“Harriet?”

  Edward Morris takes a step, and she instantly steps back. A thousand emotions swimming through her like a river, and she doesn’t have a large enough net. Her breathing has picked up and her skin turned bone-white. She walks back until she hits a table. Hears confused murmurs. Spilled glass.

  She wants to run to him. Run and beg and cry and scream.

  But what of Jessica?

  With those void-like black eyes, Morris moves ever closer.

  “I-... I'm sorry.” She holds out her hand, as if it would push him back. The spell feels like a weight on her throat. Pulling down the feelings, the threats, the screams. “I… I d-d-don’t know what you’re…”

  “I could never forget that hair," he says. "I could never unsee that face.”

  She forces a laugh. There’s panic in the voice, both hers and Jessica’s. She looks around frantically. Where is he? Where is he? “My apologies, but you need to stop. This doesn't make me feel comfortable. D-Do you understand?" When he keeps moving, she raises her voice. "Can somebody please explain this to him? I don’t know what this man is-"

  “You’re in a dress.”

  She freezes at those words.

  “Harriet..." There's a hint of horror in his voice. "Why are you wearing a dress?”

  Harriet clutches the leather on her neck. There’s a crowd forming now. Swirling like buzzards, but she doesn’t care. She listens to the windchimes as they start ringing and whirring.

  The Captain’s face hardens. His gloved hands stiffen to fists. He marches towards her with all the form and formality he’s treated every goal.

  “No. Stop. Stop!”

  There’s whispers now. Flooding the hall. Her stomach is twisting, and she tries to pull back.

  “SOTERIS! SOTERIS, HE’S-”

  A thrust, and he’s grabbed the collar. Pulling it down. She watches, trembling, as he reads the Greek.

  "It's..." The spell keeps stopping her words. "It's not..."

  He pans up. Scleras thrumming. Brow twitching. Frost forms on his breath, and the leather creaks beneath his grip as black fluid surges through his veins. She grips the table at her back. Her breathing stopped. Trying to pull herself away as white clouds threaten to take her.

  “... please."

  His voice doubles over. “Your name is Harriet Eddards.”

  She gasps and grows quiet. Pattens in her eyes. He speaks like a Keeper.

  “Your father is Josiah. You were born in the United States-”

  “I don’t know what you’re-”

  “Enough! Whatever magic he’s placed on you, it ends. Look at me. Look at me!”

  He jostles her by the shoulders, and she forces her eyes up. Her voice is back. Her thoughts are back. Everything feels loosened as black aether vanishes from his face.

  “Stay close to me. His hands lower to her arms. “Stay close to me.”

  “Morris?" Her breathing picks up. Tension in her throat. Rapidly beating heart.

  “No. Quiet. We don’t have much time.”

  “I don’t wanna-”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “JESSICA!” Soteris pushes through the crowd, so fast he knocks a woman to the floor. He sees her, then Morris, and his mouth hangs open. “Oh, God.”

  “Chrysanthou?” Morris turns to him, and his face contorts. Growl fierce. Eyes Wild. “What have you done?"

  Harriet pales.

  “A-Admiral…” Soteris swallows, eyes fanning the growing crowd. “This is Jessica’s first time in a place like this.”

  “Jessica?"

  “I-I apologise for whatever she-”

  There’s a table between them. Not for long. Morris throws it past the boy. Glass shattering. Wood snapping. Then he moves, grabbing Soteris by the collar. Slamming him into the wall. Someone screams.

  “What. Have. YOU. DONE!?”

  “SOTERIS!” Another voice. Spencer’s. He’s running, until an arm’s on his chest. Holding him back. Lianna.

  Harriet wobbles on the fountain. Her breaths light. The crowd is larger. Dozens. Hundreds. The windchimes are so loud. Louder and louder and louder.

  Soteris sounds frayed. “A-Admiral, please. People are watching. I don’t know what you’re-”

  “You know EVERYTHING!” Morris presses the man’s neck deeper into the wall. “You told no one. Not the Council. Not your clan. Not even me.”

  She’s grabbing her neck. Pulling at the collar. Get it off. Get it off. GET IT FUCKING OFF!

  Soteris stammers. “She is a fugitive-”

  “SHE IS NOT YOURS!”

  “Enough!” Spencer shouts from the crowd. “This isn’t theatre! I’m calling the-”

  “No.”

  “Lianna, I-"

  She practically growls. “You’re calling no one.”

  Harriet’s not here. She’s in streets drenched with smoke, parlours full to bursting. She’s with Finn and Haverforth. Aisling and Red. Gunless, waiting, for the horseshoes, the shouts, the redcoats and cobbles and

  “I can kill you.” Morris squeezes. Loud enough for Soteris to blanche, and the more observant mortals to gasp. “I CAN KILL YOU!”

  She stops. Blinks. Grabs a glass from the table. Empties it of wine.

  Soteris tries to force sounds out. “Th-the humans-”

  “I don’t care about the humans.”

  He can survive being choked. But not what happens after.

  She’s walking to them. Taking slow steps.

  “No one hurts her, do you hear me!?” Morris growls.

  She can end this. She can end him.

  “Nobody hurts that little-”

  Crash!

  Silence. Pieces of glass, falling to the floor.

  Morris blinks. Turns. Then wobbles. A moment passes. Then two. And he’s down.

  Soteris, released, clutches at his throat, mimicking all the signs of choking. As he looks at his Kept, he stills. Her wild hair. Her bright eyes. The bits of glass by her heels.

  “... Fireside?”

  She’s taking deep breaths. He watches from the pillar, frozen in place, while her eyes stay glued to Morris.

  And then she’s on top of the Magister.

  She was hoping to punch him. Pound him like a boxer. But it quickly falls apart. Her whole body heaving with each blow. And then she’s using her nails, scratching, writhing. The crowd moving back as she lets out animal screams.

  “YOU ASS!”

  She’s pulling out flesh.

  “YOU BITCH!”

  Soteris is aghast. “Fireside!”

  She slams two fists into his skull. “FUCKIN’ TRAITORRRRR!!!!!!”

  “STOP!”

  Her hand freezes mid-air. Rattling against her might. Tears welling in her eyes.

  She pounces up. Springs into Soteris. Hugs him. Squeezes him. Sobs in his shoulder. “nonononononononononono”

  “F-Fireside…”

  “We need ta go we need ta go we need ta LET ME KILL HIM!"

  “Harriet.” Amidst murmurs, Morris climbs to his feet. His face is a mess. Bruised and red bulbous. “Step away from-”

  “YOU KILLED HIM!" She screams back at him. "GO TA HELL!”

  “Shhh.” Soteris pulls her back in, runs a hand through her hair. “Quiet, quiet.”

  She squeezes his arms. Tightly. Too tightly. He’s seeing her in a way he’s never seen. Thin. Muscles taut. Eyes flickering.

  “Stop him.” She shudders. “Stop him stop him stop him-”

  Morris holds his hand over one of the wounds. White glove stained. “Chrysanthou-”

  “I think it’s best if we-”

  “You are not moving another inch!”

  Soteris stops. Watches him with wild eyes.

  “This is unsanctioned! This is illegal! You have no idea what you've done and I will not-”

  “YOU’RE HURTING HER!”

  Morris turns towards the voice. Spencer, still held back by his ‘girlfriend.’

  "No matter what he's done, no matter what you want to do, you're hurting her." The boy makes a gesture, arms rising and lowering in defeat. "You're hurting her more."

  The Captain's eyes flick to the red-haired girl. Whimpering in her Keeper’s arms.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He reaches into his jacket. Soteris is taking deep breaths.

  “They will hear of this.” Morris says it flatly. “They will all hear of this.”

  Soteris says nothing. Rocking Harriet, side-to-side.

  Morris' hand leaves his jacket, empty. And with the discipline centuries have given him, he sharply turns around.

  Her mind is completely empty, and she feels a tug on her shoulders.

  “Move.”

  They move. Ignoring the crowd and their tsunami of whispers. Heading for the doors. The words start pouring out of her, barely thought. "Thankya thankya thankya thankya-"

  "Stop." He's shielding her eyes with his body. Focusing ahead. But footsteps. Coming closer. Spencer's voice. “Soteris-”

  “Harcourt, not now.”

  “-what the FUCK was that!"

  “Nothing. That was nothing. You need to keep everyone here locked inside this room.”

  “Why?”

  “This isn’t the time!"

  “There hasn’t been a better time in all my fucking life!” Spencer steps in front of them. Arms out. Blocking their way. “Soteris, you almost died!”

  “I know.”

  “Then let me call the Met. Or my father. Or fucking anyone! If that maniac gets out-”

  A sudden bounce back. Soteris has pressed himself into Spencer's face. Furious.

  “If people leave this room with that story, that maniac is about to be the least of your fucking concerns!”

  Spencer stammers. He’s taller than Soteris, but the executive seems to tower over him. Soteris furrows his brows.

  “How many of these cretins do you know?"

  "Half? I-I dunno. I-I-I thuh-think-"

  “Lock the doors. Talk to them. Tell them you’ve called the Met. Tell them they’re sorting it out. Do not let get them outside.”

  “Iwon’tletthemgetoutside.”

  “Tell Lianna to call Roger. Roger Ward. He knows how to handle this. He's the only one-”

  “Lianna’s gone.”

  “What!?”

  “She left! Before Morris!”

  Soteris looks around. Huddled guests, frightened waiters. No signs of a Union Jack. “Fuck.”

  “Soteris, whuh-what is Roger going to do?"

  “Talk about him with your father. Only your father. Your father will know who he is. Do not let anything happen without-”

  Behind Soteris, a crash. Harriet’s wobbled into the table, pulling the white cloth. Her eyes are distant, and clouded.

  He walks towards her carefully. “Fireside?”

  Spencer perks up. “Who’s Fireside?”

  It’s too much. Casings and flames and screams and glass. Shouts and feathers. Her fangs are out, her skin is pale, and blackness seeps through her bloodstream. Windchimes and white clouds.

  “Fireside!”

  Windchimes and white-

  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  The sleep passes gently, and dreamlessly. Her heart has stopped. Her skin is cold.

  It feels like it should last forever.

  Her eyes stay closed when she stirs. She hears the rustle of leaves. The snapping of branches. A cold autumn wind. At once, she feels relief. She’s home. Not that revolting penthouse or some dingy apartment in London. She’s in the trees, the caves, the waters of the Arkansas. She’s hungry, and tired, and takes it to mean that she’s still thirteen. She’ll hunt squirrels, and find nuts, and realise that all of this was just dreaming.

  But she opens her eyes, and all of it’s wrong. The trees are oak, not pine, and the squirrels aren’t grey, but red. Everything’s too spread out, too even. Skyscrapers reach beyond the woods, their spires striking clouds. Lights flicker on the ground, a plane flies across the moon, and the stars. She can’t see the stars.

  There are none to be found.

  A faint rustling, and she gets up. Shocked by the grime and tears on her dress. He’s sitting on the same bench, towering over her, stroking her hair. He stops the instant she moves. Skirting back. Watching.

  His tie is gone. His jacket, too. And his sleeves are rolled up so that she can see the tanned arms that might pin her.

  She takes a few ragged breaths. “... ya look like yer gonna fight someone.”

  He shrugs. “The way you were, I wasn’t sure if I would need to.”

  “Are ya sure now?”

  Something in his eyes tells her no.

  But Soteris leans back of his own accord. Settling into the wood and iron. “We’re in Hyde Park.”

  Instinct strikes. “Too public.”

  “So is ripping half a Magister’s face off in front of half of London's elite."

  “Ya shouldn’t have stopped me at half.”

  He gives her a weary look, and shakes his head. There’s something off with his breathing.

  Slowly, Harriet starts to climb to an upright position, but it’s harder than it should be. Every muscle is sore, and she has to hold her stomach when it screams like something dying. She can feel run-off makeup on her chin; whatever Astrid’s put on, hopelessly smothered. “How long was I out?”

  “About an hour.”

  “An' yer commands are turned back on?”

  “It can wait until we’re home.”

  “Will I…” She doesn’t finish. He gives her a look. “… is what happened gonna… are ya...”

  “Punishment?”

  Something shrivels inside her, but she nods.

  Soteris purses his lips. “Half the Court will know about our Keeping by dawn."

  "A-An' I told ya that-"

  "What I do with you is quite low in my concerns," he finishes. "If it’s any concern at all.”

  She takes a long breath at that. Finally settling along the bench. Trying to control exhausted instincts, and looking at the cuts the heels made on her ankles.

  “What did he do to you?”

  She almost jumps. Stares at him. It takes a long time for him to stare back.

  “Ya... ya have my file.”

  “I have what Randall gave me. Parts were stricken-"

  “Then it doesn’t matter, does it?" She scooches back, quickly steels herself. "Ya haven’t asked ‘bout my home, or my family. or my friends. So why would you care-”

  "Morris was my Keeper.”

  For a moment, only crickets are heard. "No. I..." They would have told her. "I woulda known."

  "It didn't last long."

  “But…” She lifts her hand and points at her eyes. “Yer… yer not…”

  He smiles at that. "No, I'm not. What an astute observation. He didn't get me, Harriet. That was some Maronite in Limassol whose name you wouldn't know. But in London, Kepts need a Keeper, and Morris volunteered."

  “Wh-what happened ta yer getter?"

  “What happened to yours?”

  Harriet eyes grow wide at that.

  “Morris gave me an opportunity. He saw that I wanted change.”

  “Heheheh.” Harriet chuckles, showing fang. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Did he try ta, uh, fill yer head with all his reform ideas, too? All that shit ‘bout Kept rights an’ votin’ an’-”

  “I believed them.”

  Harriet freezes, and looks at her Keeper. His face is still. Golden eyes dulled. Hands folded by his knees.

  “... He wants to make the Keeping a process. Let every qualified Kept become Sovereign and give every Kept chance to be qualified. He said it would save the Court, and I believed him. All us Kepts believed him. Myself, Astrid-"

  “Bullshit. Astrid doesn’t want rights. She likes the Keeping. That's all she ever says.”

  “Astrid will say whatever gets her through the next five minutes. She's scared.”

  Harriet goes quiet at that.

  “Morris won Blair. I became Sovereign. I thought the vision had finally. I thought that he would act with the government at his side, with the power we had given him." Soteris smiles briefly, then shakes his head. "But he dithered. He delayed. He made excuses. He wouldn't-"

  “Change.”

  She steals the word from him. Squeezing the hems of her dress.

  His eyes start to thrum. “Fireside. At the fundraiser, you said he ‘killed him.’ I want to know who."

  “I don’t wanna-”

  “He's coming back." He watches the way her face twists. "No matter what I do to stop him, we will see him again. And so I have to know."

  Harriet wraps her arms around her chest. Listening to the windchimes, slowly returning.

  “He killed the dream.”

  She closes her eyes. A reddened tear drips down her nose.

  “He killed... everythin’.”

  A hitch in her breath. Her skull suddenly strained. Soteris is silent, and in his silence, emotion spills out.

  “I killed fer him. I woulda died fer him. An’ he jes’... he…”

  She exhales, stopping herself. Feeling a hand on her shoulder. A calloused palm. Warm against cold.

  “Fireside.” He speaks slowly, carefully. “... what dream?”

  For seconds, she says nothing. White clouds on the cobbles. Her heart tearing through her ribs.

  “That’s the best part.” Another laugher. Weaker, hollower. “They told me so many times, an’ I don’t even remember.”

  She pales. Tremors down the spine. She twitches out of his grip, skirts to the edge of the bench.

  “Stop.”

  Soteris blinks. “Excuse me?”

  Instincts flaring. "Ya don't care."

  "I-"

  “Ya don’t fuckin’ care!” Her lips trembles. “Yer jes’ pokin’ fer a new weakness. Gettin’ in my fuckin’ head! But ya don’t give two shits ‘bout me or him or anyone but yer fuckin’ self! Right? We’re jes’ relics, after all! Yer prolly sittin’ there, sippin’ champagne in yer ivory tower, lookin’ down at all those ya left behind, an’ thinkin’ we’re jes’ the biggest-”

  “I know what it’s like.”

  She stops in her tracks.

  “To have something that’s your whole world. Something so important you can’t begin to describe. And have it smothered. Strangled. Killed before you could ever make it real." His brows furrow. "I hate them.”

  "Hate... who?"

  “All of them.” Soteris’ face sets. “The Court. Lianna. The government. I have a vision that can save their lives, put their country back on the map, and they can’t look past the lines I was born between, the darker shade of skin, the pinch it would make in their purse."

  The words make her pause. A short surge of sympathy, quickly smothered by her rage. “Are ya surprised? That’s the game ya wanted ta play-"

  “It's not."

  “It is, and it has been since I was-”

  “You called them bandits, didn't you?”

  He looks at her, more desperately. Cautiously, she nods.

  “Right now, you'd be right. But if they were looting this world for all the time you’ve been alive, Cyprus would be empty. And you’d still be a farmer.” He laughs to himself. "But your kind of bandit would still be better, wouldn't it? At least it takes grit to raise a bloody rifle."

  “Yer one a’ them.” He stops to glare at her. She pulls her knees to her chest.

  “That's what they want me to think, don't they? The smart ones, anyway. The Lianna’s were always a more honest sort.” He briefly smiles. “We all lie. I lie. But a business, a working man, they can only run from reality so long. This sort is a different breed of liars. When the truth is revealed to them, the layers are peeled back, they can walk away still thinking their world is fair. That they’ve earned what they’ve got. And they might call you their equal, might even believe it in some frontal part of their minds. But you can see it in their eyes and hear it in their words. They always think they're better."

  "...The way ya went on about them, can ya not see why?"

  It's a barb. When she expects him to snag, but instead he just turns to her. His face cold as stone.

  "No."

  He leans forward, ignoring her glare.

  “They’ve never starved. They’ve never suffered. They have never wondered what roof they’d sleep under, or held a bloodied arm in their hands. No. I am not like them, Fireside, and neither are you. We understand in ways they never can.”

  She thinks of Spencer’s laugh. Lianna’s scowl. The children who so freely pretend to be the soldiers their parents will slaughter.

  "We are not their equals,” Soteris says. “We’re better.”

  “Then why are we here? Why are ya sayin’ this?” She asks. “Ya wanted me ta see that world, but there’s no difference between me an’ an ornament ta these people. I don’t know what they like. I don’t know why they’re laughin’. Why bother showin' me at all, when they're never gonna be mine?"

  “Because you can make them yours.”

  “How?”

  “They way you make everything yours.”

  She leans back, watching him. Listening to the sounds of the night, the crickets and owls and distant cars and planes.

  “... I gotta question.” She swallows, and stiffens. “It’s a stupid question, an’ yer gonna think me stupid fer askin’ it. But I’m gonna ask it either way."

  “I don’t remember the part where I have to listen to your-”

  She cuts him off with a sharp intake of breath. He gives the all-clear, she thinks, when he doesn’t snap back.

  “... ya said Hestia would make us human. But… ya don’t think every human's a human, do you?"

  He slowly shakes his head.

  "So what does Hestia do? What does 'human' mean?"

  Her hair falls over her face. Her dress slides over the grass. Her fingers curl on chipped wood.

  Soteris, to her surprise, doesn’t laugh. Or threaten her. He simply stares at his hands.

  “... Do you know what separates us from every other creature God created? A lion eats the goat it finds. Cattle move where the grass is green. But humans farm. Humans bring warm air to the ice sheets and hot air to the desert plains. Humans build. Humans alone build."

  “Not beavers?"

  He gives her a look.

  “Ya know? The dams? A-an' ants an' bees, too, they-” She stops when she sees his burning scowl. “S-Sorry. Keep goin’.”

  He sighs. “In every human, there’s a drive. Growing, learning, mastering. A million sparks like coal to a train, each adding on top of the last, propelling further and faster than those before could even dream of. How much has your world changed in a hundred years? How much has mine changed in thirty? The train is moving faster than ever before. And now it risks derailing."

  Gold flares from his eyes.

  “This country gave us a world of progress. Such wealth that its descendants know only how to squander it. Once, they held a spark. Now, they sell it in an instant. Hoard it in steel vaults. Hide it, so that men of talent, true talent, can’t climb their fathers’ ladders. Their heart is frozen. And they’ll realise too late what happens when the blood stops flowing.”

  “Unless Hestia?”

  “Unless Hestia. Because Hestia knows no race or border. Hestia knows no faith or name. Hestia sees only what a man can envision. Hestia is stopped only by his talent to make it real and his will to see it through. Hestia sees dreams."

  She's watching him. The way he speaks. The way he moves. Tickling some part of her mind.

  "- And when all is said and done, when Hestia has finished its task, this country will be a country of dreamers.”

  Suddenly, he stands.

  “This world will be a world that builds.”

  His eyes suddenly glow. “Stay here. You need to rest, and I need a walk.”

  "What!?" The patterns mirror in her eyes. She tries to get up, but her arms feel glued to the wood.

  “The Magisters are still coming, and I still need-”

  “Wait!”

  He only takes three steps when he turns. She blinks, struggling to gather her thoughts.

  “Let’s say I believe ya. Let’s say yer lil’ gadget does all this, an’ it makes the world better where every other gadget made the world worse before. How do ya know? How do ya know when ta stop? How do ya know when it ends?”

  He cranes his neck, so she can see his smile. The moon shadowing against his skin.

  “Fireside, do you want to be human?”

  The words make her pause. Breath hanging in her lungs. She feels the breeze on her face, the cobbles on her heels. Sensations almost lost to her.

  He shifts his shoulder. “I will know it has ended when you can dream again.”

  He turns, his loafers echoing on the trail, his figure vanishing beneath swaying trees and wrought-iron lamps.

  Harriet watches him go. Her nails digging into her palms. Her mind spinning, and yet somehow silent.

  Bullshit. That’s what her gut tells her. With him, it’s always bullshit. He calls them bandits when he’s a fraud. Insists he builds when he’s just enslaved her. He isn’t different.

  But something about those words... something about... about...

  Stuck on the bench as she is, Harriet looks around the park. The yellowing leaves, the squirrels skitting by. The distant fountains and mansions and ponds. It’s almost quiet here. A quiet she likes, a quiet she once was used to. She wants to lose herself in it. Lay on the dirt. Pull on the grass. Remember those golden fields and creaking steps and-

  She freezes.

  The clouds are moving.

  It’s smaller. Smaller than the tip of her thumb, smaller than all the world. But she feels it flare in her eyes. Stir a part of her that no longer has a name.

  She sees a single star.

  A star, shining brightly.

  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  flippant on everything now, but I suppose this isn’t too out of character, issit? And it’s much more important to me that he manages to speak to Harriet in a way she'll believe… if not necessarily with words she would use.

  Of Smoke and Steel. See you then!