I’m sunning myself on a rock when I hear the shuffle of human feet rubbing against dirt. I swivel my head, and my tongue flickers in and out, detecting sweat, cinnamon, and the heady tang of the flowering bidya that Mamua planted just for me by the front of her hut.
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Cyra, how will you do this?
I have no answer to give myself as I trudge across this scorching desert. I only know that I must try. Shimmering columns of heat rise before my eyes. I am tempted—so tempted—to discard the armor that protects my arms, chest, and legs.
The wolf pack was hunting again. I could sense it in how their ears perked, the subtle way they started to fan out and slink off, taking up their positions perfectly without any audible communication.
Scanning the city streets far below me through my scope, I searched for their prey.
“What makes it work?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“We don’t really know,” Dr. Tine shrugged. “Some energy source that we haven’t been able to figure out. Our scientists who worked in the lab with the last one ended up getting sick, and some of them died within months. Nasty stuff.
Prince Wilfred would not hold still.
This made a trying task of threading tiny, shield-shaped buttons through delicate holes, but Edvin persisted. It was his duty to properly attire the teenaged prince for the coronation ceremony, despite Wilfred’s nervous fidgeting.
Footsteps padded closer. Edvin glanced to his left to see the sleek
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