Fixing Fate

Chapter One

A blast broke the quiet of the countryside, a string of Yandosian swears riding hot on its heels.

Kaedrich Mannly looked up from her work. At the bottom of the hill where she was sitting there was an overgrown train track, and sitting on the tracks was a converted rail car, gutted out and secured to the ground. Kaedrich held her breath, waiting. She had a system now: one explosion wasn’t much cause for alarm, and judging from the selection of profanities, it hadn’t even been a terribly large one. Now, if there were two . . .

Another blast. This one lit up the interior of the rail car, a brilliant flash of green met with the most violent of curses from the lands beneath the southern pole.

Now it was a problem.

"Not again," Kaedrich muttered. She hurriedly closed the leather portfolio that she’d had spread across her knees, jamming her fountain pen into her shirt pocket as she scrambled to her feet. She sprinted down the hill, trampling a well-worn path across the dying yellow-green grass. Her long legs carried her easily to level ground, across the tiny stretch of empty field, and within seconds she was vaulting over the steps of the rail car in a single leap.

The whole thing was a little ridiculous. A train car in the middle of nowhere, converted into a makeshift laboratory, at the entrance to a dried-up mine that now served as storage for their supplies and notes. It wasn’t that it didn’t work—it did—but sometimes Kaedrich wished that their need for secrecy wasn’t so great, and that they could have set up shop in a spare room of Brindlewood Hall, or rented an empty workshop somewhere nearby. She wasn’t sure that she liked being this far from help, should true disaster ever strike. What if one of these days the explosion wasn’t so minor, so easily contained? What if the laboratory caught fire more than Praxis could handle?

Okay, so nothing really bad had happened yet, but with Praxis Fellows you could never be too careful.

Smoke billowed out as Kaedrich yanked open the door. She ducked to avoid it, darting inside. A bandanna was already pulled up over her face—she wore it around her neck these days like an outlaw, because around here you never knew when you were going to need it in a hurry.

The inside of the car was a disaster area, although only about half of that was due to the explosion. Broken beakers littered the floor, piles of green ash and hodgepodge stacks of notebooks spread out across the counters. A bowl of rotted fruit from three weeks ago sat on a table in the corner.

Kaedrich slammed the leather portfolio onto a counter by the door as she stormed over to a workstation where a flash of white hair struggled to show through a coating of thick green soot. She grabbed Praxis by the arm and yanked her roughly to her feet. "You said you were going to wait until I got back, Kaedrich snapped, as Praxis doubled over coughing, leaning heavily against a counter. You promised."

Praxis waved the rebuke aside. Both of her hands were singed an angry red, though her right one had been marginally protected from the blast by the leather brace that she wore. I had an inspiration, was her only excuse.

It was always her excuse. She slipped her right hand free of the brace and ran it over her left, leaving behind smooth skin as her healing spell worked its magic. Kaedrich often wondered if Praxis relied on it too much, if her magic was making her more reckless than she should be. In truth, Praxis shouldn’t be using it at all—the Royal Society of Magic had banned her from doing so when they’d kicked her out of the capital city, though Praxis had a somewhat . . . interesting view on what did and did not count.

Kaedrich shook her head, surveying the damage that bloomed out from the workstation. "Some inspiration that turned out to be. Do you even remember the measurements? How do you expect me to keep track of our progress if you don’t let me write things down?"

Praxis coughed over the lingering smoke as she blatantly ignored the reprimand, and Kaedrich clucked her tongue in disgust. Sometimes it felt like Praxis didn’t even notice all the work that Kaedrich put in—measuring, testing, dutifully filling logbooks with detailed notes about temperature and color spectrum—because it was easier, showier, more impressive to focus on her flashes of so-called inspiration. Seven months since they’d set up this makeshift laboratory. Kaedrich had gotten a crash course in chemistry, filed and sorted all of their notes and materials, hauled more crates back and forth than she cared to think about, and still at the end it came down to her to clean up Praxis’s messes.

It’s not like she expected much else when she’d signed on, but a little recognition would have been nice.

She left Praxis to her mending, crossing the converted train car in three irritated strides. She flipped a latch and pushed, opening the car to the bright light of day. Fresh air coursed in, green smoke coursed out. It would be at least three days before the metallic tang and smell of sour milk dissipated, but she might as well help it along as much as she could.

Behind her Praxis was wincing, shielding her face from the fresh sunlight. Once, in the first time that they’d worked together, someone had mistakenly asked if Praxis was a vampire—Kaedrich had to admit, she could understand the confusion. It wasn’t just her pallor of death, the stark-white hair and matched skin. Growing up in the depths of the ice of the frozen south, all Praxis had ever known was the eerie blue glow of the lapus lumeni gems, and she had never seemed to fully adjust to the concept of living by the rhythms of the sun.

Kaedrich finished opening the rest of the windows, and they abandoned the train car to let it air out. Praxis was already outside, portfolio in hand. Kaedrich grabbed Praxis’s hat off a shelf as she passed—a beat up, ten gallon style rancher hat that Praxis had found gods-only-knew where—and dropped it on Praxis’s head. She waited as Praxis made her way down, her wrist flexing in delayed-action unison with her leg as she navigated one stair and then another.

Heights were a problem for her these days. Kaedrich never would have thought of the steps leading into the train car as being particularly tall, but then, she didn’t have to rely on a complicated winch-and-pulley system to move her right leg around. When Praxis reached the grass, she moved aside to let Kaedrich by. Each step carried forth a shushed sigh of the ropes and pulleys, the subtle creak of leather, a faint click as the metal supports on her leg settled into their carried weight. Kaedrich squeezed past, self-conscious of her ease of motion.

Praxis moved back over and sat on the bottom step. She slipped her hand free of the brace on her wrist, which controlled the whole system like a marionette. That was the trade-off: use of the leg, restriction on the hand; use of the hand, no motion from the leg. Praxis had gotten so quick at slipping her hand in and out of the brace that it barely slowed her down these days, but the constant need to switch from walking to picking things up must have been like a splinter that you could never quite remove. So it seemed to Kaedrich—she had never heard Praxis complain about it, although that told you nothing.

I think that the approach we were taking last week is probably better, Kaedrich said as Praxis opened the portfolio. Kaedrich’s notes ran neatly all down the page. She knew that the data supported her, but sometimes getting Praxis to see it was next to impossible.

In part, Kaedrich sometimes privately thought this was because Praxis was in a little over her head. Why she’d been hired to work on engine designs when she clearly knew nothing about engineering was anyone’s guess—although, knowing Praxis, she may well have proclaimed herself an expert, and just about anyone would believe her authoritative tone. You couldn’t blame Mr. Vandervoon for that one. She’d suffered along at the job in silence until, one morning, she’d woken up in a fit of inspiration. Apparently the designs that had been left behind were intended to be used with a modified version of choate-salt, which ran hotter and longer than its pure state. There was only a single scribble about how such a modified salt would actually be achieved, but that didn’t phase Praxis. Which meant that, now, without any warning, they were playing scientist instead.

No one could argue that it wasn’t a better fit. Praxis’s magic was also a sort of science, or so she’d explained once, and it turned out that chemistry came surprisingly easy to Kaedrich. It was still a lot of trial and error. They didn’t have much to work with, no formal training on either of their parts. But it was working, slowly—they’d gotten the choate-salt to burn a little hotter than the standard formula already. So why did Praxis never see this?

A loud caw broke overhead, loud enough to rival that of the largest birds of prey. Kaedrich glanced up as a whirling mass of iridescent blue and silver tore from the sky and barreled straight at Praxis. Brex slammed into the top of her chest so hard that Praxis rocked in place, but she didn’t even look up from the portfolio spread across her knees. She reached up and scritched at the small creature’s head as he nuzzled her chin from underneath, her fingers digging at the base of his mousy ears.

I suppose that we should probably pack it in early today, Kaedrich said, when Praxis had still offered no response to Kaedrich’s suggestion. You’re not going to be able to get anything done until the worst of the smoke clears out.

Praxis sighed. She adjusted Brex, freeing a hand so that she could flip through the top pages of the portfolio. The creature clawed his way up to settle on her shoulder, wedging himself into the narrow gap between her shirt collar and her neck. His leathery wing darted out to stabilize himself. He ducked his head as he curled into a ball, a tiny trilling purr instantly rippling through the air. Praxis stroked him absentmindedly. I really thought I had something this time.

I know, Kaedrich said. She dug out the key to the storage mines, already turning. I’ll get the rest of today’s notes, give you something to do on the train home. You never know: maybe this is already the day that everything’s changed.

A bitter snort ruffled Brex’s fur. Yeah, sure, Praxis said, as she flipped the portfolio closed and handed it back to Kaedrich. As if anything ever happens anymore.

*   *   *

Another wasted afternoon, another setback. This was becoming a tired refrain.

As Praxis stood beside the dirt that was all that was left of the platform that used to connect this place to the world, she couldn’t help but run a tally in her head, each of the days that they’d lost in one way or another. There were the weeks after she’d found the scrawled equation, but before they had found a suitable place to work. There was the time it had taken to purchase and transport all the equipment, the week they’d spent setting up the abandoned train car and converting it into a makeshift laboratory. There was the day just after she’d thought she could finally begin, when she realized that she’d forgotten about a single chemical she’d need to make the catalyst work. One day when the ropes controlling her winch-and-pulley system were frayed to the verge of breaking, and she’d had to take it all apart and string it back together. Two days that she’d had to set aside just last month to answer a bunch of stupid questions that the Orange Rail Lines’ Board of Directors had about the feasibility of her new work—how they had found out at all was something of a touchy subject, and had never been answered to her satisfaction.

And, of course, the five terrible days this past spring when Kaedrich had caught a nasty cold; she’d laid up in bed, too sick to move, and Praxis had taken up station as nursemaid and guard, forbidding anyone else to tend to her. Praxis was quite possibly the only person who knew that Kaedrich was not the man that she presented to the world, nor any man at all, and the last thing that they needed was someone trying to be helpful, to have them see Kaedrich in her sleep, or come across the spare bindings that Kaedrich had been too weak to continue to wrap around her chest every day. Nursing the sick was not exactly Praxis’s specialty—something she’d finally managed to make more than clear to the Vandervoons after the birth of their baby—but those were desperate times.

Not to mention simply the number of days like this: with Praxis standing at the edge of their work area, waiting while Kaedrich locked up both the lab and the storage mines behind them, the sting of another day’s failures biting even stronger than the growing nip in the air. Praxis waited in silence as the sun dipped below the tops of the distant trees. A breeze fluttered by, kicking back the lingering smell of sour milk that the choate-salt had long since stained into her coat.

Kaedrich’s voice caught up with her, drifting in over the shifting of grass and chattering of evening birds. All set.

Praxis nodded curtly as Kaedrich came to stand alongside her. About time. I was nearly ready to . . . Her voice trailed off as her attention drifted to a point beyond Kaedrich. She lifted the black-tinted spectacles that she wore even now, this late in the afternoon, and narrowed her eyes at the place where the far edge of the field turned back into forest. Autumn’s colors stained the leaves, brilliant displays of red and gold fighting for dominance over the landscape.

What’s wrong? Kaedrich asked, even as she turned to look for herself.

Nothing, Praxis said slowly. And it was true, because there was nothing to see. The normal shadows, elongated by the dipping sun, swayed only in response to the shifting winds and the skittering of small animals. A quick glance skyward revealed Brex making large, lazy circles overheard, utterly unconcerned. Praxis shook herself as she dropped her spectacles back in place. She scowled at Kaedrich. It’s nothing. Gods, you worry so much, you know that?

It was nothing. It was probably nothing.

They walked in a familiar silence, Praxis’s wrist easing up and down. Praxis was often sullen on their return trips, she knew, and she also knew that perhaps she should try not to be. She glanced beside her, where Kaedrich had her hands buried deep in her pockets and was watching the tops of the trees as she walked. In the early evening Kaedrich’s rich brown skin took on a glowing, gem-like quality, the setting sun bringing out the more brassy highlights. Praxis forced herself to look away, concentrating on the dips in the road instead.

Kaedrich never complained. Well—never about anything petty or pointless, anyway. Always putting a positive spin on things, always trying to find the bright side to any situation. It was a wonder that she managed to put up with Praxis, day in and day out, but it was the kind of wonder that Praxis didn’t dare question too deeply for fear of breaking it.

So fine, Praxis said finally, startling a cluster of birds nearby with the sudden breaking of the silence. You’re right, I should have waited for you.

Kaedrich laughed softly under her breath. She kicked at a stone lying on top of the gravel country road, sending it skittering along the path in front of them. I’m not going to argue with that.

"It’s just that I thought I had something this time. And if I’d waited—"

"The result would have been the same, except that I’d have had time to write down what ratio you were trying this time—so that the next time that you think you ‘have something,’ you could compare and see if it has already blown up in your face," Kaedrich said. Her tone was not unkind, but Praxis scowled anyway, turning up the collar of her slate-blue overcoat.

Shut up.

Such was always Praxis’s response when she’d been called out, and they both knew it, so Kaedrich didn’t bother to rub it in—though she did duck her head away to hide a private smirk.

They had caught up with Kaedrich’s kicking stone again, and again Kaedrich sent it bouncing on ahead. The road bent, widening as they approached a clearing and the slat-fenced front yard of a farm house. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Praxis, you know that. You have good ideas—brilliant ideas, sometimes. But between having an idea and pulling it off is a huge stretch of patience and hard work, and you just—

Well, well, came a voice up ahead, as a straw hat and the long handle of some sort of garden instrument rose into view above the top of a row of shrubbery.

Praxis groaned. Already, her brief conversation with Kaedrich lay scattered on the road behind them, and Praxis’s mind raced ahead to some banal topic that she could use to distract this man with, like dangling a string in front of a cat. I think a storm might be— she started, but Farmer What’s-His-Name (she could never quite remember) was already plowing ahead.

There was another fella ’round nosing about, he said, folding his hands over the top of his gardening tool and leaning against them amiably. "Asked if I’d seen any Yandosian wizards comin’ or goin’ lately."

Who were they this time? Praxis asked with a weary sigh. MonMarc Railroads or Cransen Lines?

It wasn’t surprising. Any new approach to engine design—no matter how much of a foolish dream it might still be—would provide a major leg-up in these long-stagnant doldrums in innovation. Praxis kept her business to herself, and she knew that Kaedrich didn’t talk, but it wasn’t exactly private knowledge that she’d been hired by Mr. Vandervoon to look into the dusty designs of the late Abramm Haverdash. The fact that she’d moved her work out of Brindlewood was bound to cause some people to wonder: did she have something, at long last? The whispers would no doubt fly thick and fierce in the private halls of Orange Rail Lines’ top rivals, just in case Abramm was able to pull off another miracle. Even beyond the grave, he proved their biggest threat, it seemed.

The farmer was shaking his head, his jowls smacking against his chin. Couldn’a tell. Something . . . odd, about him. Might not have even . . . His voice trailed off as he stared into the distance beyond Praxis. Then he blinked, shaking his head again. Don’t remember what he looked like, tells’ya the truth. Don’t matter, though. Them’s three this month! Three!

Okay, okay, Praxis said. She began to dig through her pockets until she found a rumpled pile of Durlish dollar bills, four of which she peeled off and slapped into his outstretched hand.

Praxis had taken to paying off anyone that saw their commute on a regular basis, just in case. She didn’t honestly expect to never be found out, but she would like to prolong the moment as long as possible—at least, maybe, until she could have some solid progress to scare them with, the worst of their fears brought to life.

The farmer stuffed his money deep in the folds of his trousers, nodding appreciatively. Don’t got nothin’ against ol’ Orange, he said. Always like them Vans, Mrs. Vans especially. She’s a right classy one, that girl.

Praxis tried not to roll her eyes. She flexed her wrist, setting the whole system in motion again. Yeah. I’ll be sure to tell her.

Always knows how to make a man feel at home, the farmer went on. He eyed her outfit as she passed, the ratty pinstripe trousers, the ill-fitted cotton shirt that was probably once white, the severely battered slate-blue overcoat. Always has the best dresses, Mrs. Vans does. You tell her, you will, make sure that she knows. Maybe she could help you.

Was there even a point to replying? Praxis shook her head, muttered something under her breath that was as equally unladylike as her clothes.

No one would never accuse her of bein’ no lily-licker, that’s for damn sure!

Good day, Mr. Filler! Praxis called back, raising her free hand.

That’s Thiller! he shouted.

Yeah, whatever, Praxis muttered. At least now they were nearing the edge of the road-side portion of his property, and his grumbling was beginning to fade as he turned and headed for his front door.

Praxis shuddered, as if somehow shaking herself would be enough to dislodge the unpleasantness of Mr. Thiller’s attitude. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t as if the ignorant comments of some random farmer really mattered, anyway.

Instinctively, she stole a sidelong glance at Kaedrich.

Who had already fallen into place beside her a moment earlier. Kaedrich had wisely kept silent and to the sidelines throughout the exchange, but now she was frowning to herself, her lip turned in and caught between her teeth in the way that she did when something was puzzling her. She ran her hand over the tight-knit curls cropped right up against her scalp. When she glanced over at Praxis, Praxis quickly returned her attention to the road, scowling, focusing on the flex and pull of her wrist brace as she guided her foot along one step at a time.

"What is a lily-licker?" Kaedrich asked a second later, and Praxis nearly stumbled over herself. Her wrist had jerked in alarm, tripping up the whole system, and she started to fall sideways only to be caught and righted by Kaedrich.

Praxis deepened her scowl, ducking her head to examine her wrist brace. She was hoping to pass the blunder off as some kind of mechanical fault, even while her cheeks burned fierce underneath the brim of her hat. But the blush was creeping down along her arms, poking out even beyond the cuff of her sleeves, and unless she started moving again there was no way that Kaedrich wouldn’t spot it. Damn her Yandosian skin, flushing so thoroughly.

No idea, Praxis lied, still keeping her attention fixed away from Kaedrich. Who knows why that man says anything—oh, look, there’s Brex up ahead, that’s nice, isn’t it? And with that ridiculous excuse for a cover, Praxis quickened her pace as much as her pulleys would allow her, leaving Kaedrich to puzzle over the remark in silence.

There were some things that were really best left unspoken.

*   *   *

A polite cough sounded from over the headlines.

Kaedrich lowered her newspaper. The cough had originated from one of the porters, a cheerful young man that had been helping them occasionally in the last few months. Kaedrich was sure that she’d heard the young fellow’s name once or twice, but at the moment the information was completely beyond her. He stood there grinning, waiting, as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

Kaedrich folded her newspaper half-shut. Yes?

Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was wondering . . . you, um . . . you’re friends with that woman, aren’t you?

He was pointing across the platform, to where Praxis was waiting in line at the ticket agent’s window. As they watched, she stretched out a crick in her neck, twisting her head to one side and then the other in exaggerated motions.

I am, Kaedrich said slowly. What of it?

The porter shook his head. Nothing, nothing. Only, well, I’ve noticed the two of you coming around here a lot. Traveling.

People tend to do that in a train station.

The porter grinned. True. But not everyone makes such an, uh . . . interesting picture. Forgive me for being forward, but the pair of you are a very distinct couple.

Kaedrich rolled her eyes. She was used to this mistake by now. Praxis had chosen the spot for its privacy from the rest of the world so that no one would bother her while she was working, no prying eyes would figure out the advancements she expected to make. It never would have occurred to her how it would look, two people sneaking out into the middle of nowhere nearly every day, for hours at a time. Returning tired and occasionally sweaty, hair and clothes rumpled from work. Certainly the staff at Brindlewood took great mirth from it, and had spared Kaedrich no measure of teasing. She had to admit, though, that she had never anticipated running into the same thing at the station. She sighed. We’re not a couple.

She was expecting some kind of smirk of disbelief, perhaps a sure, sure, perhaps a raised eyebrow. It was the typical response. She was already prepared to defend her stance, if needed, but instead the porter broke out in a relieved, goofy grin. That’s good. Good.

Kaedrich raised an eyebrow. Is it?

The porter nodded. It is. He tugged the hem of his jacket, straightening the front. So, um. Tell me, what does she like? You know, any um . . . any particular flower? Chocolate?

For a second, Kaedrich could only boggle at the young man. He had moved on from his jacket and, while waiting for Kaedrich’s response, was smoothing out his slicked hair, checking his reflection in the bright, brassy signpost nearby. A man on a mission, Kaedrich thought as the porter neatened his white gloves. Her stomach soured.

When Kaedrich still said nothing, the porter looked back, eyes narrowed. What’s wrong? You think I’m not good enough for her?

No, it’s not that, Kaedrich said hastily. She shook her head, as if trying to clear a fog.

Then what?

A good question. Maybe it was just the thought of someone trying to win over Praxis’s affections with mere flowers and chocolates, as if that approach would garner anything more than a raised eyebrow and a disdainful shake of her head. Maybe the porter just didn’t strike Kaedrich as the right type—was he too short, perhaps, or too bold, or too plain? Maybe it was just the idea of anyone trying to court Praxis at all, a situation so foreign as to invite a moment’s shock. Not that Praxis wouldn’t be a worthy recipient of any young man’s fancies.

Instinctively, Kaedrich found her gaze crossing the platform, to where Praxis had just stepped up to the ticket agent. The fading sunlight cut in through high windows along the far wall, bouncing off of the brass grille that the ticket agent sat behind. It filled the room with a golden glow, dappled shadows playing across the walls and floors, glinting and gleaming off of the clock hanging fat overhead, and in that moment Praxis laughed at something the ticket agent said to her.

Kaedrich had spent so much of their time together marveling at Praxis’s knowledge, her bravery; or else being infuriated by her stubbornness, vexed by her smug superiority; or intimidated by the powers she wielded in nothing more than her finger; or simply suffering through the effort it took to rouse her and get her out of the house in a timely fashion. And in all of this time, going through first a major crisis and then slogging through the daily effort of keeping Praxis on track, Kaedrich hadn’t really stopped to consider it before, not much anyway. But of course someone was going to come asking after Praxis sooner or later, because there in front of her was the truth: she was lovely. Even in rebelling against the standards of what a lady should look like, even in her trousers and battered blouse, her oversized coat, her cropped hair. These things hid it from first glance, second glance, maybe even third glance, and perhaps by then you had already made up your mind about her and written her off. If you were willing to see past that, though, it was plain as day. There was an aristocratic dignity about her movements, and a face that only high-born breeding could manage. It was no wonder there had been whispers behind their backs.

I just . . . , Kaedrich started, as a giddy rush coursed through her, sending her head spinning. She tore her eyes away. I just . . . don’t think she would go for someone like you. Sorry.

The porter was still staring at her, eyes still narrowed, but the slightest curl of a smirk had begun fighting for dominance. I see. So it’s like that, is it?

Like what?

No, no, it’s fine, the porter said, waving her off. I get it. If I had an inside edge I wouldn’t necessarily want any competition nosing around either. He straightened his tie. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, his attention firmly fixed across the station. Course you can’t expect everyone to respect that.

Kaedrich felt her cheeks warm. No, you don’t—I’m not—it’s not—

The look that he gave her cut her off in a heartbeat. It was a look that sauntered up and elbowed Kaedrich conspiratorially in the ribs, as sure as if the porter had done it himself. They never believed her.

Kaedrich folded up the newspaper, stuffing it back into the bag slung against her hip just for something to do. Why did they never believe her? Did they think that they saw something, in the way that she and Praxis interacted, in the way that they looked at each other? If Kaedrich knew what it was, then she could correct the misunderstanding, adjust her habits so that no one made that mistake.

Because of course it was a mistake. Obviously. Just because Praxis was lovely, that meant nothing—Kaedrich had thought that plenty of women were lovely, that was just . . . that was normal, wasn’t it? Didn’t poets throughout the ages have plenty to say on the subject of women’s beauty? Acknowledging that, from time to time, was the same thing as admitting that yes, a summer’s day was also beautiful.

Obviously.

Kaedrich shook her head.

Beside her, the porter had apparently moved on. He was making a final adjustment to his prim little cap, and fastening on his best and most charming grin, and holding his arm behind his back, ready and waiting to help, and Praxis was striding toward them now, tickets in hand, and there was no place to hide.

Not that Kaedrich even knew what she was hiding from. The urge to bolt had seized her from behind, racing to her knees, her arms, and yet even as every instinct was telling her to flee she was rooted in place, as fixed as the signpost beside her. Praxis was reading something on the back of a folded brochure as she approached. The porter stepped forward, cleared his throat. Ah, excuse me, madam?

But Praxis didn’t even look at him. Come on, Kaedrich, she said, handing over one of the two tickets and strolling smoothly onward. In her wake the porter burbled for a second, blinking. He stepped forward, his arm half-raised. When Praxis glanced back a moment later, she had already donned her black-tinted spectacles, her dismissal of him evident in every twist of her muscles. Her eyes passed right over him, and settled on Kaedrich instead. She raised an eyebrow. Well?

Kaedrich found herself following without conscious intent. Next time, the porter muttered to her. Kaedrich grinned, then realized she had grinned and the expression disappeared as fast as water hitting hot coals. There was absolutely no reason for this to make her happy. She told herself that as they approached the train, and she told herself that as they queued up to board, and she told herself that as she let herself up the steps, but somehow that didn’t do much to quell the bubble of contentment that had nestled in her chest. She had won, but in a contest that she didn’t even realize she’d entered until it was too late, and now . . . She felt as if the station had just turned itself upside down, and she had tumbled up and landed on the ceiling. For the first time she had to wonder what everyone saw in the two of them. If it was true that there was something in Kaedrich’s face, in the way that she looked at Praxis—sure, it was impossible for there to be something, but.

But? Kaedrich staggered, tripping over her own feet as they made their way down the aisle of the train car. There wasn’t supposed to be a but on the end of that thought. There never could be, never would be, it just didn’t work like that, but.

But. She followed Praxis on unstable legs, her head buzzing, her heart racing. Kaedrich clutched the strap of her bag, the only steady thing that she had to ground herself against. Brex darted in behind them. They piled into their private compartment and Praxis snapped the door shut like she always did, and flopped heavily onto her seat like she always did, and Kaedrich sat down across from her like she always did, and everything was exactly the same as every other day, but. It wasn’t the same as any other day, it wasn’t even remotely the same, but: the trouble is that in some ways, Kaedrich feared, maybe it actually was.

Chapter Two

They had fallen into a rhythm over the last few months. Up at some ungodly hour of the morning, the sun still working its way towards the crest of the sky, Kaedrich banging on the door to rouse Praxis from her slumber. Brex would chitter and swoop down from the ceiling, walking all over Praxis’s head and shoulders, and taking the occasional nip at her ear. Traitor, Praxis usually mumbled at him, swatting him away, but soon she was dragging herself from her bed against her better judgment. She dressed, eyes half-closed, often in the same clothes from the night before. Occasionally she would have to return to her tower and find something else to wear, if Kaedrich had deemed her too ripe for the public. If she ate at all she ate on the train, in the hour that it took to get out to Newfalls, but more often she curled sideways on her seat in their compartment and stole just a little bit more sleep. At the station they gathered a newspaper and walked a mile out of the city, where a series of country lanes took them the rest of the way. And then it was a long, grueling span of hours, with fumes in her face and the heat of the burners singeing her fingers. She worked until her neck or back seized up, took a single five minute break, then worked another few hours.

Kaedrich carried a satchel with them every day, loaded with Praxis’s papers, a bundle of tools, a packed lunch that Praxis ate standing up, still at work. They stayed until Praxis grew too frustrated and then they reversed their journey. If Kaedrich could be of no immediate assistance she would read a book, but she always saved the newspaper until evening, for the train ride home. She went through the entire thing, from the major news to the gossip columns to the ads for turtle wax and barley soap; Kaedrich had only learned how to read as an adult, and she still seemed to relish the process, regardless of the subject matter.

That evening, as the sun began to stain the sky and the train rocked underneath them like a swaying cradle, the newspaper lay folded up in Kaedrich’s bag. The end stuck out haphazardly, as if it had been stuffed in without thought. Kaedrich was idly curling and then uncurling one corner of it, over and over again.

Praxis had been watching for about half an hour now. She was slumped low in the seat across from Kaedrich, the only two people in their compartment, her left leg propped up on the edge of Kaedrich’s seat. Ostensibly feigning sleep, she’d had her chin curled against her chest, her hand draped onto the cushion beside her as she lightly stroked Brex’s fur. With a heavy, theatrical sigh Praxis sat up, startling Kaedrich, disturbing Brex. She dropped her foot and leaned forward, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?

Nothing’s bothering me, Kaedrich said, as Brex squawked and settled on her lap instead. She forced a smile, but her eyes kept slipping from Praxis’s, retreating to safer corners on the floor.

Praxis raised an eyebrow. Really. Because you’ve barely said two words to me since we left.

I guess I’m just not that talkative tonight.

Kaedrich, you’re always talkative. It’s one of your more annoying qualities.

Kaedrich flinched, curling her shoulders. She cuddled Brex up to her chest and pressed her lips together, and apparently had nothing to say on the subject. It was a stronger response than Praxis had expected—really, she was only trying to bait Kaedrich into conversation—and the fact that it seemed to have landed so hard made Praxis sit back in her own seat.

A queasy sort of guilt settled in Praxis’s stomach, and she nudged Kaedrich’s shin with her shoe. Come on, I was only joking.

Kaedrich nodded. Okay, she said, but while she loosened her grip on herself a little she still remained closed-off. She shifted so that she faced more toward the window, and leaned her head against the smooth pane.

Overhead, the lamps flicked on automatically, as they always did at this same time. Praxis winced, blinking in the sudden light. She hadn’t realized how dim things had gotten inside of the rail car. It must have grown overcast since leaving the station, a curtain falling early across the sunset. Underfoot, the train shimmied as the wheels passed from normal track to bridge, and the lights flickered.

It’s not often that I ask this, Praxis began slowly, but did I do something wrong?

Kaedrich shook her head. No.

Then I wish you would tell me what’s the matter.

It’s nothing, Kaedrich told the window. I’m just . . . I’m just trying to figure some things out.

I could help, Praxis started. I’m good with—

The door to their compartment whisked open, and Praxis snapped her mouth shut into a scowl. Someone bustled inside with a flurry of motion and color, a bright emerald hat and coat blurring in front of them. She must be a woman, judging from the cut of her coat and its curlicued piping dotted with diamond studs, but silky men’s pants tucked out from underneath the coat’s hem. Whoever it was, her back was to them as she snapped the door shut again, peering through the curtained window out into the rest of the train.

Praxis cleared her throat. "Excuse me, I think you have the wrong—"

The stranger turned, and Praxis found herself staring into her own face.

—compart . . . compartment, she finished. She stared openly, her mouth hanging half-agape.

It had to have been some kind of trick, although in the shock of it explanations were not forthcoming. It was the same face that she’d seen a million times in the mirror, but wrinkled along the edges somewhat, as if she’d been pressing her face into a pillow for days.

Listen to me closely if you value your life, the strange woman said, and her voice was also the perfect match, down to the tiny slur Praxis kept trying to cut from her L’s—a holdover of her accent. In about fifteen seconds, there’s going to be an explosion on this train, and I need both of you to brace yourselves right away.

Neither Praxis nor Kaedrich reacted to this piece of news, not immediately. Perhaps the surprise was too much, or perhaps the thought was just so incongruous to the safety of their daily commute. Or perhaps, Praxis thought fleetingly, she just wasn’t that convincing when she spoke, now that she saw it from the outside.

But— Kaedrich started, but the woman threw her hands up in disgust.

Oh, for Perlandra’s sake! She grabbed both Kaedrich and Praxis by the wrists and yanked them onto the floor between the benches. Brex took off with a squawk, though he didn’t get far before Kaedrich snatched him out of the air and folded him neatly against her chest. Everyone held their breath, even Praxis.

Nothing happened.

Right . . . , Praxis started. Now, when you say ‘explosion’—

She didn’t need to finish, because the question answered itself. With a bone-jarring shimmy the train jerked hard to the right, as a hundred thunderclaps seemed to boom out as one. Praxis and the stranger threw themselves protectively over Kaedrich, shoving her face into the carpet. The ceiling cracked, a split running straight across the fine wood paneling. Screams from the other compartments rang out in harmony with the fierce squealing of brakes. Their huddle tumbled against the side of the seats, heads clonking, elbows jabbing.

Even before they had righted themselves, Praxis was springing to her feet. She stumbled on the way up, the brace around her leg catching slightly on her trousers; she wrenched it free as she fell against the seat and pushed herself back up. Conjured fire already cradled in her free palm, she spared a glance at Kaedrich before stepping toward the door.

The stranger grabbed her wrist, her hands an iron vice. No. They’re going to be coming for you any second now—we have to hurry.

Who? Praxis asked. She tried to yank her arm free, but the woman only tightened her grip. The bones in Praxis’s wrist felt like they might snap at any moment, though she did not allow herself to wince at the pain.

The stranger shook her head. Praxis’s flames reflected in the woman’s eyes. There’s no time. This way, quickly! She leapt up and stepped right over Kaedrich, to the outside wall of the compartment. She caught herself against the paneling as the train finally jerked to a full stop.

One of the few things that Quaith had managed to do in his tenure as the head of Orange Rail Lines was to improve some of the safety standards aboard the trains. Compared to everything he wanted to do, everything he needed to do in order to bring the company back from where it was teetering nearer and nearer to the brink, this was but the tiniest scrap—but it was something, which is far more than he’d once hoped he’d be able to do. And so: each compartment had a latch tucked underneath the window, just out of sight. The idea was to allow passengers a means of hasty escape, should the door into the rest of the train prove jammed or otherwise obstructed.

With a deft flick of her gloved hands, the stranger popped the latch, and the compartment wall swung outward. Hurry! the stranger hissed as Brex darted past her head. The stranger was already standing in the open doorway, one hand fixed on the frame for support and the other stretched toward Praxis and Kaedrich. Beckoning, pleading. Her fingers waved them forward.

Kaedrich, ever dutiful, began to scramble to her feet, but Praxis grabbed her by the collar. And where, exactly, do you suggest that we go? Praxis asked, her tone etched deep with suspicion. We’re sitting over the Hasp.

The Hasp river, Durland’s largest waterflow. Nearly a mile across at its widest point, it cut straight through the middle of the country, as if someone had carved the land up for a weekend roast. Though less than half that size here, it still made any exits at this point an . . . unwelcome prospect. Praxis could already see the looming darkness, a wide swath of black providing a backdrop for the stranger’s portrait in the doorway.

At the mention of this situation, Kaedrich edged back toward Praxis, and Praxis dropped her collar.

The stranger, though, seemed undeterred. There are a series of support girders underneath the bridge. We can climb down, out of sight, but we need to move now.

Girders. Praxis’s mind raced ahead, envisioning the egress: no doubt she would have to twist around, scramble down a part of the bridge’s outward face, shimmy through a narrow gap in order to reach a series of plank-like support beams hardly wider than her foot. She was painfully aware, suddenly, of the pressure of the leather bands wrapped around her torso, the tug of the pulleys even when at rest.

The stranger waved them urgently forward. "Please! I promise, I’ll explain everything, but right now I need you to trust me." And here, for some reason, she looked directly at Kaedrich. Her eyes were wide, their icy tones sharply contrasting the narrow pupil. It seemed like she was trying to convey something significant, and already Praxis could see Kaedrich’s muscles twitch, ready to follow her. Praxis found her hands clenching into fists, her jaw tightening.

This would not do.

But the time for conversation and debate was cut short, just as the stranger had implied it would be. From farther up the train came the sound of the door to the next car flying open, and a woman shrieking in fright at whatever it was that had just stepped through. A booming voice, gruff and guttural: Right, spread out. She’s in here somewhere.

A year ago, Praxis wouldn’t have hesitated at the idea of taking on someone who was probably little more than a common street thug. With a conjured flame cupped deftly in the palm of each hand, no doubt she would have thrown herself out into the compartment without waiting to be found, attacking whoever had dared to cross with her business. She still felt the pull of that impulse, her fingers twitching by her side. But. Oh, but. If climbing down underneath a bridge would prove difficult, she didn’t even want to consider what her reflexes in a fight would be. So she did spring into action—to follow. To do as she was bid to. Hating herself every step of the way, Praxis nonetheless surged forward, flexing her wrist with each step.

The stranger darted out first, leading the way, and then Praxis ushered for Kaedrich to go next. Praxis was going to be slow, possibly too slow to avoid the fight nipping at their heels, and there was no way that she was dragging Kaedrich down with her. Conflicting emotions warred for dominance as she leaned out of the door and watched Kaedrich scramble down the outside of the bridge. Kaedrich accepted the stranger’s hand without hesitation, letting herself be drawn in through the gap. Praxis’s stomach seethed.

Enough—she didn’t have time to focus on such minutia. Hanging onto the side of the train car, the wind dragging at her coat, it was all that Praxis could do to keep a firm grip. She shifted her arm, the pulleys easing her foot into place. One step down. Half of her descended the next step easily, her free arm and her strong leg moving solidly into position. And then it started all over again. Flexing her wrist, waiting for her leg to catch up with the command, easing herself down until she thought she’d found a foothold. Drop the left half of her body no problem, then right back where she’d started. Praxis swore under her breath.

Now the locked interior door of the rail car was rattling, and Praxis’s whole upper body was still plainly in sight should their pursuer gain entrance. She moved her left leg, poised to carry the balance. The door rattled again, the entire train car shuddering as someone threw their considerable weight against it. The hinges groaned, the frame began to splinter.

There wasn’t time. This song and dance would never work, not with the kind of speed that they would need in order to escape. With practiced ease she slipped her hand free of the harness, feeling her entire leg slacken like the dead weight that it was.

Praxis! Kaedrich called from below. She’d stuck her head back through the beams, her face full of concern. She reached a hand out.

Praxis grabbed her right leg and swung it toward Kaedrich. She could only trust that Kaedrich would be smart enough, fast enough, to catch on and position it for her. She couldn’t feel if Kaedrich had managed it or not, and there wasn’t enough time to lean over and see. Praxis let go of her handhold.

She dropped. For a split second she was in free fall, her heart leaping into her throat, and as she saw the bridge begin to slip by fear grabbed her by the neck. Her eyes snapped shut. If she was going to plummet, if she was going to hit the water so far below them, she wasn’t going to watch it happen.

So she felt rather than saw as her body was yanked back toward the bridge, as her sturdy left foot managed to find purchase against a ledge, as a strong hand grabbed her arm, and then an instant later a second one had looped through the beams and held steady behind her waist.

She opened her eyes and Kaedrich was hugging her against the side of the bridge, their bodies a sandwich around one of the support beams. Praxis grabbed hold of her side of the girders, nodding, and Kaedrich withdrew her grip and backed into the shadows underneath. With her hand slipped back into its gloved pulley system, Praxis maneuvered herself clumsily through the gaps, joining them on the girders just as a crash sounded from above them. The wind kicking up from the river was too rough to hear their pursuer’s footsteps, but a second later a voice, muffled as if he was calling back over his shoulder, Nah, there’s no one here . . . Heh, not unless they decided to go for a swim, anyway! He chuckled at himself, the mirth fading back as he retreated from the open hatch.

The three of them waited for a moment, listening. Kaedrich had scuttled away to the far side of the bridge, keeping as much distance between herself and Praxis as she could. The stranger stood rigidly nearby, ears perked upward. Her ridiculously frilly hat waved in the breeze, and she had to keep one gloved hand in place to hold it. They stayed silent for at least a minute, but there was nothing more. No signs of pursuit, no further comment, no hint as to where the man might have gone or what specifically he had even been after in the first place.

I think we’re probably safe to go back, Praxis said finally.

The stranger shook her head, hat bobbing. No—it’s too dangerous. They won’t have given up that fast. There’s no guarantee that we were even in that compartment. They’ll still be looking for you.

So what do you suggest, then? Praxis snapped. We can hardly stay here all night.

I have a carriage waiting for us. Before the bridge. It can take us back to Brindlewood, without anyone knowing where we’ve gone.

Works for me, Kaedrich said.

No, hang on, Praxis cut in. She fixed her gaze firmly on the stranger, her eyes narrowed. That’s awfully well-planned.

Yeah, well, I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen.

Oh, did you?

I did. The stranger sighed. Listen, I’m happy to tell you all about it, but can we please do it once we’re safely on solid ground? I hate to think what happens once our fingers start getting too cold, or our feet numb.

It was a good point, but still Praxis didn’t move. Not yet.

The stranger threw a hand up. Gods, you’re impossible! Kaedrich, can you please talk some sense into her?

She does kind of have a point.

Fine, Praxis snapped. Fine. We’ll get to safe ground. But then I swear, you are going to explain yourself without any further delay.

*   *   *

The tension was thick enough that you could practically use it as a rope. Actually, Kaedrich wished that you could—climbing along the girders underneath the bridge would have been a lot less terrifying if there was something to hold on to. She kept a calm façade, forced herself to breathe evenly. It wasn’t like she hadn’t faced down worse situations, but that knowledge didn’t help much when she found herself involuntarily peeking down. Beyond her feet there was nothing to see, the distant river swallowed up by the night. She might as well have been walking between the stars. Only the sound of the water powering by underneath gave any hint as to what was really down there.

It came as a great relief when the stranger finally ducked out from underneath the bridge, slipping over a railing and onto a platform with a set of actual, merciful steps. Perlandra be praised. Kaedrich scrambled over and touched the pin that she always wore on her lapel before turning and helping Praxis over.

Kaedrich still couldn’t meet Praxis’s eyes directly, and she released her grip as soon as she was safely over. Every time Kaedrich tried to look at her all she could see was the fall, and the . . . it was almost serenity that had danced across Praxis’s face as she had dropped, and then shock had replaced it. Had she expected Kaedrich to catch her? She could never know. She would never ask.

True to the stranger’s word, there was a carriage waiting at the top. Sitting just off of the road, with a single horse and a closed top, the driver perched on his seat on the roof. He started to move, but the stranger held up her hand, waving off his usual dismount to open the doors for them. Without comment, all three of them scrambled inside. Praxis didn’t stop and whistle for Brex. No doubt he would catch up with them eventually.

Praxis and the stranger entered first, each taking opposing seats, and in the doorway Kaedrich hesitated. Perhaps it was just that this woman had saved their lives, or perhaps it was because she looked so very much like Praxis that it was eerie, but Kaedrich found herself inherently trusting her. There was something . . . kind, around the woman’s eyes. Kind and familiar, like something from a dream long forgotten. She almost sat down next to her, but a sharp glare from Praxis stayed her course. Kaedrich slid into place dutifully beside Praxis, and folded her hands in her lap.

The woman rapped for the driver to start, and the carriage jostled into motion.

All right, enough of this cloak and dagger nonsense. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?

The woman began to tug off her lace gloves, one finger at a time. Or we could say, ‘Thank you,’ like civilized people.

I’m not in the habit of saying ‘thank you’ to people I don’t even know.

Or anyone else, for that matter, she said, dropping her gloves in her lap.

Listen, if you’re just going to sit there and play games all day I’ll stop this carriage right now.

Oh, for Perlandra’s sake—use your senses, you foolish girl. The stranger pulled her sleeves up, twisting her wrists to be visible in the moonlight pooling in through the window. "I’m you."

Kaedrich leaned over for a closer look. One of the woman’s wrists sported a black tattoo, stylized licks of flame encircling a bird’s wing; the other had a scar that mimicked the tattoo in a crude, circle-and-triangle imitation. When she held them out like this, wrists together, wings pointing out, it looked almost like a whole bird taking flight. The scar tissue was less pink and puffy than Kaedrich had ever seen it, but the resemblance could not be denied, and Kaedrich’s eyes widened at the sight of them.

Praxis snorted. Bullshit.

The woman sighed, rolling her eyes. Yes, yes, the flippancy. Let’s see: next you’re going to tell me that it’s not possible because there’s only one of you, trust me—

I checked, Praxis finished, her voice trailing off at the end. Her brow pinched together.

No, you’re right, that doesn’t prove anything, the woman continued, leaning back in her seat. And if you’d like, we can now go through a litany of all the reasons why I cannot possibly be who I claim I am, and then I can offer up six—no, seven—different ways of proving that I am, none of which you’ll believe. Then, depending on your mood, you’ll either get angry and storm off, or become so sarcastic that it’s impossible to get two words in, or else you’ll pretend to go along with me while I explain myself. Trust me, we’ve done it all.

Praxis crossed her arms. Have we.

We have, not that you would remember it. They haven’t happened yet.

Kaedrich frowned. Wait, what?

The woman looked over, a kind smile softening her face. Praxis’s face, hidden behind a mask of extra lines. The trappings were so different that it threw off your sense at first, but it was always her. Her hair was longer, swept up in a proper lady’s fashion, pinned underneath an emerald green hat with a bright yellow feather curling off to one side. Earrings dangled beside her jaw, and even the smile was softer, more refined than Praxis’s usual brash style. But there was something familiar, in the way her eyes held a hint of mischief, in the certainty of the poise of her shoulders. She reached across the small gap and rested her hand on Kaedrich’s knee. From your perspective, I come from twenty-two years in the future.

Kaedrich took a sharp breath, catching it in her chest. Beside her, Praxis—her Praxis—slapped this older Praxis’s hand off of Kaedrich’s knee. Bullshit, Praxis repeated.

The older Praxis shrugged as she withdrew her hand. Call it whatever you like, my dear. Frankly, I’m tired of arguing this same point with you over and over again. She settled into the seat, crossing one leg over the other.

An act that did not go unnoticed, either by Kaedrich or Praxis. They both glanced at the motion, then Kaedrich looked back up at the older woman’s face. What she claimed hardly seemed possible, but the similarity was too much to ignore.

The older Praxis motioned at her legs. You find a cure, you’ll be happy to know. Two years from now. She wiggled her foot, and drew up her pants leg a few inches. Stark white skin, unhampered by braces and winches, the muscles solid and full underneath. Kaedrich stole a sidelong look at Praxis, her attention fixed on the sight in front of her, her face unreadable.

The hem of the older Praxis’s pants dropped back in place. I’d be happy to give you some pointers a little early, but that’s not why I came here. I’m afraid that we really do have more important issues to discuss.

You’re trying to bribe me into helping you? Praxis said. That doesn’t sound much like me.

"You can call it a bribe. I’m calling it incentive. And after five different attempts at five different times of our life at getting you to listen, I have to say I’m tired of dancing around trying to get you to trust me. I need your help, and I don’t care