A word caught my eye. I’d translated it as “neighbor”. It was similar to “people” – though a bit longer. When a construct commands you to attack, attack people until asked to stop. If I had the construct change “people” to “neighbor,” her army of constructs would attack itself when commanded. A less elegant solution than having them attack other constructs, and there still might be people caught in the crossfire, but it would work.

It had to work.

I wrote down other commands in a frenzy. A command to walk until it reached the camp and then to mingle. A command to search for the correct shard in each construct, referencing the words it would look for. A command to use the engraving tool to change the words. Another to replace the shard.

I still had several shards left, so I used those to address issues that might arise – hiding if it was caught, behaving like the other constructs to minimize suspicion, listening for nearby voices.

Finally, I was satisfied and began to carve. It was a crude construct, and would still be third-level by my father’s reckoning. Yet even his third-level constructs could repair others. I’d forgotten what a joy it was, losing myself in this work, putting together the pieces like a complex puzzle. There was a logic and simplicity in it that didn’t exist in politics and governance. I couldn’t please everyone I needed to, no matter how hard I tried. This, though, bent to my will and my thoughts. I could understand a little why my father had locked himself away, why he had let his constructs control the Empire. People were fickle, confusing, disloyal. People lied to you. People betrayed you.

Constructs followed commands and any fault they produced was yours and yours alone.

Servants knocked at the door, brought me food and tea without speaking to me. I barely ate. The sky outside grew dark; rain pounding at the shutters and leaking onto the windowsill.

I finished pushing the last shard into the corpse by the time Urame knocked. “Is it done?” she asked when she entered. She handed me the engraving tool I’d requested. Not as elaborate or as sharp as mine, but the construct would still be able to use it.

Thrana sat behind me; I leaned into her fur, exhausted. “Yes. If you wait with me a moment, we’ll see if I’ve done a good enough job.”

Urame was much more surprised than me when the construct opened his eyes and rose into a sitting position. I knew I did good work; better than Bayan had ever done. If I were given time and the tools, I could be better at it than my father was. “We need to take him to the gates and set him toward the encampment,” I said. “He’ll do the rest.”

Urame’s fingers touched the scarred spot behind her ear.