I last visited the airship hangar during my street thief days, when I had snuck into the Palace airfield with an aim to disarm the army's flying behemoths. My knowledge of the impressive ships' innerworkings are based solely off of what I recall my brother, Frye describing to me, enough that I was able to locate the lines that feed the helium and sever them. The airships were grounded for a week after that stunt, delaying a shipment of drafted Commoners into the Wastelands.

The memory of the life I lived before the rebellion causes a smile to pull at my lips. I trail my fingers against a length of rope pinning a hovering ship to the ground, scarcely believing that not so long ago walking amongst these beasts was to risk my life.

My eyes flick up to the backs of the soldiers striding ahead of me, led by Will. Once again I am distracted and trailing behind. It seems strange that I spent five years of my life working alone, surviving purely by my instincts while scheming and plotting my way around the monarchy, that I now find myself following the orders of a queen and a commander, marching along with a troop of soldiers.

I scuff my feet against the ground, wondering what my past self would think of who I have become as of late. Would she scoff at the plush bedroom I sleep in and mock the way I am ordered around?

I catch up with the rest of the troops at the airship nearest the end of the building. The soldiers are standing at ease, conversing with each other in low voices while a couple of hangar workers roll back the canvas flap of the hangar, making way for our ship to lift straight up into the air. For now, our ship, Phoenix, sits patiently and I hang back from the group, craning my neck upwards to take in the sight.

The airship glints silver in the afternoon sunlight, draped and crossed with the thick ropes used to secure the enormous helium-filled cavity to the wooden undercarriage. I last saw an airship this close on the day of my near-execution, when Will and the rest of the rebels rappelled down from above and into battle with the Palace guards.

I rub my neck absentmindedly, recalling the cold touch of the axe as it grazed my skin. Being held down over the executioner's block, too weak to fight back while hundreds of people looked impassively on is a memory that will likely never release it's hold over me. There are still nights that I awake in a cold sweat, believing myself to be trapped below ground at the mercy of Harmen, the King's head Inquisitor. On those dark nights Will holds me, whispering assurances until I stop trembling and my heartbeat returns to normal.

I watch Will now, standing at the front of the group and discussing matters with the pilots, looking over the airship, gesturing and asking questions.

I bite my lip as I watch him. He looks so confidant; I can sense the implicit trust the soldiers have in him as they wait patiently for his orders. Will has fallen into his role as commander seamlessly and while I couldn't be more proud of him, there is a part of me that twists with the ugly and unfamiliar threat of jealousy. He seems so sure of himself, his place in the world and what we are doing while I struggle to understand my own purpose.

Meg is a queen, Will is a commander, but what am I? No longer a thief, not quite a soldier, not a leader nor a follower.

Someone nudges me, breaking through my thoughts.

"Have you ever been in one of these?" Marc asks, nodding towards the ship.

I shake my head. "Never flown in one, no. Have you?"

"Just the one time."

"Right, of course." Marc was one of the rebels rappelling down into the courtyard on the day of the rebellion. "It's safe, isn't it?"

"As safe as you can expect a wooden box floating in the sky to be." He grins at me.

I smirk, glancing around at our fellow soldiers. "It's a smaller group than I anticipated." We are a group of ten soldiers plus two pilots, pitiful really when you consider that a typical airship can hold at least a hundred people.

"I think Will wanted to leave behind as many as he could to guard the City." Marc replies. "And from what I understand, our group isn't meant to be going into battle."

"I am perhaps not as optimistic as Will on that point." I drop my voice lower, not wishing to be overheard by the other soldiers.

"Neither am I. After what those Wasters did to our wall, I wouldn't mind getting a chance to do a little healthy fighting."

"I don't think you are the only one who feels that way." The image of little Sylvie tucked into the hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around her head springs to mind and I adjust the strap affixing my sword to my back absentmindedly.

There is the sound of feet scuffing against the ground behind us and we turn to the source of the noise.

The Waster is being escorted towards the ship, his hands tied behind his back as he shuffles forward, flanked on either side by a guard. I notice that his leg is still bandaged heavily and feel a surprising twinge of sympathy for him.

He scowls at me as he is dragged past. His knotted hair has been tied back and he has dressed in trousers and a simple collarless shirt, untucked and hanging off of his frame unnaturally. There is something extremely strange about seeing this half-wild Waster dressed in our clothes but then again, there is a lot that is strange about this entire situation.

The guards pull the Waster up the plank and disappear into the airship, passing Will who gives them a cursory glance before turning to address us.

"I don't wish to waste time so I will make this quick." He stands with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back, proud and strong, towering over us. "Each one of you has volunteered to participate in a very important mission for her Majesty. We have been tasked with opening a peaceful negotiation between ourselves and the Wastelanders."

He pauses, looking at each of us individually as if asking without words whether we have any objections. He is met with silence and continues smoothly.

"I am sure that I do not have to stress to you the importance of this mission. We have a prisoner aboard our ship that we will be escorting home and if all goes well, we will be escorting some of his companions back to the City. I trust that every one of you will treat our charges with the dignity that is afforded a special guest of your Queen."

I catch more than one person scoffing but no one speaks up. Will narrows his eyes and glares at us. "This mission will be extremely dangerous. If there is anyone that does not wish to be here, you are free to go now."

I glance around at the men and women firmly rooted in place, their faces set determinedly. Marc catches my eye and throws me a wink.

"Very well. Thank you. Everyone, step aboard Phoenix." Will seems to relax slightly as he allows a half-grin to pull at his face and gestures us up the plank. I follow the group to the ramp, halting when I feel Will's grip on my arm.

He pulls me down next to him and we wait silently while everyone else walks up to the ship. I feel my stomach flip uncomfortably as I stare up at the undercarriage floating passively a few feet off the ground, sinking lower under the weight of the soldiers as they board. I know that our carefully-harvested helium gas is much lighter than air and not flammable, but there is still something extremely unsettling about trusting an invisible element to carry you safely across miles of endless desert.

"I want to say something to you." Will says once the last soldier has crossed the airship's threshold and we are left alone in the hangar. "And I'm hoping you won't take it the wrong way."

"Then you had best not say anything wrong." I reply. "What is it?"

"I really need you to listen to me during this mission." He looks at me meaningfully, awaiting my reaction in his usual calm way.

I bite back a retort, consciously pushing aside my own feelings and trying to focus on the task at hand.

"We work well together, there is no reason me to order you to do anything, but I am hoping that if we reach an impasse that you can defer to me." I can tell he is choosing his words carefully.

"No problem." I offer him a small smile, the action feeling unnatural. I glance up the plank towards the ship, suddenly anxious to get going.

"I know it's a bit awkward that Meg put me in charge," He continues and I look back at him, trying to decide if I heard a trace of the old arrogance in his voice. "But it doesn't mean that I value your opinion any less."

Will's careful attempt to control my feelings makes me irrationally angry. I have enough clarity to recognize that this reaction is exactly what he is trying to address and draw a breath, trying with some effort to consider the situation from his perspective.

I nod tightly. "I don't want you to worry about me. We have an important job to do and the safety of a dozen people to consider."

"If you don't want me to worry, then you'll give me your word that you won't be taking any unnecessary risks." His jaw is set but I recognize a silent pleading in his grey eyes. I recall the words he whispers to me when I awake from my nightmares; his own concerns about me during those dark days and how grateful he is to hold me now.

"I promise." I tell him. His shoulders relax noticeably and my own heart lightens at seeing his relief.

He reaches for my hand, drawing me to him and bringing his lips to mine. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, unused to his affection so near his troops.

As if on cue there is a display of catcalling from the ship above us as Marc and the soldiers hoot and whistle.

I feel Will's smile on top of mine as he draws back, releasing me and shouting back at the group. I keep my head lowered as we walk up the plank, kicking Marc and elbowing my way to a seat near the back.

I am dressed similarly to the soldiers in trousers and a leather vest. Around my shoulders I wear an oversized scarf that can double as protection for my head against the desert heat and a pair of goggles in case of encroaching dust storms. We travel lightly save for a small pack containing a change of clothes and some rations along with a belt equipped with flasks of water. I carry my sword in a scabbard against my back and as always, my trusty dagger rests in my boot, within easy reach should the situation call for it.

I remove my sword and my pack, tossing them aside before I settle into one of the seats built against the wall of the chamber, drawing a restraining belt across my waist and glancing around the space.

Phoenix's interior is mostly barren, clearly meant for battle and not leisure cruises. Each wall features only a single row of benches for passengers and the floor below us is hinged, outfitted with the ropes we will use if we need to rappel down. I am surprised to find that the front and back of the ship don't have glass-covered windows and are instead wide open to the world outside. I suppose the ship was designed so that we can fire our weapons from inside.

Will and the two pilots sit at the helm. If I crane my neck I can make out a giant wooden wheel, a compass and a map laid out over the control panel.

As I continue to scan the airship's interior, my gaze is arrested by a pair of eyes of indistinguishable colour. The Waster sits tied to his seat at the far end of the ship, abandoned by his guards and not looking any happier about the situation. He catches me staring back at him and sneers unattractively. I regard him calmly, refusing to be the first one to break eye contact.

The game is over when the lines docking Phoenix to the ground are cast and we are suddenly jerked about in our seats. I turn to look back out the front window, watching with fascination as the ground falls away from us. My heart lurches in my chest at the height, marvelling at the speed and efficiency that propels us high above the glistening spire of the Palace.

I lean forward in my seat, cursing the restrictive belt binding me to my chair and briefly considering throwing it aside before remembering the promise I made to Will only minutes earlier.

I have never seen so much of the City in one glance and I watch with unabashed fascination as it unfolds below us. The familiar alleyways and rooftops spiral up the hill towards the Palace and the late afternoon sun alights off the bright colours draped across the merged districts.

The Palace sits in the centre of it all, perched high above the rest and standing dominion over the low, sun-bleached stone buildings. There was a time when the glass Palace appeared oppressive but now, at this distance and knowing that Meg awaits our return from inside its walls, the City's glass landmark represents something entirely different.

Hope. I grasp the word before realizing I was searching for it. As I stare down at the Palace I wonder if Meg is standing below, looking back up at us and thinking the same thing.