The colony had gone to sleep hours ago, but there was light streaming out under the curtain to Teslas' workshop. Both his lantern and the notebook tremored in Henry's clammy hands; he pulled the cape he had thrown around himself tighter, then knocked on the stone next to the curtain.

Quicker than he had anticipated, the curtain was shoved open, and he faced Teslas. "So you did take it," he said, unsurprised, then stepped back to let him in. His tool belt hung crookedly; he looked as tired as Henry felt.

Immediately after dinner, Henry had retreated to his bedroom and immersed himself in the stained pages of the booklet. It had been the name on its front that had drawn him in, and the conversation with Lovelace had made him nearly certain, but the notebook had finally delivered the undeniable confirmation of his suspicion.

He stopped in front of Teslas' table and held his gaze for a moment, then raised the notebook and read the handwritten signature aloud. "Princess Victoria, she was my—"

"—mother." Teslas nodded.

"She was also your teacher," Henry said. "Your teacher, whom you have to thank for all of this." He spread his arms, gesturing around the workshop.

Teslas hesitated. "That . . . is true," he said eventually. "You did not know about me, did you?"

Henry shook his head, tossing the notebook onto the table next to where Gorger's tooth now stood, held up by a type of small rack. Pencil markings dotted the light material. He would have asked about it, but he had no energy. He felt empty and drained. Like now that he had finally caught up with the answers he had chased, they had sunken their teeth into him and sucked him dry.

"I was eight when my parents were killed," he said curtly. "I barely remember her face." Sometimes Henry wondered if it was for the best that he didn't remember much. The more he remembered, the more he could miss.

"I know. I'm sorry," Teslas said, picking up the notebook pensively. "I smelled that it was you immediately. Your scent is similar to hers in a way I could have never overlooked. I thought I was having a stroke when you walked in here. Only then did I remember that she had children . . . two of them, no? A younger daughter and an older son. A son of the name—"

"—Henry," he said curtly. "You remembered that?"

"I did." Teslas laughed awkwardly. "I admit, it took me a few hours to check that chest, but I cannot say I was surprised when I found the book missing."

"Well, at least now I know what she was doing all this time." Henry bit down on his lip as soon as the words slipped out. He stared at the notebook, and his mind forced him back to all the nights he had lain in bed, knowing his mother wouldn't come, to making up stories and excuses that he could tell Nerissa when she woke up crying after one of her visions.

"I cannot say I blame her," Henry said. "It must've been so much more fun."

Why had he even taken the notebook? He stared at it in disgust. He could have just abandoned his search for answers and continued to tell himself the pretty lies.

Instantly, he cursed himself for the thought. Such a mindset was pathetic. Only weaklings ran from the truth, and he would not do it for a moment longer.

"Either way." He picked up the notebook; it contained all of his mother's and Teslas' inventions: concept sketches alongside full essays on new ideas and theories. "Here." He shoved it toward the nibbler. "It is yours, no?"

"Wait."

Henry didn't look him in the eyes, but Teslas made no attempt to take the notebook. He shoved Henry's hand back. "Wait, wait . . . I believe you misunderstood something. Henry," he said emphatically, "your mother did not prefer me over you or your family. She loved you greatly; I know that."

He began pacing. "It was not . . . What we did was not fun. If you have read the notebook, you know that my studies were essentially concluded by the time that you were born. This was some two years after my arrival at the Fount. And after you were born, the first thing your mother told me was that she couldn't continue working with me. She would move back to Regalia from her workshop at the Fount to spend time with her family. By the time the order from the king arrived, I had already packed my things to leave."

"Order?" Henry raised his gaze from the dirt stain on which he had been fixating.

"Yes. King Nicholas. Your uncle. He had granted me permission to stay and study under Victoria and had since kept a keen eye on my progress. He was a strong supporter of sharing knowledge and inter-species projects with us nibblers as well as others."

"But what order?"

"The order for Victoria, the most renowned inventor and theoretical physicist the humans had at the time, to design and construct a new security system for Regalia. He said it was long overdue and direly needed, and . . . Long story short, she asked me to accompany her to Regalia and undertake this as our final project. And I agreed."

Henry swallowed, lowering his eyes back to the floor and the stain.

Teslas took an audible breath. "This project ended up taking far longer than anticipated. It took nearly six years to perfect, and the king and the council were so pleased that they immediately assigned us several other projects that were long overdue for modernization—the lighting, the canalization. It . . . seemed wrong to leave when there was so much to be done and so many lives to make easier. We managed to overhaul them all before—"

"—before she died."

"Yes. It was a tragic day for not only her family but the entire human civilization and all your allies—and me too." Teslas paused. "I miss her greatly. Every day."

Henry stared at him for a moment, sensing the pain that radiated from him, and an unexpected wave of sympathy hit him. "Me too."

Surprise dashed over Teslas' face, then he smiled.

Henry smiled back and swallowed before he gathered up enough courage for his most burning question, a question he had tried asking many others but eventually stopped because he was tired of being silenced or forced to swallow weak excuses. But for some reason, he felt that he wouldn't get that from Teslas.

"What . . . was she like?"

Teslas' smile widened. "Smart. Visionary, some said. But also irresponsibly chaotic at times." They both laughed. "She thought exclusively in 'what ifs'; the way was the goal, and there was never only one way for Victoria. At least ten."

"I suppose that is why this reads more like a collection of ideas than a cohesive report or chronicle." Henry nodded at the notebook he was still holding, and Teslas laughed.

"Your mother would have been caught dead before writing a cohesive report or chronicle of events."

"What else did she do?" Henry's heart suddenly hammered out of his chest again, driven by this sincere and personal response.

Teslas gave him a long look. "She talked about you. Your sister too, when she was born. A lot."

"Really?" Henry clutched the notebook tighter. "What did she say?"

"I wish I could recall. But she talked about you so much, you have to pardon that I usually stopped listening as soon as I heard your names. No offense."

Henry laughed quietly. "None taken."

"It was mostly the usual, I believe," Teslas mumbled after a moment of hesitation. "She described any occasion on which she had seen you in detail. She went on about what she wanted to do the next time she saw you—for you to grow up happily despite her absence and have a good life . . . That kind of stuff."

Henry snorted. "Well, that wish certainly came true." He felt a sting of shame at what had become of him and how his mother might react if she saw him now. Exile had to be the opposite of what she must have wished for Henry's future. For the first time, Henry was almost glad she had never lived to see her son become a traitor.

"I would be lying if I claimed it does not interest me greatly how Victoria's own son, the Prince of Regalia, ended up an outcast." Teslas stared at him inquisitively. "But I will not force you to tell me anything you do not wish to share."

Henry nodded. "Maybe someday." At the same time, he asked himself if he could even afford to make a claim like this.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he remembered something. "Can you be persuaded to keep my real identity a secret? Everyone sort of . . . either thinks I'm dead or would have me killed. It would mean a lot."

Teslas laughed. "You are doing a great job at making me curious, but yes, I can."

"Thank you." Henry smiled.

The nibbler smiled back, then pointed at the notebook in his hand. "See, I was given permission to take the book when I left, as thanks for my efforts, but maybe you should have it."

Henry stared at him, stunned. He slowly lifted the book, running his fingertips over the old leather, and suddenly felt very young. His mind clustered with the many things he had lost in the last month—his home, his remaining family, his friends, his bond, and every single person who had ever meant anything to him. At this point, he thought he might appreciate the company of even Howard or Stellovet, Luxa's despised cousins from the Fount.

It was through this book that he felt like he had finally regained something. "Really?" Henry asked.

"Yes. As you likely noticed, it contains all her inventions," Teslas said. "Some I could bring to life; the rest I would need a partner for. A human. It is of no further use to me, and while I dislike parting with it, you deserve it more."

Henry moved his finger along the strange yet familiar name on the tattered cover, attempting to blink the tears away that had risen in his eyes.

"Why is it not finished?" he asked the final question that had been on his mind since discovering at least a third of the pages were blank.

"As you know better than most, your mother's death was premature," Teslas said quietly. "She did not have enough time to fill all the pages."

As Henry stared at the blank, yellowed page in front of him, the path he had to take suddenly became clearer than it had ever been since his exile. He took a deep breath, closed the notebook, and stood straighter. "I have a proposition for you."

"Yes?"

"I will work for you," Henry said. "I will be that human partner. I will help wherever you need me, be it finishing my mother's work or . . . manual labor," he pressed out between clenched teeth. "And in return," he said, crossing his arms, "you will teach me."

"Teach you what?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "To talk to rocks—no, your craft, of course." In his head, he went over everything this nibbler could teach him that would make life as an outcast easier. "You know, building things, tools, making leather, fur, filtering water—oh, I have no doubt that you could name a hundred more skills that I will be grateful for at a later time."

Teslas eyed him from head to toe, as if assessing whether Henry was worthy of such an honor. "You . . . are genuinely interested in learning from me?"

With a hint of shame, Henry averted his eyes. Only a month ago, he'd have laughed at the thought of studying under a nibbler—especially in the one craft humans were supposed to be the experts in—but now? He understood that the things that Teslas could teach him might be the difference between life and death, out in the Dead Land.

And as much as he enjoyed his stay at the colony, he knew he couldn't—and probably wouldn't want to—stay forever. If Teslas himself had gotten bored of the life here when he had been young, Henry couldn't imagine himself not meeting the same fate after a while.

And the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was the way to fulfill his promise about becoming capable to Thanatos and winning his challenge. He had to ask . . . for what was likely the only chance to at least somewhat make up for all the school lessons that he had evidently not appreciated enough before.

Was it not what Thanatos had said he needed? Humility. The word burned in Henry's mind, and he decided that he would rather die than tell the flier that he was actually listening to his advice.

"Yes," he caved—pride be damned. "I am. If you also make me part of whatever you're doing to Gorger's tooth over there." He pointed at the propped-up tooth.

"This is the tooth of Gorger?!" Teslas exclaimed, and Henry grinned.

"I cut it from his rotting carcass with my own blade."

"Well." The nibbler grinned. "This is perfect. You see, I had this idea . . . You said something about making it into a dagger, no?"

"Could it work?" asked Henry, suddenly excited.

"Perhaps. We shall see."

"Excellent!" Henry exclaimed. "So we have ourselves a deal?"

"Well, obviously."

Henry laughed at the nibbler's almost offended tone, then stopped in his tracks. "Wait. May I add another clause to it?"

"What kind of clause?"

He took a deep breath. "So, I am here to help you and to learn, but if I ever come up with an idea of my own that I could use your help for—you know, all in honor of my mother, of course—I want to count on your help."

Henry spotted trace amounts of excitement in Teslas' eyes before he started laughing. "Of course. Why am I not surprised . . . Well, fine—if your idea is good. You have something in mind already, no?"

Henry found his thoughts indeed flying to a particular thing that had lingered in his mind for a while now. He saw the rats who had pushed him off the cliff. He saw himself and Thanatos decimating them all. There was a brazier . . . and a sword. Then he thought of the Death Rider and his mural in the old nursery. He thought of all the perks he had come up with in his head. And a crooked grin spread on his face. "What if it is . . . innovative, dangerous, potentially revolutionary, and . . . genuinely just . . . well, a little crazy?"

Teslas blinked a few times, then grinned. "I'm in."

"What? But I haven't even . . ."

"You had me at 'genuinely just a little crazy'." His gaze shone mischievously. "All your mother's son, then. Well, at least this means that you should learn quickly." He turned to face the table. "And if you do not . . . there is always the bellow."

Both of them broke into relieved laughter. When a comfortable silence fell over the room again, Henry gave Teslas a challenging grin. "So, when and where do we start?"

***

Henry flung his eyes open. By the busy sounds of the colony, he discerned that it had to be the next morning, but he didn't feel like getting up. He felt like collapsing back into his sheets and doing absolutely nothing.

But he didn't do that. Henry slowly attempted to move his limbs and groaned in pain. He loves manual labor. Henry cursed Thanatos for doing this to him when he remembered he was now doing it to himself—voluntarily.

After his late-night conversation with Teslas, he had gone to sleep, but the morning after—yesterday morning—Henry had talked to both Thanatos and Lovelace about his agreement with Teslas, even if he'd left his mother out for now. Lovelace had been positively surprised; apparently, he'd never expressed the wish to pass his knowledge on to anyone, though she seemed to like the idea that he would have more company from now on. Thanatos had concluded that this meant Henry intended to stay for longer than originally planned.

In truth, Henry had no idea how long he would stay, and he didn't want to pretend like he did. He would see with time.

"Henry, your new teacher awaits," Thanatos called from the entrance, and Henry groaned louder. "Were you not so excited yesterday?"

Henry rolled out of bed reluctantly, wishing that he would have asked Teslas not to start so early in the morning. Before he could rise, he found by his side an elongated package wrapped in leather that someone had apparently left there while he had slept. He opened his mouth to ask Thanatos if he knew anything about it, but the flier was already gone.

Intrigued, Henry pulled himself into an upright position, shook his messy hair out of his face, and slipped into his shirt, then carefully unrolled the leather. The item inside made his jaw drop.

As it was now, he barely recognized it, but the material of the expertly honed, curved blade in his hand was so unique that it would have been impossible to mistake for anything else. Henry clutched the leather-wrapped hilt and raised . . . King Gorger's tooth. Processed virtually beyond recognition, it was still the tooth, but it was also a stunning, double-edged blade with a gentle curve.

When Henry weighed it in his hand, his initial euphoria let up a little. It was a blade, alright, but it was far too fragile and light to be used as a weapon.

No matter. He stuck it into his belt and only then did his eyes land on the piece of leather it had been wrapped in. There was a short note in a messy hand on it. Henry squinted and read:

You gave me an idea, and you gave me the material. Nothing else is required, really. Have fun with it—and don't think about making even a single scratch on it before we can reinforce it.

—Teslas

He caught himself grinning widely. In a single night, the nibbler had accomplished what he had long given up—and this was not the end of it yet.

Henry stood determinedly and looked down at the blade again, feeling fresh enthusiasm. He would have his rat tooth dagger, just as he had wanted. And who knew what else would be next?

This was not the end of anything, Henry thought as he made his way out of his bedroom and toward the workshop. It was only the beginning.