Klara sat at a table in the crowded and noisy mess hall, and, despite the midday hour, held a shot glass of vloysh aloft.

  “To Klara Warden!” Zin yelled, her own glass raised in yet another toast. They sat with several other Sentinel wardens, who lifted glasses in salute. Cheers rose around them from the dozens of new wardens celebrating their last day of freedom in the mess hall. Tomorrow they’d collect their new coats and board the coil train to Borovsk.

  Klara’s face hurt from grinning and her head spun from possibly one too many shots. She tipped back the glass, relishing the hot burn of the vloysh as it slid down her gullet. She’d done it. She was a Sentinel!

  “So,” Zin said, “you made it at last. A Sentinel warden.”

  “Yeah. I’m just surprised Father wasn’t back to see it.”

  “Wasn’t he supposed to be home two days ago? How’s he going to get the paperwork for this lot processed by tomorrow?”

  Klara glanced around and shrugged. That wasn’t her concern. “No idea why he’s late.” Whatever had delayed him was doubtless beyond his control, and she could easily imagine his rankled expression at the tardiness.

  For a moment, she wasn’t even sure if she did want to see him before she left. Wardens had been crowding the Kosgrad Warrior Guild for a week now, filing in from Guilds throughout Vlanovia. Most came from Serovnya and South Serovnya, though a few from as far as Machtvoll. Kosgrad was their last stop in civilisation before taking a coil train to Borovsk. The paperwork for the hundred-odd wardens would put Sergei in a dark mood.

  Klara struggled to focus on Zin. “I can’t believe I’m actually going. What do you think Borovsk is like?”

  “I heard,” said Maxim, one of the wardens at the table, “that the starikis don’t let the new blood sleep for a week.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Zin said, scoffing. “It’s at least two weeks.” This brought a round of laughter from the rest of the table.

  Irmina, a slender warden from Machtvoll with an upturned nose looked at Klara. “I heard each squad has to travel across the… Veter River?” she said, struggling to pronounce the name.

  “Seriously?” Zin said, an eyebrow rising. “They really do want to get us killed.”

  “Is it a fast-flowing river?” Irmina asked.

  A huge grin split Maxim’s face. “You could say that.”

  Irmina looked puzzled and Klara interjected before Zin and Maxim could confuse the poor woman more. “Veter means wind. The river is a twenty-mile wide canyon that cuts across the top of Serovnya—a canyon formed by a gale-force west wind that never ceases.”

  “Fun thief,” Maxim said, giving her a friendly scowl.

  Klara sat back, floating in a happy haze as she listened to the wardens discussing in depth the trials that lay ahead of them. She was actually going to Borovsk. After so many years, she’d made it. Her smile faded as she recalled the keeper’s warning. She hadn’t passed easily, only her honesty had won her a place. The next twelve weeks would be the most difficult Klara had ever faced, and she would need to excel to earn the right to serve at Katavsk.

  “Speaking of Sentinels,” Zin said, nodding to a point over Klara’s shoulder.

  Klara turned, and the blissful haze of excitement vanished.

  “Oh…”

  By the mess door stood a tall, imposing man with a heavy, grey-streaked beard. He wore a green Sentinel coat with the left sleeve cut off at the shoulder and sealed shut, hiding the stump Klara knew lay beneath.

  “Come on, be happy!” Zin said. “It’s your father.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “By father, you mean ‘tundra hearted mucker,’ right?” Klara muttered as she rose, resisting the urge to take one final shot of vloysh.

  Sergei spotted her almost immediately and strode through the mess, weaving through the packed tables. Several wardens saw him and awkwardly rose, struggling to salute. Sergei ignored them and came to a halt before Klara, who also saluted. Sergei returned the salute.

  “How was your trip, Keeper?” Klara asked.

  “Long,” Sergei said. “The coil train broke halfway back. Useless piece of Alchemtek.”

  Klara almost missed the twitch in his jaw, but there was no missing his bitter tone.

  “Walk with me,” he said, turning on his heel.

  With little choice, she followed him from the mess and emerged into the main hall. The mess sat on the western side of the main hall, beneath the overhanging second floor. Sergei led the way to one of the many spiral stairways and took the steps two at a time, the brass steps creaking beneath his weight.

  Klara knew exactly where he was leading them. Above, level with the fifth floor, a long walkway spanned from either side of the hall, connecting to a small glass-fronted office that hung suspended from the ceiling. Sergei’s office. Supposedly, a place of honour. But in reality? It was out of the way and isolated from the Warrior Guild, and even the Sentinel’s wing.

  They reached the fifth floor and, hearts in her throat and hands on the railings, Klara followed Sergei across the narrow excuse of a walkway that bounced with every step. Klara had long made a point never to come here, in part due to the height, but mainly because it was torture spending time alone with her father since her cursed brother… half-brother… Mikhail had abandoned them.

  Sergei opened the door, and Klara stepped in after him. The office was sparsely furnished. A simple desk—with a mountain of paperwork—two chairs, and a gas heater. A gas heater that hadn’t been turned on since Sergei left, so Klara’s breath misted before her.

  Sergei stopped by the expanse of windows and stared out at the Warrior Guild, apparently oblivious to the frigid cold of the office.

  Klara shut the door and joined him, trying to ignore a rising urge to vomit. Sovereign Sculptor, that’s a long drop…

  “Congratulations are in order, I believe,” Sergei said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I spoke with the council. Their report was… concerning, to say the least.”

  And so it begins. “I see.”

  Sergei turned to her, a strange glint in his black eyes. His beard did nothing to hide the dark, creases cut deep into his angular face. “Do you see, Klara?” he asked.

  “Yes. I need to train harder to get to Katavsk.”

  “You’re not going to Katavsk,” Sergei said, an edge to his voice.

  Klara blinked, stunned. “What?”

  “I’ve organised with the council that, providing you pass training, you’ll be stationed at Ledavsk.”

  The office spun around Klara. “No… I need to go to Katavsk.”

  “Klara, I will not allow you to set foot in that place.” He indicated to his missing arm. “Nothing good comes from Katavsk. Nothing.”

  Klara tried to breathe. Ten years. Ten cursed years and now this?

  “Now,” Sergei said, ignoring her distress, “I’ve waited for this day for some time.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a sheathed knife.

  Klara eyed the long blade. Its exotic ebony handle crisscrossed with strips of leather, and its dented brass pommel were unmistakable: the knife her father had used to bring down a Nishkuk.

  Her entire body trembled, and she clenched her fists. How dare he. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her anger fuelled by the alcohol pulsing through her veins. “First you send me to Ledavsk, then you want to give me the one weapon that’ll remind me every, single, day, that I’ll never face a Nishkuk? You know what that fight means to me.” Klara backed away, shaking her head. “Keep the cursed blade.”

  “Klara,” Sergei said, his voice hardening, “don’t be a fool.”

  “Fool?” Klara let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s priceless. Me, a fool. You know what? Yes, I am. Because I actually believed you’d let me fight a Nishkuk.”

  “You’re not good enough for Katavsk, Klara. You’ll—” Sergei’s voice wavered, and he took a deep breath. “I can’t be there to protect you.”

  “Protect me? Like you did Lokteva?” Klara said, a sneer curling her lips as she spun and wrenched the door open and stormed across the walkway.

  “Klara!”

  She kept walking, ignoring the unmasked pain in his voice. He deserved it after what he’d just done.

  Thoughts in turmoil, she kept walking, her feet carrying her down the stairs and out of the Warrior Guild.

  Icy air clutched at her as she jogged down the Guild steps to the street. She pulled her half-mask from her sleeve and fastened it in place, then lifted her hood.

  She didn’t care where she went, she just needed to be anywhere but the Warrior Guild.

  Anywhere her father wasn’t.