But I could not give him the promise he wanted. If a way could be found around Herr Steinberg’s spell, I would break the Binding. I had not come to my decision lightly, and I would not be one of those women who remade herself and her beliefs for the attention of a man, even for Gábor. He would have to love me for myself—or not at all.
Mátyás’s friend moved on, and Mátyás filled the remaining distance to William’s workshop with harmless chatter. His noise covered the sharp-edged quiet that had fallen between Gábor and me, for which I was grateful. Gábor had taken my silence for answer and pulled away from me, his face pale and his lips set.
There was no more accidental brushing of hands. Despite my brave thoughts, not at all loomed as a terribly real and bleak prospect.
In Gábor’s silences I heard what he did not say: so long as the Binding remained intact, so long as the Circle governed society, there was no place in the world for a Romani and a lady to be together. But if I broke the Binding, I would lose him just the same.
It was a false choice. I was damned either way.
At length, Mátyás halted before an empty lot full of weeds and wind-blown leaflets. I frowned, confused, until he stepped forward and knocked three times on a door that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Only then did I see the large, unornamented building attached to the door. The structure looked sturdy, but bore signs of neglect in the boarded-up windows and weed-choked walkway.
I heard footsteps, then the sound of someone struggling with a lock. After a moment of fumbling, William flung the door open. “Welcome!” He cast a swift glance down the street, and then shut the door behind us and locked it. “There’s a warrant out for my arrest,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve a Hiding spell on the building, but that only works as long as the police don’t know what they’re looking for.”
He led us into a narrow, well-lit room bearing witness to its dual use as an office and living area. A small stove stood in one corner, opposite an unmade bed. In between, every available surface area was layered with drawings and papers so covered in scribbled notations they appeared to be bleeding ink. We forged onward, emerging into a vast, high-ceilinged room beyond the living quarters. I gasped.
Looming over us, metal sculptures in various stages of completion filled the room. Those closest to us resembled fantastic creatures: a manlike figure with four arms and delicate horns curling from his skull; a creature that was all trunk, with a small face—mostly eyes—perched atop a great cage of a body, underslung by two sets of wheels. Another sculpture appeared to be a woman, the hammered planes of her face alien and beautiful at the same time. Her hair, made of tiny, jointed arms, reminded me of a medusa.
“What are they?” I asked. “They’re beautiful.”
William grinned. “My secret weapon. You are the first—and so far, the only—to see them. Some men fight with weapons, some with magic. I fight with machines. Well, and a bit of magic. A man can stand inside each of these figures, protected from gunshot and anything other than direct cannon fire. I’ve improved the firing range and accuracy on the weapons built into these machines too.”
“They’re incredible.” They truly were—intricate form married to deadly function.
William thrust one freckled hand through his hair. “The Bourbons are slaughtering Italian revolutionaries in Palermo. They’ve summoned the Circle, and the Circle has infiltrated the people’s army. The Animanti go invisible behind enemy lines to tamper with their weapons and poison their food supply. They set flocks of ravens and starlings on them, spooking the men, blocking their guns. The Lucifera spoil the aim of their artillery and swallow entire cannons with the ground. The Circle uses Elementalist illusions to terrify the fighters and Coremancers to amplify their fear. The same will happen here, unless we have tools to fight.”
“That won’t happen here,” Mátyás said firmly. “Your machines will help—and you know there are those among us who are the equal of any Circle member in power and ability.”
“Fighting isn’t the only way to change,” Gábor said.
“Of course not. Perhaps Kossuth will succeed in Vienna in persuading the Hapsburg government to grant independence to Hungary and Poland and Bohemia. But I find it unlikely, and we must be prepared to state our case more strongly.” William turned to me, grasping one of my hands in his. His thin fingers were surprisingly strong. “Anna. What news of the Binding?”
“Bad news, I’m afraid.” I tugged off my glove to show him the ring and explained.
“That is unfortunate. But we shan’t let it stop us from fighting if we must.”
I replaced my glove. “Shall you succeed, with the Circle drawing on the full strength of the Binding?”
William didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
I knew that the Austrian Circle was unlikely to let Hungary go, even with the shrewdest diplomacy. Hungary was too big, too important to their empire. But an outright rebellion was a poor alternative. The students would be slaughtered. Already, I could see them: Gábor and Mátyás and the others from the café, strewn across the streets of the city like autumn leaves, bloody and broken.
Heat sparked inside me. If I could only find my way around Herr Steinberg’s ring, I could break the Binding and undermine the Circle’s power, giving my friends a chance to make their case with minimal fighting. I would not let the Circle’s threats dictate my actions.
I had to speak with Lady Berri. There must be some method of circumventing the ring’s restrictions.
We took a hansom cab from William’s workshop to Café Pilvax to celebrate the completion of William’s mechanical warriors. Before leaving, William cast a minor illusion to darken his bright hair and prematurely age his face, should anyone be watching for him.
To my delight, my new friend Karolina was at the café. While Gábor, William, and Mátyás joined Pet?fi and the other students to debate accounts of the revolution in Italy, Karolina and I enjoyed a wide-ranging discussion involving the new play at the Hungarian national theater, the unexpected beauties of the Hanság, even fashion. When it came time to leave, shortly after Karolina’s departure, I had successfully put aside the gnawing worry about the Binding, the swirling uncertainty of revolution.
The street outside was quiet, only a handful of carriages rattling down neighboring roads and a scattering of pedestrians before us. The wind had died down.
Abruptly, shouting rent the air. A cluster of young men tumbled out of a nearby kocsma, fists raised high in the air. I could not make out what they were crying, but I saw Mátyás tense.
“What is it?”
“Croats,” Mátyás said, his eyes fixed on the young men in front of us. They were mostly thin and dark-complexioned, their black eyes flashing in the half light of the overcast day.
“Szabadság!” one cried, throwing his arms wide. Freedom. “Let us govern ourselves!”
Others shouted words in a language I didn’t recognize.
“We should leave,” Gábor said.