A week later, Devvyn swung open the iron gate to find Lord Pyrethorn standing on the other side. The man's presence was as commanding as ever, the crisp gold-and-crimson trim of his coat catching the morning light.
Beside him stood Isadora…and another boy about their age dressed in a deep navy tunic embroidered with silver thread, a small crest stitched over the heart. The boy's posture was straight, his expression unreadable.
Behind them, a sleek black carriage gleamed in the street. Two Bloodbound guards in polished armor stood beside it, their halberds planted firmly into the cobblestones.
Devvyn bowed low. "My Lord," he said, stepping aside.
Lord Pyrethorn gave a curt nod and strode forward. "Wait outside," he instructed the guards, who immediately straightened to attention.
He stepped into the compound without another word, Isadora and the unknown boy following closely behind.
When the boy stepped through the gate, he and Devvyn gave each other a quick once-over. The silver-stitched crest on the boy's tunic caught Devvyn's eye—a stylized sun over a mountain peak. House Aurelius. One of the major highborn families. The ones who controlled Lothara.
So, another highborn brat. Devvyn rolled his eyes before the boy could notice, then shut and locked the gate behind them.
"This way," he said, guiding Lord Pyrethorn, Isadora, and the boy through the yard to the workshop out back.
"My grandmother will be down soon," Devvyn told them as he opened the workshop door. He motioned toward the row of stools that Maelis had instructed him to set out before they came. Lord Pyrethorn took one without comment. Isadora sat with her usual composed grace. The boy sat freely but with hands folded neatly in his lap.
The minutes ticked by in awkward silence. Eventually, Lord Pyrethorn rose and began to drift about the workshop. He peered at the shelves, picked up a brass gear and turned it in his hands before setting it down again.
That's when Maelis stepped into the workshop.
"Lord Pyrethorn," she greeted. Her gaze flicked to Isadora. "Lady Isadora. And…"
Lord Pyrethorn gestured to the boy. "This is Marcus Aurelius, second son of House Aurelius."
Maelis inclined her head to Marcus in greeting, and Devvyn gave a brief nod as well.
"If you'll come with me," Maelis said, motioning for them to follow. She led them toward the back of the workshop, where she and Devvyn had set up the machine earlier that morning. The machine stood about as high as Devvyn's waist, its surface a patchwork of steel plates and fitted joints, the core nestled securely within its housing. It was nearly as wide as a shed, too large to work on indoors, so they'd had to complete it outside. Devvyn had built a sturdy wheeled platform to roll it wherever it needed to go.
Lord Pyrethorn eyed it with a faint crease in his brow. Isadora and Marcus exchanged the same confused look.
"Just this?" Lord Pyrethorn asked.
"I said one machine, didn't I?" Maelis looked at him pointedly.
"I assumed it'd be one machine with multiple moving parts."
"It has just enough parts." Maelis said, "just this, is going to make up for needing multiple machines or destroying what's left of the Lower City with multiple drilling points."
"If you'll let me explain," she continued, stepping around the machine. She pointed to two open fittings. "Your men will attach the drillers here, then place them on the ground. Once the machine is on, it will spin the drills and handle the drilling into the ground on its own. No need for your men to drill manually anymore."
"Oh," Isadora murmured, leaning in slightly.
"Once that's done, they can remove the drills, replace the nozzles with those," she said pointing to two open nozzles hanging on the machine, " and then attach the mana suction pipes and drop them into the drilled holes."
Maelis moved her hand to two more openings on the other side. "These are for getting the mana into gallons. Attach slug pipes here, and connect them to the containers. I've programmed a five-litre filling limit into the machine. Once a gallon reaches that mark, this stopper—" she tapped a brass latch "—will automatically block the filling for two minutes. That gives the handler exactly two minutes to swap in an empty gallon."
Isadora made a small sound of approval in her throat. "So there's never going to be an overflow?"
"No," Maelis said, shaking her head. "The internal storage is twenty litres, so I expect the workers to move fast and replace the gallons as soon as they're full. My grandson came up with the idea of an internal storage."
Isadora's eyes lit with open admiration as she looked at Devvyn. "Impressive."
"But how does this help?" Lord Pyrethorn asked, his tone edging toward irritation. "My men will still have to drill multiple points just to find if there's mana in the ground. They'll still have to demolish houses."
"Oh, Calder, patience," Maelis chided, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I was just getting to that part."
She straightened and gestured toward the machine. "I applied the principles of another technology to this design. This machine is essentially a mana Locator. It is calibrated to identify points beneath the earth where mana is concentrated, then drill those points directly."
"Like Devvyn's Echo Locator?" Isadora blurted, her voice bright with recognition.
Devvyn grimaced.
"Mm-hmm," Maelis drew out, not looking at Devvyn. "Like his Echo Locator. And if the source happens to be beneath a house, the machine will drill in a way that won't compromise the building's structural integrity."
Devvyn added, "It also has a magnetic sensor attuned to mana, so it can draw out every last bit available."
Lord Pyrethorn threw back his head and laughed. "I have to say, Maelis—you've outdone yourself."
She only rolled her eyes at him.
"How much can I offer you to build more of these?" he asked. "I could make a fortune selling them to the other lords."
"No," Maelis said firmly. "Our agreement was for one. I've fulfilled it."
"You and I could make great things together, like the old days when you worked with my father at the Academy."
"What old days?" Devvyn asked, frowning.
Maelis's voice was brisk. "Devvyn, why don't you take Isadora and Marcus to the workshop and show them around? Lord Pyrethorn and I have something to discuss privately."
"But—" Devvyn started to protest.
"Do as she says, son," Lord Pyrethorn cut him off.
Devvyn frowned, then looked at Isadora and Marcus. "Come on, then."
He stomped toward the workshop, shoved the door open, and dropped into a chair. "I hope you don't actually expect me to show you around."
"No," Isadora said, "but it would be nice if you did."
When Devvyn didn't respond, she gestured to Marcus. "This is my friend Marcus. He was visiting and wanted to come along."
"Hello, Marcus," Devvyn said—and nothing else.
"It's good to meet you," Marcus Aurelius replied. "Isadora has told me many great things about you."
"She has?" Devvyn asked, surprised.
Marcus smiled faintly. "It's not every day Isadora gives high praise about someone, so you must be something. I also saw you that day at the tech competition. You probably didn't notice me because I was dressed as I am now. Your presentation that day was great. You should come join us at the Academy, I believe you would excel in the tech classes."
"I'm not interested in tech," Devvyn said. "And I don't have a free pass to the Academy like you and Isadora do. I'd have to go through the Gauntlet Trials to get in. I could die."
Marcus lowered his gaze. "Right… sorry."
Isadora let out an annoyed huff. "Why are you being so rude?"
"I don't know," Devvyn shot back, leaning against the chair with his arms crossed. "Maybe because I have to leave my home because someone's father wants to make a ton of money."
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Ugh, you're insufferable."
"So are you," Devvyn retorted without missing a beat.
While the two of them exchanged glares, Marcus wandered toward one of the cluttered shelves. A small wooden box on the workbench caught his eye. Inside was a jumble of trinkets and worn metal baubles, clearly long-forgotten.
He reached in and picked up a circular crest, its polished surface still catching the light despite the tarnish at its edges. Turning the piece over in his hand, Marcus asked casually, "What year did your grandmother attend the Academy?"
Devvyn, still watching Isadora with narrowed eyes, glanced over. "That? It's just one of the bits of junk grandmother owns. She probably bought it off a street vendor."
Marcus's brows drew together. "That's impossible." He held the crest out so Devvyn could see the engraved markings. "These are only awarded to top students at the Academy. It's a different design from what's used now but yeah…you can't just buy one of these."
Devvyn frowned, the irritation in his voice replaced by skepticism. "So?"
"So," Marcus said slowly, his gaze flicking between Devvyn and the workshop door, "either your grandmother earned this herself… or someone else in your family did. Either way, this crest shouldn't be here unless your family has a history at the Academy you don't know about."
Devvyn watched as Lord Pyrethorn's carriage rumbled slowly down the street, the iron-rimmed wheels clattering against the cobblestones. Behind it, hitched to a smaller transport platform, the machine sat strapped down, its steel panels catching the late afternoon light. Through the open side of the carriage, Marcus Aurelius leaned out, one hand gripping the frame, the other raised in a wave.
"Still think about what I said!" Marcus called, his voice carrying over the creak of the wheels.
Devvyn simply raised a hand in a vague half-wave until the carriage turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
He closed the gate and turned to find Maelis still frowning after Lord Pyrethorn's exit. "Seems you got along well with Marcus. What did he say?"
"Nothing important," Devvyn muttered, folding his arms. His nails pressed into his palms until he felt the sting. He looked away, jaw tight. "Or… maybe he did."
Maelis's brow arched slightly. "Go on."
"He said the crest in your junk box can only be gotten if someone in our family went to the Golden Academy." His voice was even, but there was an undercurrent of accusation in it. "Which is funny, because you told me our family's never been involved in that part of society. That we've all been gadget makers, going back generations."
Maelis let out a long, slow sigh. "Devvyn…" Maelis started, but he cut her off.
"I don't get it," he said sharply. "You talk about us trusting each other, but you keep hiding things from me, especially about my parents. Why won't you tell me stuff about them?" The words came out hotter than he'd intended. For a moment, a ripple of guilt passed through him. After all, he was hiding things from her too. But his secrets were different. He kept them to protect her, to make sure she didn't get dragged into anything dangerous.
Maelis's tone was measured. "I do tell you about them."
"No," Devvyn said, his tone hard. "Not the things that matter. I don't even know how they met."
Maelis drew in a breath, then exhaled through her nose. "Fine. I went to the Golden Academy and graduated top of the class. As did your father. But that does not remove from our family history. Making gadgets, machines and devices that help people is what we've done. And what we'll always do."
"You're deflecting. When did—"
But Maelis lifted a hand to her temple, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm tired, Devvyn. I spent nights working on that damn machine for Pyrethorn. And we still need to pack our belongings and move out today." Her voice thinned with weariness. "Can we talk about this when we're settled in the new house?"
He knew what she was doing—diverting, dodging, pushing the topic off until it suited her. But after a long moment, he gave a stiff nod. "Fine."
Maelis glanced toward the corner where Devvyn's satchel and toolbag rested. "You've packed everything you need?"
"Yes," he said.
"Good. I'll call for a truck to help us move." She wiped her hands on her coat and headed inside the house.
Devvyn followed. "Why," he asked, "did Lord Pyrethorn get us housing in the Golden Fields and not one of the other districts in the Lower City?"
Maelis paused mid-step, then shrugged lightly. "I suppose he wanted to do something for an old acquaintance."
"Nice of him." The words were flat.
Maelis either didn't notice or chose not to comment. "Go let Aela and her siblings know the moving truck will be here soon. I'm so glad she decided to come with us."
"Me too," Devvyn admitted. "I'll organise my things and bring them down to the sitting room first," he added, hefting his toolbag over one shoulder. "Then I'll go help Aela."
"Alright."
