Fortney stood on the dock with Rami and looked up at the ship. It loomed over her, filling her with awe and disgust.

  They'd arrived in Zar-andūz the previous afternoon. It was a port city that laid at the junction of the Jāndar River and the Nūn Sea. The odor of dead fish pervaded the whole town, seemingly sunk into very stones themselves.

  The whole caravan marinated in the stench all night, even inside their outrageously overpriced inn.

  Fortney would have preferred to spend another night camping. But as uncomfortable as it was, she had the cart to sleep in, while the rest of the caravan had to sleep on the ground. The inn was an improvement over that, at least.

  The morning had dawned bright, with sunbeams piercing the dull miasma the wrapped the city. She had spent quite some time bidding farewell to everyone who had accompanied her.

  She stopped at Zamiran.

  "I will miss you," she said, her features downcast. "You are my last tie to Baradon. After this... I will be away from everything and everyone I have ever known."

  "You will have Rami," Zamiran said.

  "I do not know him," Fortney said, "and he has been colder of late."

  Zamiran bowed his head, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

  "You will honor your father and Namar?n," he said. "You will learn much. Do not forget the learnings of the Catastrophes. Do not forget the prophecies. Remember the teachings of the temple. They will guide you, even in this strange new land."

  Fortney smiled at him.

  "I will." She flexed her hand, making a fist and looking at it. "Already some teachings have become a comfort to me." She looked back at him. "I will return, stronger and wiser."

  "I know you will, Shazedah."

  Fortney stepped forward and gave Zamiran a brief hug. His face opened in shock.

  "Take care of my father and my home, Zamiran."

  "I will," he said.

  Then she'd turned and stepped out onto the cobblestone streets.

  Today, she would be traveling by sea for the first time. She tried to settle her nerves. She knew that they wouldn't be able crew ships if they just sank all the time.

  Now, staring at the vessel she was supposed to board, she wasn't so sure.

  It was larger than any boat she had ever seen. She had watched many boats and barges navigate the waters near Baradon, but they were all small river craft, nothing like this monstrosity. It was large enough for people to stand up and walk around in its belly.

  What's more, it was made of steel. From that fact alone, Fortney didn't trust it. The barges that navigated the Shiqu river near her home were made of wood, because wood floated. Steel sank. Everybody knew that. And yet, flying in the face of all common sense, some maniac had decided to build an entire ship out of steel.

  She shook her head. It was floating right there, so... obviously it worked somehow.

  It was only steel on average. Large patches of rust dominated every visible surface. Two large square smokestacks poured oily black smoke into the air. Fortney vaguely understood that a fire drove the ship, made it move. Perhaps that was why the ship was made of steel, to keep the fire from spreading.

  As an entire package, it seemed like the most overdone, wasteful, and unsafe mode of transportation she'd ever seen or heard of. She was reluctant to put even one foot on board.

  A bushy, bearded head popped up over the gunwale. It wore a huge, toothy grin. Everybody in Zar-andūz grinned, all the time. Fortney didn't trust it, and she didn't like it.

  "Ah, passengers!" he cried. His head vanished and re-appeared at the gangplank. "Welcome, welcome! Please, join me!"

  Fortney looked dubiously at the narrow strip of wood that rested between the steel boat and the stone dock. It was only a cubit and a half wide. Peering down, she could see the murky waters twenty hands below.

  Rami grunted and pushed past her, walking up the gangplank.

  Fortney frowned. Rami had been a brusque and distant ever since the bandits. Had she upset him somehow? Nevertheless, she watched him navigate the gangplank. It bounced alarmingly under his weight.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She wasn't going to cower from a task that a courtier didn't shy away from.

  Fortney carefully set her foot on the plank and took a deep breath. Fixing her eyes on the ship, she stepped forward firmly and swiftly. The board flexed under her, and she tried desperately not to think about the long drop beneath her. It was the work of a few seconds to get on board.

  The man who'd greeted them stood there, grinning at her.

  "Welcome! I am Captain Boloq of the Golden Condor!" He swept his arm around, indicating the rusty heap.

  Fortney had expected the captain to be a large, burly man, but Boloq was slim, short, and overflowing with energy. He was darker than most of the men of Mirashan, and he wore a shockingly white shirt and pants.

  "Where are the sails?" she asked. "I thought ships had sails."

  "Ah, sails are a relic of the past! This is a steam-ship! The Golden Condor uses the finest Ardenian technology from the shipyards of Brinewick! There's no finer ship west of the Shiqu river!"

  Fortney raised a skeptical eyebrow as she took in the scummy deck, the rusting walls, and frayed rigging. The ship managed, by dint of very great effort, to smell worse than the rest of the city of Zar-andūz.

  "Come!" Boloq cried, turning. "I'll show you to your berth. My men will fetch your things." He turned and screamed something in Mirashanian at the porters.

  The Mirashanian language was close enough to Namar?nian that Fortney could parse it out, if she tried. But after she recognized him naming few body parts and some shocking verbs, she stopped trying to understand what he was saying.

  Captain Boloq opened a hatch and began to descend belowdecks, but Fortney paused with one foot on the top step. She gazed out over the waters of the Nūn Sea. The captain, catching her mood, piped up.

  "Fear not, fine lady! We'll stick close to the coast for the entire journey, except for Breakwater Bay. It should be a pleasant journey!"

  Fortney pinched her lips and unconsciously rubbed her stump. But she nodded and descended, following the captain into the dark.

  Edvar Pembroke stepped down out of the carriage. He looked up at the Pembroke manse, his expression grim.

  The driver pulled the accelerator rod on the carriage. Brass shafts pumped, and with a rapid "putting" sound and a thick cloud of black smoke, the carriage pulled away.

  "Back at the house of lies," Edvar muttered. He shook his head and walked in.

  His mother, Lady Charlotte Pembroke, met him in the foyer. Edvar dutifully removed his hat.

  "Mother," he said, bowing slightly. "It's good to see you again."

  "Edvar!" She bustled up to him. "You're back early! I thought you wouldn't be home for another week." She fussed over him, dusting his jacket. "If I'd known, we'd have had chef make something special for you."

  "I don't need anything special," he said. "The schedule at the school simply worked out so that it was easier to visit this week. I apologize, I should have sent a letter ahead."

  She stopped fussing over him and looked up at him, her hands on his arms.

  "Edvar, you're looking so grown up," she said.

  "I am 21 now, mother."

  "Oh, I know. But you'll always be my little baby." Edvar's countenance stiffened. "Well, your father's out negotiating with the merchants in town," she continued. "He won't be back until dinner. But come in, make yourself comfortable."

  Edvar followed his mother into the dining-hall, and into the library.

  "Oh, and you can say hello to your uncle Mortimer," she said. "I'll go fetch him."

  Edvar came to a dead stop.

  "Oh. I'd thought I might miss him entirely, with the schedule change," he said.

  "No, no," Lady Pembroke said. "He's staying with us for a while, so you'll be able to spend some quality time with him. Isn't that fortunate?"

  Edvar forced himself to smile.

  "Delightful," he said.

  "I'll go let him know you're here." Lady Pembroke bustled off.

  Edvar's smile dropped away as soon as she left. He sulked over to one of the high-backed chairs and threw himself into it.

  Before long, Lord Mortimer Ravencroft walked in. He was a tall man with raven-black hair. White wings swept back from his temples, and his beard was trimmed to a neat point.

  Edvar forced the smile back onto his face.

  "Godfather," he said, bowing.

  Mortimer Ravencroft spread his arms and greeted Edvar warmly.

  "Please, young Edvar, you may call me 'uncle'," he said in a rich, deep voice. "I consider you as one of my own family. Come, sit. Tell me of your schooling at the Polytechnic."

  They sat in the high-backed chairs. Edvar shared a carefully sanitized version of his activities for the previous months.

  "Ah, I remember my days at the Polytechnic," Lord Ravencroft said. "Fine times. This is the peak of your youth, Edvar. Someday you will look back on the lessons you learn here with fondness."

  "I'm certainly learning a great deal," Edvar said.

  "Yes, that's fine, very fine. Tell me, have you given any thought to going through the Testing again?"

  "I have been through the Testing twice already... uncle. I have no more sorcerous ability than a turnip." Edvar leveled a direct stare at Lord Mortimer. "I'm not sure why you're so insistent on this. I'm not anxious to be vanished by the Guild of Sorcerors."

  Lord Ravencroft scoffed.

  "Those rumors! The Guild is harmless, simply a gathering-place for those afflicted with sorcery. I am a member, and I have not been 'taken' by the Guild. Granted, I only have a very small bit of power. But Edvar, it would be a wonderful way for you to gain some notoriety in high society. You understand, I hope, how important it is to elevate your visibility?"

  Edvar shrugged.

  "I'm sorry, uncle. I don't think sorcery is going to be my elevation. Besides, sorcery passes down through the male line, does it not? The Pembrokes have never produced a sorceror, so I don't understand why you think I might have the talent."

  Lord Ravencroft smiled thinly.

  "Affliction, not talent," he said. "It does not only pass through the male line. There have been a few sorcerors who have come from mundane stock. And if I have been pushing you toward it, it is only because I know the value that the Guild would provide for your standing."

  "Alas," Edvar said, his carefree smile bubbling up.

  Lord Ravencroft leaned forward.

  "Edvar, please listen. If you ever... begin to hear voices, or feel urges you can't explain... I want you to reach out to me immediately. The manifestation of sorcery--even a small amount--can be disastrous if not properly contained and controlled. Not just to the afflicted, but also to those around him. It is vitally important that no one manifests without the guidance and control of the Guild."

  Edvar's smile widened.

  "Of course, uncle. I will be sure to let you know if anything strange happens."

  Lord Ravencroft peered closely at Edvar.

  "Do. It would be for your own good."

  Edvar's expression took on a darker cast.

  "I always look out for my own good, uncle."

  Dark steampunk fantasy

  The world of Rohana exists beneath a barrier of luminous crosses that has enclosed humanity in a dome. Within it, people bow to Rohai and his Church of Harmony, who have divided the world into city dwellers who harness crystal technology and villagers who reject it.

  Haran Baratti fled his homeland with his infant son, Heron, and found refuge in a remote village in a neighboring country. But the sanctuary they seek does not last, and events revolving around Haran's past leave Heron alone, forcing him to return to his father's homeland. But to get there, he can only do it by obtaining a special passport, which will allow him to travel to different kingdoms.

  Having been raised in a different culture, Heron will have to navigate a world of mechanical cities powered by crystalline powers and governed by various social structures. There he'll meet allies and face dangerous foes. And those whom he encounters have secrets; some of them, if revealed to the public, may reshape the very foundations of the Rohana Federation. Will Heron, in learning those secrets, realize that maybe some of those secrets should have stayed buried?

  What to expect:

  ? Dark steampunk-inspired power fantasy with extensive world-building

  ? Magic systems where power comes at a psychological cost

  ? Visceral, well-choreographed combat sequences

  ? Mysteries that unfold across multiple volumes

  ? Steampunk aesthetics merged with elemental magic

  ? Stories where the actors are often found in morally grey areas