The next morning, Sepha awoke to a pocked and scarred desert outside the railcar. The land looked utterly destroyed: deep crevices alternating with sharp, cresting hills, as if the ground had been rocked by opposing explosions. It was dry, and lifeless, and silent.

They had reached the swath of devastation that marred Tirenia’s middle. The ruined land was older than history books, and Sepha had always wondered what disaster could’ve been so catastrophic as to cause such permanent destruction.

As the morning went on and the train traced a winding path through the devastation, Ruhen’s eyes grew dim, and his skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. Every few moments, he gulped or dipped his head, as if he was trying very hard not to vomit.

“What’s wrong?” Sepha asked.

When he didn’t answer, Destry looked up. She eyed Ruhen for a few moments, then Sepha saw some sort of understanding spark in her eyes. Ruhen seemed to see it too and held eye contact with Destry before dipping his head again. Sepha glanced from Destry to Ruhen, sure that she was missing something.

“He has motion sickness,” Destry said, and Ruhen, with his eyes closed, nodded.

“Oh,” Sepha said. She had heard of motion sickness, but since she’d never been on a train before, she’d never seen it in real life. Somehow, it had never seemed as serious as all this. She chewed on her lip. “Is there anything we can do?”

“We’re almost through the desert,” Destry said, and Ruhen glanced at her again. “We’ll cross a river and get into a forest soon enough.” She looked at Sepha and said, “It helps if there’s something to look at, if you have motion sickness.”

“Oh,” Sepha repeated, feeling stupid. “Good. Hang on then, Ruhen.”

He nodded, his forehead resting against his hands.

As Destry had promised, the train rolled out of the swath of ruined land and into a forest, and Ruhen recovered slowly.

After the forest came hilly farmland, with small towns scattered at intervals beside the tracks. Nestled among and between the towns were more stone ruins, the remnants of ancient Dànist shrines for the Great Alchemists.

That afternoon, at long last, they arrived.

The Institute of Alchemical Discipline sat on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the Anguan Sea. Surrounded by a high stone wall, the sprawling, irregular complex looked like a fortress, huge and impenetrable. The sun’s reflection winked at them from the few windows that peeked over the walls. A gigantic pair of gunmetal-gray doors, each inscribed with the letters IAD, divided the wall in two.

Sepha fought hard to keep her jaw from dropping. The Institute. She was really here—she would really be here, for as long as she could manage it. She could hardly believe it!

As they toiled up the stone-slab stairway that led from the train station to the Institute—Sepha’s homunculus had insinuated himself into the position of dragging her knapsack up the hill behind him—a man-sized entrance opened in one of the enormous IAD doors. A tall, lanky man, maybe a bit younger than Destry, stepped out.

He lifted one arm in a dispassionate greeting. His Guild ring flashed in the waning sunlight. He was tall and narrow, but he looked well-built and strong. His Military Alchemist jacket was dreadfully wrinkled.

Destry’s smile seemed forced. “Henric!” she called, waving back.

When they got to the top of the stairs, Destry said, “Meet my little brother, Henric. Henric, this is Sepha Filens, the Lady Alchemist I wired about, the one who has made fools of us all! And Ruhen Salmarre,” she added after a half-beat of silence.

Henric, whose eyes were a clear green, smiled at Sepha. Though his skin was just as pale, he seemed darker than Destry, with long brown hair that curled into unruly ringlets and a few days’ worth of facial hair. There were dark circles around his eyes, as if he never got quite enough sleep.

When Henric looked at Ruhen, his smile wilted. His eyes flicked from Ruhen’s right hand (on which there was not a Guild ring) to his plain black jacket (which was not a Military Alchemist jacket) and then back to Sepha, his lips curled in satisfaction.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ruhen’s lips, and he shook his head, seeming halfway between amusement and annoyance.

“Well, come in, then,” Henric said. “Destry sent off a telegraph from Three Mills, so we’ve got everything prepared, exactly as she commanded.” As he spoke, Henric ushered them inside the door. His voice was colored with faint irritation.

“This is the courtyard,” he said as they emerged into a wide space paved with cobblestones patterned in concentric circles. “We mainly use it for the morning evolutions. Well, only the Military Alchemists. I’m sure Destry’s bored you to tears talking about how no one will bet against her in sparring matches anymore.”

“She has a bit, yes,” said Ruhen.

“What?” Henric asked, sending an annoyed glance toward Ruhen.

“It was a joke, Henric,” Destry said wearily. “Look, will you show them around? I need to go report in. We had a run-in with a magician on the way here.”

Henric looked at her in surprise but said, after a pronounced silence, “Sure. Fine.”

They clasped forearms in a quick farewell. Destry looked at Sepha, said, “I’ll see you at breakfast,” and sped away.

Henric’s gaze passed over Ruhen as if he wasn’t there and fixed on Sepha. “Well,” he said, “what would you like to see?”

“Probably all of it,” Ruhen said. His tone was friendly, but it seemed to rankle Henric all the same.

“Yes,” Sepha said, before Henric could say whatever he’d opened his mouth to say. “Show us everything, please. I’d love to learn more about … well, all of it.”

Henric sighed. “Well, it’s not so complicated,” he said. “The Institute is split between Military Alchemists and Court Alchemists. The Military Alchemists use their talents to secure Tirenia against criminal magicians and the odd rebel uprising, while the Court Alchemists devote their lives to more academic pursuits. Most alchemists are one or the other.”

“Most?” Sepha asked.

“Everyone but me and Destry,” he said, standing a bit straighter than before. “We’re the only ones who are both Military and Court. But that’s neither here nor there,” he added, waving his hand as if erasing what he’d just said. “Now, all Court Alchemists are paid a stipend by the government, as well as room and board. In return, we’re required to either perform enough commissioned alchemical work to earn back our stipend plus interest, or to produce research that benefits Tirenia in some way. If we choose to research, as Destry and I have, we use the resources at the library.” He gestured to a large, square building. “Or, if not the library, we make use of the laboratories and stock rooms.” He pointed unhelpfully downward. Smiling sharply at Sepha’s confused expression, he explained, “The laboratories and stock rooms are underground. Tunnels. Also underground are the barracks where the homunculi sleep,” Henric added, with a significant look at Sepha’s homunculus, who gave the barest nod of understanding.

“What are you and Destry researching?” Sepha asked, after a hiccup of silence.

“I’m looking into the possibility of transforming projectiles while they’re in motion,” Henric said, “and Destry is trying to link satellite alchems to a controlling alchem so it’s possible to perform multiple exchanges at once. Even she can only use two alchems at once, and most people can’t even do that.”

Sepha’s mouth dropped open. “But that … those … either of them … would change everything!”

Henric shrugged. “Yes, well, we haven’t figured any of it out yet, so don’t be too impressed.”

“We won’t,” Ruhen said.

Henric cut Ruhen another annoyed look. He angled his body away from him, making it clear that he was talking to Sepha, and Sepha only. With a wave of his hand, Henric gestured toward a wide, low building directly across from the IAD doors. “That’s the mess hall where we eat all of our meals, and behind that is the combat proving grounds.”

He pivoted, clearly eager to finish his duties as tour guide as quickly as possible. “That,” he said, pointing to a formidably large building that hugged the outer wall closest to the sea, “is the clinic. Best doctors around. And this monstrosity over here,” Henric went on, before Sepha had the chance to ask why the Institute needed the best doctors around, “is the Tenement, but we call it the Ten. Everyone at the Institute lives there. No one has to share a room, but the rooms are tiny. And,” he paused impressively, “all of our buildings, including the underground levels, are wired for electricity.”

“Oh,” Sepha said. Most of Three Mills had been wired for electricity for years. Did Henric think she’d traveled here from the past, as well as from the mountains? “That’s … amazing.”

“Not really,” Ruhen said.

This time, Henric ignored them both.

He led them across the courtyard, into the Ten’s lobby and up a long spiral staircase. They didn’t stop until they reached the very top floor.

“You’ve got room Twelve-Nine,” he said to Sepha, pointing down the hall. “Destry is in room Ten-Two if you need her, and I’m in Four-Eleven if you need me,” he added glibly, giving her an aggressively roguish wink.

He turned to leave, but then Sepha noticed his omission. “Wait!” she said. “What about Ruhen?”

Henric paused. “Oh, him. I had forgotten. What are you here for?”

“I’m a Court Alchemist candidate,” Ruhen said. His hands were in his pockets, but Sepha suspected they were balled into fists.

“A Court Alchemist candidate?” Henric said, raising his eyebrows. Looking pointedly at Ruhen’s shoulders and arms, Henric said, “You seem more suited to brute force than intellectual studies.”

“He’s here to be a Court Alchemist,” Sepha said, glaring at him. “Destry knows. Ask her if you don’t believe it.”

Henric sucked his teeth and stared at Ruhen as if he hoped Ruhen might decide that he didn’t need a place to stay, after all.

“All of the Court Alchemist candidates are on the lowest floors.” He said this as if it meant something. “I think there’s an empty space for Ruhen on the first floor. Twelve-Nine, Sepha. Don’t forget.”

Sepha met Ruhen’s eyes behind Henric’s back and pulled a grimace. Ruhen smiled and rolled his eyes, and turned to follow Henric.

As the two men silently descended the spiral staircase, Sepha went to her room.

Well, it certainly is small, she thought when she opened the door. It was much smaller than her room back home, and that had hardly been grandiose. But the large triptych window that dominated the far wall more than made up for the room’s size. To the right, over the walls that guarded the Institute, she could see the fractal cliff line as it zig-zagged toward Balarat; to the left, she saw the Anguan Sea.

It was more water than she’d ever seen. Smooth and silky in some places, with choppy areas surrounding the smoothness like tall grass beside a road, the water stretched endlessly out and away. Tiny waves closer to the cliffs crashed down in regular succession, showing off their foamy white scarves as they fell. If she held her breath, she could hear them roar.

Tirenia was a huge, lonely island, smack in the middle of the purportedly impassable Anguan Sea. Now that she was seeing it for the first time, Sepha smiled at the thought of the sea being some obstacle to overcome. From here, the sea looked like an invitation, its smooth surface beckoning, Come sail away on me.

A loud thunk startled Sepha. She whirled away from the window, heart galloping, but it was only her homunculus. He was standing beside her knapsack, still wearing his—begrudging, it seemed to Sepha—tiny smile.

“Um,” she said uncertainly, “will you be able to find your barracks?”

His head jerked up and down.

“You don’t have to smile, you know,” she said, after a short pause.

The smile faded from the homunculus’s lips, leaving him looking rather grim.

Sepha studied him for a moment and then said, just to fill the silence, “They didn’t tell me your name. Then again, they called you a spare, so they probably never even gave you one. They don’t think homunculi are people.”

The homunculus, of course, didn’t react.

Without particularly knowing why she did so, Sepha went on. “But I met a homunculus who could talk. He was being controlled by something else, but still, he could talk. That must mean that you physically can do it, even if you don’t.”

He still didn’t move. She hadn’t told him to.

“I think I’ll give you a name,” Sepha continued, “because I don’t want to just point at you, or whatever I’m supposed to do. It doesn’t seem right.” She thought for a few moments, then said, because it did feel right, “Fio. I’ll name you Fio.”

She knelt down, trying to catch the homunculus’s eye. “Is that all right?”

His head jerked up and down. Good enough.

“Well, Fio,” she said, “you are dismissed for now. Thank you for helping with the luggage.”

He left, and Sepha was alone with her view.

She’d made it to the Institute. The Institute! And tomorrow, she could finally begin solving her problems.