskova Warrior?”

  She stepped back from the dummy and turned to see a short, narrow-faced man. “Yes, Petri?”

  “Someone is at the entrance, asking for you. Said he’s your brother?”

  A scowl settled on Klara’s brow. “Mikhail?”

  “I believe that’s what he said his name was.”

  “Thank you,” Klara said, picking up her towel and rubbing the sweat from her face. How could today get any worse? She blew out a sigh.

  Petri saluted, turned, and darted from the training hall. Strange little man, but friendly.

  Klara grabbed her coat, slid her arms into the stiff leather sleeves, and followed Petri into the main hall.

  She hadn’t seen Mikhail in two years, and as far as she was concerned, this was already too soon. She absently traced a finger down her jaw. It had long since healed.

  Knowing Mikhail, he probably wanted something, though what, was beyond her. Regardless, there was no way she was going to help the little yutzi mucker… But maybe she’d hear him out at least.

  By the time she reached the main doors, Petri had pulled the lever to open them. The circular door now resided in its home inside the wall, and a steel plate covered the deep groove it rolled along.

  Mikhail stood just outside the door, jiggling from foot to foot and blowing on his bare, somewhat bloodied, hands. His usually carefully groomed white hair and sideburns were a chaotic mess, and several grazes and patches of dirt marked his long, angular face. For some bizarre reason—known only to him—he also wore no coat. Only a thick, woollen roll-neck shirt, vest, and trousers defended his wiry frame from the encroaching night.

  Klara stopped in front of the door, hands on hips, arms akimbo.

  “Hi, Sis,” Mikhail said, a smile lighting his face.

  “What the depths do you want?” Klara asked.

  “Can we talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  Mikhail sighed. “Somewhere private?”

  Her eyes narrowed to thin slits as she looked him up and down, noting the torn patches on his clothes. “What happened to you?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Klara pursed her lips, then turned. “Go back to your precious Guild. I don’t have time.”

  “Hold on!” Mikhail said from behind her.

  Klara paused.

  “Look,” he said, “you don’t want to see me, I get that. But this isn’t about me, it’s… about Mother.”

  “What about your mother?” Klara asked, a frown tugging at her lips.

  Mikhail’s teeth rattled. “It’s really cold out here…”

  Klara massaged her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. She should send him away, she left tomorrow for Borovsk, and whatever he wanted, it wasn’t good. But… Klara growled as she stepped aside and jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  Mikhail darted inside. “So warm.”

  The door rumbled shut behind them, its gear-like teeth clawing along the rail spanning the bottom of the trench.

  “Talk,” Klara said.

  Mikhail glanced at Petri, who was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. “Still not very private,” Mikhail said.

  Klara blew out a long breath, then marched off. The clack of hard-soled boots on the smooth stone floor behind her told her Mikhail followed.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The last light of the sun refracted through the ice on the steep glass roof, casting glittering red beams across the walls and the brass railings that lined each floor.

  Klara led Mikhail up the nearest spiral staircase, to her great satisfaction, he wheezed like a decrepit old man by the time they stepped onto the sixth floor. Klara spared a glance at the main hall, and a flash of sadness shot through her. Tonight marked the last night she’d see the hall. With the sun now gone, the golden glow of a hundred gaslamps bathed the giant space in light. It was almost picturesque.

  She continued down the hall, past rows of doors until she reached the door to her and Zin’s quarters. Klara opened the door and ushered Mikhail in.

  A narrow, brass-framed bunk with two chests at its foot stood to one side, while a single chair and desk sat at the rear of the room. A coat rack stood by the door. Mikhail sat on the chair as Klara shut the door.

  “Now,” she said, “what do you want?”

  “Well… something’s going on in the Alchemist Guild.”

  “And the sun rose this morning. Be specific.”

  “My mother has gone missing, and they… sent me to find her.”

  Klara shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the rack. “That’s it? Well, I haven’t seen her in years. Neither has Father.” She sat on the bottom bunk and crossed her arms. “You don’t show your face in over two years, then you turn up battered and coatless—this is about more than Elana. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  “This?” Mikhail said, indicating to his tattered clothes. “I tried to take a shortcut and got mugged by guildless for my coat.”

  Klara blinked once. “Right. Guildless.”

  “It’s true! I came trying to find Mother and got mugged.”

  Klara stood. “If you’re going to lie, I’m not helping.”

  “Klara, please. My mother is missing, perhaps dead. No one knows where she went and…” Mikhail lapsed into silence.

  “And what, Mikhail?”

  Mikhail sank his head into his hands. “Fine, sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Klara cursed her nagging curiosity and sat.

  By the time Mikhail finished his tale, Klara’s gut had tied itself into a dozen knots. “You’re dishonoured, and the Alchemist Guild is chasing you?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Well, not technically dishonoured. I escaped before they branded me.”

  “Are you insane? You know full well that anyone caught helping dishonoured gets sent to the uzhas mines!”

  “Insane?” Mikhail asked, his voice rising and eyes flashing. “The Alchemist Guild just destroyed my life and possibly killed my mother and you think I’m insane?”

  Klara leaned back, paling at the all too familiar spark of anger in his eyes. “Calm down…”

  “What the depths are you talking about?” Mikhail lurched to his feet, gesticulating wildly. “I have every reason to be angry! Look, I know I’ve done some stupid things in the past—”

  Stupid is an understatement.

  “—but this is different, I didn’t do anything. Yesterday I was in the wilds collecting plants, I returned, and they did this to me. I did nothing to deserve being dishonoured.” Mikhail paced the room. “I don’t expect you to help me, I can work it out on my own, I just need somewhere to stay tonight so I don’t freeze to death before I can find Mother.”

  “But what if the Alchemists discover I let you stay?”

  Mikhail shot her a glare. “You’re scared of them?”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’ll be careful. They won’t find me—unless you tell them.”

  Klara bristled and stood, facing Mikhail. “Of course I wouldn’t tell them! I just want you to know you’re asking me to put the entire Warrior Guild at risk, and potentially the Sentinels, too.”

  “Oh come on, they’re not going to do anything to the Warrior Guild.”

  “Just like they didn’t do anything to the old Watchman Guild?”

  Mikhail fell silent.

  “You’ve been with them for two years, Mikhail, you know exactly what they’ll do to anyone who doesn’t fit their plan—just like you.”

  Mikhail’s shoulders drooped, and he stared at the floor. “I have no one else,” he said, his voice soft. “Please, Klara, I need your help.”

  “Even if I wanted, I couldn’t. Tomorrow I transfer to Borovsk,” she said, walking to the door and opening it.

  “Tonight is all I need, then I’ll be gone. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

  Klara drummed her fingers on the door handle. “Tonight only?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared out the door, jaw clenched. With a flicker of guilt, she remembered the words spoken to her uncle, her promise that whoever threatened her family best be wary… “I’m sorry, Mikhail. I can’t let you stay.”

  For a long beat, Mikhail stood, silent. Finally, he said, “All right. Will you at least let me use the showers? So I don’t smell like a mucker?”

  Sovereign Sculptor, just make him leave! “Fine.” Klara dug into her coat, removed a key, and held it up. “Men’s showers are on the fourth floor. And for the sake of whatever good is left in this world, don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mikhail said, pushing past her, his jaw set, and a sour frown masking his bright red face.

  Klara shut the door and slumped against it. The Ice Run had been easier than this, and a far sight simpler, too. Mikhail would be fine, he had managed to survive so far. As for Elana? She wasn’t family, not really. The old yutzi mucker had never cared for her anyway. Her head was just too buried in alchemy and technology and her oh-so-precious son.

  Klara clutched her head and groaned. She couldn’t keep up with the madness, she needed to talk to someone. Zin would likely still be in the mess hall. If that woman cared as much about fighting as she did food, she’d be the best fighter the Guild had ever seen. Well, she already is, Klara reminded herself as she yanked the door open and stomped out.