I immediately set out in search of Jaron. Luckily, a Waster chief traipsing through Palace corridors isn't too difficult to track down, and I soon discover him dining alone at a table in the Great Hall.

Sinking down into the seat opposite him I reach over and take his mug of ale, downing it in one gulp.

Jaron grunts. "If you are looking for Luca he is not here. Noah is examining his arm in the infirmary."

"I'm not looking for Luca." I say, glancing over my shoulder towards a porter and signalling for two more drinks. "I'm looking for you."

He raises one bushy brow. "I take it that you spoke with the Queen."

"Meg isn't going to be of any further help to us." I tell him. "I want to talk to you about joining forces."

Someone deposits two frothy mugs in front of us and then slips discreetly away, leaving myself and the Waster warlord alone in the cavernous hall.

Jaron sips thoughtfully from his drink, studying me over the lip of his glass.

"Megra has asked that I order the Wasters to cease antagonizing the Madam, also." He sits back and strokes his unruly beard.

"You won't do that, though." I state.

"What makes you think so?"

"You don't take orders from anyone." I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table between us. "And neither do I."

Jaron is silent, his expression unreadable as he drums his heavy fingers. I wait, forcing myself to remain still while keeping my eyes fixed with his.

"You need me." I tell him. "The Wasters aren't enough to take down Babel on their own."

"You think that the City warriors will follow you?"

"Not me." I say. "The Runner."

His cheek twitches.

"I can promise you soldiers." I continue. "Soldiers who will fight because their heart tells them to, not because a queen has ordered it. I have a reputation on both sides of the Wall, now. With my sword at your disposal, you will have supporters from all across the desert."

"You do have a gift for inspiration." Jaron's grunts. "But you are suggesting that we go directly against Megra's wishes."

"It isn't personal, it's just politics." I say coldly, remembering Meg's rationality only a few minutes previous.

"It will not be seen that way. I am the queen's lover and you are her closest companion." He releases a heavy sigh. "She will be hurt."

"People always get hurt when it comes to war." I remind him.

The Waster takes another slow sip of his drink. I consider his silence a sign that he's thinking over my words and press on.

"I know that you want the Madam to pay for her crimes as much as I do." I say. "Those were your people that she stole and enslaved. Your brother."

Jaron's grip on his mug tightens abruptly, cracking the decorative enamel.

"Meg will still be here after we've killed the Madam." I press. "You will have the rest of your lives to make it up to her. In time, she'll understand that we did this to protect her. To save her."

Slowly, purposefully, Jaron lowers his drink and places it gently on the table. His large hands rest on either side as he stares at me, dark and watchful, careful and calculating.

"The warlord and the Runner." My voice is low. "Think of it. We'll be unbeatable. And you," I stretch my eyes wide. "You will be remembered as the greatest chief who ever lived. This war will be your legacy."

A spark alights the Waster chief's eye, a spark I recognize in myself.

"If I am to agree to this, then I will ask one thing of you, Runner." Jaron draws his shoulders up, making his already oversized frame appear even larger.

I raise my brows.

"Complete truth." He says. "You will hide nothing from me and I will hide nothing from you. I do not make allies with people I do not trust."

"You will have it." I lie, banishing all thoughts of Will to the recesses of my mind.

"Very well, Runner." Jaron extends a hand and I grip it gamely. "Let us hope that you are as convincing to your followers as you are to me."

"You let me worry about that." I tell him, squeezing his hand as hard as I can. "Just get your people prepared for battle."

* * * * *

I spend the next several days casting aside all of my previous anxieties about presenting as the Runner. Kay Knight is forgotten as I split my time between the streets and the barracks, talking with soldiers and tradespeople in an attempt to recruit people for our new army. I travel by rooftop, making a point of demonstrating my most showy acrobatics and being seen by as many people as possible. Where I once made it my business to remain inconspicuous, I now do everything in my power to stand out.

Ignoring the heavy exhaustion seeping into my bones, I swing down from a ledge and drop into the marketplace, plastering a smile on my face while I nod to various passerbys.

Excited whispers follow my progress as I amble past the stalls. My cheeks pinch painfully when I stop by Harry's cart, where I am immediately swarmed by a riotous group of miners. I stay and chat with them for a spell, clapping shoulders and laughing, making sure to mention my alliance with Jaron and the adventure we are about to embark on. I am just waving off their invitation for a pint when someone taps me on the shoulder.

"Marc!" I exclaim as I embrace my friend. "It's been an age. I missed you."

"Beautiful Kay." Marc's grin alights his face as he lifts one of my coiled braids and flicks it playfully at my face. "This is a new look."

"Just trying out something different." I finger one of the Waster feathers woven into my hair.

"It's appropriately savage." Marc remarks approvingly. "Compliments all the terrifying stories going 'round about you."

"I suppose word gets around." I grin.

"Got a moment to chat?" He asks. "Or would I be tearing you away from your adoring public?"

"Yes to both."

He laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder in a side-hug. We bid goodbye to Harry and wander down a narrow and seldom-travelled pathway, chatting amiably all the while. For the first time in weeks, I find myself relaxing. Marc's easy company and the fact that I can be completely myself with him are a welcome respite from the Runner persona I've had to shoulder since joining forces with Jaron.

"You know, I've been hearing a lot of talk about the Runner, lately." Marc says, nudging me in the ribs.

"Good, then I'm doing something right." I reply.

"You've never been one for self-promotion."

"Desperate times." Embarrassed, I pretend to be interested in a shop window in order to avoid Marc's gaze.

"That they are." He stops next to me, leaning against the window and pushing his floppy blonde hair back off his forehead.

I open my mouth to reply when we're interrupted by a high-pitched shriek. I cringe, resisting the urge to cover my ears as a group of teen-aged girls rush over.

"Oh my gods, you're her!" One of the girls squeals. "The Runner!"

Her friends whisper behind their hands to one another, openly staring at me with their eyes stretched wide.

"You caught me." I force my hundredth smile of the day.

"This is so surreal, all of my friends and I are completely obsessed with you, I can't believe I'm actually meeting you in person!" Her voice rises to a glass-shattering decibel and I catch Marc smirking out of the corner of my eye.

"Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." I extend my hand, clasping her clammy palm in mine and shaking warmly.

I grin and joke politely as the girls exclaim over me, commenting on everything from my hair to my manner of dress, all the while looking for an opportunity to politely excuse myself so that I can rejoin Marc.

"Tell me, did you really leap from the top of the Palace to the ground?" One of the girls asks.

"Sure did." I grin.

"And that frightening dome out in the desert? I heard you single handedly hijacked an enemy airship and forced your way in. Is that true?"

"Not quite." I laugh. "I actually climbed to the top of a tower and jumped aboard. That was a woefully uncomfortable ride," My tone becomes serious. "And I'll be heading back, soon to finish what I started. Tell everyone you know that I'm recruiting soldiers to join me, that we need all the help we can get to end these hostilities, once and for all."

The girls loudly declare their promises and I bid goodbye, gently tugging Marc away and down another alleyway.

"Well, that was something to see." He comments.

"Yes, I think my ears will be ringing for at least a week."

"I meant you." Marc glances over at me. "It's always so strange to watch you slip on these masks."

I shrug. "Comes with the territory."

"Does it ever get confusing?"

"Does what get confusing?"

"Pretending to be someone else." He states plainly. "In the time I've known you you've been a courtier, a guard, a Waster, a soldier..." Shaking his head. "And gods knows who else you impersonated inside Babel."

I bristle. "It's just pretend, Marc. I know the difference between being myself and playing a part."

"So, what about the Runner? Is that really you or are you just playing a part?"

"The Runner is whatever everyone needs her to be." I say. "And right now, I need her to be inspiring. I'll shake hands and smile all day if that's what it takes to raise this army."

We walk in silence for several blocks, each lost in our own thoughts.

"I'm sorry that I can't be a part of your fight, this time." Marc says after a spell.

"Don't be. You're doing important work. Besides," I tease, "I can't be wasting time rescuing you, again."

Marc laughs, the clear sound filling the narrow street. "Fair enough."

"I'll miss having your blade beside mine, though." I tell him. "You're one of the best soldiers I know."

"That's kind of you. I am going to miss stabbing my problems away, thinking through them is a lot more tiring."

I nod my understanding. "Greenhouses, is it?"

"That's the idea." He chews on his bottom lip. "Gus has a theory about how we can go about harvesting water vapour, but like most things, it's easier said than done. Between you and I, even if we could make our own water, the sheer size of the operation that would have to go into making enough for everyone is staggering."

"If anyone could pull it off, it would be you two geniuses." I say, for the first time noticing the unsightly shadows beneath his eyes.

"Maybe." He sighs. "I wish I had your confidence. You haven't doubted for a minute that you could take down Babel, have you?"

"Of course I have my doubts." I reply. "I'm just practiced at hiding them. You know what they say: fake it 'til you make it."

Marc snorts. "I don't know if that logic applies to science."

"Shame."

Marc's pace slows. He appears adrift as he glances at the windows of the shops we pass, looking but not seeing.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing. Only..." He pushes his hair back impatiently. "Why don't you stay? Direct all this Runner advocacy towards helping us work out the greenhouse problem."

I shake my head. "I can't do that. I'm sorry."

"Sure you could. Put off the war for a few months, help see us through this drought. We need you."

"You don't need me." My feet scuff against the cobblestones. "I'm of more use outside the Wall than in."

"But—"

"I said 'no'." I halt in my tracks. "Why are you pushing this?"

"I don't mean to push. I just think that if we combine efforts we'll have a better chance of success." Marc attempts to temper his claim with a grin.

A chill suddenly seeps into my bones, despite the warmth of the late afternoon.

"Did Meg put you up to this?" I ask.

The smile slips from his face. "Kay..."

"It's a yes or no question."

He sighs. "She's just worried about you, that's all. We all are."

"You're unbelievable." I shake my head in disgust and make to turn away.

"Kay, wait."

"No." I shake off Marc's hand. "I don't need to waste my time with this. And you and Meg can stop wasting your time fretting about me. I'm fine. I always have been."

He stares after me, bright eyes wide. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm not hurt." I lie quickly. "But I think I've lingered long enough. I have more neighbourhoods to visit before I head back to the Wastelands in the morning."

"Right." Marc's smile is more watery than usual. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

I lean over and brush a kiss against his cheek. "Best of luck to you."

"And you."

My gait is long and hurried as I stride away, my shaky muscles crying out to run. Without a thought I leap at the side of the nearest building, using the protruding brickwork to clamber up the side and heaving myself up onto the roof.

High above the dusty, claustrophobic streets I draw a great breath of air, tilting my face up to the sun and letting my hair lift from my shoulders. This city, these roads, these people; they're all so limiting. The figures that once made up my entire world now seem like a miniscule portion of it, the pubs and alleyways I used to frequent are all of a sudden confining.

I roll my shoulders back, allowing myself a few moments to inhale the Wasteland's roaming breeze before taking off for the next roof, leaping over the widest possible alleyways towards the former Court. Just a few more hours of friendliness and false pretenses before Jaron and I leave for Babel. A few more hours until I'm free.

The evening drags on but eventually I am able to clamber through the window of Frye's flat and collapse onto the low cot he keeps open for me, sheer exhaustion earning me a dreamless sleep. I laze well into the morning, burrowing deeper into the blankets as the sounds of the marketplace filter in from the street below. It isn't until Frye begins rattling around and tossing cushions at my head that I finally stir, groaning a string of curses and rolling over.

"Rise and shine, princess." Frye calls out from across the room.

"Bugger off." My voice is muffled by the bedclothes.

"You got in late last night." He says cheerfully. "And every night this week, for that matter."

"Mmm hmm." I murmur noncommittally.

"Well, whatever you're doing out there is working." Frye places a mug of coffee beneath my nose and I finally sit up, accepting the drink gratefully. "Everyone's talking about the Runner and their chance to be a part of her next great adventure."

"Good." I swallow, scalding my throat. "Hopefully that momentum can be kept up after I'm gone."

"Speaking of which," A devilish grin tugs at Frye's mouth. "I have a little going-away present for you. Drink up and let's head to the Wall."

After throwing the last of my belongings into a rucksack, I affix my sword and bow to my back and Frye and I head out into the street. The walk takes longer than usual, with strangers frequently stopping us to say hello and wish me luck. For the first time I don't mind the delays, content to drag out the time spent with my brother. As we draw closer to the City limits Frye grabs hold of my hand.

"Eyes closed." He orders.

I do as he says, letting him lead me down the final street and stopping as he positions me so that I'm facing the Wall.

"Okay," He says. "Open them."

I blink, falling back a step as I stare open-mouthed at the sight before me. Countless posters cover the entire facade of the Wall, stretching top to bottom and as far as the eye can see. Hundreds and hundreds of individual pieces of parchment, all featuring an illustration of me with the words Follow the Runner written prominently above.

"Frye, how...?" I place a hand up, fingering the corner of a placard. The likeness is uncanny, the artist depicting me with my hair blowing free and wild, a fierce look of determination on my face as I gaze off into the distance.

"Do you like it?" He asks.

"It's...incredible." I turn back to him, shaking my head in disbelief. "How did you manage this?"

"Lara drew it." He scrutinizes me, searching for a reaction. "I tracked her down a few days ago and asked her for the favour. She was more than happy to help."

Words fail me. After several moments I blink myself back to the present and pull my brother into a hug.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"You're welcome." He squeezes me tightly. "Now go out there and finish what you started, I'll stay here and make sure that when the time comes, you'll have yourself an army."