The main room of Pine Ridge’s Town Hall vibrated with low chatter, a steady hum of voices, boots scuffing worn floorboards, and the clack of wooden chairs being pulled into rows. The air carried a mingled scent of damp wool cloaks and sawdust from half-finished projects someone must have abandoned to attend this meeting.
I stepped into the half-filled room where people on benches sat shoulder to shoulder, as close as they could to the front. Nothing like the meetings on Earth where all the people rushed to sit as far back as they could— these were Reality Benders from every field in North Cove. Not that many fields yet. But someday we were going to need a bigger room. Some still wore their leather aprons, others ink-stained tunics or smocks speckled with clay dust. Even the air felt charged.
I clapped my hands sharply. "Alright, gentlemen—"
My voice faltered.
In the center of the room sat a young woman, stiff-backed, hands folded tightly in her lap. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Her rigid posture was all the evidence I needed to realize she was overwhelmed being here. She was surrounded by engineers, men who rarely sponsored anyone, let alone a girl.
I forced my expression to remain neutral. Not that a woman in these meetings shocked me, but the group she sat with did. She must have contributed something significant for one of them to bring her here.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I see we have a new face.” I softened my tone and gave the young woman a small, encouraging smile. “I believe you are the potter’s daughter, correct?”
Her shoulders drew in slightly. She dipped her chin in a shy nod, her dark brown hair falling forward like a curtain as a deeper blush spread across her cheeks. She rotated her wooden wedding band on he wrist nervously.
“Excellent. Since you’re new and sitting with the engineers, I’m guessing you are part of their group. Which means,” I swept a hand toward them, “they must have something to show off. Something you helped with.”
The poor girl looked like she wished the solid oak floorboards would swallow her whole.
“My lord,” Sanders said, exasperated, “please stop teasing the poor girl.” He gestured to her proudly. “She has changed everything.”
“Everything?” I lifted a brow. “Truly a Reality Bender, then.” I nodded toward her. “Welcome. And since you’ve spoken first, Sanders, why don’t you tell us what you’ve all discovered? I was eager to move on to the glass portion of today’s meeting, but I’d be a poor host not to give you your due. Especially if it’s something world-changing.”
Sanders stepped forward, smoothing the front of his soot-smudged tunic. The engineers behind him leaned in, anticipation crackling through them like current.
“My lord,” he began, “we have been struggling with the same problem across multiple devices, the trip hammer, the tablesaw, the lathe… Well, anything that relies on rotational speed, especially those powered by the waterwheel.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “The movement is jerky, wildly inconsistent. Sometimes too much power, other times not nearly enough. Some tasks are impossible this way.”
I folded my arms, nodding slowly. “I remember the complaints.” And the frustration—I’d dearly wished I knew how to fix it.
Sanders motioned toward the girl. “Valerie is the only person so far to have passed Level Four Mathematical Theory. We brought her in to help us crunch numbers. But she did far more than that.” His face split into a grin. “When she heard us talking about the issue, she immediately mentioned the kick wheel.”
“That,” I said, “you’ll have to explain. I’m not familiar with it.”
Sanders glanced at her, and Valerie blushed even deeper as more heads turned towards her.
“Unless you’re a potter, it’s understandable. We had to visit the potter after she explained it to us to fully understand. Beneath the potter’s wheel is a heavy wooden disk. You kick it to start spinning. The faster it spins, the more it resists being stopped.” Sanders’s eyes gleamed. “It resists change. This allows them to work the clay without it collapsing from a sudden change in speed.”
“Inertia,” I blurted automatically.
Several faces turned toward me, wearing identical blank expressions. Not surprised, merely waiting for me to explain my outburst. They were used to me saying things they didn't understand.
I sighed inwardly. When would I learn to keep my mouth shut? I didn’t really understand physics. Now I had to scramble.
“It was just a thought,” I said, rubbing my thumb along my palm. “An idea I had once, and as I’ve said before, these ideas can be wrong.” I gestured loosely at the room. “First principle: an object doesn’t change its motion unless acted on by an outside force. A rock won’t move unless something pushes it. Without gravity, a dropped stone wouldn’t fall; it would hang there. Likewise, something already moving doesn’t stop unless something slows it down, gravity, air, maybe somebody's face.”
Gravity was not a new concept to most. I had brought it up, and my idea had been passed around.
I pressed on. “An object also resists change. If you sprint and try to stop suddenly, you might fall because your body wants to keep moving forward. That resistance to change that is inertia.” I exhaled. “I’ll write this down. You all get to test it. Figure out how to break this down into math, or prove me wrong." Because I had no idea if I had gotten that right at all. "Now, let’s get back to how this helps us.”
Some eyes shone with excitement; others held only confusion. But the energy in the room had only grown.
Sanders straightened. “Yes, my lord. Through experimentation, we discovered that attaching a kick wheel, or something like it, to any rotating device stabilizes its speed. It keeps the jerking to a minimum. We made our first straight cut on the tablesaw without fear that it would buck like an angry mule.” He grinned broadly. “We attached one to the lathe—same result. The trick is finding the right size and weight. Valerie is already working on the math.”
I let a slow smile spread across my face. “Excellent work—all of you.” I looked to Valerie, who looked moments away from fainting. “And Valerie, I expect great things from you in the future.”
She turned a shade of crimson previously unknown to mortal skin.
I clapped my hands lightly. “Now then, who would like to go next?”
The rest of the meeting was not as interesting as the kick wheel. The glass was becoming clear,er but not consistently so. The main thing they were working on was similar to our ironworks. Heat regulation. If we had a heat source like natural gas, we could do better, but coke did not always burn at a consistent, even temperature. I found out that iron was less forgiving of the correct temperature than copper or bronze.
That wasn't to say that we had no success. Our chemists were playing around with bone meal, and Jorb recognized it. After adding a bit to the bronze, he found out that it was, in fact, the powder sold to my father to make the flex bronze we used on the first leaf springs. That made me laugh because that meant whoever sold it to my father was a charlatan. Selling bone meal at an extravagant price.
At least I thought so until we couldn't get consistent results. This meant that whoever created it had a way to refine it even better. Instead of disappointing the chemists, it made them more excited.
Then it came to needs. Namely, the need for a reliable screw. It would guide the lathe during precision turns. It would also allow us to make proper vice clamps, which, after describing them to everyone, filled the room with excitement. It was a much better idea than the clamps they were currently using.
Then Cooper, the headman of Cooper's Mill and in charge of the fertilizer production, spoke up.
"My lord, I… I have something." His face already carried the look of a man who expected to be laughed at.
"Go on, Cooper," I said, gesturing him closer.
He cleared his throat. "It’s the fertilizer. Moving it from Cooper’s Mill down to Cove Town… the road shakes everything apart. The clay pots crack. The sacks—well… they stink. Horribly. My men hate the job."
"I second that," someone muttered. "Last time one burst in the wagon. Nearly gagged the horses."
Cooper nodded vigorously. "So… maybe we fix the road? Or make stronger pots? Or sacks that don’t let smell escape?"
A dozen voices rose in half-formed ideas—waxed cloth, thicker clay, double-wrapped hemp—none good.
I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking. Then it hit me.
"Why don’t we make barrels?" I said.
The room stilled.
Sanders blinked. "Barrels?"
Right. Of course. Clay jugs. That’s all they’d ever used, even the gunpowder.
"Wooden barrels." I dipped my pen in the ink, pulled the parchment toward me, and started to draw. "Look, curved staves with iron bands around them." I tapped the drawing. "Probably won't leak or crack like the clay."
The woodworkers traded glances, leaning over the sketch. The smiths joined them, discussing how the bands would hold it all in place.
"It could work," one of the carpenters said slowly.
"The iron bands would tighten as they cooled," a smith agreed.
"And the barrels wouldn’t break on the road," Cooper added hopefully.
I sat back. "Cooper, this is your problem, so you get to figure out how to make it work. The smiths and woodworkers will give you what you need."
He straightened like I’d knighted him. "Yes, my lord!"
The room was just beginning to buzz again when the door cracked open.
Tarrence slipped inside, his expression tight. "My lord… may I speak with you? Outside. It’s urgent."
The chatter faltered. I rose, smoothing my coat. "Let’s hope it isn’t another letter from the king."
"That bad?" Jorb asked.
"Every time he ‘rewards’ me, I get an ulcer for a week," I muttered.
People whispered about what this could be as I strode across the room and out the door. Tarrence shut the door behind us, his face pale.
"My lord," he said quietly, "it’s… disturbing news."
I crossed my arms. "Alright. Tell me."
"We caught a traitor among your guards at the pass."
My eyebrows rose. "From the top, Tarrence. I want to know everything."
"There isn't much to tell," he said, voice tight. "The people of Artanes sent a messenger to the wall we built across the pass. They reported that a group of men had come to their village claiming they were from Bicman and wanted to initiate trade. Our envoy didn’t recognize them, so they were seized and… questioned. They confessed they were sent by Lord Yarbeth. They had bribed one of our guards to let them through on the night shift."
My jaw tightened. "Wait, shouldn’t there be two guards at the gate?"
"Let me explain." Tarrence lifted both hands as if calming a spooked horse. "The Artanes gave the name of the guard. He was arrested immediately. During questioning, we found out the man on shift with him fell asleep most nights."
A cold knot twisted in my gut. "And why did the traitor do it?"
"Gambling debts," Tarrence said. "They offered him fifty gold."
My face darkened. Fifty gold. Was Yarbeth that desperate? "Has there been a military trial?"
"Yes, my lord. All that remains is for you to give the sentencing."
"And the charges?"
"One count of treason and two counts of dereliction of duty," he answered flatly.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "I'm assuming the traitor received the treason charge, and the commander and the man who fell asleep received dereliction of duty."
"Correct."
Inside, my stomach churned, but I kept my expression unreadable. "The priest has been sent for?"
"He’s already in Cove Town. The hall is prepared for the sentencing."
I forced down a sigh. "Then let’s go."
******
I sat on my high-backed throne, looking down at the man kneeling before me. He had been stripped of his NCDF uniform and given a rough brown hemp shirt and pants instead. His bare knees pressed into the wooden floor, trembling. Fear shone plainly in his eyes, fear of me, fear of judgment, fear of what came next.
This was the part of nobility that made me want to flee. Power was heavy. Only the faces of those who had entrusted their lives to me kept me from leaving.
"You have been charged with treason," I said, my voice carrying through the hall. "You may speak in your defense."
He collapsed fully, forehead to the floorboards. "I plead for mercy, my lord! I had no choice. I should not have gambled, but they would have harmed my family and me if I had not paid the debt. I had to take the offer. I had to."
My anger spiked so sharply I had to steady my breath. "I asked for a defense," I said, voice cold, "not lies. You could have gone to your colleague and reported the bribe. You would have been rewarded, protected. And if you had debts, the worst you would have faced was assignment to the road crew until they were paid off." I leaned forward on the throne. "You took the bribe for greed. And to hide your shame. Your actions could have destroyed this county. Once Count Yarbeth had a way through the pass, he would have torn North Cove apart. Every man and woman here has worked to build a better home. Your betrayal would have shattered their lives. Was the freedom and prosperity you gained under my rule not enough for you?"
The man remained silent. Shame and terror warred on his face.
The next words were heavy on my tongue. "There is only one ruling for treason. I sentence you to death for your crimes against the County of North Cove."
I turned to the elderly priest beside the dais. He gave a solemn nod. "This is just and within the law. Take him away."
Two NCDF guards in black uniforms stepped forward and seized the condemned man under the arms. He didn’t resist, just sagged between them, defeated.
Two more men, one older, one young, were brought from the benches at the back. Both were forced to their knees before me.
"Both of you have been charged with dereliction of duty," I said. "Guardsman: You fell asleep on duty often enough to nearly cause an international incident. Commander: You failed to monitor your men. This entire disaster could have been prevented had either of you obeyed protocol. Do either of you have a defense?"
Neither spoke. They stared at the floor.
"Guardsman," I said, "you are stripped of rank and sentenced to five years on the road crew. Commander, you are likewise stripped of rank and sentenced to five years. There will be a further investigation. If more negligence is discovered, your sentence will increase to ten years. You held one of the most important posts in the North Cove military. General Draves himself appointed you."
Again, I turned to the priest.
"The sentencing is just," he said. "Take them away."
The hall slowly emptied, guards, the priest, and the NCDF, until only the thudding of boots and the fading murmur of voices remained. I stayed seated on the throne, staring at the wooden floor where the condemned had knelt.
The face burned itself into my memory. This moment would haunt my sleep.
I believed I had done the right thing. But rightness did nothing to lighten the weight that settled across my shoulders like an iron mantle.
My next task would be dealing with Baron Yarbeth. An equally distasteful task, but for an entirely different reason.
The Council
"Could we start with a report from the war with Turabe?" a man in the shadows asked. His voice was low, smooth, and dangerous. Everyone in the chamber knew who he represented, but none dared speak his name. Even the candles seemed to shrink from that corner of the room.
Baron Sophis rose from his seat. His expression was grim. "Lords and ladies, the treachery of Turabe, while unexpected, was always a possibility. Their task was simple: push our men back from Shirek to the forts, hold the line, undermine the credibility of our king, and create the conditions for us to step in. To 'restore order,' as it were." He gave a humorless smile.
"Could we not proceed with our plans now?" someone asked eagerly. "This proves the king’s incompetence. The people would support us!"
Sophis shook his head. "If we move against the monarchy now, Turabe will seize the opportunity. Two fronts would break us. And the vassal kingdoms have already sided with Turabe. War brings uncertainty. What we need now is distinction. We must show the kingdom that Githum and Kimton are the pillars of its defense. It's salvation."
Duchess Blackwell folded her arms. "And how exactly do you expect us to do that?"
Sophis snorted. "Don’t play the fool, Duchess. You have your network just as I have mine. And stop selling information to the highest bidder. We’re trying to claim a kingdom, not win petty coin purses."
"Explain yourself," Baron Yarbeth said, his tone sharp. As heir to Count Yarbeth, he carried himself like a coiled whip ready to strike.
Sophis chuckled. "Oh, come now. You're the heir to all of Yarbeth, don’t tell me your father keeps secrets from you."
"He tells me everything," Yarbeth hissed. "But I cannot read your mind, Sophis."
"Then listen closely. The key is the count your brother swore allegiance to."
Yarbeth’s expression soured immediately.
"Ah," Sophis said lightly. "The lack of a question means you know exactly who I mean. For the rest of you, the Baron of Tarisvale is currently patrolling the Githum border with six hundred soldiers from North Cove."
Count Revith leaned forward. "Are you suggesting those soldiers have something… useful?"
Sophis looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "Anyone who has read the recent reports from North Cove knows this. This Count Bicman drove back a thousand Rabiss with barely a tenth of their number."
"He laid a trap," someone scoffed. "They ran when they lost enough men."
"And captured nearly a hundred in the process," Sophis snapped. "With minimal casualties. People want to know how. And those six hundred men are showing us. They wear armor made from layered cloth, a design we have acquired that has stopped arrows. It’s not perfect, but it’s effective against slashing and piercing. We are already experimenting with glues and layers to replicate it."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"He gave this armor to all his men?" a noblewoman asked, incredulous.
"Every single one," Sophis replied. "With spares loaded in wagons."
"That is an absurd amount of cloth for peasants."
"They are not peasants," Sophis corrected sharply. "They are disciplined. Constantly drilling in large and small formations, they call war games. They move according to whistle blows, coordinated like a performance hall troupe. And these whistles… the range is extraordinary. Unlike anything we’ve seen."
The council chamber erupted, voices rising, overlapping, questions and worries flying like startled geese.
One man called out. "Could we not use this to complete our goal of removing the king?"
This time, it was Yarbeth who answered with a scoff. "If we know about this, then the king does as well."
The din built until Sophis lifted a hand.
Silence fell.
"One more thing," he said, quieter now, but with more weight than before. "Do not let pride or jealousy cloud your judgment when it comes to this count. Bicman may very well be the key to winning this war… and the kingdom itself."
And Sophis had far bigger plans for that boy.