The Royal Caravan—a collection of three wagons and twenty nervous knights—rumbled to a halt just outside the city's outer walls. This was the Sprawl, where the smoke of industry hung low and the air tasted of sulfur.
"Wait here," I told Elara. She was watching the slums with a guarded expression, her hand resting near her hidden daggers. "I have to pick up the power supply."
I walked toward the common smithy. It was a cavernous, open-air structure, roaring with the sound of bellows and the clang-clang of hammers.
I spotted her immediately.
In the center of the workshop, a girl was fighting with a piece of red-hot iron. She was striking, in every sense of the word. Tall, with skin bronzed by soot and fire, she had the lean, corded muscle definition of a prizefighter. Her hair was a messy knot of dark brown, tied back with a leather thong.
But her attire was... inefficient. She wore a ragged leather apron that barely covered her chest, and her trousers were little more than scraps held together by hope and soot. There were burn holes in the fabric, exposing patches of scarred, muscular skin.
She raised a heavy sledgehammer. She possessed the strength to crush the iron flat. But as she swung, the hammer head wobbled in mid-air, as if pushed by an invisible hand. It struck the anvil with a glancing blow, sending sparks flying but failing to shape the metal.
"Useless!" barked a voice.
The Master Blacksmith, a greasy man with a paunch and eyes that looked like wet stones, was leaning against a pillar. He wasn't watching the iron. He was watching the girl. His eyes roamed over her exposed shoulders and the sweat trailing down her midriff with a hunger that made my stomach turn.
"You twist the swing every time, Tessa!" he sneered, though he made no move to correct her stance. He seemed to enjoy watching her struggle.
Tessa gritted her teeth, wiping soot from her forehead. "It... it pushes back, Master. The metal pushes back."
"Excuses," the Blacksmith leered, stepping closer.
I stepped into the light. "The girl."
The Blacksmith jumped, spinning around. He saw my black tunic, the noble cut of my cloak, and the grim expression on my face.
"My Lord?" He wiped his oily hands on his trousers. "We are busy. If you need a horse shod—"
"I am Duke Valian," I said, holding up the Royal Writ stamped with the King's seal. "And I am here to requisition the penal laborer known as Tessa."
The Blacksmith's face fell. He looked at the paper, then back at Tessa. Panic flared in his eyes. Not the panic of losing a worker, but the panic of a miser losing his favorite coin.
"You... you can't take her," he stammered. "She's clumsy! She ruins the metal! She's cursed!"
"Then you should be happy to be rid of her," I said coldly. "Release her. Now."
The Blacksmith rushed over to Tessa. To my disgust, he grabbed her from behind, wrapping his thick arms around her waist in a hug that was far too tight, far too intimate. He pressed his face into her soot-stained hair.
"She is my treasure," he hissed, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "She ruins the iron, yes... but she heats the nights. You cannot have her."
Tessa went rigid in his arms. She looked at me, her eyes filled with shame and a desperate plea for help.
I didn't argue. I didn't debate. I walked forward and shoved the parchment into the Blacksmith's chest.
"This is an order from King Theodoric," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Defy it, and I will have the City Guard hang you from your own rafters for treason."
The Blacksmith trembled. He looked at the seal, then at the knights visible through the open doorway. He knew he was beaten.
He released Tessa, shoving her forward with a petulant, childish force.
"Fine!" he spat. "Take her! Take the cursed wretch!"
He leaned in close to me, his breath smelling of stale ale. "But you listen to me, Duke. The North is a death sentence. Don't you break my treasure up there. She's too pretty to die in the snow."
I ignored him. I looked at Tessa. "Grab your tools. We're leaving."
She didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy leather sack of hammers and tongs and followed me out of the heat, leaving the pervert cursing in the shadows.
Outside, the air was cooler. I led her away from the earshot of the knights.
"Put the bag down," I ordered.
Tessa dropped the heavy tools. She stood before me, shivering slightly now that the furnace heat was gone. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover the holes in her clothes, expecting me to be another version of the Blacksmith.
"Why?" she asked, her voice raspy from smoke. "Why did you buy me? I can't forge. I ruin everything I touch."
"You don't ruin it," I said. "You just don't understand the forces you're applying."
I looked at the ground. "Pick up that iron nail."
She hesitated, then bent down and picked up a rusted nail with her right hand. Nothing happened.
"Now," I said. "Switch hands. Hold it in your left."
She passed the nail to her left hand. Immediately, the nail jittered. It tried to spin, aligning itself North.
"Interesting," I murmured. I pulled a small iron coin from my purse. "Hold your hands out, palms facing each other. About six inches apart."
She did.
"Now, push."
Tessa frowned, but she focused. Veins stood out on her muscular arms. The air between her hands began to hum. I tossed the iron coin into the space between her palms.
It didn't fall. It hung there, suspended in mid-air, spinning lazily.
"I knew it," I whispered, the engineer in me doing backflips.
Tessa gasped, staring at the floating coin. "Magic..."
"Physics," I corrected. "You aren't a mage, Tessa. You're a Dipole."
I walked around her, analyzing the field.
"Your right hand emits a positive magnetic charge. Your left hand is negative. When you try to hold a hammer with both hands, you're creating a chaotic magnetic flux that pushes the metal away. You were fighting your own polarity."
I looked at her—at the dirty, ragged girl who thought she was trash. I didn't see a failure. I saw a living generator. I saw the potential for railguns, for electric motors, for infinite, clean energy.
"Tessa," I said, grabbing the floating coin from the air. "That Blacksmith was a fool. You aren't cursed."
I smiled, my black teeth glinting in the sunlight.
"You are the most valuable component in this entire Kingdom. Go get in the wagon. We have a world to electrify."