It was a selfish way of thinking, but he knew Redden felt the same. They had talked about what they would do when they were old enough to leave home to explore the larger world and discover what was out there waiting for them. They could have left by now if they’d wanted; certainly they had skills and ambition enough to make their way. But they weren’t adults yet, and their mother had already made it clear she didn’t want them going until they were. Their father was a dozen years gone, dead in an airship crash—an accident that had left their mother shattered and bitter and determined to protect her children. As if that were possible, Railing thought. As if you could ever protect your children from what life might bring their way. Or even from themselves and their impulses.

But the illusion of it was all their mother had to cling to, so they had promised her long ago they would stay until they were grown. It was only now they were beginning to regret that promise. Life in Patch Run was safe and predictable, and the brothers were ready for something else. They had always been wild, a condition Railing attributed to their genetic makeup. If there was a risk to be taken, a dare to be accepted, or a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, they were willing to defy the odds. He couldn’t explain it. But he knew how they were, and he knew it was unlikely they would ever change.

Like now, as their Sprints whipped across the surface of Rainbow Lake and closed on the wicked maze of rocks and dead trees that formed the Shredder. They had made this run several times before with much slower craft, with hybrids and modifieds and junk they had cobbled together and tested in ways that the poor things weren’t meant to be tested, just to see what they would do. When it came to airships, they never troubled themselves with measuring risk. It was the experience that mattered, and that wasn’t likely to change as long as their mother didn’t find out what they were doing.

So far she hadn’t.

Well, mostly.

They couldn’t keep everything from her. She had caught them a few times. But the things she’d found out were so insignificant she wasn’t overly troubled. Like the time they stole Arch Ehlwar’s skip and rode it across the lake and up the Runne to Varfleet to watch the Sprint races two summers ago. Or the time they flew down into the Mist Marsh and stayed the night. But she hadn’t found out how they had acquired the diapson crystals that powered their various vessels, including the ones they were flying now. She hadn’t found out how they had manipulated the black market for these and other materials they needed to construct their experimental craft.