We’re stationed on the southeastern part of the palace ridge, where a massive pair of half-circle doors has been let wide, revealing the deepest tunnels below the palace. The Keep hasn’t ever been used like this. We’re lucky to have it. The more citizens we can shelter in its depths, the better, at least until the warriors return and we are at full strength again.

Typically, it houses the boat used to transport the ambassadors to the sea when they need to travel to and from Vyrinterra. I still cringe at the memory of being on duty when they needed it lowered to the sea—even with a team helping hold the lines, it was heavy as stone.

The teams of today don’t have to keep their jaws on the lines as long as I had to. Each day, the sea creeps closer. What used to be hundreds of feet of open air between the Heliana and the water is slowly disappearing.

The aeroplanes—as Noam told us they were called—came back last night and earlier this morning, but they kept a wider berth, shooting bullets into the open air. I wish I could say that made me feel better, but it just told me they were gathering information about us. That kind of reconnaissance meant something greater was on the way.

Usually, the Heliana swarmed with citizens flying here and there, and warriors training in the skies, especially in the summer when Vyrinterra’s bounties were plentiful and the afternoons long. But these days had been long for the worst of reasons. The exhaustion chipped away at me like a sculptor chipped at stone—only I was being broken apart. I couldn’t stop. I had to press on.

When the morning’s seventh bell tolls, Lyreina and I fly back to the Glass Tower for a council meeting. The place feels less hallowed with each day, as if the mirrors and polished decorations have lost their shine.

The king takes his seat without any of the usual formalities. The Chief Healer and Chief Scholar had been invited, joining us sentinels alongside the king. Both take their places on the opposite side of the table. Despite her station, the Chief Healer wears the same working uniform of the healers downstairs. Her long gray hair is tied back, though long strands have fallen free. Like me, I don’t think she’s slept much in days.

“Thank you all, again, for coming,” says the king. “Sentinel Carrick, how go the repairs?”

My colleague bows his head in respect. “All the buildings damaged by the machines’ attacks have been examined. A few will need extensive work, but most could be restored within a week, when it is safe to do so.”

“And the defenses?” the king asks.