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“Most people are afraid to visit while the automatons are still being perfected.”
    “Should I be worried about an ambush?” Rhys asked in half-jest, but he still patted his waistcoat for the revolver stored beneath.
    “They’ve been shut off. I’m sure you’ve dealt with greater perils than dim hallways on your travels.”
    “Where I’ve gone, dim hallways are never a good sign.”
    Lydia paused before a tiny alcove, where candles and a box of matchsticks resided. She used a match to light two lamps suspended from wall sconces and took one for herself. “Better?”
    Rhys took the other one. “We’ll see.”
    After traversing yet another hallway, they reached a large work area. Tables, diagrams, and odd bits of machinery were categorized on shelves.
    “This is the main room.” Lydia’s voice produced a soft echo throughout the interior.
    “I see automaton parts, but not the models themselves. Where are they?”
    “I’ll take you to them, but first, I wish to discuss additional terms concerning their purchase.”
    Rhys set the lamp on the table. “I knew it.”
    She wrinkled her brow at his flippant statement. “In exchange for the automatons, you will permit their designs to remain with Aspasia.”
    The flame atop the lamp wick danced when Rhys gave a big sigh. She insisted upon challenging him at every turn. “Are you sure King Sabba won’t mind you negotiating for him?”
    Lydia remained undeterred. “Do you accept my terms?”
    “Your terms are to prohibit New Britannia from mass producing your soldiers.”
    “They should remain Aspasia’s property. Consider it a trade agreement.”
    Rhys noticed her breathing sped. Was the heat getting to her, or her nerves, due to inexperience at negotiating? If it was the latter, then he could still come out on top and win the dispute. “This isn’t a trade agreement. This is a one-time exchange of money for goods.”
    “You’d pay us once while your nation profits continually from the automatons. How is that fair?”
    She had a very good point. It wasn’t fair, but it was in neither his authority nor ability to challenge an age-old practice nearly all countries resorted to. “Lydia, New Britannia is a powerful nation. It would not do to pass off an alliance when we can protect you from France.”“I do not fear France nor you, Rhys Cartret. How dare you try to intimidate me?” She folded her arms. “If King Sabba heard you now, even he would tell you to make better terms.”
    “I’m sure he’d also be pleased to hear how you tried to persuade me to rescind my offer without him knowing.”
    A smidgen of wind left her sails. “Amend your offer.”
    Rhys’ insides twisted at having to be so firm with her. She only wanted what was best for her country. But so did he, when it came to New Britannia. At least she didn’t have an entire Cabinet of officials to hound her should a mission fail. “You want me to leave Aspasia, but I’m not going anywhere until that agreement is signed. Are we clear?”
    “Typical diplomat’s arrogance.” Huffing, Lydia grabbed her lantern and marched into an adjoining chamber.
    He used a firm approach and she still accused him of being diplomatic. Rhys grumbled before venturing after her.
    In the next chamber, five rows of automatons stood in formation, their eyeless, featureless faces vague and uniform.
    Rhys tapped the shoulder of one nearest him. “Are all of these models voice-responsive?”
    “Yes.” Lydia moved between the rows, still visibly irritated as she explained the components of her machines. “Their armor contains a copper alloy that registers sound. Sound travels to the central wiring at the base of their backs, where the wire forms an imprint of the controller’s voice. You must speak into the wire first to control them. This method works well for the automatons with the steam propulsion engines, but on the hybrid windup models, sometimes the mainspring of their clockwork motor interferes. I’m