The transition from the honest, biting cold of Oakhaven to the humid, suffocating opulence of the Imperial Capital, Solstice, was a jarring shift in tactical environments. Deacon had traded the predictable mechanics of the forge for the labyrinthine, invisible traps of the court. The "Iron Caravan" had been rebranded as a "Diplomatic Mission," though the high-speed spring-carriages still carried a hidden weight. Tucked into the floorboards of the lead carriage was a disassembled Mark III "Silent Sentry"—a miniaturized, high-tension repeater that Miller had finished in a feverish forty-eight-hour sprint.
Julian sat across from Deacon, dressed in the sharp, charcoal-and-silver silks of the House of Cassian. He looked every bit the high-born noble he had been raised to be, but his fingers were constantly twitching, tracing the invisible gears of a machine only he could see. The antagonism was still there, but it had evolved; it was no longer the hatred of a rival, but the anxiety of a partner who knew exactly how much was at stake.
"The Empress is a collector of curiosities, David," Julian warned as they rolled through the massive gilded gates of the inner city. The spires of Solstice rose like ivory needles against a pale blue sky. "She isn't like the Governor. She doesn't want to tax us; she wants to possess the concept of us. If we show her too much, she'll turn Oakhaven into a royal workshop. If we show her too little, she'll let the Inquisitors finish what Valois started."
Deacon adjusted his greatcoat, the fur collar brushing against his jaw. "Then we show her exactly what she needs to see: a loyal vassal with a very sharp, very expensive sword. Brandt and Tate are already positioned in the lower city's trade districts. If this audience goes south, Oakhaven's 'miracles' stop shipping before the moon rises."
When they reached the Sun-Palace, the scale of the Empire's wealth became oppressive. They were led through halls of polished obsidian, where the walls were etched with murals of the "First Era"—a time of legendary heroes and strange, geometric architecture. Deacon's "Logistical Insight" flared, but not for technology. He saw the layout of the palace as a fortress; he noted the positions of the hidden guards and the narrow chokepoints of the corridors.
The throne room was not a place of gold, but of ancient, weathered stone. The Empress, Livia Solis, sat upon a throne that looked like it had been carved from a single block of dark, volcanic glass. She was younger than Deacon expected, her hair a shock of white-silver, her eyes a piercing, intelligent amber. She wasn't looking at a map; she was looking at a small, rusted iron plate on the table beside her.
As Deacon and Julian knelt, the silence in the room became a physical weight.
"Lord Cassian," the Empress said, her voice surprisingly soft yet carrying to every corner of the hall. "The North has been very loud lately. I hear stories of iron plows that move without magic and bolts that can split an oak from half a mile away. My Inquisitors call it heresy. My merchants call it a gold mine."
She picked up the rusted iron plate. Deacon's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't high-tech, but it was familiar—a stamped steel plate with a faded, embossed eagle and a series of Roman numerals. It was a relic of a forgotten era, something his "David" memories recognized as a piece of ancient military surplus, now nothing more than a holy icon to this world.
"You have a look in your eyes, Lord Deacon," she continued, standing up and walking down the dais. Her silk gown hissed against the stone. "A look of recognition. This plate was found in the foundations of your tower three centuries ago. It is said the man who built Oakhaven arrived with a crate of these 'icons' and a knowledge of the stars that shouldn't exist."
She stopped in front of him, her amber eyes searching his. She didn't call him by his modern name, but the implication was clear. "You aren't just building machines, are you? You're reviving an old language. A language of iron and logic that my house has tried to translate for generations."
Julian looked between the Empress and his brother, his confusion deepening. "My Lady, Oakhaven seeks only to serve the Empire's prosperity through innovation."
"Innovation is a dangerous word, Little Scion," Livia said, turning her gaze to Julian. "It implies that the current way is insufficient. But I am a practical woman. I have a border in the Great Waste that is being overrun by things that don't care about 'divine right.' I don't need priests right now. I need engineers."
She turned back to Deacon. "I will call off the Inquisitors. I will grant Oakhaven a Royal Charter. But in exchange, I want the 'Silent Sentry' you have hidden in your carriage, and I want you to tell me exactly what the numbers on this plate mean."
Deacon felt the tension in the room spike. The "Vipers" weren't just the lords; the Empress herself was the most dangerous of them all. She didn't know who he was, but she knew he was a piece of a puzzle she had been trying to solve her entire life.
"The numbers are a designation, Your Majesty," Deacon said, his voice steady. "They mean 'Strength through Order.' And if you want the Sentry, you'll have to provide the Oakhaven foundries with the royal charcoal reserves to build ten more."
Livia smiled—a sharp, genuine expression that didn't reach her eyes. "A negotiator. I like that better than a martyr. Welcome to Solstice, Lord Cassian. Try not to let the Inquisitors poison your wine before we finish our business."
As they were led out, Julian leaned toward Deacon. "She's testing us, David. She knows we're hiding the true scale of our production."
"Let her test," Deacon replied. "We're in the heart of the enemy's camp now. But they don't realize we didn't come here to talk. We came to map the walls."