“This is meant to enhance a cannon.” My words fell on the table, cold and heavy as lead. “To make it many times more destructive. You want her to build weapons.”

Marcello’s eyes widened. He rounded on the colonel. “You can’t have her creating tools to kill people. She’s just a child!”

“She’s a soldier.” Vasante’s tone brooked no argument. “And she’s one of maybe a dozen artificers in the Falcons with the necessary skill and power. The others are all either getting sent to the Vaskandran border to make more of them there, too old or infirm to travel, or even younger than your sister. Would you rather I sent her to the Witchwall Mountains?”

Marcello snatched up the list and took a closer look, the paper bending from the force of his grip. “It’s not just my sister. You’re sending Halmur to the border—he’s barely older than Istrella. Combat could break out there at any moment!”

“He’s a powerful vivomancer,” Vasante snapped. “We need a way to counteract the Witch Lords if they take the field.”

Marcello stood stiff as a pike. “I object, Colonel. Sending adult Falcons into potential war is one thing. But we can’t countenance sending children.”

Vasante narrowed her eyes. “This is an order from the doge of Raverra and the Council of Nine.” Her voice could have cut steel. “You don’t have to like it. But you do have to obey it.”

Marcello stood trembling, his fists clenched. The colonel’s face softened, just a little, but her tone didn’t. “You and I don’t get to decide. We get our orders and we follow them. Is that clear?”

Marcello threw the list down on the table. But he said nothing. I caught myself from reaching out to him; anything I did now would make things worse.

Vasante frowned. “I said, is that clear, Lieutenant Verdi?”

“Yes, Colonel.” He grated it out between his teeth.

“Good. Now go make preparations for moving those Falcons. You have three days to get them ready.”

Marcello saluted, moving like rusty clockwork. Then he turned and strode from the room without another word.

I followed him into the great, dusky hall with its dramatic paintings, my bones aching with sympathy. He went straight to a marble column and punched it, then bent over his hand in pain.

“Ow. Damnation, why did I do that?”

“Because you’re upset,” I said gently.

He leaned his forehead against the column and closed his eyes. “I should have stood up to her. I should have said no.”

“You wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I could at least have tried harder to convince her.” He turned to face me, pain drawing deep lines in his face. “I don’t want Istrella to have to create something that kills people.”