Mikhail left the barracks and spotted Zinaida striding towards Borovsk III. He sucked his teeth a moment, then jogged after her. Klara had made it plain she wanted nothing to do with him, but Zinaida at least tolerated him. He needed allies if he was going to survive long enough to get to Dominik.

  “So what did Nikolay want?” Zinaida asked as he fell into step beside her.

  Mikhail scowled. Nikolay had been true to his word and located Dominik. Unfortunately, Dominik was in Katavsk. Even if he actually survived training, the chances of him being amongst the top percent the council sent to Katavsk was slim at best.

  “To tell me in great detail what would happen if he found even the slightest trace of mud on the floor,” Mikhail said at last.

  “Ah huh…”

  They reached the mud covered tunnel to Borovsk III. The mud had been swept far and wide since they’d arrived last night. Mikhail groaned. How many hours would it take to clean it?

  “Do you think they’ll give us a broom?” Zinaida asked.

  “They probably want us to use our coats.”

  A young man, a low ranking Sentinel watcher, walked down the tunnel, and Mikhail and Zinaida saluted.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Zinaida said.

  “Yes?” the watcher said.

  “Where might we find a broom?”

  A smile crinkled the corners of the watcher’s eyes. “Nikolay set you to cleaning, did he?”

  Zinaida chuckled and nodded. “Yes he did, sir.”

  “Follow me.” The watcher took them down one of the side streets. They came to a door, and the watcher opened it and led them inside.

  The room appeared to be a cleaning closet, lit by a single gaslamp. Brooms and mops lined one wall while a ceiling-high shelf loaded with buckets lined the other.

  “Take what you need, just make sure it gets returned when you’re done,” the watcher said. “The cleaners are as likely to kill you in your sleep as not if you misplace any of their equipment. And believe me, they are as fierce a fighter as any here.”

  Mikhail swallowed and nodded as the watcher left.

  “The cleaners sound like a fun bunch,” Zinaida said, grabbing a broom and bucket.

  “Like everyone else here.” Mikhail followed suit, and they returned to the main street and began sweeping.

  “So why are you here?” Zinaida asked. “I mean, it can’t be because you want to be a Sentinel. Klara said you loathed us.”

  “Loath is a strong word,” Mikhail said, glancing around, nervous. A group of watchers stood a way off down the street, but they were out of earshot.

  “Well, is it true?” Zinaida pressed.

  “No. I just think Sentinels could fight smarter.”

  Zinaida laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. The Alchemist boy wants to show Sentinels how to fight?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Mikhail said, suddenly hot under his roll-neck collar.

  “Then help this simple fighter understand.”

  Mikhail continued sweeping. “The Alchemist Guild has developed weapons that can blow a hole in a dragon’s hide, yet you still prefer to run in and hit them with swords.”

  “I see. So you want the Sentinels to rely even more heavily on Alchemtek?”

  “When it’d save lives, yes.”

  “Well,” Zinaida said, pausing in her sweeping and turning to Mikhail. “It might save lives in the short term, but what happens if the Alchemists remove their support?”

  “Why the depths would the Guild do that?”

  “Yes. Why indeed would they turn on someone who has such a long history of supporting them so loyally?”

  Mikhail caught the sarcasm, but Zin’s comment reminded him of the Grand Master’s order and the evil glitter in Voronin Master’s eyes as he prepared to brand him. Clearly, they had no qualms about removing a loyal Alchemist…

  Zinaida patted Mikhail’s head. “Such sweet naivety.”

  Mikhail swiped her hand away and glowered at her. “Typical Sentinel, believing you’re the only people that care about the future of Serovnya and can protect it.”

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

  “The Alchemist Guild will ensure the future of Kosgrad, the rest of Serovnya is beyond their interests,” Zinaida said.

  “Perhaps the Grand Master and Voronin Master do only care about Kosgrad, but I know many Alchemists who slave day and night to ensure our country survives the monsters. If not for their work, the Sentinels would’ve fallen decades ago, when the gates first started appearing.”

  Zinaida grinned at Mikhail. “I’m teasing you, kid,” she said with a wink. “I’ll help you with whatever you’re here for.”

  “I have all the help I need,” he said stiffly.

  “You still holding out for Klara’s assistance?”

  In truth? He was. A pang of regret stabbed Mikhail’s hearts. He should have voted to go with her plan and walk the walls.

  “Sorry to say, kid,” Zinaida said, “but Klara told me she would never forgive you for trying to kill her two years ago.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill her,” Mikhail said, flushing. “I wasn’t in control.”

  “Don’t think it matters to her. You took strength extract, lost control, and raged. You hurt her and you ran away. She blames you for Sergei pushing her so hard.”

  Mikhail sagged. So she really did still hate him. But wait… “If she’s so mad at me, why doesn’t she tell Yefimova who I am?”

  “Eh, if she tells anyone now that she knew about you, she’ll get in trouble for withholding dangerous information from the council.”

  “I see,” Mikhail said, disappointed.

  “Don’t worry though,” Zinaida said. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll help.”

  Mikhail grunted and shoved his broom against a stubborn clod of dried mud.

  “You can trust me. I’m really good at getting things done,” Zinaida said.

  He needed to get to Katavsk, but leaving now would raise questions about him. If Klara was questioned, she’d be forced to lie or be punished for concealing the truth about him. Mikhail’s gut knotted. He really had done a great job ensuring she wouldn’t forgive him.

  However, every day he stayed here increased the odds he’d be discovered. Surely his complete and utter lack of fitness and strength had made Yefimova suspicious. Especially given the absence of his name on her roster of new wardens.

  If the Sentinels discovered his true identity, he faced a nonstop trip back to the Alchemist Guild and a life as a dishonoured. Or worse.

  Somehow, he’d managed to get his life more tangled than a room full of super-heated pronzat.

  “All right, you can help,” he said. “I need to get to Katavsk.”

  Zinaida did a double take. “Katavsk? What’s in Katavsk for you?”

  Not what, who. “Can you help or not?”

  Zinaida walked to the side of the street and set her broom against the wall. “Come on.”

  “But the mud…”

  Zinaida rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and dragged him down the street.

  “Where are we going?” Mikhail asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  People glanced at them as they marched through the Central Circle, but no one stopped them. When they reached the middle of the cavern, Zinaida took the street heading to Borovsk IV.

  Mikhail frowned in confusion, then realised that this street also led to the airfield tunnel.

  As they approached the tunnel, he asked, “Why are you helping me?”

  Zinaida shrugged. “You gotta help family—Sentinel family—so I had to do something. Besides, I hate seeing how Klara is treating you.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. Thank you,” Mikhail said. Finally, the Sovereign Sculptor was smiling on him. Well, not frowning quite so much… or had just forgotten to torment him this evening. Whichever it was, Mikhail accepted the break.

  They entered the tunnel to the airfield, and Zinaida fastened her half-mask in place. She pivoted and walked backwards, facing him. “You should put your mask on, too.”

  Mikhail’s throat tightened. Wow, she makes the half-mask look good.

  Zinaida’s brown eyes glittered above the sharp, aggressive lines of the half-mask. She winked at him then pulled her hood up as she switched to walking forwards, an undeniable self-assurance in her step which her snug Sentinel coat flattered.

  Mikhail quickly donned his own half-mask and hood, grateful he could hide his burning cheeks. With every step up the tunnel, the temperature plunged and for once Mikhail was glad of the chill.

  The dull roar of wind grew as they neared the closed door at the tunnel’s exit. Two Sentinel watchers looked them up and down and let them pass.

  Mikhail followed Zinaida out into the moonlit night and braced himself against the icy wind that howled past. Howled through would be more accurate. Mikhail shivered.

  Ahead, the giant black shadows of airships groaned as the wind buffeted them and they strained against the heavy ropes anchoring them.

  Zinaida made straight for a stumpy building fifty yards to the left of the tunnel. A dim light flickered in the single window. On reaching the building, she rapped on the door.

  Seconds later, the door cracked open, and a woman eyed them from within.

  “Can we come in?” Zinaida yelled over the wind.

  The woman hesitated, then opened the door.

  Zinaida and Mikhail darted in.

  A gas heater burned in the back corner of the small room, leaving the air warm and dry. A single desk sat beneath a window facing the airships. The wall opposite the door consisted entirely of shelves stacked high with paperwork.

  “What are you two doing out here?” the woman—who Mikhail noted was a sharp-eye defender—asked.

  “Well, ma’am,” Zinaida said, removing her mask, “we were sent to find out when the next airship is leaving for Katavsk.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t rightly know. A watcher told us to march into a freezing cold night to ask.”

  A half-smile curved the sharp-eye’s lips. “Welcome to Borovsk. In the future, if someone gives you strange orders, get their name. If they’re messing with you, they won’t want to give it.”

  Huh, two nice Sentinels in one night. Perhaps they’re not all arrogant bullies.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Zinaida said, ducking her head. “Can we still get the information?”

  The sharp-eye walked to her desk and rifled through a few papers. “Next airship to Katavsk leaves in two weeks.”

  The news slammed into Mikhail, no less devastating a blow than if Yeger had punched him in the stomach. He tried to breathe but found he couldn’t. Two weeks? How on Vlanovia could he keep this charade up for two weeks? A few days perhaps, but weeks?

  I can’t do it, Mother…