I stood while the courier waited. The man remained on his horse, patiently waiting as I inspected the documents he had brought to me. Sheafs of paper—communications from Harold, Cassius, and a handful of family agents. I said, "Good. Do you have wax?"

The courier nodded, opening his satchel to produce a pen, a small cylinder of wax, and a roll of parchment. I waved the paper away, making notations on the backs of the letters I had received, sealing each anew and returning them. I said, "Go to Harold at Castle Bloodsword first. Was there anything else?"

The man nodded, reaching into his saddlepack and producing a small paper-wrapped package, it too sealed with wax. Cassius's mark.

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "He… gave this to you? You alone?"

The man nodded. "Aye, sir. I'm honored to have gained much trust within the company."

"Trust indeed. Do you know what's contained in this?"

He said, "No. Only that it's worth more than my whole village, and that I was to defend it with my life."

I said, "What's your name?"

"Austin, sir."

"A Freeman?"

"I was."

I didn't press him on his past. I was only interested in what he might be to me. If Cassius had trusted him to ferry the package to me alone, then he must have been truly formidable.

I reassessed him. He had been nothing but a courier to my first glance, but I took in the way he was dressed with new eyes. Beneath his duster was armor—fine woven armor. At his waist hung a pistol. If he was riding the wilds with that, it was likely a relic of some kind.

"Did you come to us from Cassius? Or were you my father's man before?"

"Your father's, sir."

"Thank you, Austin. I'll remember your name."

With my correspondence handed off and the paper package secured in my suit, I turned to climb the stairs to where the Lord Supreme had arranged to meet us. As I walked I considered the array of items beginning to populate my suit. The power axe I had taken from the assassin. The dagger Katya had given me. My new treasure. They molded easily into the surface of my suit—I didn't feel constrained. If my plans came to fruition, I would be adding much more.

Balthazar stood with his Griidlords on the ramparts near the main gates. He was a different man when he was around us and just us. He seemed to revel in our presence. He was still a cold, unemotional creature. But there was a greater vigor to him. More life. More energy. We were an enthusiasm to him.

It was obvious that there was a special closeness between Magneblade and him. The two stood closer. By my understanding, Magneblade was decades older than Balthazar—going on sixty years in the suit, putting him close to eighty years of age. Yet he regarded Balthazar with an affection that bordered on hero worship. Magneblade was fierce and reserved in most situations, yet here he enjoyed the Lord Supreme's presence as a younger brother might revel in the attention of a revered older sibling.

Below us the activity was electric. Soldiers marched in formations through the streets. Carts laden with perishable foods moved in queues through the city. Trucks, benefiting from the Flows we had gathered that last year, rumbled through the streets bearing cannons that hadn't been brought from storage in a generation. Children stopped and pointed at the trucks, awestruck by the rare sight.

Balthazar watched it all with a strange intensity. It was something that lived next door to pride that occupied his face. He was hungry. Eager. I thought of those who had called him warmonger and had to wonder myself. Whether or not he had a hunger for war, it was clear that it excited him deeply.

He spoke to us while struggling to pull his attention from the activity below. "One final envoy leaves tomorrow for Buffalo. They'll get their last offer. Surrender Perdinger or face our war machine."

He did turn to us then, seriousness and his version of excitement warring for control over his face. Seriousness won. But the hunger burned.

"We all know what their answer will be. They've held out this long—they must want a fight. My sources tell me their city overflows with Green Men. They have an army there that needs to fight to pay for itself. But they can't afford to be the aggressor. They know how the other cities will react to a war. They know how the established powers would like to see them extinguished."

Alya said, "The cities of the East have been free since the fall of Thrax. The people here have every right to be afraid of aggression. We haven't had an emperor here in hundreds of years. We don't want one."

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Her voice was rigid. As much as Magneblade was drawn by Balthazar's gravity, Alya was repelled. She was courteous enough with him, but there was no missing the dislike between them.

It left Olaf, Tara, and myself in a no-man's-land. Tara gravitated toward Alya and, by default, maintained a stance of coolness with Balthazar. Olaf seemed content to be his own man. He respected the Lord Supreme well enough, but I felt that Olaf was not a man to put himself in anyone's camp. Me? I felt myself torn. Balthazar had done enough to earn loyalty from me. He had believed in me, supported me, extended favors. In most circumstances, his hunger for this war would have given me pause.

But my own belly rumbled for the killing to begin. I hadn't known a heat and hunger for violence like this in my whole life. I vibrated with a need for the action to start—to begin punishing them. I had begun to hold the whole city accountable for Lauren's murder, for Katya's grief. I could see myself cutting the limbs from Perdinger's body and cauterizing the wounds with the heat of my blade. I would bring him back and feed him to the hounds of Katya's vengeance.

It made Balthazar's next statement all the harder to bear.

"We will declare war on Buffalo within forty-eight hours. With the prudent changes we have made to the charters, this will retire the chamber for the duration of the war, leaving total governance of the city in my hands. I will make every decision without the bureaucracy of the chamber, without the delays, without the limp-wristed hesitation. But… we don't move fast on this. The Green Men are barbarians. They have a mighty horde, but a horde of rabble. Their leadership is likely little better. They have some in higher ranks who could organize trouble for us, but I have resources at my disposal to cut the heads from those stalks."

He looked at me as he said this last, and I thought of Zeb.

"We are preparing for siege. We let them come to us, expose themselves, make their mistakes. They can't feed themselves. They haven't the Flows for another few months after the Falling they had. Panicked enemies make mistakes. Our job, for now, is simply not to make those mistakes.

"We need to keep some of you here at all times. If we need to maneuver troops quickly, then we'll need your footfields. If they send their suits at us, then we need suits to counter. Alya will remain in the city at all times. At least one of the other four will be stationed here at any given moment as well. During the opening stages, when we can take the opportunity to do so, we will still send trains out. Trade must go on. More than that, we need materiel—from the Burgh and Detroit especially. The trains go on when they can, but no expedition will put any of you more than a day's journey from us."

I gripped my hands into fists, squeezing them at my sides with enough force to forge diamonds. My blood boiled for vengeance, not sitting and waiting.

Balthazar looked at me. I had thought my expression clean of the stains of my thoughts, but he said, "You want your revenge. You will have it, Tiberius. You know I honor my word, and I will see to it that you get every drop of blood you are owed for the death of your friend. But trust me on this—revenge tastes just as sweet when taken at your leisure. And, when taken at your leisure, it is much more likely that you get to finish the meal without staining your clothes. Believe me, I know."

It did little to ease me. I tried to hear him. I understood logically that he was right. It would be the same result if it took two months as if it took a week. But I was hot. It was easier to shift the feelings of guilt and sorrow when something as burning as hate and murder was there to take their place.

Tara turned her head sharply. She moved swiftly, with the light ease of the Arrow suit, to the rampart and peered into the distance. I think we all reacted with some sense of urgency. On the eve of war it was easy to imagine the Green Men trying to surprise us. They would surely have some agents capable of reporting our preparations. It was likely enough that the goings-on in the chamber had been reported. I felt a new feeling. Instead of apprehension at the thought of combat, I felt a surge of genuine excitement. I could get used to a feeling like that.

I noticed it shortly after. The hum of an approaching footfield. My hand went to the hilt of my sword, excitement flaring. That would mean Griidlords. I mentally salivated at the thought of Perdinger being among them.

Balthazar wasted no time. "Go forth. Quickly. That's too small a field to be a merchant caravan. Don't attack without provocation—it may be an envoy. But encircle them. Let them see they face the full roster here. And be ready."

None acted faster than I. Where the others turned to the steps down from the ramparts, I leapt. Hot fury and bloodlust fueled the leap. Once I was airborne, I had to admit the brief wondering if this had been a mistake. But I plummeted to the earth and my suit absorbed the impact with ease. Dirt exploded and flew through the air as I hit the ground and rolled, wasting no time to pause, driving myself forward to meet them. Balthazar had said to encircle them. There was no reason I couldn't be the part of the circle that they met first. I snapped my helmet into place and held my sword.

The field before me slowed as it approached the city walls. I frowned slightly. If this were a battle tactic, they would have pressed closer. They would have driven near to the safety limits of the footfield, using surprise and momentum. Then again, if this were a battle tactic, they probably wouldn't have raced across open farmland in broad daylight. I felt the light go out of me, my shoulders sagging, as I realized this probably wasn't an opportunity to fight.

The field faded from the oncoming party. When it parted, four figures stood in the open. All four of them were Griidlords. I sheathed my sword. It seemed there would be no battle today. At least, none that I wanted.

I didn't know two of them. They bore the colors of South New York. A Sword and an Arrow. The Sword wore a crown on his unhelmed head. In New York, where they had kings, it was often the King who wore a suit—most often the Sword. That would make this Kestrel Crowthorne.

The other two figures were clad in the armor of Indianapolis. I knew Morningstar the moment I saw him, even with his helm up. The other man—the Axe who stood beside him—was unnervingly familiar. This would have been the replacement for the man I killed during the Falling. I squinted at him. A big, strapping figure with a wild, unkempt tangle of dark beard.

I knew him.

From where?

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