“Behold,” Leopold declared, gazing at the wood and canvas with the adoration of a parent, “the flying machine that will get us across the Ohrins.”

“A … flying machine,” Caden repeated at the same moment Lev blurted, “A what now?”

“It is perfectly safe.” Leopold hurried into the barn’s shadow. “The sails are imbued with Windwitch power, and I have tested it myself several times. We can cross the entire mountain range in hours.”

While all three Hell-Bards followed Leopold inside, Safi lingered back, snow gathering on her shoulders. “Where did it come from, Polly?”

“I made it.”

Her eyebrows shot high. “And did you design it too?”

“Not entirely.” He circled away from his machine; impatience glinted in his eye. He didn’t like questions. He expected Safi and everyone else to board without argument.

And Safi would board. Eventually. “Whose design was it then?”

“A friend,” he snipped. “This was her idea, but I expanded upon it.”

That friend, Safi thought, was a lie. Her Truth-lens told her as much. And for the thousandth time, she wished she had her full magic back. Despite its failings, it at least let her see more deeply into a person’s heart. It let her sense both lies and truth—and in instances like these, truth was so much more important than lies. Who was Leopold the Fourth? Who was this person she’d always called Polly and considered a childhood friend?

She was trusting him with her life. She was trusting a machine she hadn’t known he was capable of building, and it wasn’t only her own neck on the line. It was the Hell-Bards’, it was her uncle’s, it was Iseult’s.

Then again, he had tricked her throughout their lives, playing a part she’d always believed and her magic had never questioned. Two months ago Safi had told Merik that her magic was not as powerful as people assumed. That she was easily confused by strong faith. So long as a speaker believed their words to be true, her magic could detect no falsehood.

She was beginning to realize it was not merely strong faith that fooled her, but masks that ran so deep they’d become inseparable from the truth.

Safi reached for the Threadstones in her pocket. Her fingers brushed against the warm rubies. I’m coming, Iz.

“How do we get it aloft?” Zander asked.

“It will roll.” Leopold knocked a wheel with his boot. “And once we are on board, it will lift off its wheels and take flight.”

“What about landing?” This came from Lev.

Leopold’s smile cracked slightly. “Yes, well, landing is never particularly pretty, but as long as we find a large enough space, we should have no trouble.”

Caden and Lev exchanged grimaces.

“Eridysi?” Zander asked. He pointed at a small name painted on the tiller.

“Yes.” Leopold plastered on a fake smile. “The machine’s name.”

“After the Lament?” Caden asked.