The gargantuan gates of Sturua Manor groaned shut behind the carriage, a sound like a dying beast. Lali Vashadze, perched stiffly on the velvet seat, felt the vibrations through the soles of her worn boots. These weren't Nana’s dainty slippers. Nothing about her was Nana, a fact that hummed with a dangerous energy beneath her borrowed, embroidered gown. Outside the window, the sprawling grounds faded into twilight, a labyrinth of untamed topiary and skeletal trees that clawed at a bruised purple sky. The manor itself loomed, a jagged silhouette of turrets and spires, each window a vacant, watchful eye. “Remember, Lali,” Niko whispered from across the cab, his voice a low thrum of apprehension. He clutched his worn arithmetic book like a shield. “Nana’s favorite flower is the Winterbell Orchid. She prefers her tea with two drops of Alvanian honey, never three. And she’s… always terribly polite.” Lali managed a brittle smile, a mirror of Nana’s demure expression, but the cynical curl of her lip was all her own beneath the surface. “My dear brother, I’ve been Nana for three days straight. I could probably recite her entire childhood diary by now. I *am* terribly polite.” “But you’re not *her*,” Niko insisted, his gaze sharper than any ten-year-old’s ought to be. “And Kordian Sturua… he’s called ‘The Beast’ for a reason. They say he has gears for a heart.” “Good,” Lali muttered, smoothing the silk of her skirt. “Then he won’t notice mine is missing.” The vehicle shuddered to a halt. A towering, polished brass sentry, its face a series of intermeshing gears, extended a jointed arm to open the door. Its movements were fluid, unnervingly lifelike, each click and whir of its internal apparatus distinct in the deepening quiet. This was Tibeli’s finest Artifice, and Lali felt a prickle of unease. Such advanced creations often came with a cruel intellect. She stepped out, adjusting her shawl. The air was frigid, smelling of damp stone and something metallic, like ozone. Before she could take another step, the automaton’s head swiveled. A beam of cerulean light lanced from its eye-lens, sweeping over her from head to toe. A whirring sound intensified, then a metallic voice, deep and resonant, boomed, “UNKNOWN BIOMETRIC SIGNATURE. INTRUDER PROTOCOL INITIATED.” The first jolt hit her like a physical blow. A massive brass hand, its fingers segmented and powerful, shot out and clamped around her left forearm. The grip was immediate, unyielding, threatening to crush bone. Lali gasped, a small, choked sound that was anything but Nana. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through her rehearsed composure. This was not in the script. “Release me!” she demanded, her voice betraying a flash of her true self – sharp, authoritative. But the sentry only tightened its hold, its internal gears grinding. Niko, still inside, let out a terrified squeak. Suddenly, a different voice, colder than the evening air, sliced through the gloom. “Cease, Unit 7. She is expected.” The brass hand relaxed instantly, though it didn’t entirely let go. Lali wrenched her arm free, rubbing the angry red marks already blooming on her skin. Her gaze shot to the source of the command. Standing on the grand stone steps, framed by the gothic archway of the manor, was Kordian Sturua. He was taller, broader than she’d imagined, a dark silhouette against the faint glow from within. His tailored coat seemed to swallow the light, and even from this distance, she could discern the stark lines of his face, marred by what looked like burn scars that twisted across his left cheek and temple, disappearing into the dark waves of his hair. His eyes, though shadowed, held an unnerving intensity, fixed entirely on her. “My apologies, Mademoiselle Vashadze,” he said, his voice a low rumble, devoid of warmth. “Unit 7 is programmed for absolute security. It does not tolerate… anomalies.” His gaze flickered to her bruised arm, then back to her face, a silent accusation in his eyes. The implication was clear: *You* are the anomaly. Lali forced a tremulous smile, the perfect imitation of Nana’s delicate distress. “Think nothing of it, Lord Sturua. A minor… misunderstanding. It’s quite the impressive guard.” She curtsied, a movement Nana had practiced meticulously, though Lali felt a flash of rebellious irony as she bent her knee to ‘The Beast’. He offered no reciprocal greeting, only turned and moved into the manor, leaving the heavy oak door open. Lali followed, Niko scrambling to catch up, his small hand finding hers and squeezing tight. The grand hall within was vast and echoing, lit by sputtering vapor-lamps. Half-finished apparatuses lined the walls, their exposed cogs and springs catching the dim light. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the occasional spark from a nearby workbench. It felt less like a home and more like an industrial bay, a dangerous, beautiful chaos. Kordian led them into a study. The air here was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and old parchment. The room was a dizzying array of ticking machines, whirring gyroscopes, and glass tubes filled with shimmering blue distillate. Shadows clung to every corner, concealing as much as the meager light revealed. He gestured to two ornate, uncomfortable-looking chairs before a massive, scarred desk, then settled into his own, his presence filling the space. “Mademoiselle Vashadze,” Kordian began, his eyes, the color of flint, piercing directly into hers. “Your sister, Nana, was known for her exceptional artistic talent. Her miniature figurines were quite exquisite. Do you still pursue that passion?” Lali’s mind raced. Nana had indeed been a gifted artisan. Lali, however, could barely draw a straight line. She remembered Nana’s meticulous sketches, her delicate tools. “Oh, yes, Lord Sturua,” she said, her voice soft, imbued with Nana’s gentle lilt. “Though I confess, since the… family’s recent troubles, my hands have been rather full with managing our affairs. The delicate work requires a certain… peace of mind I haven’t quite possessed.” She imbued the last words with a hint of sorrow, a subtle plea for understanding that Nana would have instinctively conveyed. Kordian’s gaze remained unwavering. “Indeed. A pity. I recall Nana favored the intricate spring-driven devices, eschewing the newer volatile flux regulators for their… unpredictable nature. Do you share that preference?” He was testing her, not subtly, but with the precision of an experienced engineer probing a faulty circuit. Lali knew Nana had found fluid-flux regulators crude, but her reasons were more aesthetic than technical. Lali, on the other hand, had read enough of Niko’s forbidden Artifice texts to understand the technical implications. She had to calculate her reply. “My sister… ah, yes, *I* found the spring mechanisms possessed a certain elegance,” Lali corrected, a tiny, almost imperceptible stumble in her words, as if correcting a slip of memory. “The purity of the movement, unburdened by the volatile hum of vapor energies. A true challenge of precision and patience, wouldn’t you agree?” She tilted her head slightly, offering a hopeful, innocent smile. A flicker, perhaps of something akin to amusement, crossed Kordian’s scarred face, but it vanished instantly. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, the shadows from the desk fixtures making his eyes seem bottomless. “Nana Vashadze was also known for her deep empathy. A quality often lacking in our city. She dedicated much of her time to the Orphanage of St. Rellan, teaching children the rudiments of craft. Can you describe, in detail, the layout of the teaching floor there?” Lali felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She’d scanned Nana’s journals for details, but the Orphanage workshop layout? That was a deep cut. She knew the general area, the purpose. She had to improvise. *Nana, bless your naive heart, why didn’t you draw a map?* “Oh, the classroom!” she exclaimed, a bright, slightly wistful tone entering her voice. “Such a beloved place. It wasn’t grand, Lord Sturua, not like your magnificent domain. It was a cozy space, rather small, really. The children had their workbenches arranged in a U-shape, facing the single large window that overlooked the courtyard, so they could catch the morning light.” She paused, painting the picture. “There was a large, sturdy table in the center for assembling larger projects, and shelves along the back wall, cluttered with gears and cogs and tiny springs. I always admired how orderly the chaos was, showing the children’s pure eagerness.” She finished with a soft, affectionate sigh, as if reminiscing about a cherished memory. Kordian watched her, his expression unreadable. His stare pressed hard. The ticking of the devices in the room seemed to amplify, filling the stillness. Then, he pushed back his chair, a grating sound against the stone floor. He stood, towering over her. “That will be all, Mademoiselle Vashadze,” he stated, his voice flat, emotionless. He walked around the desk, stopping directly in front of her. Lali had to crane her neck to look up at him. The scars on his face were more pronounced up close, like ancient cracks in fine porcelain. His voice dropped, a low, guttural murmur meant only for her. “Your act is passable, but know this: I am not buying it for a second.” The sting was colder, more insidious than the brass grip. He *knew*. Her facade, built on years of practice, shattered under his flat bluntness. Her smile peeled away, leaving pure shock. Kordian didn’t wait for a reply. He simply turned, walked to the heavy wooden door, and opened it. “Unit 7 will show you to your chambers. We will discuss the arrangements further at dinner.” He stepped out, and with a soft click, the door swung shut behind him, the sound of the lock engaging echoing through the sudden stillness. Lali stood frozen for a moment, her mind reeling. The door was locked. She was trapped. She felt a cold sweat break out on her brow. Niko, who had been sitting quietly, now stood, his gaze fixed on her. The quiet stretched, taut and thick, before he finally managed to whisper, “Lali, what have you done?”

The Substitute Bride