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real.

Volger crouched between the chairs to peer forward, his face blackened with dirt and sweat. Blood flowed from a scratch above one eye, shining bright red in the gloom of the shuttered cabin.

“I believe I suggested a smaller landship, Master Klopp.”

Klopp barked a laugh, still struggling to keep the Stormwalker low to the ground. “Don’t appreciate the extra armor, Volger? A runabout would’ve been blown off her feet by that last broadside.”

The forest rumbled again, but the explosions came from well behind and off to the right. The dreadnought had lost sight of them for now.

“The sun was rising behind the Beowulf . So we’re headed west,” Alek said. “We should turn left. The pines and firs down in the south are much taller than these hornbeams.”

“Well remembered, Your Highness,” Master Klopp said, adjusting his course.

Alek clapped him on the shoulder. “You were right to choose a Stormwalker, Klopp. We’d be dead now, otherwise.”

“We’d be halfway to Switzerland, you mean,” Volger said, managing to sound as if this were some fencing lesson that Alek was failing to comprehend. “In a runabout half this size, or on horses, they wouldn’t have spotted us in the first place.”

Alek glared up at the wildcount, but before he could open his mouth, the intercom popped.

“Loaded and ready, sir.”

Alek dropped his gaze toward the cabin floor. “Those two would have been more use up here. There’s not much they can do with that peashooter against a dreadnought.”

“True, Your Highness,” Klopp said. “But she’ll have escorts—smaller, faster ships moving below tree height. We may get a whiff of them sooner than you think.”

“Ah, quite right.” Alek closed his mouth and swallowed. The rush of battle was beginning to fade, and his hands were shaking.

All he’d done was turn a few cranks; the others had handled everything important. The bruises left by Volger’s swinging boots still throbbed, reminders of how Alek had mostly managed to get in the way.

He leaned back into the commander’s chair. As the simple, overwhelming fear of being shot at faded, the emptiness was rushing back… .

Alek wished that it were him bleeding instead of Volger—anything to distract himself from the truth welling up in his mind.

“She’s lost our range,” Klopp said. “No big guns for a count of thirty.”

“They’ve turned to give chase,” Volger said. “But wait till their scouts spot us. She’ll swing around for another broadside soon enough.”

Alek cast about for something to say, but found himself in the grip of a silent panic, his vision blurring with tears. The attack had swept away his last doubts.

His father was dead; his mother too. Both gone forever.

His Serene Highness, Prince Aleksandar of Hohen-berg, was alone now. He might never see his home again. The armed forces of two empires were hunting him, set against one walker and four men.

Volger and Klopp fell silent, and when Alek turned, he saw his despair reflected in their faces. He clenched the hand rests of the commander’s chair, fighting to breathe.

His father would’ve known what to say in this situation: a short and forceful speech, praising the men for their efforts, urging them to carry on. But Alek could only stare into the forest, blinking away tears.

If he didn’t say something, the emptiness would swallow him.

A burst of gunfire broke out in the trees ahead, cutting through the grind of the engines. The walker twisted to a new heading, and Count Volger jumped to his feet again.

“Horse scouts, I reckon!” Master Klopp said. “They have stables on the Beowulf .”

A shower of bullets rattled against the Stormwalker’s visor, louder than any spray of dirt and pebbles. Alek imagined metal projectiles ripping through the armor and cutting into him, and his heart began to race again.

The awful emptiness lifted a little… .

A huge boom shook the walker in its track, and a billow of