Rise of the Storm
Author: Carrie Summers
Date: 2017-10-24 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Two prophecies. Two heroes. Only one can be right. Kostan sits upon a splintering throne. Savra huddles in a makeshift cell, awaiting the judgment of those she betrayed. The land grows dark with the blood of Prov and Atal alike. But beyond the human struggles, a graver threat looms. Aided by the rogue mage, Havialo, the Breaking strains at the bones of the Empire. As the land shatters, a dark tide rises. Two prophecies offer slim hopes for humanity. One names Savra as the Empire's savior. The other envisions Kostan leading the war against the darkness. Both can't be right. But if the coming wa
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Rise of the Storm

Book Two

The Broken Lands

Carrie Summers

Chapter One

Havialo

A high pass through the Icethorn Mountains

SNOW AND ICE squeaked under the leather tread of Havialo’s boots. His breath rasped in his throat as he trudged ever upward, threading a course between tumbled ice blocks and bottomless blue crevasses. Around him, a frigid wind howled. Snow plumes streamed from the high ridges above.

But the wind didn’t touch him. With each step up the precipitous icefall, a glacier riddled with yawning cracks and moaning snow bridges, Havialo gathered the force of the gale. Trickling energy from his inner font, the catalyst for his power, the geognost turned the storm on itself and cushioned each gust with his own burst of wind.

Storm energy. Both delightful and exhilarating. The storms were the reason the Order of Geognosts had built their monastery deep within the Icethorn Mountains. Highsummer, Deepwinter, or any season in between, rivers of clouds scraped the serrated crowns of the high peaks and created a constant source of potential.

As the glacier’s slope increased and the ice grew too steep for snow to cling, the earth mage gathered more of the wind’s energy. Pulling deeper from his power, he pressed his will against the ice, forcing it to bend and reshape as he molded a staircase from the glacier’s substance. It was risky to squander his gnosty like this—a mage ought to keep at least half his power in reserve in case of emergency. But the high col, a snowy pass between towering peaks, was so close.

The glacier groaned as it shifted in its ponderous course down the mountain. Somewhere far below, a cliff of ice gave way and shattered on the flats beneath. Havialo pulled his cloak tighter and kept climbing. Just a few more steps to carve and climb, and he’d soon crest the pass and begin the descent to the monastery.

The end of this journey couldn’t come soon enough. It had been weeks since he’d returned to the Atal Empire, riding a stallion formed of sand. In all that time, he’d been forced to endure the tantalizing promise straining at the bones of the earth. From the northern ice sheets to the Cosmal Peninsula in the south, faults and fractures waited in darkness, ready to unleash a cataclysm. The Breaking loomed.

So much power waited, and Havialo felt his self-control slipping. He hungered to release just one pent-up fault, to turn the earth’s simmering need for release into a gush of strength. With just a fraction of the power welling beneath the Atal Empire, he could flatten Steelhold and send waves of destruction across the continent.

But he wasn’t ready—not yet. Even a small portion of the Breaking’s power was too much for him. First, he must strengthen his gnosty. Plus, he worried about the foulness lurking beneath the Breaking. Already, it leaked through where rifts had split the earth’s crust. The taint clung to his perception like an aftertaste of mold, a hint of rot. The corruption felt akin to the twisted power of the Maelstrom, a sensation so wrong that it made him cautious.

For now.

Before marching on Steelhold, Havialo would seek instruction from the masters at the monastery. He needed to be better. Stronger. Afterward, he would gather his cabal of spiritists, the final piece in his quest for strength. Then the Empire would know pain for what it had done to him.

For what it had done to his daughter.

Finally, the slope eased, depositing him in the snow-covered cradle of the pass. To either side, a pair of guardian stones towered, their granite faces softened by centuries of wind-driven snow. The gale roared through the pass, forcing Havialo to draw ever deeper from his well of gnosty to part the gusts around him.

But no matter the fierceness of the wind, the frigid cliffs rising stark to either side, Havialo could command the mountains’ wrath with a thought. Surrounded by his pillow of calm, he sneered at the storm and peered down the other side of the pass. Clouds obscured much of the scene, roiling and churning across the valley floor. Shrugging, Havialo took his first step toward the valley and his inevitable rise to power.

A low whump shook the ground. Havialo froze, searching for the source. The howl of the wind continued unabated, driving swirls of snow with each blast, but otherwise, nothing moved. He stepped down, plunging his heel into the snow for purchase.

With a roar, the slope collapsed.

For a moment, Havialo stood upright on a moving slab of crusted snow. He blinked, confused, and then tumbled as the ground became liquid. Snow slammed his face, shoved into his nose and ears and closed over his head. The slope was a river in flood, chunks of ice bludgeoning his cartwheeling body, bending his limbs almost to breaking.

Havialo threw his awareness into the avalanche, flailing with his gnosty for purchase within the slide’s chaotic tumult. The torrent threw him against a spire of rock. His arm cracked stone, a shock of pain followed by broken numbness. He opened his mouth to scream, and snow packed his throat, cutting off his breath. Again, he cast his gnosty wide, desperate to take hold of the avalanche, but the energy of the slide tore from his mental grasp, ripping power from his internal well like roots pulling from the earth.

The surge was too rough, too sudden and chaotic for his mind to grasp. Havialo reached for the wind above, seeking steadiness. But compared to the raw force of the avalanche, the wind was a trickle. Powerless to stop the cascade.

As his vision dimmed from lack of air and his body tumbled limply toward death, Havialo clutched at his last hope for survival. Draining his inner well, he clawed at the nearest fault straining the earth. He probed the weakness, felt countless stone crystals on the brink of shattering. In the center of the fault, a tiny fissure had already formed. With the last of his strength, Havialo drove a wedge of gnosty into the gap.

The mountains shuddered in a violent quake as a deluge of power flooded the geognost’s body. At once, he was invincible, the pain in his broken arm vanished, all fatigue gone. As easy as a child molding a handful of wet sand, he spread his awareness and stilled the force of the avalanche. Tumbling ice and snow froze in glittering silence, waves ready to break over ridges and humps on the mountainside. With ordered calm, the suspended debris raised Havialo from its depths. The snow packing his throat and ears withdrew. He hung above the scene, perched on a throne of ice.

Closing his eyes, Havialo transformed his seat into a chariot that carried him down the slope. As he passed, spires of snow formed the pillars of a colonnade, freezing in place.

The slope began to lessen. The glacier ended in a jumbled moraine, reminding him of a plow abandoned by a farmer. His chariot slid over stone as easily as it had snow.

When he reached the valley floor, the geognost commanded the snow to release him. As he was lowered to the springy ground of the alpine tundra, his stolen power receded.

When the power faded, leaving his body drained and mortal once more, he felt the corruption.

Welling from the new rift a few valleys distant, foulness gushed forth.

Shuddering, he cradled his broken arm against his body and fought the rise of bile in his throat. During his tumble, his rucksack had been torn from his back. The avalanche had stolen his fur mitts and a boot. As he staggered forward, away from the slide path—his sculpting would give way soon enough, releasing the avalanche upon the valley bottom—he stumbled onto the trail leading to the monastery.

Chapter Two

Savra

A courtyard in the ruins of an ancient mountain fortress

“LIKE THIS,” MY father said, holding his short sword at an angle. “Then you can backstep and sweep down to deflect their attack.”

I clutched my sword’s hilt as another gust of wind skirled down from the high peaks ringing the vale. The frigid air cut through my lambskin gloves, setting my fingertips aching. Locked around my neck, a black-iron collar collected the chill like a necklace of ice. But my father had to be twice as cold. He’d given me his cloak before our combat practice, having already shortened it so that it wouldn’t drag on the cracked stones of the courtyard. Father wore just a padded wool vest over his linen tunic and thin leather trousers. Every time a fresh gust of wind sent grit skittering around our feet, I couldn’t help thinking how much sharper the chill had to feel for him.

I tried to mimic my father’s posture, but the angle of my wrist felt awkward. Another blast of air howled down, crystals of frost in its breath. “Maybe we should pick up when the sun is higher,” I said.

My father lunged forward and swung his weapon in a wide arc, connecting with my sword and sending it spinning from my cold-numbed grip. The weapon clattered across uneven flagstones until hitting a crumbling low wall at the courtyard’s edge.

“That’s when you needed to retreat,” he said. “Try to deflect the blow, and if the motion leaves your enemy open, strike. Or better, find a way to flee. No matter your fighting skill, most men will have an advantage on you simply due to weight and reach. Get to a safe location and use your spiritism against them.”

I sighed as I shuffled to collect my weapon. “My spiritism won’t be an option if I never get this collar off.” The black iron had been enchanted to contain my spiritist’s abilities. After I’d sabotaged Stormshard’s chance to assassinate Kostan—Emperor Kostan, I reminded myself—the Sharders were taking no chances with me.

“You must be patient, Savra,” Father said. “Half the conclave wanted to kill you immediately, and the other pressed for your exile to Wildsends. And the lesser punishment wasn’t because they felt lenient. They offered it as a mercy to me.”

My sword lay in a small pile of pine needles deposited by the mountain winds. As I crouched to pick it up, Father’s footsteps crunched in the gravel strewing the courtyard. Beyond the low wall surrounding our practice arena, the grounds of a ruined fortress sprawled. Heaps of rubble marked the foundations of dozens of buildings that had once sheltered behind the outer wall. In a few places, ancient chimneys and crumbling walls provided feeble shelter from the frozen breath of the Icethorn Mountains. In the center of the grounds, a massive keep stood strong in defiance of the ages. Tucked against its walls, canvas shelters were home to the ragtag collection of Stormshard fighters gathering at the ancient stronghold.

After decades of nibbling at the Empire’s interests, a proper Stormshard army was massing. Hundreds of men and women had already gathered to sharpen their weapons and practice combat formations. Of course, the war wouldn’t be necessary if not for me. Nearly every arriving soldier had already heard of my betrayal. I’d ruined Stormshard’s chance to defeat the Empire. They’d had an opportunity to eliminate Kostan, our new Emperor, and I’d jumped in the assassin’s path.

The Sharders’ cold stares followed me around the grounds. I could almost smell the hatred rising from their pores. If not for my father’s reputation and the leaders’ agreement to consider my fate with care, someone would have opened my throat by now.

Father’s hand fell on my shoulder. “You’re right about the cold. There’s no sense learning the sword when your hands are too stiff to keep a grip. We’ll begin again closer to midday.”

Across the low wall, a Sharder with a purple scar slashing his cheek fixed me with a glare. He curled his lip as he plunged an awl through a piece of leather armor. I raised my chin as I handed my practice sword to my father, but I didn’t return the glare. Stormshard needed to see that I wasn’t a threat. Father was teaching me self-defense, nothing more.

Dropping an arm over my shoulders, Father steered me toward the keep’s yawning entrance. The imposing building, three stories tall, was built from massive gray granite blocks. Like the outermost walls, these were finely hewn and mortared with precision. No one knew who had built the fortress. A single statue stood beside the gate in the outer wall. The carving depicted a warrior with strange armor and a sharply curved blade. His stone face inspected all newcomers to the keep, gazing down with a noble expression. No other traces of the builders remained.

As we approached the keep, the structure blocked the hiss of the wind, allowing sounds from the tents to swell in its place. Fires crackled and Sharders laughed as they prepared for another day. Father gestured toward a low bench where the thin mountain sun struck the wall of the keep. “Want to sit for a moment?”

I glanced up at him. “Aren’t you cold?”

Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. “It’s better here out of the wind, and I thought you might appreciate a bit more time outside. The catacombs are stuffy.”

I couldn’t bring myself to argue. I dreaded going back into those restrictive passages.

We sat in silence, watching the renegades go about their mornings. My father and I weren’t the only pair who’d decided to practice swordplay. Across the fortress grounds, Sharders faced off in pairs or small groups, striking at each other with blades and clubs. Near the outer wall, a few targets had been set up for archers. As my father ran his eyes over the men and women he helped lead, I wondered how well I really knew him. We’d been separated for seven years. I wasn’t a child anymore, and he wasn’t the gentle man who’d played hide and seek with me around our simple home in Numintown. Somehow, though, I felt like I did know him. Our bond hadn’t changed even if we had.

“The camp’s so crowded now,” I said. Because most of my days were spent in confinement—imprisonment if I were honest with myself—I rarely saw new bands of Sharders arrive. The army seemed to have doubled in size each time my father fetched me for sword practice.

Father narrowed his eyes, considering. “I suppose. But compared to what we face, we’re so few.”

“You might not have to face anyone if you give Kostan a chance,” I suggested, voice quiet.

My father clasped his hands between his knees, his knuckles blanching as he squeezed. I took a deep breath, expecting an argument; we’d been through the debate about Kostan’s character countless times since we’d been reunited. But after a moment, his hands relaxed.

“The remaining members of the conclave may arrive today,” he said casually.

My heart sped. If that were true, my fate would soon be decided. Until now, my father had managed to delay the vote until the full conclave could weigh in on the judgment. But once the final Shard leaders reached the keep, there would be no more excuses.

“Will the meeting happen right away?”

“I don’t know,” he said, face grim. “But I do know that you won’t win votes by continuing to defend the Emperor of Atal.”

I sighed. “Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll keep quiet.” No matter how desperately I wanted to stop this army from attacking, arguing Kostan’s case during my trial would just doom my chances.

Even so, every soldier who arrived at the stronghold deepened my despair. The coming war was unnecessary. There was a path to peace, yet no one could put aside their anger long enough to consider it.

My father’s face softened. “If you can find it in your heart to admit your mistake, it would help your case. You were fooled, but then so was I. There’s no shame in it.”

I pressed my lips together. After weeks with my father, nothing I’d said had convinced him to reconsider his opinion of Kostan. I didn’t think it would work now.

“What will the conclave decide? Do you have a guess?”

The muscles of Father’s jaw worked. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath before speaking. “Your case is difficult. You did ruin our best chance to defeat the Empire after a century of trying. I hope to convince the leaders how desperately our fight needs your spiritist abilities, but I’m prepared to plead for exile rather than execution if they aren’t inclined to pardon you. Stormshard isn’t in the business of killing young women. I imagine the request will be granted.”

Already, I heard the defeat in his voice. Storms. Well, even if he’d lost hope for my forgiveness, I wouldn’t give up yet. I straightened my spine as my father suppressed a shiver.

“Come on, Papa. Let’s get inside,” I said. “You need some time by a warm fire.”

He smirked as he stood. “I guess I’m getting soft as the years go by.”

As we moved into the icy shadow near the keep’s entrance, a man vaulted the courtyard’s wall. He stepped between us and the dark entryway, arms crossed and eyes locked on my face.

“Joran,” Father said, voice chill as the mountain air. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

I scanned the man’s cruel-looking face. Was this one of the Shard leaders expected to arrive today?

“Not soon enough, judging by what I’ve just been told,” the man said. “You brought a traitor into our midst. A spiritist traitor, no less. Not to mention, you’ve destroyed the Shards by bringing us together like this.”

“Destroyed, huh?” my father asked. His tone was light, but the tension in his body showed he was anything but amused.

“We remained separate for a reason. If we lose this offensive, we’ll never be safe. All the Empire will need to do is put a single, captured Sharder under argent mage interrogation. The argent will know the base of operations and leadership of every single Shard.”

The man rolled his shoulders inside his battered leather coat. A woolen scarf, stained and mouse-eaten, wrapped his neck, and his fingerless gloves were polished in the palm, most likely from the hilts of weapons. He was a bulky man, the slabs of his cheeks weighty with middle age. Still, I had no doubt he’d win most fights he picked.

Father stepped in front of me, cutting off the man’s stare. “Both the delay of Savra’s trial and the decision to unite the Shards were choices made by the attending Shard leaders. If you’d hastened to the summons, you’d have been welcome to voice your protests then.”

I swallowed. It seemed this man, Joran, was a Shard leader. And given his statements so far, I had little doubt as to how he’d vote regarding my fate.

Joran hawked and spat. “You’d have me answer a summons as if I were a common soldier. As if any Sharder has the right to command another. How quickly you forget our ideals when it suits your purposes.”

“Our priorities have changed, Joran.”

“Have they? Or is it you that’s changed?”

My father swept his arm to indicate the growing encampment. “You’ve often been slow to adapt. But the determination on our fighters’ faces proves how right this is. Before, we remained separate because we lacked the resolve for a determined assault. Now, Jalissmen and Anseli arms-women pitch their tents so close that the occupants of one can smell when someone in the other breaks wind. We are united in purpose—a righteous purpose—and that demands central leadership. Ironically, it was the new Emperor of Atal that convinced me of that.”

Joran’s upper lip twitched in disgust. “You’ve torn down everything we once stood for. Havialo would be so proud of you.”

After a deep breath, my father passed my practice sword into his off hand. His weapon hand fell on the hilt of his sheathed sword as he took a step forward. “I don’t think you meant that insult.”

Joran’s eyes gleamed; he wanted the fight. But something—perhaps the look on my father’s face—made him hesitate. With another long stride, my father drove a shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him aside. Joran recovered quickly, turning a sneer on me as my father passed.

“Think what you wish, Evrain,” he said, “but Stormshard is not yours to command. We’ll have your convening of the conclave, and perhaps it won’t just be your daughter’s fate we decide.”

Though my heart was thudding in my chest, I kept my back straight as I followed my father. Men like Joran thrived on intimidating others. I would not give him the satisfaction.

“I’ll expose the truth about you,” Joran called as we stalked away. “You seek to use Stormshard for your personal gain and vendettas. You wish to dethrone the boy who humiliated you and to gain mercy for your daughter. It’s always been about you. Always.”

My father just shook his head and kept walking.

Chapter Three

Kostan

Emperor's receiving chamber, Steelhold

ALONG THE WALLS of the room, Maelstrom-gold wedged between the building stones like mortar. I doubted it went all the way through to the outside of the tower. More likely, the mages had used gold leaf to cover the ordinary sand and cement that bound the stones. Even for the Order of Aurums, hiding gold away between stone blocks was too much expense to bear.

Especially when that gold could be used to strengthen and quicken their bodies so far beyond ordinary human abilities, they seemed to become creatures from another plane of existence. Phantoms who could dart from one end of a banquet hall to another in the time it took an Atal elite to raise a toast to the Empire.

“We will see that you are not disturbed,” the Aurum Trinity said together, three voices joined in perfect unity.

I nodded as they closed the door behind me. A single member of the Trinity would have been a sufficient escort. Whether they’d come together to show respect or to impress me with their power, I couldn’t say. Like nearly everyone in Steelhold, they professed loyalty. But like nearly everyone in Steelhold, I had little trust in their allegiance.

I sat upon a throne of straw, just waiting for the spark that would reduce it to ash. But I had no choice but to keep pretending that somehow, I could turn straw to steel.

My boot heels clicked as I strode to the window, heavy cloak dragging the floor. The ornate clasp jabbed my throat, sharp-cut gems digging into my skin. The rest of my wardrobe was no better. Jewels studded the knuckles of my gloves and the hems of my tunic, designed to gleam in the candlelight and impress all who saw me. I hated the ostentation but had bowed to Vaness’s advice. She—my closest friend and the person I trusted most—demanded that I went nowhere beyond my chambers without looking every inch an Emperor. And since I refused to don Maelstrom-metals until I was certain I’d captured the metalogists’ loyalty—I remembered all too well the spell of infection my Scion’s cuff had worked on my flesh—gems were my next best choice for ornamentation.

The window was open to the mountain air. Setting hands on the sill, I breathed so deep my chest ached. For over three-score days, sixty-three to be precise, I’d been confined to Steelhold’s stuffy chambers and smoke-filled alleys. Scarcely a breath of fresh air had reached my nose. Even when I was a Scion, a prisoner in my own home, I’d made daily patrols along the outer wall, passing dull-eyed protectors who’d saluted with fists to chests and never gazed upon my face.

As Emperor, I couldn’t take the risk. Despite the unlikelihood that someone might climb unnoticed up the sheer cliffs of Steelhold’s spire, lying in wait for the moment I peered over the lip of the wall, it was a chance I must consider. Especially now, with the continued chaos in the capital and surrounding towns.

Speaking of… I gritted my teeth and looked down over Jaliss. From here, the city looked like a rippling cape fastened around the neck of Steelhold’s spire. To my right, the fabric of the streets and buildings was pocked by black holes as if eaten by a spill of hot coals. The fires in Lowtown had been doused early on the first morning of my reign, but the despair and rubble remained. From this height, any workers attempting to clear gutted or toppled buildings were impossible to make out. But I doubted much repair work was happening.

Directly beneath the spire, mansions in the Heights sprawled wider than whole blocks in the Splits, the last refuge for the city’s Provs. I squinted at the district now, wondering how the commoners fared and whether my liaison, Vaness, was down among them, stalwartly spreading the message that I wished to close the divide between Atal and Prov. The Decree of Functions would be phased out, allowing men and women to take up the trades they’d always dreamed of rather than the Functions the Empire had assigned them.

If Vaness was down there spreading the message, I wondered if anyone heard her. Why should they believe the words of an Atal woman carrying the seal of yet another Atal Emperor? When my first representatives had wheeled barrels of tin scrip down the Corridor of Ascent to dump the loads on the jumbled cobblestones, the waiting Provs had thrown the coin back in their faces. The servants I’d sent to deliver the wheelbarrows had been Provs themselves, but only the quick defense of the protectors had kept the mob from attacking them.

After that, I’d sent Steelhold masons into the city in hopes they could organize repair crews. The effort had met similar results.

Over and over, I’d attempted to use my resources to better life in the city beneath me. Over and over, my attempts to help the Provs had been rebuffed as strongly as the Atal elite seemed to resist my authority.

The Provs did not want my charity. Many claimed they desired nothing from the throne. Ever. And the Atal elite saw a weak young man, Ascended under false pretenses without even a Ministry to bolster my strength.

My fingers curled into fists on the windowsill. Somehow, I would make them believe in me. I would rebuild the city, bind the Empire’s people so that we could confront the Breaking together. Because the Breaking would come. I was as certain of that as my predecessor, Emperor Tovmeil, had been. All we could hope to do was survive its devastation.

As if mocking my thoughts, a minor tremor rattled the tower. I clenched my jaw as I turned away from the window. Lowering my satchel from my shoulder, I set it on a polished mahogany table. I slipped the strap from the metal buckle and reached inside.

The Bracer of Sight lay beneath my fingertips. On the morning after my Ascension, the relic had been attuned to my spirit, but it had taken me a few more days to face its truths. Now, I donned it once a day, hoping for insight, new information, anything that might allay the coming tragedies. So far, I’d been given the same visions, over and over. They left me trembling. Confused. But the Empire’s safety was my burden.

I slipped the relic over my forearm and fastened the clasps.

***

Seen through a murky fog, water slapped the shoreline, a large wall that reared up, crashed against the sand, and receded in a frothing hiss. Moments later, the water struck again, pummeling the earth as if furious. Again, the crash reverberated in my chest. Such violence the water held. I wanted to shy away from it, escape the crash and hiss. But, like every time, my feet were locked to the earth. My gaze was pinned to foaming waves.

Raised within Steelhold’s walls, I’d never seen the ocean. But I couldn’t imagine what else this could be. The water stretched away to the horizon, chaotic waves torn by the wind and pulled by forces beneath the surface. It reminded me of the vast Atal grasslands, undulating and bowing as crosswinds howled down from the mountains and tore at the ripened grain.

Between one crash and the next, a scream shattered the air. I turned, helpless as the world wheeled around my viewpoint. As before, my throat clamped down.

Less than a hundred paces down the shore, a building slid toward the sea. Or rather, the sea was rising up and swallowing it. And not just one building. A dozen structures, humble homes and sheds, were disintegrating beneath the waves’ hungry crash. People ran. Screamed. Dragged children from the sucking force of the sea.

But they weren’t fast enough. As the buildings disappeared, lost beneath the frothing surface, a massive wall rose from the depths. The sun, hazy behind thin clouds, nonetheless shone through the back of the wave.

There were bodies in the water. Hundreds of them turned into shadow puppets by the sun’s revealing glow.

A few still struggled. Most were twisted and broken.

The massive wave swelled, the bottom so thick now the sun had no power to light the green-black depths. Those still attempting to run stopped when the shadow fell over them. They knew it was hopeless. Though I’d seen it before, my breath seized. I stared, terror-struck, as the killing wave loomed, cresting in a white-edged rim that suddenly smashed down with the speed of a blacksmith’s hammer.

Death, wet and uncaring, came for me, too. As the edge of the froth slapped my face, the scene vanished.

I stood in a marsh, knee deep in cold water that smelled of mud and algae. White-barked trees stood like ghosts in the mist. Between them, shadows moved. My heart thudded. Slowly, so slowly, I stepped forward. Water gurgled around my pants, and the shadows froze. Splashing followed, and when the first wails pierced the air, I knew the beasts had found me. I tried to run, but the water made my movements awkward. I fell forward, arms plunging into the wet. The first claws tore at my simple clothing, opening gashes on my back. I screamed as the vision ended.

The scenes were the same every time I donned the Bracer, but their order changed. I had a heartbeat to wonder what would come next before I felt solid earth beneath my feet. Afternoon sunlight soaked my shoulders as I turned a slow circle beneath the wide dome of the sky. To one side, smoke curled from the fire in the center of a herder’s camp. A short distance from the huddle of canvas shelters, sheep and cattle grazed. Beyond, the landscape fell away where the tableland of the Atal Plateau plunged over the bench and granted a view of the wide forests of Guralan Province below.

Flies buzzed in the afternoon’s calm.

I wanted to tear my eyes away but couldn’t. When the first, light trembling shook the earth, I staggered. Moments later, the quake rolled over the land. Livestock stumbled, screaming as small cracks swallowed hooves. The herders ran from their tents in time to see the rift open. Slicing from north to south, the land spread wide, a raw gash. Wider and wider, the edges crumbled. Tents listed and then plunged. Herders and animals ran. One man made it thirty paces before the ground collapsed beneath him. The others were already gone as the vision faded.

Abruptly, I stood on a low hill in the center of a small town. In the far distance, Steelhold’s spire rose from a smoldering city. As I blinked, sound and smells joined the vision. Cries of agony, the stench of blood. I turned a slow circle in the center of a massive battle. Prov against protector. Farmer against aurum mage. Though they fought fiercely, almost ferally, the commoners were being cut down as easily as wheat beneath the scythe. Corpses blanketed the city, and men and women tangled in death. It was a slaughter more than a battle. And unlike the other visions where I’d been given a view of the devastation through the eyes of another, somehow I knew that I, Kostan, was the man standing at the center of the fray.

A roar sounded from the north, and hoofbeats shook the grassland, a wall of riders approaching from the Icethorns.

The mounted fighters, hardened men and women, shouted as they bore down: “Death to the Empire!” “Rise of the Storm!” “Sharder victory or Sharder graves!”

The line of horsemen crashed into the battle. Protectors began to fall. Even the aurums hesitated.

Again, time sped forward, and now I saw myself extend a hand to one of the Stormsharders.

The moment our hands clasped, the ground began to shake. People screamed as the shuddering knocked me from my feet. Someone pointed. I turned and stared.

Steelhold, both the fortress and the spire were leaning over the city. For a moment, the spire resembled a curious child bent over an interesting insect. And then stone began to buckle, sloughing off in great sheets to smash the city below. Like a falling tree crashing onto undergrowth beneath, the pillar toppled.

No one in Jaliss would survive that.

And somehow, deep in the core of my being, I knew these things were just the beginning.

Stomach clenching, I groped for my connection to my body where it was seated before a table in the Aurum Tower. My fingers found the clasp for the Bracer and fumbled against the catch. Finally, they managed to flip the catch and release me from the horrible visions.

Sagging into the chair, I gagged and spat metal-tasting saliva on the polished stone floor. The Bracer stared back, accusing me. Two things were certain. These visions were inevitable. And only by making the Empire strong did we have a chance of surviving their aftermath.

Chapter Four

Savra

Entrance hall of an ancient fortress

“I’M SORRY YOU had to make that man’s acquaintance,” my father said as we stepped into the keep’s entrance hallway.

The precisely-built stone walls threw back the sounds of our footsteps as I hurried to walk beside him. “Who is he?”

“Joran leads the Shard from central Guralan. He’s a drover by trade. Been a blister on my heel since I became a Sharder, but he’s more talk than action. I’m just surprised he confronted us alone. Usually, he needs half a dozen thugs at his back.”

“He talked like he could get you punished for my crimes.”

Father chuckled. “Not to worry—I’ll just pit Sirez against him. If there’s anything she hates worse than the Empire, it’s Joran.”

From the entrance hall, we turned into a wide passageway where shadows fought against the daylight. I shivered. Though the keep’s walls cut the wind, the stark corridors held a deeper sort of chill. I felt the builders’ absence in the echoing walls and bare niches where statues might have once stood. Gone without a trace. I hugged my elbows to my ribs as we moved through a stepped arch into a larger chamber.

As we entered, a woman hurried over. Lines of stress creased her face, and her right arm was splinted and bound in a sling. Falla had been a member of my father’s Shard. She’d been out on patrol with Father, taking the chance to question the newly-arrived Kostan, when the earthquake struck. Most of their Shard members, including Falla’s husband, had been killed in the resulting cavern collapse. During the quake, a tumbling stone had broken her arm.

“Evrain,” she said. “There’s been another report. Much worse than before.”

Father stiffened. “The same sort of attack?”

Falla nodded, face a mixture of grief and disgust. “The slain are…yes, the same as before. Same lingering smell.”

My father’s tunic bulged when tension bunched his shoulders. “How long ago?”

“Yesterday, maybe. Or the day before.” As she spoke, Falla’s gaze shifted to me.

“I see,” Father said. He glanced at me as well before clearing his throat. “I’d like to hear the full report from the scouts.”

Father nudged me toward the dark stairwell leading to the catacombs and my makeshift cell. Usually, I went without complaint, but now I hesitated to obey. My father’s and Falla’s reluctance to speak in front of me was obvious. But this was the third time I’d heard Shard leaders talking about strange attacks. If Kostan’s soldiers were attacking—if I was somehow wrong about him—I wanted to know.

“What happened?” I asked, pretending to be oblivious to their signals. “What kind of attacks?”

Father’s throat worked as he considered his words. “The truth is, we don’t know. Given the… savage nature, it might be animals.”

As he spoke, I saw skepticism in Falla’s eyes. But she didn’t contradict him.

“How soon can you be ready to speak with the scouts?” Falla asked. “They’ve found new signs and—” Again her gaze flicked to me. “—they’d like to address the entire conclave.”

“I’ll head straight to the banquet hall.” Again, Father gestured at the stairwell. “Go now, Savra. I’ll collect you later for a meal and sword practice.”

I nodded and headed for the stairs. Near the entrance, a Sharder detached from the wall and prepared to escort me to my cell. In a welcome change from the glares of the rebels outside, she managed a polite nod as I stepped onto the narrow staircase. Behind me, my father’s voice was a low rumble of concern.

A flight of perhaps twenty stairs led into the depths. Dry air filled the passages beneath the keep, smelling of dust and ancient things. Every few paces, a lamp cast flickering light over the rough-hewn walls. The catacombs had once served as both a crypt and a dungeon. But the bodies that had once lain upon the stone shelves in the burial chambers were long gone. Maybe the builders had taken their dead with them when they left. Or maybe they’d vanished so long ago that even their bones had crumbled to dust.

I tiptoed as I walked ahead of my Sharder escort. Whether deliberately or not, the woman behind me moved just as silently. In the catacombs, sounds felt louder, as if our very presence disturbed the peace of the place.

At least the Sharders had chosen to keep me in a former dungeon cell rather than a crypt chamber. The bars that had once sealed the chamber had long since rotted away, so my jailers had installed a makeshift door using nailed-together panels from a crate. A heavy chain and lock secured my prison. For close to twenty days, I’d slept in this lonely cell, waiting for judgment while Stormshard gathered its army. The isolation made me wish for a return to the weeks-long march that had brought us into the mountains. Despite the blisters on my feet and the bone-deep exhaustion after a day’s trek, at least I’d been with my father.

I stepped into the chamber, accepting a lantern from the Sharder before she shut and locked the door.

At the rear of the chamber, a shallow trench had once carried water through the cell. Dry now, it had probably been both a latrine and a source of drinking water. My bedding had been unfolded against one wall, and a waterskin rested beside it.

I listened carefully for the scuff of the Sharder woman’s feet but heard nothing. She was already gone. In the silence of my cell, reality struck. My judgment loomed.

I laid my hand over my bracelet. It had been a gift from Parveld, the strange man who’d claimed to have seen visions of my future. Two spirits, Lilik and Raav, were imprisoned within the band.

You should try to sleep, Lilik said into my mind. Though the black-iron collar confined my aura-sight to the boundaries of my flesh, it hadn’t severed my bond with the couple.

Sleep? Now? I returned. I may go on trial today.

I know. But… How to put it? I believe these attacks are even more pressing than the conclave’s decision. Falla was hiding something. It’s almost as if there’s a strange presence in the aether, too. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll want to be as rested as possible.

I struggled to focus on her words. The attacks worried me. But with the vote on my fate approaching, shouldn’t I focus on what I would say in my defense?

Do you mean the conclave will postpone my trial because of the attacks?

I don’t know, Savra, Lilik said. I wish I had a better sense of it.

I dropped to a seat on the bedding and slouched against the wall. Maybe I should listen to her advice. With a deep breath, I tried to force away my fear. Unfortunately, the attempt to focus only made me notice that my hands were shaking.

“I wish they weren’t afraid to speak in front of me,” I said aloud. “I can’t blame Stormshard for treating me this way, but what harm could I possibly do?”

“Talking to yourself?” I jumped when Falla’s voice pressed through a crack in the makeshift door. Her feet cast shadows in the gap above the stone floor.

I coughed, covering my surprise. “Not much company down here. I make do with what I have.” I hadn’t told anyone about the powers of the bracelet, and—except for eventually confessing its existence to my father—I didn’t plan to.

The woman laughed as a key clicked against the lock. The chain clanked when it fell aside. Falla slipped into the room on soft-soled shoes, her graceful movements creating just the faintest whisper. Though she was well into midlife, Falla had none of the stiffness most people her age suffered. Even with the tightness of grief on her finely lined face, her ageless beauty shone through.

She glanced around the cell, lip slightly curled. “I’m sorry you’re confined like this.”

I shrugged. “Like I was saying to myself, I don’t blame Stormshard.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been clear in my support of you. I was as fooled by Kostan as you were.”

I clamped my lips shut. Kostan had abandoned Falla beside a mountain trail with a freshly broken arm and few supplies. Worse, he’d stolen her prized horse. Nothing I could say would change her opinion of him. Maybe once he’d had a chance to rule, he would redeem himself in her eyes.

“I appreciate it,” I said after a moment.

Again, Falla ran her eyes over the walls, brow furrowed. She stood at ease, but a callused hand hovered near her dagger’s hilt. After so many years with Stormshard, she must have learned to be ready to fight at any moment. Even with the sling supporting her broken arm, she’d make a worthy adversary for anyone who crossed her. I doubted my father had ever felt the need to warn her about the advantage men had with their weight and reach.

“I don’t like them keeping you underground,” she said. “Our Shard already learned the dangers of caverns and tunnels. You’d think your father would have argued for a safer cell.”

It seemed to me that these catacombs were just as safe as the rooms overhead in the keep. If a quake collapsed the tunnels, the walls and roof of the fortress would follow. And when they did, the high-ranking Sharders camped inside the walls would be crushed as flat as me. But considering that she’d recently lost her husband to a collapse, I chose not to argue.

I wasn’t sure why the woman had come; so far only my father had visited me down here. When he couldn’t come, other Sharders brought my meals, but they’d never stopped to chat.

“Your father can’t join you for lunch and sword practice,” Falla said as if hearing my unvoiced question.

“Why?”

She cleared her throat. “He’s ridden out with the scouts. He wanted to see what the trackers found with his own eyes. Anyway… Savra, he didn’t send me just to tell you that.”

“Oh?” I said, brows raised at her tone.

“The vote is today. This afternoon. The final members of the conclave arrived this morning. Your father has been asked to abstain from voting, as his bias is clear.”

A chill crept into my chest. “Of course it is. But that shouldn’t take away his right to cast his vote.”

Falla shrugged. “It’s also possible they don’t want him in the room when your sentence is pronounced. This new union of the Shards is fragile. Violence would undo much of what they’ve worked for.”

Her words hit me like a blow. Had the Shard leaders already decided to condemn me?

“Why did he leave now, then?” If there were ever a time when I needed him close, it was this vote.

Falla extended a hand to help me up. “He already gave his testimony regarding your innocence. Though I’m not officially part of the conclave, I was there while he spoke for you. He’s persuasive, Savra. But now that he’s spoken, the best way he can help you is by proving his allegiance to Stormshard. He rode out with the scouts to show how seriously he takes his duties. And possibly, to discover evidence of how badly we need you in our ranks.”

“Because of my spiritism?”

She nodded as she grasped my wrist and pulled. As I stood, a thought occurred to me. “If the attacks are a threat to Stormshard, why is the leadership keeping them secret? I’ve seen you and the leaders check that none of the ordinary Sharders are listening before you talk about them.”

“An observant little mouse, aren’t you?” Falla said with a smirk. “Here’s the thing. There are certain details about the attacks which may complicate our mission. But we want answers before we distract the bulk of our forces.”

“Which details?”

She inhaled before continuing. “For the last few years, there have been isolated killings in the mountains. Small caravans murdered. Groups of hunters slain. This time, our scouts found a whole village slaughtered.”

I knew she was hiding something big, Lilik said into my mind.

I grimaced. A whole village dead? Only the imperial protectors could do such a thing. But if the Empire’s soldiers had massacred a town, did that mean…? I swallowed the cold knot of regret forming in my throat. “How long ago did it happen? Maybe new orders haven’t arrived from Steelhold yet.”

Falla cast me a look that was almost pitying. “In this case, your Emperor Kostan isn’t to blame. We don’t think, anyway. Because it’s not just Provs who’ve been massacred. The attack before this slew every soldier in a small protectors’ garrison. For months—years maybe—mountain Provs have whispered of unnatural beasts stalking isolated journeyers. Some believe the rumors and the killings are related.”

“What do you think?”

She shrugged. “Hard to say. Isolated people can be superstitious. In any case, we were prepared to ignore the occasional killing. We can’t defend every Prov in the Empire. But given the scale of the last attack, we feel we need answers. If nothing else, we need to know it's safe to move our forces from the protection of the keep. But enough of that. Your father tasked me with preparing you for the conclave’s interrogation, and a full belly is the first step.”

I glanced around the room. “I’m not allowed out except to practice swordplay.”

“I figure I’m a capable guard for a dangerous prisoner such as yourself,” Falla said with a smirk.

“Do they really believe I’m a danger?”

She knuckled my shoulder. “Probably not. Keeping you down here is as much for your safety as ours, given what many Sharders think of you.” Pulling her blade, she pressed the point into a hairline crack in the wall beside my arm. “Anyway, call it self-interest if you want, but I don’t want to be down here longer than I have to. Between the meal and my examination, we’ll need a couple of hours at least.”

“Examination?” I said.

“It will be difficult with that collar, but we’ll do our best.”

I blinked in surprise. “Wait. Are you a—”

“Spiritist? Indeed. And your father wants me to inform the conclave on the advantages your abilities might provide. Now, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, glancing at the ceiling. “I really hate it down here.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding. When she stepped from my cell, I followed. At the very least, I wouldn’t spend the last hours before my trial alone in the dungeon.

Chapter Five

Kostan

Office of the Protectors, Steelhold

MINISTER GILLER BENT a knee, lowering himself until his kneecap nearly touched the floor. Nearly, but not quite. He bowed his head, beard brushing the top of his foot. It was the proper show of submission, kneeling without relaxing. He remained that way, trembling with the effort of holding the uncomfortable posture.

The moment stretched out. Beside me, Vaness and Azar, the apprentice ferro mage who had been loyal to my Ascension, shifted in their chairs. Nonetheless, I didn’t invite the minister to stand. He and the other members of the Ministry had plotted against the throne. They’d planned to kill me on the same night they murdered my fellow Scions and my predecessor. This man deserved no mercy from me; the brief stay of execution he currently enjoyed was more than I owed him.

Weeks ago, I’d given the order to execute four of the ministers. I’d forced myself to watch as they’d been beheaded in the central courtyard. The spirit of Emperor Tovmeil had convinced me it was a necessary show of strength if I wished to retain my authority—in fact, he’d advised me to kill them all. The memory of the executions still made my stomach heave. Nightmares plagued my sleep. On days when the recollections came most often, I couldn’t stand to look in a mirror. No matter how I hated the Ministry for the murders they’d committed, I couldn’t banish the memory of helpless men and women led to the headsman’s block. Their lives had ended at my command.

At least I had a reason to spare the remaining seven ministers—for now. In the final two years that were supposed to have preceded our Ascension, the other Scions and I would have learned the intricacies of imperial diplomacy. If I’d been chosen Emperor on the intended day rather than two years early, the other Scions would have become my ministers. Likewise, if one of my peers had Ascended, I would have joined their Ministry. But with the other Scions murdered, not to mention the missed instruction from those last two years, I sorely lacked in knowledge. Without advisers who understood the complicated alliances and hatreds amongst the Atal elite, I would never hold the allegiance of the most powerful families in the Empire. The elite worked little and complained frequently. But they sent sons and daughters to join the ranks of the protectors. Their trade deals brought needed supplies to Atal.

For now, I needed the elite and the merchant class, too. Which meant selecting an adviser or two from among the ministers. Afterward, I didn’t know what I’d do. Execute those not chosen?

The thought turned my stomach.

In any case, I made sure the living ministers knew their lives were at stake. I stared down at Minister Giller, fixing him with an impassive glare.

“You claimed you had information on the plot against Emperor Tovmeil and my fellow Scions,” I said.

“If I might,” Minister Giller said as he rose a knuckle’s width from the floor.

“You may not,” I said. “And the next time you forget to afford me the proper title, your audience is concluded.”

Trembling with the effort, he lowered his knee again. “Yes, your eminence.”

“You have until your legs give out to convince me your information is worthwhile. Choose your time wisely.”

My heavy wooden chair was uncomfortable enough to remind me of the burdens resting on my shoulders. The back was straight, and no cushions softened the seat. The public audience chamber boasted a throne upholstered in fine velvet and cushions covered in the pelt of a hunting cat. That seat was designed to awe all petitioners with the power of the Empire.

The chair I sat in now was designed to remind the Emperor of that power’s weight.

“If you’ll grant me the luxury of correcting one thing, your eminence,” the minister said.

“Your remaining time is yours to spend,” I returned.

“As I conveyed to your representative, the Ministry disagreed with Emperor Tovmeil. We met in secret to discuss methods to sway him toward our position. But to call that a plot would be an exaggeration.”

“I see. And the deaths of the Scions?”

“An unfortunate mistake, your eminence. We decided to take hostages from among the Scions as a final ploy to gain leverage. I was not in the Scions’ bedchambers during the… tragic killings. I must assume something went wrong.”

The man was lying, but he managed it convincingly. If I didn’t know the truth, I might have believed him. A quick glance at Azar and Vaness showed no reaction to the man’s claims. Good. Let him wonder what effects his words had.

“When Emperor Tovmeil returned to Steelhold, he claimed he’d fled out of fear for his life. To me, that suggests more than a simple disagreement. It suggests you wished to eliminate him to further your aims.”

The man was quaking now. Though I wished I could credit my line of questioning with straining him, I suspected his thighs were on the brink of exhaustion.

“Emperor Tovmeil must have received poor information. As you saw, he returned to the Hold unharmed.”

“Indeed?” I said. “Unharmed you say?”

His brow knitted. “You don’t remember, your eminence? Your lashings just before his arrival were traumatic—and regrettable, I might add. But surely you remember the health in which Emperor Tovmeil presented himself at the Sun Gate.”

I gritted my teeth at the lie. The ministers knew their plan had succeeded. They’d hidden the body and concealed the assassination. But they assumed I was ignorant of the truth, fooled by Tovmeil’s apparition.

It wouldn’t be wise for me to admit the truth, but it would be difficult to choose advisers from among men and women who had no reason to believe I could detect their lies.

A dilemma.

In any case, I’d gain little more by speaking to the man.

“Of course. I must have been addled by the sun and the loss of blood. I remember now,” I said. “So, you wish me to know the Ministry meant Tovmeil no real harm.”

“Exactly. And there hasn’t been a night since the Scions’ deaths that I haven’t lain awake with guilt heavy in my chest, your eminence.”

“I see.”

The minister’s legs gave out, and his lowered knee hit the floor. I gestured to Vaness and Azar, ceding the right to ask any further questions.

“I’ve heard enough,” Vaness said.

“And I,” Azar added.

“You are excused,” I said, shooing the minister away.

Minister Giller stood with no small measure of difficulty. At the door exiting the chamber, he turned. “Perhaps we could speak again. You might find my experience useful in the coming months.”

I said nothing.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I turned to Vaness. “Anything I might have missed?”

She twisted the ring on her middle finger. With it, she could use argent magic to peer into someone’s mind. The single band of Maelstrom-silver afforded just a solitary argent rank. Scarcely enough to look deeply.

She shrugged. “You already know he was lying.”

“So were the others. Yet I must choose someone to spare. Ideally two or three.”

Vaness sighed. “As far as I can tell, you won’t find a redeeming quality among them.”

“That’s what I feared,” I said, squeezing the hardwood arm of my chair. “Yet I feel I must try. I don’t know how else I’ll bind the elite to me.”

“I don’t know, either, Kostan. But I have some good news. I’ve managed to set up a meeting in the city. A promising lead this time. I need to go quickly.”

I stood. “And the Prime Protector requested an audience with me. We’ll speak later, yes?”

Both Vaness and Azar nodded, sketching bows that made me feel self-conscious. They were my friends, not my servants. But it was no use arguing. Spinning, I headed for the door of the chamber. They’d follow once a respectful amount of time had passed.

***

“I would have come to you, your eminence,” the Prime Protector said as she jumped to her feet. Unlike the rest of her order, the stone-faced fighters slaved to their duty, her eyes remained sharp as she set down a sheaf of papers.

I pulled the door shut behind me, closing out the bustle filling Steelhold’s alleys and courtyards. With no windows and thick stone walls, the main chamber of the Office of Protectors was a quiet sanctuary. My cloak rasped against the rough stone floor as I crossed to a simple chair before the Prime’s desk. In steel brackets on the wall, three lanterns cast stark light over the austere furnishings.

“To be frank, I was eager to escape my chambers,” I said. Over the few weeks of my rule, I’d grown both accustomed to and resentful of the heavy drapes and polished wood that crowded the Emperor’s rooms. I longed for the comparatively simple furnishings of my Scion’s bedchamber, or better, a bare room and narrow cot at the Graybranch Inn.

I glimpsed a flash of understanding on her face. We all had duties to the Empire. If anything, hers were more onerous than mine.

“At the very least, a few of my protectors should accompany you when you move about the Hold,” she said.

Unfastening my cloak’s clasp—the ridiculous garment tried to choke me whenever I sat—I shook my head. “If I can’t move about my own citadel without fear for my life, how can I expect to secure my Empire? The capital is in chaos despite my efforts. I must appear confident in my own home if I’m to inspire change.”

She cast me a glance that held all the arguments she wouldn’t voice. The day after my Ascension, she’d suggested the protectors march through the city block by block, putting down the rioters and resistance by any means necessary. I’d refused. I would not begin my reign with the same tactics used by the men and women before me. But as the weeks dragged on and mobs gathered daily, doubt had crept into my heart.

“What did you wish to speak about?” I asked.

She glanced at her chair as if wondering whether to sit in my presence. “Even if we don’t use force in the city, we must move forward on the investigation of the assassinations.”

“Agreed, of course. And please do sit.” Though the Ministry had been behind the plot against Emperor Tovmeil, no one knew how the murderers had defeated Steelhold’s defenses, in particular how they’d passed the guards and wards outside the individual bedrooms.

With a stiff spine, she lowered herself to the front edge of her chair. “I’ve been questioning the guards about the red-haired woman who forced them to open the Shadow Gate. Though I initially doubted you’d seen someone of that description during the chaos, I’ve revised my opinion. A woman with the sort of power they describe could have easily hidden in plain sight. Forgive me for the lack of faith.”

I sat up straight. “Wait. I thought we were discussing the plot against Emperor Tovmeil and the other Scions.”

The Prime Protector fixed me with a perplexed stare. “The attacks were related, don’t you agree? Both targeted the throne and the line of succession. The Ministry failed the first time they attempted to kill you and Emperor Tovmeil, so they tried again.”

I ran my fingers over my kneecaps while trying to decide how to answer. The Prime didn’t know the details of Tovmeil’s fate. Like most, she believed he’d returned to Steelhold in the flesh. The Ministers who’d disposed of his body must have recognized the illusion, and I, of course, had spoken with the apparition. Tovmeil had explained to me how Ferromaster Ilishian’s spell had allowed him to cross back to the mortal realm. But I’d kept my knowledge close.

“Emperor Tovmeil’s return was too abrupt for the Ministry to have laid the second plan.”

“Unless it had been prepared ahead of time. Perhaps the assassin only awaited the signal to proceed. But back to the red-haired woman—”

“Savra,” I said, her name bringing back memories of our time together in the Graybranch Inn. I remembered how she smelled of fresh grasses and summer breezes even after days in the city.

The Prime’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You know her name. That is excellent news and the best lead we have. What else can you tell me about her? I can have trackers ready to seek her within the day.”

I shook my head. “Wait, you don’t think—Savra wasn’t behind the murder attempt. She tackled the assassin and deflected the poisoned blade.”

The woman’s gaze dropped from mine. I could tell she wanted to argue but feared to oppose me directly.

“Prime,” I began, then paused. “I knew Savra when I was—when I fled Steelhold in fear of the Ministry. We met in Jaliss. She is not a killer. She’s just a Prov hoping to fulfill her Function.”

Just a Prov. The words felt flat on my tongue. She wasn’t just a Prov. She was a kind young woman with hopes and dreams, living under the oppression of an Empire that saw her as less than human. She was earnest and caring, and she’d helped me before she even knew me, declaring me her betrothed so that Fishel, the owner of the Graybranch Inn, would give me a room.

“With all due respect, Emperor, I suggest you consider the facts. How did you make this woman’s acquaintance? Could it be that she arranged your meeting in hopes of furthering her cause? Renegades to the Empire are known for subterfuge.”

I shook my head. “It was only happenstance.”

“Maybe so. But I feel compelled to follow up. Where did you meet?” Though the Prime’s voice was casual, I could hear the hard edge in it. If I mentioned the Graybranch Inn, she would send protectors to search for information. Only my direct order would stop it. But if I forbade her from chasing leads, I’d damage our relationship. I needed the Prime to keep my throne secure. And I did wish to unearth the full truth about the assassination attempts.

“I met her on a street in the Merchant’s Quarter,” I lied, hating myself for it. “She needed help finding the Hall of Registry.”

“I see,” the Prime said, her keen eyes on my face. “Well, I suppose we need not belabor the conversation then. Unless, of course, there’s anything else you might be able to share. The longer the investigation takes, the greater the chance the murderers will attempt to strike again.”

I stood and grabbed my cloak where it had fallen over the chair’s back. With shoulders straight, I fixed my Emperor’s mask over my features, commanding and self-assured. “There’s nothing else. Follow the lead with Savra, but do not let it blind the investigation to other options. I’d like daily updates on the progress.”

The Prime’s expression was hard as she nodded. “I’ll send a messenger as soon as I have anything. And please, as a favor to me, consider asking the protector outside the door to escort you to your next destination.”

Chapter Six

Savra

A second-story balcony in an ancient keep

FALLA SAT EASILY on a makeshift stool of stacked stones. Beside her, a low railing edged the balcony, guarding against the drop from the keep’s second floor. I teetered on my own pile of rocks, the topmost stone rocking every time I shifted. Between us, the woman had spread a square of canvas and laid out flatbreads, dried meats, and a wheel of cheese along with a knife to cut it.

The Sharder woman gazed over the encampment filling the fortress’s grounds. In the lee of the keep, tents jumbled haphazardly, pitch-poles leaning like the masts of ships beached by low tide. Though some rebels continued to hone their combat skills, other exhausted Sharders slept beneath stained tarps and poked at small animal carcasses roasting on spits. They were a ragged lot. The renegades had traveled far to reach this fortress, and with the earthquakes and upheaval rocking the Empire, the journey had been wearying.

“They’re hardier than they look,” Falla commented.

Given what I’d seen from Stormshard members, I didn’t doubt it. But still, the gathered fighters hardly seemed a force capable of storming Steelhold.

Maybe the conclave knew something I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or dismayed about Stormshard’s shoddy army. I liked the Sharders I’d met—Joran excepted—and I didn’t want my father harmed. But a Stormshard victory meant Kostan’s defeat.

“If they’re anything like Sirez, I don’t doubt their toughness,” I said. “When I met her, she single-handedly chased off a group of thugs who were hassling me.” Sirez was the informal leader of the Shard operating in the Empire’s capital, Jaliss. She’d recruited me as a probationary member of the rebel group.

Falla cut a slice from the cheese wheel. She held the bite before her as if contemplating something. Though it was nearing midday, the chill breeze still swirled down from the peaks surrounding the vale. The wind stirred the few stray hairs which had escaped Falla’s braid.

“And despite her help, you gave your loyalty to Kostan in the end,” the Sharder woman said.

I shrugged, cheeks warming. “I—”

“Try this,” she said, interrupting me and holding out the cheese. “It comes from pastures near the Wildsends. Very distinct.”

Confused by her change of subject, I slipped the bite between my lips. My eyes widened—it was delicious. Creamy and nutty and entirely different from the hard blocks Numintown received in our shipments of rations. I eyed the cheese knife, wondering if the Sharder woman would protest me laying a hand on a blade.

Falla cast me a satisfied smile. “As I suspected. Evrain can’t get enough of this stuff. Must be something in your coastal blood.”

“That or it’s just good,” I said, giving in and reaching for the knife.

“It is indeed.” Falla’s expression sobered, her mouth a grim line. “And according to rumors, a recent quake collapsed a cliff and buried the herders’ encampment. This wheel may be one of the last we ever taste.”

As if a cloud had dimmed the mountain sun, the chill air sank through my clothing and raised a shiver from my flesh. “The quakes are getting worse, aren’t they? Havialo said the leaders in Steelhold believe the land itself is breaking.”

Falla nodded. “Steelhold is well aware of the damage the quakes are causing. Not just a breaking. They call it the Breaking. Yet the Emperor does nothing.”

“But what could the throne do?”

Falla shrugged. “Quite possibly, nothing. But even if this Breaking is inevitable, the Empire could minimize the suffering. Many of the Prov herders who made this cheese survived the quake. But they have no homes and hardly any livestock left. Chilltide approaches. Perhaps it would have been better if they’d died in their tents.”

My thoughts strayed to Parveld’s claim that terrible times were indeed coming and that somehow I had an important role in protecting Atal and the Provinces from complete destruction. I still didn’t know what to think about that.

“Maybe Kostan will be different,” I said, despite myself.

Falla sighed, her eyes on the grounds below us. A new group of arrivals had just trudged through the opening in the outer wall. After scanning the heaps of rubble and foundation stones, the newcomers marched to a low alcove and dropped their belongings. Other Sharders quickly gathered to help the arrivals settle in.

“I won’t try to convince you,” Falla said. “I was young once. Less cynical than I am now, especially when an attractive young man was involved. But I’d advise you not to make those sorts of statements during your coming trial.”

I tore off a hunk of flatbread, ducking my head. Course flour clung to my fingers, and I rubbed them off on my trousers. “I know.”

She stretched her legs, propping her heels on the railing while remaining balanced on her perch. Maybe her stack of rocks was more stable than mine. “So, what do you know of your abilities?” she asked.

“My spiritism?”

She nodded. “Given what Sirez told me, your domain is Mind. Control aspect, it seems. But even within a domain-aspect pairing, the strengths of an individual spiritist vary greatly.”

I blinked. Domain? Aspect? “I—well, I don’t know. I’ve always had my aura-sight, but until recently it only happened when I was afraid or angry.”

Falla’s eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Honestly? Likewise.”

She tapped a finger against her chin. “Let’s back up for a moment. Sirez told me you took command of the gate guards at Steelhold. Is that true?”

I nodded, chewing my lower lip. “Before you judge me, you should know I didn’t enjoy it.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t even think of it. I’m only trying to understand. So when you controlled them, was it through manipulating their bodies or their minds?”

I looked down and realized I’d torn my bite of flatbread into crumbs. Hastily, I gathered them into my hand before I wasted food. Everything we ate, save for the small contribution of the hunters, had been hauled here.

“I’m not really sure. Their minds, I suppose.”

Falla cocked her head. “It’s so strange. Who taught you? I can’t imagine someone instructing you in such advanced techniques without first explaining the domains and aspects.”

I stuffed a wad of crumbs in my mouth and chewed. I hadn’t anticipated these sorts of questions. I didn’t want to lie to Falla, especially knowing she was a spiritist and might be able to read my thoughts. But if that were true, wouldn’t she know about Lilik and my bracelet already?

“No one explained how to take hold of the guards,” I said, sticking to the truth as best I could. “I got lucky, I suppose. I could sense how the argent magic in the guards’ wrist cuffs bound them to follow orders, and I did something similar.”

Falla stared at me, brow lowered in concentration. I fought the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. “Curious. Well, it certainly sounds like you commanded their wills more than their bodies.”

I shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Mind domain. It has to be. And there’s no question about the aspect.”

I picked up a tin cup and took a sip of water. A dull ache was forming behind my eyes. “What are the domains?”

Falla turned back to look over the grounds. Beyond the outer wall, a stream tumbled over white-granite boulders, slicing a sharp cut between the slopes where it left the high valley. The trail was a faint path through tundra and scraggly, low-growing pines. She squinted and shaded her eyes against the bright mountain sun.

“Mind, Body, and Essence—Look Savra,” she said, pointing. “I think your father is back already.”

Relief spread through my chest. As I stood, the topmost stone fell from my stool, clattering against the balcony. When I pressed my hand to my brow to shade my eyes, I spotted them. A pair of mounted figures rode up the trail at a fast trot.

With my attention fixed on the riders, I started when a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned to meet the eyes of a woman I recognized as a Shard leader. I didn’t know her name, but authority rested easily on her shoulders.

“Your presence is required,” she said. “We’ve come to a decision on your fate.”

***

The conclave met in a room they’d nicknamed the banquet hall. I’d assumed they’d named it because the chamber’s dimensions suited their vision of a dining hall. But when I stepped through the wide doorway, not even my fear of the conclave’s decision could overcome my awe.

A hundred paces separated me from the chamber’s far wall. High above, shadows filled the vaulted ceiling while just the barest hints of torchlight danced across ribs of stone. I felt as if I stood in the cavernous belly of a whale, its ribcage and spine arched high overhead. But no matter how awestriking the structure, the table in the center of the room stole my breath.

Carved of a single block of stone, the massive table stretched nearly the length of the chamber. Beside it, rows of stone chairs stood like soldiers, perhaps fifty per side. At the head and foot, thrones commanded attention, carved with intricate patterns from granite the dark gray of storm clouds. Along the long edges of the table, around three paces back, a series of pillars rose from the floor. The stone columns were cut from white marble veined with silver. Spheres of colorful gemstones as large as my head sat cradled in a bowl atop each pillar: jade and malachite, lapis lazuli and translucent quartz. An agate globe banded in the most vibrant orange and yellow perched atop the pillar nearest me. Staring at it, I could think of nothing but the fiery ball of the sun as it plunged into the waters of the Maelstrom.

After the ruined buildings on the grounds and stark, square-cut rooms within the keep’s outer walls, I struggled to believe this chamber belonged in the same fortress. The builders had taken everything else which hinted at life—that or looters had visited the stronghold in the centuries since. I understood why the chairs and table remained; they were too heavy to move. But why leave the polished stone spheres? The colors were among the most beautiful I’d seen.

The slap of a palm against the stone tabletop startled me back to attention. At the near end of the table, around twenty Shard leaders looked like children sitting at a holiday feast. It wasn’t just that the scale of the room dwarfed their small group. Looking closer, I realized that the chairs were over-sized. Either they’d been carved for people half again as big as an ordinary Atal or Prov, or the builders of the keep had wished those who sat at their table to feel small.

The situation didn’t seem to bother the Shard leaders though. Especially not Joran, who sat three seats down from the empty throne. He turned to me with a grin that said everything I needed to know about the conclave’s decision.

My wonder at the immense chamber drained onto the polished slabs of its stone floor. My guts were full of cold mud. They’d already decided I was guilty. Now all that remained was for me to stand at attention while the conclave made my judgment official.

Straightening my shoulders, I fixed my gaze on the far end of the table. Along its length, three fires burned in stone bowls so big my arms wouldn’t have encircled them. I focused on the farthest blaze, willing my face to remain still. If nothing else, Joran wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing me upset by the judgment.

From the seat nearest me, Sirez stood. If anything, the march through the mountains and the preparations for war had made the Jalisswoman even more imposing. Despite my distant gaze, her silhouette seemed to fill my vision. She was strong without bulk. Hard without losing her obvious femininity.

“Savra Padmi,” she said as my escort left me and stalked to a seat at the table.

“I’ve come as summoned,” I said.

“The conclave has convened to address your actions within Steelhold on the night of the new Emperor’s Ascension.”

I kept my eyes straight ahead. There was nothing to say. I just wished she’d get on with it.

“I’m sorry, Savra,” Sirez said into the silence. “The decision was not unanimous, but the majority has chosen.”

She paused, shoulders raising as she drew breath. In one of the stone baskets, the fire snapped, releasing a curl of sparks.

“We’ve concluded that your actions were unforgivable. Stormshard has declared you a betrayer and traitor.”

My jaw trembled, but I kept my eyes on the fire. From my bracelet, Lilik and Raav extended dual tendrils of comfort and strength. Their support scarcely seemed to register. I was guilty and now waited only to hear my punishment.

“Because we were not in full agreement on your verdict,” Sirez continued, “We’d like to offer you a chance to speak before we decide how to proceed.”

So now they wanted to hear my side? Now that it was too late and my only choices were exile or execution? I clenched my teeth to stop my jaw from shaking and snapped my gaze to Sirez. Anger roared through me, so sudden I feared it was plain on my face. What could I say? They’d intended to kill a man who I believed to be innocent. I’d done what I thought was right. Even if I could bring myself to lie and say I regretted saving Kostan, I had no illusions they’d believe me.

I pressed my fingernails into my palms and drew breath to speak. My words died when running footsteps slapped the stone floor of the corridor outside the chamber.

Half the conclave stood, eyes wide, as my father ran into the room. Sweat trickled from his hairline, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. For just the briefest moment, his gaze flicked to me before returning to the leaders.

“Evrain?” Sirez asked. “What is it?”

My father shook his head. Only then did I notice the gash on the back of his neck. The blood had dried, mostly, but not before soaking the back of his woolen vest.

“Gather your Shards,” he said. “We have little time.”

“Why? What’s going on?” another leader asked.

Father swallowed before he spoke again. “It’s far worse than we thought. Nightmares—that’s the only way I can think to describe them. They’ll be here within the half-hour.”

Chapter Seven

Parveld

A switch-backing trail approaching Steelhold's Sun Gate

WITH EVERY STEP Parveld took up Steelhold’s ascent trail, he tried to imagine new reasons for Savra’s sudden absence from the aether on the day of the Emperor’s Ascension. It had been like this for weeks, him constantly searching for an explanation while fearing the worst. Finally, he’d decided his best hope was to visit the last place he’d sensed her. Yet with each step he took, the more he worried his hopes would be dashed. Savra was dead, gone, and with her the last chance for the Empire’s—and quite possibly, the world’s—survival.

For weeks, his heart had grieved for the lost future of this place, even if his stubborn mind continued to seek alternatives. More sharply, his heart grieved for the flame-haired young woman who’d had no choice in her destiny. Fate had chosen her for trials she’d had no hope of passing. Knowing this, Parveld had waited centuries to guide her. Lilik and Raav had chosen imprisonment over the peace and communion of the aether.

It had been arrogance to think they could stand against fate’s cruelties.

But you don’t know for sure, Parveld thought to himself yet again. After so many years spent researching and planning, awaiting Savra’s birth and her eventual arrival in Jaliss, he owed himself this effort to discover her fate. And so he climbed the ascent trail, the morning sun baking the dark stone of the spire and drenching him with sweat. In Steelhold, he would find answers. The outcome would determine whether he continued to fight or whether he’d find a quiet place to wait for the end of the world.

In his centuries of life, Parveld had visited many structures built by people or magic or both working together. Palaces, gardens, cities in the trees. Still, Steelhold impressed him with its sheer scale. The seamless granite walls soared, unassailable, over the treacherous approach trail. At the Sun Gate, steel slabs a foot thick levered open over empty space. Only sorcery could explain their motion. Within the walls, more buildings had been sculpted from the mountain, some rising impossibly high with flutings and crenellations to rival the serrated spires of the Icethorns at the fortress’s back.

Yet for all the tremendous architecture and stout defenses, Steelhold exuded a sense of desperation. A need to appear strong in the face of unconquerable forces. If the Maelstrom roiled at the foot of the continent, pulling so hard at the earth that chasms increasingly shattered the landscape, any construct built by man represented nothing but bluster. Innocent bravado made evil by the throne’s brutal attempts to keep the illusion of power.

Or so it seemed to Parveld.

At the Sun Gate’s threshold, he stopped before one of the protectors assigned to guard the entrance. “I wish to speak to the seneschal,” Parveld said.

“Your purpose?”

“I’m a wine merchant from Ioene,” Parveld said. He lifted the bulging wineskin that hung from his shoulder. “Foremost, I wish to offer the new Emperor of Atal a gift of my finest vintage. While I’m here, I thought the seneschal might care to enlighten me regarding the Hold’s preference in wines. That is, if the cellars are in need.”

As Parveld spoke, he raised a brow conspiratorially, playing the part of a trader hoping to capture the taste buds of a newly crowned ruler. The deception fit poorly over his honest heart; at least Lilik wasn’t here to laugh at the attempt.

In any case, the guard evidenced no emotional response. Of course not, Parveld realized. The soldier’s mind did not belong to him, but rather to a vow pressed upon his will by argent magic. Curious, Parveld allowed his perception to extend to the protector’s thoughts. The man’s every notion fixed on his Emperor, weighing Parveld’s request in light of how it might threaten or benefit his liege’s safety and desires. The man considered Parveld’s foreign garb, the dusky hues of his skin. Neither Prov nor Free Tribesman, Parveld presented no immediate threat.

Yet a brazen request to leave a gift for the Emperor himself might cover a hidden plan for subterfuge. The assassin who had attempted to murder Emperor Kostan had not yet been caught.

As the loyal protector turned his gaze to Parveld, the man considered the possibility that Parveld had been involved in the conspiracy.

Ever so gently, Parveld sent calm through the aether to soak into the man’s mind. He couldn’t alter the guard’s thoughts; not only was Parveld incapable of such compulsion, the argent magic binding the guard’s will would be difficult to overcome. But he could soothe.

“Wait here,” the guard said after a moment. He nodded to his partner, a woman with a face cut from stone, and stepped to the small kiosk where a palace messenger waited. At a few words from the guard, the messenger leaped up and dashed toward the center of the Hold.

Parveld clasped his hands behind his back, standing at ease while he waited for a response. The day still tiptoed through the morning hours, and though the rising sun had baked the southeasterly-facing approach trail, the shadows within the Hold’s walls remained chill. The coolness sank through his merchant’s clothing, a fine linen doublet decorated with silk piping and the silhouette of the volcano, Ioene, embroidered on the breast. At his hip, a coin purse tugged heavily on his belt.

After a few minutes, the messenger returned. “Follow me,” he said.

Nodding, Parveld fell in step behind the younger man. As his feet scuffed over the bare stone alleyway, he pressed his awareness into the aether. A tumult of inner voices crowded his mind, the thoughts of nearby workers a mix of confusion over Emperor Kostan’s Ascension, fear for the future, and ordinary thoughts of the day’s chores. Even with his years of experience at probing others’ minds and emotions, Parveld struggled to keep awareness on his surroundings with such a din in his mind. His toe snagged a ridge of stone, and he forced a deep breath into his lungs.

Focus, he told himself.

One by one, he began to sort through the voices, examining recollections along with their current thoughts. Sometime during the night of the Ascension, Savra had disappeared from his perception. She’d been near or within the Hold when her spark had simply vanished. Someone here must have spent time with her that day. But none of the individuals he searched remembered her, at least not actively.

At the center of the Hold, a wide courtyard opened. The messenger raised a hand for Parveld to halt. With his mind trenched deep into the aether, Parveld missed the signal and collided with the man’s back. The messenger whirled, alarm on his face.

“Apologies,” Parveld said, quick-stepping back as he returned his perception to the physical realm. “I was merely admiring the architecture.” He swept an arm to indicate the three soaring towers of the Hall of Mages, each crowned with the Maelstrom-metal which supplied its order’s power.

The messenger, a dark-eyed man in his early twenties, kept his face even. His glance flicked to the side, Parveld’s only warning that someone else approached. Parveld’s brows raised in surprise at the armored woman who had stepped from the shadows. With that much armor and weaponry upon her body, her ability to move silently was impressive.

Parveld sketched a bow. “Parveld of Ioene,” he said in greeting. “And you are, my lady?”

“I am the Prime Protector of the Empire,” the woman said flatly. She gestured at the wineskin. “Hand it to the messenger.”

Parveld slipped the strap from his shoulder. The contents of the skin sloshed as he extended it toward the young man.

“Drink,” the Prime Protector said.

“Now wait,” Parveld said, raising his hands. “Am I to assume you’d accuse my finest vintage of being unsuitable? I assure you, it’s in substantial demand.”

The Prime’s eyes narrowed. “Am I to assume you protest my desire to protect my liege from would-be poisoners?”

Parveld forced a gasp of affront from his throat. He sputtered, cheeks heating with embarrassment over putting on such a ridiculous act. He hoped any color that had risen in his face would look more like anger.

“Of course not, but I assure you, madam. My wines are—”

“Drink,” she said again, staring at the messenger.

The poor young man. Parveld could see the terror in his eyes.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Here,” he said, snatching the wineskin away. “I’ll drink first.” Of course, any determined assassin would inoculate himself to the effects of a poison he wished to administer in such a brazen fashion, but the messenger didn’t know that.

The wine flowed over his tongue, tart with hints of honey. Ever so faintly, the aroma of kivi blossoms colored the bouquet. A wave of nostalgia swept through him, surprising in its strength. No matter how many years he spent away, Ioene would always be his home. Parveld inhaled a deep breath of the stone-scented air to recover his focus.

With a nod, he extended a tendril of confidence, wrapping it around the man’s spirit as he returned the wineskin. As the man lifted the skin to his lips, Parveld turned to the armored woman. “Have you a given name, Prime?” he asked. “In the islands, we forgo titles. We find a sort of openness and trust in calling one another by the names our parents chose for us.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “My duty is my life. I abandoned my name and former identity the moment I accepted the responsibility.”

The messenger swallowed audibly, perhaps to make sure the act was noticed. Rigidly, the Prime Protector turned to him and waited. After a minute or two without the man falling into convulsions, she nodded. “Present yourself to the aurums,” she instructed. “Tell them to look for signs of slow-acting toxins.”

Parveld squawked. “But my lady, haven’t I assured you—”

A hard stare from the Prime Protector cut him short. “You merchants are all the same. False as a mummer’s act yet lacking the necessary skill. You know as well as I that rulers must use tasters to defend against poisoners. I’ll allow the wineskin to remain within the Hold. The head cook can decide whether it’s worth serving to his eminence.”

“Perhaps I might leave an address where I could be contacted for further requests…”

Parveld trailed off, his attention immediately seized by the blazing spark—or as Savra would have said, the blazing aura—which entered his perception. Across the courtyard, a tall man strode, head bowed in deep conversation with a woman who struggled to keep up. Rising from his spirit, anger buffeted Parveld. Frustration. Determination. And buried deep, his thoughts returned over and over to a woman with auburn hair.

Savra. Parveld’s heart leaped.

“Who is that?” Parveld asked.

The Prime Protector’s lips thinned. “No one of consequence.”

As the Prime spoke, the young man drew ahead of his companion. The woman hurried her steps. “Your eminence, please,” she called out, extending some sort of black-iron trinket. “Don’t be a fool.”

Your eminence. Only the Emperor would go by that title. Parveld nearly shoved the Prime Protector aside for a better view before he realized how poorly that would be perceived. As casually as he could manage, he leaned around her armored form to watch.

The man whirled on the young woman, cloak splaying with the motion. A storm flashed on his face, quickly submerged beneath an impassive expression. Parveld threw his perception toward Emperor Kostan, questing for more hints on Savra.

“Please, Kostan,” the woman said again. She wore an azure silk tunic. If Parveld remembered correctly, that marked her as an apprentice metalogist. A ferro mage. “You need the protection until we sort friend from foe.”

With a deep sigh, the Emperor accepted the trinket. The moment his fingers pinched the metal, Parveld’s awareness was hurled away, recoiling through the aether to snap home inside Parveld’s mind. A headache exploded behind his eyes.

“Well?” the Prime Protector said, gesturing impatiently to the messenger. “See to it the wine is delivered to the kitchens.”

The stabbing pain in his skull blurred Parveld’s vision. Across the courtyard, it appeared as if the Emperor was pinning the trinket to his collar, but Parveld couldn’t be certain.

“I’ll escort you back to the Sun Gate now,” the Prime said, clamping his arm in a vice grip.

Parveld stiffened. He couldn’t leave now. Not when he’d found Savra’s trail. As he stumbled forward, urged roughly by the Prime’s steely grasp, he cast about for an excuse to remain. He couldn’t seek employment, not after introducing himself as a foreign wine merchant. He couldn’t ask for lodging with dozens of guesthouses hosting foreigners in the city below. He couldn’t run and hide with the Prime Protector gripping his upper arm.

At the final turn before the Sun Gate, he reached for her spark in hopes he could gentle her opinion of him. But that wouldn’t be enough. And besides, his awareness hit a wall as solid as the sudden steel gates that had expelled him from Emperor Kostan’s thoughts.

Only a few paces remained before the gate. If he returned to the Hold after being escorted out and leaving a contact address for further wine orders, he would simply be turned away. He couldn’t lose this opportunity.

Parveld allowed his knees to buckle, sagging so suddenly the Prime was pulled off balance. She released his arm, and he fell to the ground. Rolling his eyes back, Parveld moaned and then began to convulse. The Prime was looking for a poisoner. If it meant remaining in Steelhold, he’d give her one.

“Protectors!” the Prime yelled. “Get this man to the aurums! Tell them they may not let him die. Not until we find out how he’s connected to the attempt on your Emperor’s life.”

Chapter Eight

Kostan

The Emperor's public audience chamber, Steelhold

“TELL HIM I am not interested in a report,” I said to the page at the end of the public audience hall.

The boy nodded and ducked out the door. This was the fifth time in the last tenday that I’d turned away an audience request from a man who called himself the Master of Information. To everyone else, even we Scions who’d been sheltered and taught ideals rather than realities about the Empire, the man was known as the Snitchlord. The network of Prov informers who reported on the infractions of their peers answered to the man.

I had no desire to encourage the snitches, nor to punish their neighbors based on information the snitches shared. After enough refusals, perhaps the Snitchlord would get the message and stop requesting meetings.

There were, however, people I needed to hear from. Awaiting the page’s announcement of the next petitioner, I shifted within the confines of the plush throne and inhaled the cedarwood incense that burned in niches along the length of the chamber. Even I felt faintly intimidated when gazing down the length of the massive hall. Suspended from the vaulted ceiling, a dozen black-iron chandeliers held blazing crowns of flame. The candles never guttered and never needed replacing though they burned day and night. Another enchantment worked by the secretive ferro mages.

Before me, a dozen protectors stood stiffly in two rows, hands on the butt ends of holstered cudgels. The Prime Protector had wished to assign double the number to the audience hall, but I’d refused, compromising by keeping my scimitar close at hand. It leaned against the throne beside my right knee.

Every day, I dedicated the hours from noon until dinner to hearing grievances, suggestions, and reports. The invitation extended beyond the palace; it had been posted at the entrance to the Corridor of Ascent and on lampposts throughout the city, inviting any Prov, Atal merchant, or Atal elite to speak. But so far, only those who’d held official positions under Emperor Tovmeil dared enter the hall.

The page announced the next guest, a merchant-class Atal who had advised Tovmeil on the flow of commerce between the Merchant Quarter and the Prov districts. This information had helped my predecessor and his Ministry determine the rate at which tin scrip should be stamped and paid out to the population. Each coin lasted for just a few transactions because the thin metal lost its shape quickly—all part of the design to keep the Provs dependent on the throne, of course.

Now, the merchant had little to report. Provs no longer shopped in the Quarter nor patronized the grocers at the edge of the warehouse district. Instead, they traded in hidden markets, bartering services and crafts rather than paying in scrip. The Atal man wanted me to send my protectors into these dens. I told him I’d consider it and sent him away. The man’s eyes told me he saw my lie for what it was.

I shrugged at his retreating back as he left the hall. Given the chaos in the city, I wasn’t concerned about mollifying a single Atal man.

“Liaison Vaness’s guest has arrived, your eminence,” the page called from just inside the entrance doors.

I sat up straighter, eager for this meeting. Vaness, under her new appointment as my liaison with the Prov population, had finally contacted one of the leaders of the rioting in the city—she’d sent a message by hawk just before the midday meal, indicating that she and her contact would appear this afternoon. The man, Jaliss-born and assigned the carpenter Function when he’d come of age, was skeptical but willing to speak with me. Finally, a chance to speak directly to someone with influence among the Provs. If I managed to convince him of my intent to treat Provs and Atal equally, it would be my first major victory since being named Emperor.

“Bring them in, Page Arvanell,” I said, nodding at the boy. He’d done well in managing my audiences, admitting only the visitors I approved and forcing everyone to use the main doors rather than the closer side entrance. The long aisle that separated the main entrance from the throne served to impress my authority upon guests. If I were going to keep using this ornately appointed room, I might as well leverage its strength.

At the far end of the hall, the double doors swung open. I expected to see Vaness first, clad in a pressed-linen uniform embroidered with the crest I’d commissioned for her new office. She wore the official mark of her new appointment with pride. At least, I hoped that was what her straight bearing over the past weeks indicated. I wanted her to be happy. Satisfied, even. Though I no longer felt the attraction to her I’d once known, I both respected and cared for Vaness. Behind her beautiful face and graceful build, she was a woman of integrity and cleverness. She deserved much from life.

But Vaness didn’t step through the doors. Instead, the Prov carpenter strode into the room alone, his hatred for the throne obvious in his surly gait. Well, that was something I might be able to change.

I stood from the throne and descended the steps. The protectors stiffened in response, alarm on their faces. I ignored their concern. The Prov man needed to know that I considered myself no more important than he was.

As the carpenter approached, the heavy carpet swallowing the sounds of his footsteps, I watched the door for Vaness. Maybe she’d decided the man would prefer a private audience. Still, I wanted to express to her my approval at this success. At first, she’d struggled with her own, ingrained prejudices—every Atal child was taught they were superior, and no matter the nobility of the heart, early lessons were difficult to overcome. Plus, she’d needed to earn enough trust among the city’s Provs that they’d offer up the identity of one of their rebellion’s leaders.

The carpenter halted around ten paces from me. Even so, protectors closed gloved hands over the hilts of their weapons. During Emperor Tovmeil’s reign, only his closest advisors had been allowed nearer than one hundred paces. I would not treat my subjects that way.

“Welcome, sire,” I said to the carpenter. “Did my liaison decide to wait outside?”

If he appreciated my use of a respectful honorific, he didn’t show it. Standing with feet wide, he crossed his arms over his chest and held my gaze. This close, I could smell his sweat and the faint scent of sawdust. His lip curled. “The dark-haired wench had another errand. She sent me alone.”

I blinked, tightening my jaw to keep my Emperor’s mask in place. “I will not have you disparage her. She’s working hard to improve conditions for all Provincial citizens, as am I.”

His mouth curled in a sort of sneer. “They told me your backbone was flimsy. But I didn’t hear you were such a milksop as to take offense at simple words.”

I clenched my jaw. “Our notions of respectful language clearly differ. Shall we move on? I’d like a chance to explain my plan for changing the Empire. My ultimate goal is that Prov and Atal will meet on equal ground. There will be no differences in your privileges or opportunities.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Yet another Atal who thinks he holds all the answers.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “In the message from Vaness, she said you’ve collected a list of demands. Perhaps we could start there.”

The man snorted mucus into the back of his throat, hawked and spat on the carpet. To either side, protectors slid blades and cudgels from holsters.

My face remained even as I stared at the man. Maybe the carpenter would respond more to strength than offers of reconciliation. “I’d hoped for a productive discussion, but if you have no intention of working with me, I will search for those who will.”

“A boy sits on the throne, and after just weeks thinks he can right a century of wrongs,” the man said.

My nostrils flared as I drew breath. “I understand the magnitude of the task, which is why I am asking for help from you and others. However, it seems you have little interest in discussing terms. So far, I’ve exercised restraint, but the violence in the city must stop. Though I’d rather not, I’m prepared to quell your rioting by force.”

As I spoke, I imagined Vaness’s disappointment. She’d worked hard for this meeting.

“We will not bow to yet another ruler we did not choose,” the man said.

“Cease the riots,” I said firmly.

“Or what? You’ll send protectors to beat and jail people who have already lost their homes?”

“Only if they continue to spread violence. If you wish to prove that Provs have the right to their own destinies, you must show that you’re worthy.”

The man moved faster than I could have expected. Only the flash of the blade warned me of his attack.

My reflexes were slow after weeks without weapons training. As I backstepped, the tasseled fringe of my storms-cursed cloak caught beneath my heel.

The cloak’s clasp dug into my neck as the carpenter’s blade sliced the ornate piping on the front of my tunic.

At the entrance of the hall, the page yelled for help. The closest protector leaped at the Prov man. As her fist connected with his jaw, darkness fell over the hall. Shadows swelled, reaching from niches and stretching across the floor.

“Back, your eminence!” another of the protectors yelled.

As I windmilled my arms, fighting for balance after tripping on my cloak, a guard shoved me aside. The protector who had punched the carpenter dove away from where he crouched.

With a thunderclap, the air left the hall.

The carpenter froze, eyes wide. Brilliant bolts of light seared the air, lancing from the black-iron chandeliers and striking the man’s body. The spears punched holes through his flesh, and for an instant, light passed through his body until blood filled the gaps.

Sound returned, and the dead Prov collapsed into a boneless heap.

***

“What will you do with the body?” Lyrille asked. The former servant reclined on one of the lavish sedan chairs placed around the edges of my personal sitting room. In the weeks since my Ascension, I’d turned to her more and more for advice. Blinded by my former guardians before being placed in service to the Scions, she’d nonetheless survived the Ministry’s plot where her fellow servants had been killed. I envied her relaxed posture as I patrolled the edge of my room, agitated yet timid. Despite the weeks since my Ascension, I still moved about the Emperor’s chambers like a guest, afraid to touch things.

“I don’t know. The ferro magic that killed him… it left his remains mangled and burned. I’m afraid I’ll spark new riots if I allow the Provs to see the body.”

“But you can’t hide what happened.”

“No. I’m certain others knew he intended to come here. When he doesn’t return, they’ll accuse me of jailing or murdering him. But if I tell the truth and name him as a would-be assassin, they’ll call me a liar.” I sighed. “I hope Vaness returns from her errand soon. I’m concerned about why she missed the carpenter’s audience, and I’d like her opinion on what to do with him.”

I turned and stalked the other direction, running fingertips over wood paneling on the wall. “I’m failing, Lyrille. It’s been weeks, and nothing has improved.”

As I paced, she tracked my motion with her head, ear cocked to follow my voice. “You inherited what many would consider an impossible task. Anyone would feel overwhelmed.”

“The Provs won’t pause their rioting long enough to give me a chance. Every time I make an overture to the commoners, the Atal elite threaten to abandon me entirely. And just recently, I heard whispers that the Stormshard rebels are organizing.”

“I seriously doubt the last is true,” she said, a gentle smile curling her lips. “Stormshard has made noise about overthrowing the Empire for decades, and at most, they’ve been nothing but a nuisance. I learned that much in my short time serving Minister Brevt.”

“Yeah, well…” I stopped in front of a small side table adorned with a cut-glass bowl filled with polished stones. Resting my fist on the tabletop, I sighed. I’d won no loyalty from Evrain and Falla by abandoning them, but I’d hoped that I’d have a chance to redeem myself once I Ascended. Instead, the chaos had continued. “Given the way my plans have gone so far, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Lyrille rolled and turned her face to the ceiling. She still wore the silk mask given to her after she’d been blinded, but she’d abandoned the servants’ robes forced on her as an official caregiver to the imperial Scions. Instead, she garbed herself in simple, undyed linen.

“Where did you live before you were assigned the servant Function?” I asked.

For perhaps the first time, I glimpsed a hint of a frown on her lips. “I’m a Guralaner by birth. My father’s Function was logging, but my mother was a seamstress. She couldn’t meet her quota in the forest camps, so she lived in Bellows.”

Another family kept apart by the Empire. I pressed my fist harder into the tabletop. “And you?”

“I traveled between. I suppose I preferred the camps, if only for the chance to smell pine sap and moss rather than smoke and dust.”

“I’d gladly give you enough steel coin to make the journey home, plus enough to provide for your family until I can strike down the Decree. But the roads aren’t safe. I’d rather wait until I can restore order.”

Lyrille draped an arm over her forehead. “Even if I returned with money to support them, I’d just be a burden to my parents now. Bellows is not the sort of city a person should navigate while sightless. I’d probably be trampled by a logging wagon within days. And the camps are worse. At least here, I have a chance to be useful. I’ve been practicing in the kitchens, learning the locations of various pantries and the bins inside them.”

Feet shuffling in the deep carpet, I crossed the floor and grasped her fingertips. I lowered myself to a cross-legged seat beside her. “You don’t need to do that, Lyrille. If you wish, you have a home in Steelhold for the rest of your life, no payment or service required. You’ve already sacrificed so much.”

Sighing, she pulled her hand away. “But that’s not enough for me, your eminence. I’d never be happy in a life of idleness. Though I can’t offer as much as I might have when I could see, it’s important for me to do what I can to earn my keep.”

I sat back and folded my knees up, wrapping my forearms around them. “Perhaps we can strike a deal. If you finally agree to call me Kostan, I won’t argue against your desire to scour pots or grind flour. Provided, of course, that you reserve time to advise me. I have few friends in the Hold and even fewer who will speak to me with absolute honesty.”

Lyrille pushed herself upright and extended a hand. “Agreed,” she said as I accepted the handshake. “And if it’s absolute honesty you seek, I have something to offer already.”

“Please.”

“It’s past time for you to choose a side, I fear.”

“A side?”

“Atal or Prov. Right now, you’re trying to please both.”

“You’re right. I am. Because I can’t accept anything less.”

She shrugged. “I know. But your stubbornness may cost you the Empire.”

As I stood, forming an argument in my mind, a rapping came at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door swung open, revealing a harried messenger who bent over his knees, chest heaving. “Urgent message, your eminence,” he said between breaths. His gaze flicked to Lyrille as he handed over a strip of parchment from the hawk keeper. “The Prime Protector says you may wish to read this in private.”

“Thank you,” I said, closing the door while staring at the curl of paper. What disaster must I now confront? My shoulders felt heavy as I unrolled the message.

Lyrille cocked an ear with undisguised interest. Her manners would keep her from asking directly, but she obviously wanted to know what it said.

“It’s from the protectors’ post in Jaliss,” I said as I read the opening salutation. My knees buckled as my eyes scanned the scrawled writing beneath. “The carpenter told me Vaness had gone off on another errand. I should have questioned his statement the minute he tried to slice my throat. Even earlier if I’d been thinking…”

“What’s happened, Kostan?” Lyrille asked, standing and sweeping her hands before her as she walked toward me to offer support.

“The Provs have taken her. They have Vaness shackled to a post in the middle of the Splits. The ranking protector in the city believes they mean to kill her tonight.”

I crumpled the paper in my hand. This had gone on long enough. It was time to take control of my Empire one way or another.

Chapter Nine

Savra

Tucked in a corner in an ancient fortress

THE KEEP HAD no doors. With practiced efficiency, Sharders gathered stone blocks from the fortress grounds and stacked them to form barricades at the ground-level entrances. Other men and women delved into the catacombs, seeking fallback positions and alternate exits from the labyrinth. The air smelled of leather and sweat and the sharp scent of oiled blades. Though ragged and weary, Stormsharders were seasoned fighters, and it showed on their faces.

Father stood with Sirez and Falla on the second-floor balcony, speaking in low and hurried tones. Hanging back from the group, Joran clenched and unclenched his fists, a dark expression on his face. Maybe he blamed my father for this, too.

After the short conference, my father spun on his heels and trotted toward the archway. I stepped forward from where I’d been pressed against the wall to stay out of the Sharders’ way.

As if noticing me for the first time, he stiffened. “What are you doing up here?”

“I want to help. I need to help—the conclave said I’m guilty, Papa. All that remained before you returned was deciding my punishment.”

His cheeks puffed as he blew air through pursed lips. “I feared that was their reason for excluding me. Listen, Savra. The things that are coming—” He gestured vaguely toward the foot of the valley where the stream cut a narrow gorge between slopes. “—I don’t know if we can fight them successfully. If we survive, I hope the conclave can be convinced to reconsider your judgment. If we’re overrun… well, I suppose it won’t matter then.”

“If we survive? Is it really that bad?”

Father’s eyes were haunted as he glanced over his shoulder toward the balcony. “I wish we’d paid attention to the rumors about unnatural creatures in the mountains. There are other places we could have gathered. But then again, other people whispered of strange beasts stalking the grasslands and the marshes of Anisel. And the smell—it reminds me of something… In any case, how were we to know what was true?”

“What are they?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But these things may mean our deaths. They certainly had no problem slaying a contingent of protectors. You should get below, Savra. Hide in the catacombs, and if no one comes for you by nightfall, stay a day or two more. There’s a chance you can escape. Head for Cosmal Province. Find your mother and sister.”

I shook my head. Even if I could abandon my father to cower in a cell, I had no experience surviving in the mountains alone. I grabbed his arm. “I’m a spiritist, Father. Stormshard can use my help.”

His nostrils flared in frustration as he looked past me.

“Besides, Papa, if they’re as terrible as you say, I doubt hiding in the catacombs will keep me safe. Don’t you think that the massacred villagers tried something similar?”

Jaw clenched, he returned his gaze to mine then focused on my black-iron collar. “All right, fair enough,” he said as he turned back to the balcony. “Sirez,” he called.

She turned, brows raised in question.

My father gestured at my collar. “Use her.”

Sirez shook her head. “Evrain, we’ve already—”

“I know you aren’t a fool, Sirez. She submitted to the collar willingly—she won’t harm us once it’s removed. And when you see what’s coming, you’ll want every advantage you can get. Don’t let Joran and his lackeys get us killed.”

The Jalisswoman turned narrowed eyes on me. I fought the urge to retreat from her glare and instead raised my chin.

“Falla,” she said. “I need your expertise.”

Falla moved away from the balcony’s rail, but before she could speak, Joran stepped forward, teeth bared. “It’s convenient, don’t you think? Evrain rushes back claiming we’re under threat, and shortly after asks to have his daughter freed?”

Sirez whirled on the man. “I can tolerate much, but I won’t have you questioning Evrain’s honor. We voted. Your side won. Allowing her to help us through this won’t change that.”

“Evrain’s as good as they come,” another Sharder said, a wiry man with hair pulled back in a tail. He and a few others had been preparing the balcony for archers. “If he said we need her abilities, I believe him.”

As the remaining handful of Sharders nodded their agreement, Joran stepped back, his face going even darker. “I suppose we’ll see who had the right of it soon enough,” he muttered. “Someone better keep that collar close to the little wench for the moment she turns on us.”

Sirez rolled her eyes as she freed a silk cord from beneath her tunic. Dangling from the necklace, the black-iron key to my collar twisted in the air.

“Well?” she said to me, brow raised. “Or would you rather I come to you?”

Swallowing, I hurried onto the terrace and tilted my jaw to expose the collar’s lock. As Sirez fit the key into the catch, I scanned the approach trail for signs of these approaching nightmares. Nothing yet. Aside from the Sharders scurrying through the fortress grounds, the surrounding area was deserted.

With my magic clamped down, I’d forgotten to keep my aura-sight submerged. When the black iron left my neck, colors exploded in my vision, the auras of the Sharders alight with fear and anticipation. My head swam. I staggered forward and cracked my knee against the low railing at the balcony’s edge.

The horizon tilted. Mountain scents of lichen and sun-warmed grass filled my nose as I began to fall.

Fabric cinched around my neck as a hand seized the back of my tunic.

“Storms,” Sirez muttered as she dragged me upright. “See what you can do with her, Falla. Can’t have her falling to her death before Joran has a chance to get his precious justice.”

***

The fear I’d felt in times past had been sharp-edged, all rapid breath and panic blacking the edges of my vision. Weeks ago, near Dukket Waystation on the Cosmal Peninsula, a protector had nearly killed me with his fist. I remembered the taste of blood in my mouth. The thrashing of my heart as I struggled under his grip and tensed against the coming blow. Later, near Jaliss, Havialo’s acquaintance had ordered her guardsman to put a crossbow bolt through my spine. The snick of the trigger had filled me with white shock, a frozen moment spent waiting for my life’s end.

When the horrors arrived in the vale, the fear that spilled through my veins was different, a cold, all-consuming dread. Every drop of my blood chilled at the sight of the beasts.

They entered through the sharp cut where the stream left the valley. Grotesque things, not dark in themselves, but spreading dusk in a circle around their small band. There were no more than a dozen. Two of the creatures resembled humans, walking on two feet. Others loped and stumbled on three or four. Overhead, a bird flew in jags and spurts, one wing twice the size of the two on the opposite side of its body.

At a distance, it was their motion that struck terror in my heart. Unnatural and jerky, and sometimes nearly impossible when one jumped from one point to another in a blur. The shadow that fell over the landscape was like a cloud dimming the sun, sucking the life from the earth.

Closer, I smelled them. My stomach clenched when I recognized the sickly odor. Suddenly desperate, I scanned the balcony for my father, because he, too, must know the scent. Maelstrom-spawn. Back in Numintown, a carcass would occasionally wash ashore, deposited by the unpredictable tides. Always, they were twisted and wrong. Sick things with flippers attached in the wrong places. Missing eyes and rubbery flesh, tentacles on creatures otherwise built like fish. Only the smell had been the same, a scent like rotten fruit mixed with metal.

Touching a Maelstrom-spawn brought sickness. Sometimes death.

When the dead things had washed ashore, it had been the job of the strongest in town to bring a long pole down to the beach. We sent the rotten things back to the currents that spawned them, trusting the riptides to carry them away.

Even so, no one in Numintown smiled on the days one of the beasts washed up. And those had been dead already.

The horrors marching on our ruined fortress were very much alive. When they drew close, they began to wail and screech.

A hundred paces from the outer wall, the bird-thing flew high, jerking and darting over the archers. Arrows flew, piercing its flesh and setting it spinning against the blue of the sky. After just a breath, the creature recovered its balance, and with arrows sprouting from all three wings and piercing both neck and chest, it screeched and dove.

With a deep breath, I slipped my aura-sight over the world. At the sight of the monster plummeting toward an archer, my stomach seized. The aura within and surrounding the beast was too wrong to inhabit the world. Twisted and foul, it was as grotesque as the creature in which it dwelt. Rotted and roiling, the thing’s spirit writhed in an internal battle. Part of the diving creature’s aura held a shadow of a large raptor, yet other spirits were twined inside it. Bits and pieces of some furred predator and tattered remnants of a soul that might have once been human.

Pierced by arrows, the beast ought to have died already, yet the aura pulsed strong. The creature slammed into the archer, and with horror, I realized that one of the grasping legs wasn’t a bird’s taloned foot, but rather a human arm, twice the size of a man’s. The hand palmed the archer’s face, muffling the Sharder’s scream, as the other leg, one with talons the length of my hand, tore into the man’s throat.

Blood sprayed, visible even from the balcony where I waited for battle with Falla.

I gagged and fell to my knees. Hefting the man’s body, the bird flapped its misshapen wings and carried the limp figure aloft. With a wolf’s howl, it threw the body in a high arc over the grounds.

The man died midair. I knew it when I saw his aura separate from his body like congealed skim pulled from a bowl of cold soup. The man’s spirit hung in the air, red-veined terror fading as calm infused the soul. For a moment, he hovered in the physical realm before dissolving before my eyes and passing through the veil.

As the bird-thing climbed high for another attack, I spat bile on the stone of the balcony and staggered back to the solid stone of the keep.

A few terrified Sharders broke from their defensive positions when the main attack force neared the gate in the outer wall. One sprinted for the keep only to fall to the bird’s attack. The beast struck him in the back, burying talons on either side of the man’s spine. He screamed and then died.

“Stand and defend!” The call came from the outer wall. Sirez stood with a spear in one hand, short sword in the other. “Turn coward now, and no one survives!”

With a yell, she heaved her spear at the bird, the shaft falling well short, but grabbing the thing’s attention. The oversized hand released the hunk of hair by which it held its latest victim. Talons pulled free from the man’s back, wet with blood. Flapping awkwardly, it wheeled on Sirez.

Yelling, another woman leaped from the shelter of a ruined wall and slashed at the creature. Her sword bit into one of the two small wings, cutting to the bone. Black blood spilled. The monster screeched and barked and tried to fly. But the wing hung limp, and the powerful downdraft from the large wing sent it cartwheeling. Other Sharders jumped on the flailing creature, severing limbs and spearing the fur-covered head.

The curved beak snapped. The hand grasped then made a fist and punched. A dozen Sharders hacked at the creature, standing in a puddle of black where it bled onto the courtyard stones. Finally, the monster could fight no more. The body lay in pieces.

Yet the aura remained. Roiling and hate-filled, it clung to the shredded body. I shuddered.

“Forward!” My father’s shout echoed from beneath the balcony as the attacking beasts stepped through the gate. Horrorstruck, I coughed as the monsters’ auras filled my vision.

My heart seized as Father strode forward to meet the small horde. His shoulders were square. Thick hide patches armored his chest, thighs, and arms, while beneath, pliable leather creased over his joints. He rotated the hilt of his sword in his weapon hand. A small steel shield defended his other arm.

As he advanced, my blood moved cold through my veins. What sort of armor could defend a person from the shrieking abominations that bore down on our encampment? That bird had taken more than ten fighters to subdue, and still it wasn’t dead. We should have run. Why stand to fight those who couldn’t be beaten?

Loping on misshapen legs that bent the wrong way, a pair of dog-like monsters roared and charged. Father knocked one aside with his shield and slashed a deep gash in the other’s neck. The blow would have killed an ordinary beast, but the dog-thing wheeled and leaped. My father blocked just in time, earning a slice on the forearm of his heavy leather armor.

Beside me, Falla sucked in a breath. She snatched a throwing dagger from her thigh holster, aimed, then shook her head. Too far. With the broken arm, she could add little to the fight.

“If you have anything to add, now would be a good time,” she said.

Swallowing, I nodded. We’d agreed she’d tell me when to act because I had little experience with battle. But as for how to act, I needed to decide that for myself. In the hasty moments before the battle, we’d determined that Falla’s magic differed too much from mine for her to advise me in this. Stepping forward, I focused my aura-sense on the dogs near my father. The other horrors were just entering the gate, peppered from above by arrows while those Sharders who hadn’t fled fought with blades and clubs. Another man and woman had fallen, their bodies lifeless beneath the glare of the mountain sun, their spirits already passed through the veil.

But my father still lived. His aura held terror that his body hid. A pillar in the chaos, he anchored the Sharders near him, slashing grimly at the yipping, squealing beasts that leaped at him.

I focused on a single monster’s tainted spirit and, as I had to gain control of the Steelhold guards, sent a spear of my aura into its core.

The beast’s torment flooded my heart.

Pinned by my aura-lance, it turned and stared at me. Many spirits writhed and fought for control within the prison built by its corruption. Deeper, agony radiated from the single dog that had once dwelt alone. With each breath, it struggled against a sucking void the likes I had never sensed.

I gasped, paralyzed by the experience.

With a roar, my father leaped at the creature in its moment of distraction. His sword sliced clean through the animal’s neck.

Agony bolted across the link between the beast and my mind. Pain exploded in the depths of my bones. I staggered, nearly toppling before Falla caught me.

“Talk to me,” she yelled, supporting me as I sagged.

A low moan leaked from between my lips. How could I explain to her when I didn’t know what had just happened?

At the front edge of the balcony, the archers took aim at the approaching beasts. From the grounds below, shouts of pain and horror joined fierce battle cries. Weapons struck flesh with wet thuds.

“Fire!” one of the archers on our balcony yelled. Bowstrings twanged and arrows hissed.

“Storms,” another of the bowmen cursed.

Below, someone shrieked, a cry so agonized it had to be another death wail.

Sucking deep of the mountain air now overripe with the sickly-sweet odor of the beasts, I clenched my fists. “Help me forward,” I said through clenched teeth.

I steeled my resolve for an argument, but Falla offered none. Supporting me under the elbow, she steadied me as I stumbled forward.

In the center of the grounds, my father stood with sword bared and black blood splattering his hide armor. Both dogs lay in pieces at his feet. Not dead—my aura-sight confirmed as much. But unable to fight.

Though no more than ten monsters remained, the abominations pressed hard against the scores of Sharders defending the courtyard. The animal-like beasts were vicious, all snarls and teeth and frenzy. But the two that resembled humans seemed invincible. Though their limbs were wrong, sprouting in improper places and bending unnaturally, they moved with uncanny, terrifying speed and strength. A single, backhand blow sent a Sharder woman flying ten feet to lie in a limp heap.

Yet still the Sharders held. The men and women had formed a ragged wedge, two and three fighters deep with my father at the point.

“Why don’t they withdraw?” I asked, my chest aching at the sight of so many rebels already fallen. My father would surely be next. Before the attack, the Sharders had worked so hard to fortify the keep. Why fight on open ground?

“Stormshard doesn’t abandon our own,” Falla said. She pointed at the archers and spearmen who had defended the outer wall. Around two dozen remained, and they were in full retreat, trying to reach the main Sharder force. “Evrain’s holding the center. It’s the only chance to bring the others to safety.”

As she spoke, my father roared. A monster with the hooves and head of a horse yet swaddled in gray, furless flesh, lashed at him. Father slashed, slicing deep into the beast’s foreleg. The monster stumbled but struck again.

My father’s dodge came too late. The hoof struck a glancing blow on his forehead, opening a gash. My father’s head snapped back as he fell into the Sharder behind him.

A squeal pierced the din of battle as one of the human-things raised a thick arm and batted the horse away. A grin split the nightmare’s face. Black saliva dripped from jagged teeth. The thing stalked forward, towering over my father as he swayed, dizzy from the blow.

The monster grabbed the hair atop my father’s scalp and lifted him from the earth. Around them, Sharders yelled and pounded on the atrocity, chipping hunks from the flesh but unable to fell the beast.

Mouth wide, the abomination leaned in to bite my father’s throat.

“No!” I yelled, throwing myself into my aura-sight. I shoved the physical realm aside, banishing the fortress grounds and the thin mountain air, perceiving nothing but the dancing spirits of the Sharders as they faced down the corrupted souls.

My father’s attacker was a roiling stain, black rot infested with swirls of auras desperate for escape. Dozens of souls were blended together and forced to madness by the irresistible corruption. Clutched in its grip, my father’s aura was stark terror, blood-red shot through with dark acceptance of his life’s end.

I formed a lance of my aura, speared it into the monster’s roiling spirit.

Torment arrowed through my aura weapon and shot straight for my heart. In the beast’s soul, I saw another realm. Featureless and infinite and swollen with a hunger that could never be satisfied.

Somewhere in the distance, my body screamed. I focused on the sound, grabbing for it like a drowning sailor for a rope. The thread connecting me to myself stretched taut, a hair-thin hope for safety. Clutching tight, I felt as if the wire sawed at my grip, seeking to sever me from the world I’d known. I steeled myself and gripped harder, fighting the sucking hunger as I crawled back to awareness.

Around me, auras faded into existence. My father’s spirit slumped in a heap, his body abandoned on the stony ground while the monster flailed against my impaling lance. Gathering all my will, I exploded my control into the beast and pressed my command into its tangled soul.

Stop.

Shouts of confusion penetrated my focus, the Sharders shocked by the sudden break in the abomination’s attack. And moments later, rallying cries filled the grounds. Swords thumped against the beast’s flesh, lines of pain that traveled the connection between us and laid slices of agony across my flesh. Still, I held firm.

As the Sharders severed limbs and hacked the monster to bits, the injuries echoed through my body. I ached for the tormented thing but held firm. In the last moment before it toppled, cut to pieces, a single voice found the link between us and spoke across our connection.

Release me, it cried.

Instantly, I knew it spoke not of my spear of command, but rather the corruption that twisted it into a monstrous manifestation of evil. But I could do nothing. My strength was spent.

Like a glass thread struck by a hammer, my aura spear shattered. My will whipped back into my mind, slapping the inside of my skull.

The hard stones of the balcony floor cracked against my elbow and head as I fell into blackness.

Chapter Ten

Havialo

Approaching the geognosts' monastery, Icethorn Mountains

HAVIALO’S BONES ACHED. His feet shuffled along the trail, but sometimes he looked down and wondered to whom they belonged. His broken arm was a limp thing owned by someone else. He lived outside of himself with nothing but his pain to tether his awareness to the body trudging on.

Distantly, he knew what was happening. When he’d released the fault and stilled the avalanche, it had drained his well of gnosty. Ordinarily, earth mages guarded their inner fonts against depletion because they wished to be prepared for the unexpected. A flash flood. A lightning strike. A rock slide loosed upon a little-used trail. Geognosts had nothing to fear from nature’s disasters as long as they had inner power ready to channel.

But Havialo had drained his well at the worst moment. He’d lost his rucksack during his fall, and with it, his food and spare clothing. The snow that had packed the seams of his clothing, spilled down his collar, and crusted his hair had melted and soaked his traveling garments. Breezes that might have been refreshing now cut through his sodden clothing and chilled his core.

Warmth required energy, but so did the process that refilled his inner well. He’d been weary even before the avalanche, having begun the day’s trek before dawn and having skipped meals in his eagerness to reach the monastery’s valley. Now his food was gone.

Havialo’s magic had been born into him. He’d first realized his power when he was very young. He’d been exploring a steep stream bed near Jaliss, throwing sticks for a stray dog that often followed him during the day, when a mountain goat had kicked a heavy stone from the slope above. In the heartbeat before the rock had slammed the dog’s skull, a fire had lit deep in Havialo’s chest. At the same time, he’d felt the energy of the falling stone, and with it, the potential in all the rocks and soil clinging to the slope above him. It had been as easy as swatting a fly. He’d gathered the fire from his core, used it to snare the stone’s energy, and hurled the rock to the side. The dog had bounded on, oblivious.

Geognosty was an inextricable part of him. He couldn’t stop his inner font from filling. And with no bodily reserves and no food to replenish them, his magic was sucking the life from his own body to regenerate his power.

His only hope was reaching the monastery before his strength gave out. Stumbling on, he tried to focus on the trail, placing his feet upon the smoothest sections to conserve energy wherever possible.

He shivered as the sun skimmed the high minarets on the rocky summits to the west. The ache in his bones deepened.

At least he couldn’t feel the corruption anymore. Just the thought made his mind shudder and shy away. The foulness he’d sensed as his power had faded had been abhorrent. He hoped that it had been a quick surge like the tendrils of storm that whipped out from the Maelstrom to menace the coasts. But his gut told him that wasn’t the case. He’d done something wrong, and his best hope was that the repercussions wouldn’t touch him.

A rasping sound brought Havialo’s head up. Beside the trail ahead, a man sat crouched on a boulder, his posture unconsciously mimicking the humps and lines of the large stone beneath him. As he shifted position, assuming a different aspect of the same stone, his satchel rubbed against granite and repeated the rasping noise.

Distantly, Havialo recognized him as a geognost sentry assigned to watch the approach to the monastery.

Despite his exhaustion, a pang of jealousy twisted Havialo’s chest at the ease with which the other earth mage found harmony in his surroundings. During his early years at the monastery, Havialo had overheard plenty of remarks about his deficiency in that regard, but no one had dared taunt him openly, not with his extraordinary raw power. If he hadn’t been so fatigued now, he might have wondered why he let the old wound bother him. But the best he could manage was letting the emotion wash away on a tide of relief.

The other man would help him to the monastery. He wouldn’t die within an hour or two of safety.

As the other mage hopped from the stone, a mid-sized flake cleaved from one side of the boulder. The mage harnessed the released energy and mounded up a cushion of soil to soften his landing. His feet sank to the ankles on the trail.

As Havialo crumpled, his exhaustion abruptly too much to bear, he curled his lip in disgust at the squandered power. Another useless geognost, content to perch on boulders and align himself with the energy of the natural world. It was no wonder the Empire had supported the geognosts’ exile in this hidden valley.

But Havialo would convince them of the folly of pacifism. The earth mages would soon own Atal.

***

The morning sun spilled onto the balcony where Havialo had been given a bed—if it could be called that. The sleeping ledge had been molded and smoothed from raw stone and wasn’t padded in the least. He groaned as he sat, pressing a fist to his forehead. His arm had been splinted, but it still ached, no doubt worsened by the terrible accommodations.

He sighed. Only earth mages would hew bedchambers from bare granite and leave them open to the frigid mountain air. Open to the air, but not victim to it, at least. Havialo recalled quite well his apprenticeship spent diverting energy from the breezes and the storm clouds so that the monastery structures lay steeped in tranquil stillness. As for warmth, that had been the work of other apprentices. Deep beneath the earth, hot water welled from inky reservoirs. While Havialo had taken shifts turning the wind away from the bedchambers of the elder mages, other apprentices had called warmth from the hot blood of the earth and pushed it into the rooms.

He snorted. More wasted power. He’d accepted it in his youth, thinking the masters must have good reasons for the tasks. Now it just seemed ridiculous.

But at least he was warm, thanks no doubt to a cadre of gullible apprentices somewhere on the grounds.

Wincing at the sharp pain when he shifted his arm, he stood and twisted his spine until it cracked. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. He didn’t remember arriving at the monastery. The memories he did have were scattered. A half-moon rising while the other earth mage carried him. Voices raised in confusion, the rays of the moon bending unnaturally to flood an indoor chamber while someone inspected Havialo’s face. And then the hard stone ledge beneath his body. Oblivion until the sun had pressed against his eyelids.

Havialo shuffled to the balcony exit, a rounded archway draped at the edges by fresh-smelling moss. There was little point in delaying; he’d already rehearsed his speech to the master-level mages. They would be easy to convince, he imagined. Deep in their souls, everyone desired power. Most just avoided it, disguising their fear as altruism. Havialo only needed to show the masters how easy it would be to seize the throne.

Of course, Havialo could take power alone. But this would be easier. And besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have a few kindred spirits with whom he could enjoy his dominion? He snorted at the thought, amused with his change of heart. He had gotten soft over the years, it was true. His brethren were here. Among them, he would find the community he’d hoped for in Stormshard. Once they’d claimed Steelhold, he might even retire here and leave the administration of the realm to others.

Of course, his appeal to the masters’ latent desire for power might fail. After so many years denying their need for it, the masters might have fooled themselves into contentedness with their isolation and impotence. Havialo had plans for that, too. He could tell countless stories about the evil of the Empire, some concocted, but many far too real. The masters and their followers would come around eventually. Havialo did not doubt that. The closest thing he had to kin, he knew them like he knew himself.

A trickle of water flowed around the edges of the doorway, feeding the moss and collecting in dishes at the base of the wall where it was channeled away to rejoin the mountain streams. Idly he wondered which building this was. He’d been living at the monastery when one of the structures had been sculpted from the landscape. Working together in the heart of a storm, seven high-ranking geognosts had raised the bones of the building, sketching inner chambers and balconies with pillars and beams of molded granite. Later, the remaining geognosts filled in the walls with quarried blocks, cut sod by hand and laid it over the roofline. None were allowed magic to aid the final construction for fear the inexperienced mages would throw the completed structure out of harmony. Like all the buildings on the grounds, from a distance, a traveler wouldn’t even know it was there. The lines of the walls and roof blended almost seamlessly with the tundra and tumbled boulders.

He laid a hand on one of the square-cut stone blocks. They hadn’t respected his power then. Hadn’t trusted him with a task as simple as forming stone within a frame. But things had changed for him now. Once he completed his plans, Havialo’s abilities would outstrip even the most aged master of geognosty.

When he stepped into the building’s central chamber, a roughly-circular room with water pooling in the middle and furniture sculpted from living tree roots around the edges, a young apprentice leaped to her feet.

“I’m to take you to the masters,” she said.

Havialo’s brows raised in surprise. He’d expected to argue his way past half a dozen lower-ranking mages before gaining the masters’ audience. The masters were known for such antics, pretending at importance when no more than three dozen geognosts lived at the monastery.

“I am pleased to follow you,” he returned. This was going quite well.

***

The three faces who greeted him might have been carved from stone. A woman and two men sat easily upon chairs that rose from the floor like stalagmites. But if their posture showed comfort, their eyes were anything but welcoming. Havialo swallowed, feeling like the adolescent boy who had so desperately yearned for the approval of his masters. He cursed himself. His response had to be rooted in his fatigue after yesterday’s ordeal. He wasn’t weak. Already, his abilities likely eclipsed theirs. And he’d soon be twice the mage these masters were.

He strode a few more paces into the chamber as the door—a real door of hewn-wood planks—shut behind him with a thump. Along the walls, candles hissed and spit when drops of water fell from the recesses of the ceiling. High overhead, the roofline of the chamber was a reverse imprint of an Icethorn peak, all spires and crenellations.

The masters said nothing in greeting.

“I appreciate your desire to welcome me,” Havialo said, standing with feet planted shoulder-width and hands clasped behind his back. A confident pose. “And there is much I wish to discuss with you. Grave matters which may be turned to tremendous opportunities.”

“Speak again without invitation, and you will be carried high within a wind spout, dropped over the northern ice sheet, and have your name expunged from our ranks.” The woman, a mage at least ten years his senior, stood from her chair. Though she moved with the stiffness of age, anger thrummed through her body.

“I’m sorry?” Havialo said in shock before clamping his lips shut. His well of gnosty had only regenerated enough to power the most basic energy manipulation. Even if he might defeat this woman in a contest of magic when strong, he stood no chance now.

She stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I’ll let that pass as a simple mistake. Further comments will seal your fate. Now, why did you break the fault?”

Havialo’s surprise over her reaction was quickly replaced with affront. His cheeks were hot, his eyes burning with anger. That was why they’d summoned him so quickly? In the back of his mind, the recollection of the gushing foulness echoed, but he pushed it away.

“Answer the question,” one of the men said as he stood. He was taller than Havialo by more than a head, a fact that Havialo tried to ignore.

“I was caught in an avalanche. The energy was too chaotic. I released the fault as a last attempt to gather the force needed to save my own life.” Havialo gritted his teeth, hating that he had to explain himself like an apprentice caught diverting water just to watch it pool in the wrong place.

“You should have sacrificed yourself,” the man said. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re entirely ignorant as to the reasons. I remember you. You began your apprenticeship a couple of years after me. Ample talent, but little sensitivity for the natural shape of power.”

Havialo caught a retort before it burst from his mouth. Jaw clenched over the many insults and defenses he wished to throw at the man, he simply stood. Somewhere, a tiny rational part of his mind still hoped to convince these people to join with him against the Empire. His pride was nothing compared to achieving vengeance for his daughter.

“Done is done,” the final master said, remaining in his chair. “If we brought him here simply to castigate him, what does that say about us? We’ve received our answer. Let’s move forward with the consequences.”

Looking closely, Havialo recognized him. It had been more than four decades, but the face beneath the mass of wrinkles was that of Falewill, the youngest geognost ever to earn the master rank. Havialo would have sworn he’d be dead by now, but apparently, his choice to sit around and mold himself to nature’s true form had granted him longevity if nothing else.

The woman’s nostrils flared. “As you say,” she muttered before gesturing Havialo toward an open spot of floor in the center of the ring of chairs. Inhaling, Havialo stepped to the spot. As he did, he felt a strange upwelling of power, the fire in his chest immediately flaring.

“A gift to one who once trained beneath our roof,” the woman said. “While we can no longer welcome you here, we wish you the best in your journey forward.” As she spoke, she cast a look at Falewill as if to ask whether her words were sufficient.

Momentarily stunned by the sudden flood of gnosty into his font, Havialo cleared his throat. “You wish me to leave so soon?” he said. “May I speak first?”

The masters shared a conferring look. “Before you waste your breath, allow me to make a guess,” Falewill said. “Like most wayward earth mages who have left our sanctuary, you’ve realized that the outside world is reluctant to accept our kind. Or you wish to continue your training. Or you raised the ire of the Empire. Ordinarily, any of those reasons would be sufficient to earn you an eager reunion. But you don’t seem to understand what you’ve done.”

“When I released the fault, you mean?” Havialo said.

“Are you so numbed to natural forces that you can’t feel the rot?” the woman asked, incredulous.

Havialo took a deep breath. “Of course I feel it. Who couldn’t? Part of the reason I came here is to seek wisdom in how to harness this new power without releasing the taint.”

Three faces stared at him in horror.

“You can’t mean that,” the standing man said, stepping close and towering over Havialo.

Havialo took a step back. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

“Compared to the ordinary sources, the Breaking is so very potent,” he began.

Raising a fist, the man seemed to vibrate with anger. Havialo stared, shocked. He struggled to understand how this meeting had so quickly disintegrated into threats of violence.

“I’ll give you one chance,” Falewill said. “As a last requiem for the bond we share. Repent your suggestion. And… Given your words, I must ask you to relinquish your gnosty.”

Relinquish his gnosty? How?

“Don’t worry,” the old master continued. “We have our methods.” At that, he nodded at the woman. She acknowledged the gesture with her own nod and stalked to a wood-built cabinet along the wall.

Havialo’s heart slammed against his ribs as he pressed his awareness through the walls of the chamber in search of a source of energy to defend himself. A gathering storm cloud. A tumbling brook. Anything. His font was brimming, ready to unleash a torrent of magic.

“I only wished to learn whether we might safely grow our strength,” he protested as he continued to backpedal from the towering man. “We deserve this power.”

The woman turned her glare on him while she opened the catch on the cabinet. “For the last three years, we have sent geognosts far and wide, doing everything we can to stop this awful Breaking,” she spat. “And still the quakes tear the earth apart. They tumble buildings onto innocent families. They swallow villages whole. And if that weren’t enough, now the corruption swells. We don’t know if it comes from the Maelstrom. We don’t know whether we can stop it once it’s unleashed. But the very thought of trying to break what we wish to heal… it’s…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Falewill raised a hand to quiet further discussion. “Do you repent, Havialo?” As he spoke, he glanced at the woman. Turning from the cabinet, she now carried a black-iron dagger in her hand. Havialo’s eyes widened. Ferro magic. If anything could cut the gnosty out of his soul, that would be it.

“You speak of taint, yet you use the tools of the Maelstrom,” he said.

“Sometimes, we must choose the lesser evil for the greater good,” Falewill said. “Now, one last chance, do you repent? Your magic is forfeit, but your life is not yet lost.”

Havialo threw his awareness wide in a last cast. Finally, he sensed the light breeze flowing through the valley. Overhead, weak sunlight cut through the mountain chill. A few trickles of water sprung from clefts at the bases of cliffs. None of these sources had enough potential for Havialo to use against three masters. No matter which he gathered, the other mages would sense more wellsprings, enough to overpower him. Unless… Havialo sucked in a breath as the idea came to him. Unless he used something they’d never consider.

The building with its high ceiling was a cathedral built to honor the mountains. Built in accordance with, as the masters took such pride in saying, the natural shape of power. By designing the structure to mimic the natural world, they’d trapped nature’s power within it. But where a mountain ridgeline was propped up by leagues of solid stone, the ceiling here hung over open space. Tons of stone, suspended in the air, balanced only by tricks of human ingenuity. Not natural, but natural enough.

“I understand it’s abhorrent,” Havialo said as he edged around the man who’d threatened him. He fixed his awareness on the keystone supporting the high ceiling, then hesitated. He’d give the masters one last chance. “I feel it, too. But Cosmali have lived alongside the Maelstrom for centuries with no ill effects, and the taint is pervasive there. I only thought—how could the corruption be worse than the way the Empire treads mercilessly over the Provinces. Perhaps in darkness, we might create light.”

The woman’s lip twitched in disgust as she carried the dagger to Falewill. “This is no passive corruption. No lurking rot. You are a fool to think so.”

Havialo sighed. Apparently, they wouldn’t be convinced. As the tall male mage turned to advance again, Havialo trickled power from his well, formed it into a noose he could use to collar the keystone’s potential. The effort required a measure of inventiveness to conform his gnosty to the nature of the structure, but soon enough, he had the stone in his mental grip.

With a wheezy sigh, Falewill spoke. “Please restrain him, Cozensial.”

The male mage sprang. Havialo might not have survived an alley brawl with a thug, but the other mage had even less experience. Havialo ducked the clumsy attempt to capture him, and as he did, he yanked on the keystone. For a heartbeat, nothing happened, and then the single stone tumbled free. It whistled as it dropped the height of ten men, cracking and shattering when it impacted the stone floor.

A single sunbeam fell through the opening, momentarily illuminating the dust that began to filter from cracks and crevices in the ceiling. A heartbeat, and then the high buttresses and complicated spires gave way together, collapsing with a roar that sent raw energy flooding into Havialo’s body. He’d been ready for the collapse, whipping out tendrils of gnosty to capture its force. Though an earth mage couldn’t sense another’s conjuring, he imagined the masters scrambling for power, clutching desperately at the crumbling ceiling only to find it already harnessed. He envisioned their secondary grab for the sun’s light, the gentle breeze flowing from the icy crests, the quiet simmer of potential in a gathering raincloud.

Too late. As the stones plummeted, Havialo funneled them straight for the masters while landing a score or so in a neatly-stacked wall to defend against the fist-fighting mage’s awkward attempt at a tackle. The first stones struck bodies with thumps and thuds. But soon enough, the masters fell beneath their growing burial cairns. Thumps became a clatter, and then finally, silence.

Dusting his clothing off, Havialo squinted up at the midday sun. A late start for a day’s journey, but not too late. He could likely make the foot of the valley before nightfall. In the wider river valley below, a sparsely traveled track ran past scattered outposts and Prov villages. If he left soon, he should have little trouble finding shelter for the night.

Casting a smirk at the closest pile of burial stones—at the base, it was three times as wide as a man was tall, and the peak towered over Havialo’s head—he stepped gingerly around it to reach the nexus of regeneration. Standing over it, he stretched his unbroken arm and yawned as his font once again filled to brimming. He hadn’t had breakfast, which was a shame, but his body could handle another half-day of deprivation, which is what he estimated it would take to reach the nearest trading post.

Through a gap where part of the wall had fallen along with the ceiling, Havialo glimpsed a figure running from a nearby building. The girl cupped hands around her mouth and yelled an alarm.

Right. He couldn’t exactly walk out of here. The other geognosts would demand an explanation. A few minutes ago, Havialo might have believed the others were redeemable. But after seeing the reaction of the masters to his talk of using the Breaking, he had no more desire to try to convince these people. It had been their choice to follow such misguided leaders. And it was now their choice to die.

Standing upon the nexus, he first yanked down the remainder of the walls surrounding him then cast his gnosty toward the other buildings. Like the masters’ cathedral, they’d been constructed to mimic nature. The keystones were just as vulnerable to his power. To amuse himself, he pointed at the structures one at a time while he pulled them down on their inhabitants. As the monastery crumbled around them, apprentices and mages screamed and ran like earwigs fleeing the light. Havialo flung falling stones at those who escaped the collapses. If the first strike failed to fell them, he simply threw more. There was no shortage.

Finally, there was nothing left of the geognosts’ monastery but a few scattered walls and a cloud of dust hanging in the air. With a sigh, Havialo pulled a swatch of linen from his pocket and mopped his brow. When his font was once again brimming, he slipped out the remnants of the doorway and started down the trail.

A shame things didn’t go well, but hadn’t he just been worrying about how soft he’d gotten?

Chapter Eleven

Kostan

Argent Tower, Hall of Mages, Steelhold

ARGENTMASTER YEVINISH, HEAD of the Order of Argents, stood before me in the full regalia of his office. Prior to this meeting, he’d made me wait in the lowest level in the Argent Tower for at least half an hour. Perhaps he’d donned the layers of robes and bangles of Maelstrom-silver then. If I questioned him, he might even try to excuse the delay as a show of respect; no mere servant dared appear in front of his sovereign wearing everyday garb. It didn’t matter. I was ready to let the insult go. As Lyrille had suggested, I needed to choose a side—for now. And since the Provs were threatening to murder my best friend, the choice wasn’t a difficult one. I would use the support of the Atal to gain control of the Empire. Then, I’d hold the Provs in an iron grip while I shoved my reforms in their faces.

But for the Atal to bow beneath my authority—and before I marched on the city this evening to snatch Vaness from Prov clutches—I needed to exert absolute control over my own palace grounds. Starting with the argents and ferros, the mage orders who had sided against my Ascension.

The argentmaster’s receiving chamber was as gaudily appointed as his body, dripping with crystal, brocade draperies, and boasting enough Maelstrom-silver to plaster a commoner’s bedchamber. The metal gleamed from all corners, in silver candle holders placed on polished tabletops, silver clasps holding curtains open to admit beams of the late-afternoon sun. The outer wall had a curving silver-wrought table set against the smooth blocks of marble, and upon it, a map stood on a silver stand, the parchment pinned open and showing the Cosmal Peninsula where it thrust into the Stornisk Maelstrom. The jut of land was the source of argent power—of all metalogy. No wonder the argentmaster seemed to revere it.

“About what did you wish to speak, your eminence?” the argentmaster asked, gesturing to a deep-cushioned armchair.

I chose to stand. “I came to discern the specifics of your former arrangement with the Ministry. What did they offer you that convinced you to betray your Emperor?”

Argentmaster Yevinish’s eyes widened in shock then took on a calculating shine. He was considering using his argent powers against me, I had no doubt. I waited for the inevitable thrust of his power against my mind. With the black-iron trinket Azar had forced on me, he wouldn’t be able to penetrate my thoughts. But I would feel his attempt.

It came moments later, a sharp stab against the ferro-made shield. Azar had recently given me a primer on ferro secrets. Ferro mages held power over the spirits of the dead, and among their other abilities, they used black iron to harness a spirit’s energy and twist it into useful enchantments. Or so she claimed. I didn’t understand how that allowed ferro mages to create trinkets which prevented other metalogists from affecting the wearer. Azar had been decidedly closed-lipped on the details. All I knew was that Ilishian himself had crafted the pin I now wore stuck through my collar.

I twitched my lips in a smile that told the argentmaster I’d felt his attempt.

“Allow me to restate myself,” I said. “It would serve your interests to give me the details of your arrangement with the Ministry.”

“Why?” Argentmaster Yevinish asked.

“Does your Emperor need a reason to request information from his subjects?”

“I—No, your eminence.”

“Then you don’t wish to waste my time by forcing me to ask again.”

The argentmaster’s lips pursed in offended disgust. Turning his back on me, he stalked to a chair and dropped to a seat. He held my stare for a few long breaths.

“The desire of any metalogist, whether apprentice or master, is to further knowledge, skill, and power,” he said. “The first two depend on time, teaching, and a measure of innate ability. The final pillar requires a resource we can’t obtain on our own.”

“The ministers offered you more Maelstrom-silver,” I said.

“Emperor Tovmeil felt that metalogy was inherently flawed because of our dependence on the metals. He worried about what would happen if we lost control of Cosmal Province, and was even considering approaching the geognosts to strengthen the throne. Naturally, we felt threatened by this.”

“How much did they offer you?” I asked.

“The ministers promised they would increase the Cosmali quotas by fifty percent.”

“Black iron, too? Or did the ferros have a different arrangement?”

The argentmaster shrugged. “I didn’t ask or care. My concerns lie with my order.”

“And did the Ministry explain how they would extract more from the Cosmali Provs? By my understanding, the quotas are already set to strain the population’s abilities without breaking their spirits entirely.”

“Again,” the argentmaster said, “it wasn’t my concern. I assumed the Ministry understood they’d never hold a throne taken by violence without the support of the metalogists. They had plenty of incentive to satisfy our bargain.”

“I can’t offer you a fifty percent increase,” I said.

The man traced a circle on the tabletop while he knit his brow in mock confusion. “I’m a bit confused why you believe we need to bargain at all. If you recall, I vowed my allegiance on the night of your Ascension.”

“Under threat of repercussions. And speaking a vow is quite different than honoring it. I need your true loyalty in the days ahead.”

The man smirked. “Yet you just admitted you can’t offer what others did. If you truly believe a bargain will secure my allegiance, why admit your weakness?”

“Because the Provs are on the brink of open revolt. If we don’t work together to smash their nascent rebellion, the shipments of Maelstrom-silver will stop entirely. I’m not saying we won’t increase the quotas in the future. All I’m asking now is that you join with me to secure what we already have.”

After a moment, the man’s expression softened. He nodded. “Your argument makes sense. I underestimated you in the early weeks of your reign. The argents will help you keep a grasp on your throne and the Provs. But I reserve the right to renegotiate our arrangement in the future.”

By which point I hoped to learn more from Azar about how I might neutralize the metalogists entirely. I didn’t like the powers they wielded, and I especially didn’t like the avidness that came into their eyes when their Maelstrom-metal was mentioned in conversation. Falla’s words about the corruption that infected their magic still echoed in my memory.

But for now, I needed the mages.

“Then with our shared goal in mind, I have an initial request. It regards the remaining ministers,” I said. “I’d like you to devise an enchantment similar to that which binds the protectors’ loyalty. Within the next few days, I need all seven of Tovmeil’s ministers bound by an irresistible urge to strengthen my power.”

“It may be difficult,” he said. “The protectors enter into the oath willingly, even if they don’t understand how it is enforced.”

“I’m sure a man of your talents can devise a solution,” I said.

The argentmaster laid one hand over the other. “As you say, your eminence.”

***

“You won’t reconsider?” the Prime Protector asked as she gave the order to open the Sun Gate. “You’d be safer here—or perhaps we could at least secure a path first.”

I shook my head. My meeting with Argentmaster Yevinish had been a necessary delay; I needed to be certain that the most powerful men and women in Steelhold were loyal before I left the walls. The ferros would follow the argents’ lead. It was good enough for now.

I would not sit on my high throne and trust others to rescue Vaness. The sun hung just a few fingers above the western horizon, reddening the grasslands and the half-ruined city sprawled beneath us. About an hour after the message had arrived with word of Vaness’s capture, a second hawk had been sent from a public courier post. The handwriting on the parchment strip had been shaky and the words misspelled, no surprise given the Empire’s disinterest in educating the Prov population. But the message had been clear. At nightfall, Vaness would die unless I took her place.

The Prov rebels did not expect me to comply—they only wished to make me feel responsible for her death. But I doubted they expected me to descend from Steelhold and march through the city to the Splits, either. I would bring the full force of the throne down on anyone who dared resist me as I cut the shackles binding Vaness to that post. And I would give no mercy to any dissident standing in my way.

Three dozen protectors led the procession down the ascent trail and another dozen massed at the gate in preparation to take up the rear. Flitting around the clustered soldiers, seven high-ranking aurum mages walked with impossibly light steps, their motions precise as dagger strikes. The aurums gazed over the city as they waited, no doubt examining details that were invisible to ordinary humans. Rings of Maelstrom-gold crusted their fingers and dangled from their earlobes while gold bracers glinted beneath sleeves. Alone, just one of the aurum mages could defeat a score of trained fighters. Every Atal child heard stories of their ability to weaken an adversary’s body before striking with the speed of a viper and the strength of a landslide. Not since the Aniselan Uprising a century past had the aurums marched from Steelhold. Instead, they’d devoted themselves to healing and deeper investigations into the mysteries of the body. But now they descended on defenseless Provs.

At the thought, a wave of lightheadedness struck me. How had it come to this? In the space of weeks, I had become everything I’d loathed in my predecessors.

Or maybe not. I couldn’t let myself think that way. The protectors and aurums were under strict orders to strike only if a Prov initiated the violence. The escort was for safety, nothing more. As long as we recovered Vaness without incident, no one would be hurt.

“Your eminence?” the Prime Protector asked.

“Yes?” I returned, shaking free from my thoughts.

She gestured at the trail ahead. The procession had moved off without me, leaving at least a hundred paces of empty trail. I nodded, stepping out without explanation. A day ago, I might have apologized or made excuses for getting distracted. But that wasn’t how an emperor behaved.

As we descended, the smells of crowded places slowly melted into the air around us. Cookfires and garbage, old ashes from the Lowtown blaze and the smell of dust raised by animals in the stables on the edges of the city.

After what seemed too short a descent, we stepped off the trail that switch-backed up the spire and entered the walled Corridor of Ascent. Through peepholes in the high stone barriers defending the privileged homes of the elite from the street which approached the spire, I could feel the gazes of Atal eyes. The protectors formed thick walls around me, ranks upon ranks of men and women bristling with armor and weapons. Nearest me, the aurums glided with unnatural grace, arms loose at their sides and postures so relaxed they might have been on a sunlit stroll.

At my side, the Prime Protector marched with eyes wary and face hard. She’d already given a dozen arguments against this plan and wouldn’t offer any more objections. But I felt her displeasure all the same.

A Prov mob met us at the Corridor’s exit. With torches high against the falling dusk, they shouted obscenities and hefted makeshift weapons. I tensed.

“Stand back!” a protector in the lead shouted. For a moment, no one moved, then with booted feet marching in unison, the protectors formed a wedge and advanced.

The tightness in my chest began to uncoil as the line of Provs broke before the protectors’ march. At the rear of the mob, a few individuals dropped torches, detached from the crowd and ran into the shadows. I craned my neck to glimpse the fallen torches, hoping the flames would be snuffed against the cobblestones or trampled by stomping feet. The last thing the city needed was another fire.

Despite their retreat, the sight of so many angry Provs dismayed me. Since Ascension, I’d taken no action against the rioters. Against the Prime’s advice, I’d ordered the protectors to fight only if directly attacked or if they witnessed an Atal abusing one of the Prov citizens. It should have made more of a difference by now. But the violence continued, the rioters refusing to see that they harmed their own brethren with their destruction. Maybe, ironically, the Provs hated me for not doing more to stop their angry brethren.

As we continued downhill and crossed into the Merchant’s Quarter, the mob finally parted completely, pressing against storefronts and into alleys to let us pass. The shouts continued, and a few young men hurled pebbles against us, but the small stones bounced harmlessly against the protectors’ armor. Beside me, the Prime clenched her jaw and allowed the behavior to pass unacknowledged. Another coil of tension slipped free from around my heart. We were already halfway to the Splits and Vaness, and nothing had gone wrong. Most likely, the worst was already over.

“Your eminence,” one of the aurums said. She slipped to my side and pointed at the upper story of a tailor’s shop. Nearly obscured by a half-drawn curtain, a shadow lurked in the open window.

I nodded. “Assure there’s no threat,” I said.

As if flung by an unseen hand, the aurum was abruptly flying through the air. Her leap took her from my side to the window in a single, nearly silent bound. The hidden watcher grunted as the mage laid an elbow into the figure’s face and followed the motion by slipping inside the window. A faint scraping noise and two thumps drifted from the window. Moments later, the aurum mage leaped again and seemed to hover above our procession, a lithe shadow blotting the torch-lit smoke that hung over the city. With a sound no louder than a bird alighting on a fountain, she once again landed at my side. She handed over a small crossbow with a single bolt ready to fire.

“The tailor’s wife, I believe,” she said. “Her children are huddled with her. She’ll have a black eye tomorrow, but nothing worse. I don’t believe she intended to hurt anyone. Defense only.”

On my opposite side, the Prime scoffed. “Why put lampblack on the metal tip of the bolt then? If she wished to protect her children, wouldn’t she want a potential assailant to know she was armed?”

“Well, she’s no threat to us now.” Shrugging, I handed the crossbow to the Prime who released tension from the firing mechanism and holstered it through one of the many loops on her belt.

Block after block, we passed darkened buildings and silent alleys. In the distance, the sounds were ordinary, Jaliss citizens shouting while hammers pinged against anvils. Parents called children home for dinner. A few, slurred syllables gave the impression that someone had angered a neighborhood drunk. But where we crossed the city, anyone within a hundred paces hid. Except, of course, for the remaining mob members who had closed ranks behind us and now trailed our procession through the Merchant’s Quarter. Maybe they wished to tell the throne they weren’t beaten, but simply recognized the current situation for what it was. Unwinnable.

A few minutes later, we crossed into the Splits and everything changed.

The moment the lead protectors stepped onto the packed earth street of the Prov district, tension gripped their shoulders. Their eyes peered back and forth, searching for the threats they knew were there.

I felt it too. From every darkened window and door hanging ajar, I sensed the Prov’s resentment. Hatred, even. This show of force represented everything they despised about the Empire.

Marching forward, I straightened my shoulders. All day, the men and women to whom those watching eyes belonged had faced a choice. By banding together, the silent, resentful observers could have stood up to the mob and demanded Vaness be freed. An execution would not solve the problems in Jaliss. We needed to stand together. Rebuild. Address the Breaking.

But if they wouldn’t meet my offers of peace with efforts of their own, I would make peace my own way.

At the end of a sword.

Our scouts had already mapped the most direct route to the crossroads where the rioters had shackled Vaness. Even so, the streets in the Splits were crooked and narrow, forcing us to zigzag through the district. As we marched along the serpentine path, a rumble started up from the mob at our rear. The Prime Protector stiffened when the low muttering was peppered by scattered shouts.

“Our city!” someone yelled.

“Freedom or the grave!”

My aurum honor guard slid closer as the Prime drew a weapon. A cudgel, not her wickedly honed short sword. She’d chosen a weapon intended for disabling an opponent rather than slaying them. The Prime had heeded my words even if she disagreed with them. No one would die while we had another choice.

But it wouldn’t come to that. The Provs were merely venting their anger. They’d lost tonight, and they knew it already.

As we advanced, a crack sounded from one of the shacks on the right side of the street. All along the procession’s right flank, blades sang as protectors drew their swords. Moments later, they relaxed when a mother dashed to the open door of her home and snatched up her toddler who had banged a stone against a broken piece of slate that served as their doorstep.

I swallowed and carried on, exhaling in relief. The smell of the Splits brought back memories I’d tried to bury over the last weeks. Somewhere in this crowded warren of streets, Fishel was probably wiping down tables in the common room of the Graybranch Inn. I remembered my first morning in the inn, opening the window of my tiny room in hopes of fresh air only to be assaulted by the stench of garbage and dirty laundry. It had shocked me at first, but all the unpleasantness had vanished when Savra had returned to the common room that evening.

The memory of her green eyes danced through my thoughts, followed by my last glimpse of her on the night of my Ascension. She’d saved my life, and now the Prime believed Savra was enmeshed in the plot against me. Impossible.

“Beware!” The shout came from somewhere within the front ranks of soldiers. At the same time, an innocent whistle echoed down an alley no more than three houses past the shack where the toddler had startled us. The unseen whistler produced a lively little scrap of a tune, so incongruous in the darkening streets I couldn’t help shaking my head in confusion.

They fell on us from the rear. With feral yells, rusty knives sliced the air and thudded against armor that few of the blades had a hope of piercing. The remnants of the mob, around thirty men and women with makeshift weapons, had to have known they were plunging to their deaths. But they attacked anyway.

Within a heartbeat, the aurums vanished from my side. Flying over the heads of the rear protectors, they landed among the Prov rabble like hunting raptors. Knives flashed in the torchlight, aurum bodies moving so fast they were nearly invisible. Few Provs had time to scream, much less fight back.

“No!” a woman shouted from within the cottage where the toddler lived. I whirled to see a child no older than ten run through the doorway with his mother’s kitchen cleaver raised. He slammed into a protector just a few paces from me.

“Don’t hurt him,” I yelled, drawing my scimitar. As my steel sang, I spared an instant to wonder what I thought I would do. Strike down my own protectors if they tried to harm the boy?

As the last of the Provs at the rear of our band fell beneath the aurum’s attack, another whistle rose above the din. A different tune this time.

Around me, heads whipped around in search of new assailants. My nerves sang with the knowledge that this was a trap, but I kept my eyes fixed on the boy. The adult Provs chose this fate. The child was too young to possibly understand what waited for him at the end of a protector’s blade.

As I pushed toward him, determined to shelter him with my own body if necessary, more whistles rose from the streets around us. Hundreds of them. The very air seemed to wail with the discordant sound.

And beneath that keening shriek, a whine so high it was nearly a hiss.

“Shields!” The cry went up all around and moving in unison, the protectors closed ranks and hefted bucklers overhead. I struggled to understand until the thud, clatter and suck of hundreds of arrows striking wood, steel, and flesh filled the air.

Ducking with hands over my head, I spun, searching the chaos for the Prov boy. Another chorus of whistles rose, and another whine followed. This time I heard the twanging of the bowstrings. They were everywhere. All around.

I couldn’t see the boy.

“We have to move!” the Prime yelled.

Moments later, the aurums were among us again, dancing over the tops of the shields, light as feathers and snatching arrows from the air. The wall of armored flesh surrounding me parted for a moment as our force began a lurching march.

That’s when I finally saw the child. He lay on the ground, eyes flitting in terror as his hands grasped weakly at the arrow piercing his breast.

“Halt!” I threw every ounce of command I possessed into the word.

Beside me, the Prime hesitated, pressed her lips together, and finally nodded.

“Heed your liege, protectors!” she called, then turned to me with fire in her gaze. “What is it?”

“The boy,” I said gesturing. “We’re taking him.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “He’s as good as dead.”

“If the aurums can dodge and catch a falling arrow, they can heal this child. I will not leave without him.” As if to strengthen my point, I stood to my full height, presenting an irresistible target. Immediately, the nearest protectors stood as well, closing ranks and raising their shields in a cone to defend my head and shoulders.

“Grab him,” the Prime yelled, her rage only barely contained. “Bring me the boy and MOVE!”

The air hissed again as another volley of arrows took flight. Instantly, I ducked down, once again hiding behind the ranks of soldiers and mages. The Provs would have to kill all but a few of my defenders to even get a clear shot. As we marched forward, speeding quickly to a trot, I spotted a few fallen bodies. The Provs had lost more than a score of men and women tonight, and their arrows couldn’t touch me, but they’d still managed to slay a handful of protectors. In taverns across the city, the trap would be touted as a success. Even with the most elite guardsmen and mages marching through the city, the Provs had struck a blow.

And all I’d wanted was to save my friend.

A few crossroads after the arrows stopped falling, the Prime called a quick halt. In her arms, the Prov boy moaned, head lolling. In the limited light from the fading dusk and nearby torches, his face was ghostly pale. Blood soaked the front of his ragged tunic, and the arrow still jutted from between his ribs, fletching quivering with each of his shallow breaths.

The Prime summoned a scout from among the front ranks of protectors.

“What’s the most direct route back that avoids the archers?” she asked.

The scout cast a skeptical glance toward the north where Steelhold rose black against the ragged skyline of the Icethorns, the torches on the wall a crown blazing in the night. “Left turn ahead.”

“And Vaness?” I asked. “Where is she being held?”

The scout swallowed, his gaze flicking nervously between my face and the Prime’s. “Right, your eminence. Another six blocks I’d say.”

“Then we go right,” I said, my voice flat. “We can move as fast as you feel is safe, but I will not give them Vaness. Not after this.”

The Prime took a deep breath to master her reaction. “Lead us to Scion Vaness,” she said. “But if we spot even the faintest hint of a threat—I don’t care if it’s a swineherd chasing down a hog with a pitchfork, we don’t hesitate. Any Prov that stands in our way dies.”

I didn’t argue, not after what we’d just fought through. Right now, only the boy and Vaness mattered. The Prov agitators had chosen their doom, and if they pressed, it would come tonight.

Despite the Prime’s fears, not even a rustle broke the silence as we covered the final blocks to where my friend was shackled. As the message had explained, she’d been chained to a post in the center of a crossroads.

“You didn’t need to come,” she said the moment she saw me. In the hours she’d been bound, her hair had escaped its braids. Rotten fruit and garbage had been thrown at her and now caked her torso and legs. But her clothing wasn’t torn. She hadn’t been raped. And I saw no blood on her.

“You’re right. I could have stayed in the Hold. But I’d rather not spend the rest of my life crushed by regret.”

I nodded at the closest aurum who glided forward and took hold of the chain that had been padlocked to the post. As easily as if it had been a silken thread, the mage jerked the chain taut and snapped one of the heavy links. Tossing Vaness over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, the mage dashed back to my side.

“Now may we go home?” the Prime asked.

I nodded, my heart a cold weight in my chest. “To Steelhold,” I said.

Chapter Twelve

Savra

A ring of standing stones, Icethorn Mountains

GREASY SMOKE ROSE in a thick column on the far side of the valley. The smell of burning flesh and wood mostly covered the fetid sweetness of the carcasses, but still, the scent of rotting fruit plastered the insides of my nostrils. Or maybe it was just the memory of that smell, lingering in my mind as much as my nose.

I couldn’t look at the smoke’s source. Whenever I tried, my stomach clenched and my head swam. The auras of the beasts were still there, no longer separate, but a great, roiling mass in colors my mind had no words to describe. Earlier, I’d glimpsed the hunks of flesh piled atop the pyre. Far from lifeless, severed hands and paws had still clutched and clawed at the air. Mouths had opened, baring blackened fangs and forked tongues. I shuddered at the memory.

Worse was my recollection of my last moments of contact with the man-thing that had attacked my father. Despite the festering rot that had infused its soul, its last plea seemed to reach across time to clutch my heart. Release me.

I swallowed, dragging my attention back to the gathering before me. The conclave had once again convened, away from the citadel to allow the other Sharders space to recover and grieve for fallen friends. Now, the leaders stood in a loose knot inside a circle of rough-carved boulders planted vertically in the mountain soil. I’d been dragged to join them, a brute of a Sharder holding my arm in an ungentle grip. Falla had been asked to follow, probably because the conclave feared my power and wanted another spiritist near. She carried my collar with her, having successfully argued that more beasts might still lurk in the valley. Though my aura-sight told me each one had been chopped to bits, I didn’t argue.

“What now?” I heard a man ask. Beside him, another Shard leader shrugged.

“I say we continue as planned,” someone else said. “We don’t know what spawned those things or when more might arrive. If we huddle here like children, the next attack might be worse. We came here to prepare for war. Let’s bring the battle to Steelhold.”

The speaker’s words raised a din of arguments and agreements, the voices sloshing between the standing stones. As the conclave argued, they shuffled booted feet over a flat granite disk in the center of the ring. When we’d arrived, I’d noticed faint designs in the stone, the ribs and channels softened by age and crusted with lichen. Similar markings decorated the upright pillars, but the lines were too muted to make out the pattern. Maybe they’d been carved by the builders of the keep, or maybe they’d already been old when those people arrived. As I listened to the Sharders argue, I wondered if the kin of the beasts burning below would extinguish the newest civilization to settle the Icethorns.

As the argument waned, other voices rose in grim discussion of the battle itself. Around six hundred Sharders had arrived at the fortress over the last tenday. Sixty-eight had died in the attack. More would have been lost if I hadn’t helped my father hold the center long enough to support the archers’ retreat, but from the snatches of conversation I overheard, no one was ready to recognize my role. Perhaps they feared to align themselves with a betrayer.

As they spoke, I pieced together parts of the battle I’d missed while passed out. Once Stormshard forces had pulled back to the keep, forcing the beasts to attack through the narrow entrance, the Sharders had finally gained the advantage. One beast at a time, they’d managed to slay the remaining monsters.

We’d won. A miracle, really. Compared to the massacre at the village, we’d fared incredibly well.

Small comfort to those who had lost dear friends.

I shifted my weight between my feet while the conversation continued. My calves ached from standing for so long.

At the near edge of the crowd, my father emerged long enough to catch my eye. He was locked in discussion with another Shard leader, a man I didn’t know. As I cocked my ear to listen, I realized he was steering the conversation toward their next steps in hopes they’d forget about my punishment.

“It will be safer to risk the passes than to funnel our forces through the mouth of the valley,” my father said, gesturing toward the cirque of peaks cradling the upper end of the vale. “We won’t be able to hide our forces for long if recruitment goes as we hope. But the longer we avoid imperial scouts, the better our chances.”

His choice of words caught my attention. Recruitment? Until now, I’d imagined the gathered forces at the stronghold represented the bulk of Stormshard’s ranks. It appeared I’d been wrong. For weeks, I’d hoped that something would persuade the Sharders to reconsider this war. But if this latest attack hadn’t convinced them that words were better than war, would anything give them pause?

The man with my father shook his head. “The high routes are too slow. Treacherous. Why risk it? Whatever evil spawned those mongrel beasts, it did us the favor of wiping out the nearest protectors’ garrison. We might as well take advantage.”

My father exhaled, arms across his chest. “That’s another point. We think we’ve eliminated those… things. But what if we’re wrong? The valley mouth is prone to ambush.”

“Do you think those monsters have the foresight to set a trap?” the man countered. “As far as I could tell, they had no more capability of thought than rabid dogs.”

Father unclasped his arms and rubbed a hand over the stubble furring his jaw. “Maybe not. Regardless, if the decades have taught our rebellion anything, it’s the virtue in covering our footprints and masking our scent.”

Near my father, a surly-looking man snorted. “Listen to Evrain, speaking of the future while trying so hard to pretend he doesn’t know what happened today.”

My father’s brow knit in confusion as Joran clapped a hand on the shoulder of the man who’d just spoken.

Falla’s sigh of disappointment was loud enough to draw my eyes. She stared at the Guralaner Shard leader in disgust. Though the battle had diverted attention from me, Joran wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“Yes indeed,” Joran said, fixing my father with a glare. “Listen to Evrain fumble. Almost makes me think he believes his own words.”

My father’s shoulders tensed, visible even through his leather armor. The Sharder holding my arm tightened his grip. A thick rope of despair wrapped my lungs.

“Sharders.” When Sirez’s voice rose above the din, the Shard leaders immediately fell silent—even though the hierarchy hadn’t been formalized, Stormshard respected Sirez’s authority. The Jalisswoman shouldered men and women aside, widening the circle. Her gaze flitted between my father and Joran.

Be ready, Lilik said into my thoughts. You may need to act to save yourself.

Beside me, Falla rolled her shoulders, the motion lifting the sling that supported her broken arm. I got the sense that if she hadn’t been holding the black-iron collar, her wrist resting lightly on my shoulder, she would have reached for the hilt of her long dagger.

Sirez ran her eyes over the gathering. “We gathered here, a united army, with the clear goal of marching forth, rallying the Provs, and overthrowing Steelhold once and for all.”

Around the circle, many of the Sharders nodded. Joran, however, glowered. Surrounding the drover, dark expressions and lowered brows marked his allies. They clearly chafed against Sirez’s assumption of authority.

“I say we move forward with our plans,” Sirez said. “How quickly can we be ready to march?”

Earlier, I’d wondered if the woman had voted me a traitor. Now I knew she hadn’t. Like my father, she was doing everything she could to distract the conclave from my punishment.

“I don’t know if that’s the best choice,” a woman said. “Why be hasty? There’s nothing to say we can’t bring recruits here. It would give them time to meld with our forces.”

Sirez ran her gaze over the others. “Charle has a point. Our location is more defensible than most. We could send emissaries to the Prov settlements in the Icethorns and even as far as Guralan Province. The recruits could make the journey or gather in other strongholds to await our command. Meanwhile, the delay might gain us more information on the new Emperor’s weaknesses.”

Father planted his feet wide. “And what if we haven’t learned enough before our supplies run low? Better to move now—on our terms. With our experienced forces, we can head over the passes and avoid watching eyes.”

Beside Joran, a heavy-set man slapped a meaty palm against his thigh. “Are you all fools? How can we have this discussion when there’s an enemy in our midst?” With that, he turned his glare on me. I took an unwitting step back.

Sirez pressed her lips together while she took a deep breath. “It’s true we found her guilty earlier, Haranold. But that was before her actions during the battle. Without Savra, we might not be standing here.”

“The votes were cast, and the decision made,” the man, Haranold, spat. “All that waits is her punishment.”

“How dare you!” my father said, leaping to his feet.

Arguments erupted, and Sirez was forced to slap the flat of her sword against a leather-clad shield to regain control. “Sharders! Haranold makes a fair point. Savra’s betrayal was grave, even if her motives were understandable. Some say her work today set her on the path to atonement while others disagree. If her earlier actions were truly unforgivable, a second vote will only solidify our choice.”

My father swept his arm toward the fortress where Sharders cleared the remnants of the battle and—solemnly—dug graves in the rocky soil. “I frankly can’t believe we’d still consider the vote necessary. If not for Savra, the battle would have been lost today. Isn’t that enough proof of her honor?”

Sirez idly spun her dagger across her knuckles as she met my father’s gaze. “Respectfully, that’s an assumption, Evrain. She claims to have aided the battle, yet all we know is that she fainted on the balcony. You must understand… no matter the regard in which I hold you, Stormshard comes first. If your daughter is our enemy, we cannot have her among our ranks—”

“Sirez!” Falla said, stepping forward. “On my honor, I felt her stop one of those creatures in its tracks. As faint as my talent is, I sensed the agony it caused her.”

Joran’s friend, Haranold, scowled. “This from a woman who was fooled by the boy who is now Emperor of Atal. The way I see it, neither, you, Evrain, nor Sirez have proved you can tell friend from foe.”

My pulse thudded in my temples. Should I say something to defend myself and my allies, or would I only damage my case?

Showing his palms, my father ran his gaze over the conclave. “Friends and Sharders, listen to me. Yes, Savra made a mistake. She cost us a tremendous opportunity. But don’t you think we should consider forgiveness, especially given the advantages we could gain with her abilities? At the very least, I hardly think her bravery during the battle was the act of an enemy.”

“Sirez,” Haranold growled, “we spoke of this earlier. The conclave must be made aware of my new information.”

At his words, my spine stiffened. New information? What was this?

“I’m sorry, Evrain, but I did agree to allow Haranold the chance to speak,” Sirez said. “He proposed a theory about the attack. We must consider all explanations, as distasteful as some may seem. Given your daughter’s talent—”

“Her talent may be one of our best weapons,” my father said.

As I was scanning faces for clues about this new revelation, I mistakenly caught Joran’s eyes. The big man bared his teeth in a cruel smile.

Haranold, meanwhile, stared at my father as he spoke. “As Sirez was saying… Given your daughter’s talent, I’d say it’s just as likely that she called the attack upon us as stopped it.”

My breath froze in my throat. Shock pegged my feet to the earth. How could anyone believe that? I could never wish such a nightmare on innocent people. I couldn’t even wish it upon the Atal elite.

“This is absurd,” my father said, hand hovering over his dagger. “Whatever those beasts were, Savra was the only person capable of singlehandedly stopping one.”

Again, the arguments roared to a boil.

Clearing his throat, Haranold ran his eyes over the conclave until the others had quieted. “Is it absurd, Evrain? Falla, please tell the others what you mentioned to Givell about Savra’s abilities.” He nodded at another of Joran’s allies.

Falla shook her head, aghast. “Haranold and Givell clearly got the wrong idea. I mentioned that her training was unconventional, that’s all. Her power may outstrip what we know about spiritism. That doesn’t mean she called a horde of monsters down on us.”

“But you can’t be sure she didn’t.”

Falla stared at the beefy man, disbelief plain on her face. “If you’ll recall, my domain is Mind, and my aspect is Sensing. I would know if she meant us harm.”

“Unless, as you just mentioned, her abilities outstrip our understanding of spiritism. For all you know, she can present any story she wants to a curious mind reader.”

“This is ridiculous,” Falla said. “Besides, we can contain her abilities if we desire.” She jiggled the black-iron collar.

Haranold snorted in disdain. “I’ll repeat my argument. If you don’t understand her abilities, how can you even know the collar works? She was wearing it when Evrain spotted the beasts approaching. Doesn’t mean she didn’t summon them.”

Sirez shook her head, almost sadly. “In any case, the collar gains us little. If we determine she’s a risk—and I’m not saying it’s a foregone conclusion—there’s no point in half-measures.”

My lungs fell into my belly. When Sirez’s eyes met mine, I saw the doubt that Joran’s allies had planted. Sirez’s first loyalty lay with Stormshard. If there was a chance that I would harm the movement, she couldn’t take the risk. And given that I’d already betrayed Stormshard once…

“We’ll vote again,” Sirez said. “Same rules as before. But given the potential danger, I believe we must consider the most serious punishments. If two-thirds of us vote her guilty, I don’t see a point in debating her punishment. A majority that strong means we feel she’s too much a danger to be kept alive. Her death will be merciful, Evrain. I promise you that.”

My father’s throat worked as words built and died inside it. Pure hatred poured off his body as he stared at Joran and his lackeys. During the discussion, a grim silence had fallen over the remainder of the Shard leaders. I could almost hear their thoughts working. None of them were spiritists. None had any concept of what I could or couldn’t do. They had only the story of my betrayal in Steelhold combined with Falla’s statements about my strange abilities.

As I mentioned earlier, if you have an idea, now would be a good time to act, Lilik said.

But I didn’t know how. My thoughts were frozen, mired in shock at what these people seemed to think of me.

“Falla,” Sirez said, her gaze flicking to the collar. “Please assure that her powers are restrained. We don’t wish to provoke an unwanted reaction.”

With an apology in her eyes, Falla turned her back on the conclave and slipped the collar around my neck. She began to squeeze the clasp shut and at the last minute, raised her gaze to the man holding my arm. She kept her eyes on him while she clicked her fingernail against the collar, making a snapping sound without completely closing the clasp. Rooting through a pocket, she pulled out the key. It clicked against metal without actually locking anything.

Falla’s eyes widened in silent communication. She was giving me a chance if I chose to take it.

A chance to do what, though? I could try to compel Joran’s allies to vote for my innocence, but I couldn’t hold them in thrall forever. The moment my concentration faltered, the binding would shatter. As soon as I released control, they’d explain what I’d done. And after everything that had happened today, I was sure the other Shard leaders would feel obligated to believe the accusation.

I could try to grab hold of every aura here and force the conclave to remain still while I fled. But how far would my control extend? Could I run fast enough to outdistance pursuit, even with a head start?

As my thoughts raced, I extended my aura-sense. The collar pushed gently against my efforts, but unlike the weeks it had been shut and locked, I could snake my awareness around its boundaries. The auras of the Sharders sprang to life in my vision, a tumult of indecision, worry, and regret.

Falla turned back to the conclave but kept her hand on the collar. To the other Sharders, it must have looked as if she kept hold of the device as an added restraint when in truth she simply covered the unfastened clasp.

“We’ll vote by a show of hands,” Sirez said. “Those who believe Savra Padmi to be guilty, a traitor to Stormshard and our cause, please raise your hand.”

The Shard leaders shifted uncomfortably, eyes roving to check the votes of peers and allies. Slowly, a man beside Joran started to raise his arm. Nearby, a woman began to mimic his gesture.

Stop them, Lilik said. Take control.

But I—

Any attempt is better than nothing, Raav yelled. Don’t throw your life away for these petty worms.

In a burst of sudden inspiration, I threw my aura lance at Joran’s spirit, exploding it wide the moment it penetrated his soul. He became mine to command. If I wanted, I could force him to draw a knife across his own throat.

Distantly, I felt Joran’s terror as he beat against my control. No matter how reprehensible I found him, the sensation still sickened me. No one deserved to lose their free will. Not even Joran. But I was selfish, and I wanted to live.

“Stop,” I commanded him to say as I forced him to lay a restraining hand on his lackey before the other man’s hand was fully raised.

All eyes turned to Joran. I swallowed. What now? No one would believe he’d changed his mind so easily.

“I urged caution, it’s true,” I forced him to continue. “But I saw what she did on the balcony. I don’t think she feigned the blackout, and it came immediately after the beast attacking Evrain was defeated. It disgusts me to admit the mistake, but maybe we should consider the opportunity she presents. Savra made puppets of three imperial protectors. This could be useful when we finally attack Steelhold, even if we must find a way to force her allegiance.”

Within the crowd, Sharders looked on in shock. Every face showed disbelief in his sudden reversal, his allies most of all. My mind raced as I tried to figure out a way to convince them.

“I agree,” Falla said. “We can’t discard this opportunity. And we won’t regret giving her a chance. I’m so certain of it that I’ll offer to share her punishment if she betrays us again.”

I tried not to wince. Why had she said that? If I didn’t convince the conclave that Joran had changed his mind, they’d soon realize I’d taken hold of his will. From there, it would be easy to discover Falla’s trick with the collar. Joran’s next words needed to be utterly believable.

There had to be some way to explain why he’d changed his mind, something buried inside him that would convince the others. Taking a deep breath, I opened my awareness to Joran’s aura, pressing through the terror and frustration in search of an authentic emotion I might use to make the change believable.

When I discovered the answer, I knew immediately that it was my best chance. But my heart broke even as I considered it.

How could I? Better to die than hurt someone so deeply.

Yet could I live with myself if I didn’t take this chance? I looked at my father’s weathered face, his hands hardened by years as a rebel. Years ago, he’d left Cosmal Province to save me. Given the choice, would he leave again to spare my life?

My throat closed down, and my vision narrowed. I had to choose.

And the answer was yes. Father would do anything to save me. I just had to hope he’d also forgive me.

With a deep breath, I forced more words from Joran’s mouth.

“I agree to give the girl a chance,” he said, “but only if Evrain agrees to step down as a member of the conclave—no, that’s not enough. He must agree to leave Stormshard entirely. His Shard is dead, buried beneath a collapsed mountain. He failed them, and it’s nothing but arrogance to call himself a Shard leader when only Falla remains. Nonetheless, he had the gall to change a century of Stormshard’s philosophy with scarcely half of the conclave available to vote. Face it, Sharders, Evrain has proved he no longer puts Stormshard first. He cares more for the daughter he abandoned years ago than he does for any of you. It’s time to lance the boil and send him away.”

Shouts erupted from the group. The pain on my father’s face was almost too much for me to bear. I knew he felt responsible for the cavern’s collapse though there was nothing he could have done. I knew he’d only called for the attack on Steelhold because he believed it was the best way to help the Provs. Yet in Joran’s heart, those things were betrayals. And the conclave would believe Joran spoke truly when he spat the accusations.

Holding back tears, I forced myself to look away from my father, building a shield around my heart as I did.

“Evrain would give anything for Stormshard,” another leader said, a reedy man with patchy stubble. “This is nonsense.”

I shrugged Joran’s shoulders. “A matter of opinion. And irrelevant. I’ve given my terms. If we allow the girl to live, Evrain must leave Stormshard. Alone. I won’t have him taking his daughter with him. We’d only risk her return as a tool of Evrain’s revenge.”

The color was high in Sirez’s cheeks as she glared across the circle. “This is not how Sharders make decisions. Savra’s fate is entirely separate from her father’s status as a valued Shard leader.”

“Sirez,” my father said quietly. His shoulders were slumped, but he raised his chin and spoke in a clear voice. “I agree to Joran’s request. He is right to suggest I cannot see clearly, at least when it comes to my daughter. If we allow her to remain in our midst, we must have leaders who can respond to her actions with Stormshard’s best interests in mind. I resign my seat on the conclave. Moreover, I resign my role as a fighter for Stormshard. I’ll leave by morning.”

With that, he stood up and rolled his shoulders before stepping from the circle and descending toward the fortress. My chest ached so badly I wasn’t sure I could keep my feet. But I couldn’t let his sacrifice—no, not his sacrifice… my betrayal of my own father—be for nothing. Instead, I gritted my teeth and bore down harder on my control link with Joran. I forced him to nod his head at each of his lackeys before turning his gaze to Sirez.

“The vote?” he asked.

Sirez’s gaze could have sliced steel as she glared around the table. “Again, please raise your hand if you believe Savra Padmi to be a traitor who deserves to die for her actions in Steelhold.”

No one moved.

Chapter Thirteen

Kostan

Emperor's bedchambers, Steelhold

DAWN CAME, AND with it the heavy weight of regret. I stepped from the window where I’d watched the sun crest the grasslands. It now rose near the crook of land where the plateau met the Icethorn foothills. Soon, the astrologers would measure the location of its rising on their massive wheel and declare Chilltide’s arrival. For more than twelve months, we would live on the melancholy border between growth and death, Highsummer warmth and frigid, Deepwinter chill that would lock the northern reaches of the continent in impenetrable ice. Some winters, the ice traveled as far south as the Gray Gorge, cutting off a few Prov settlements entirely.

My teachers had warned that those severe colds were among the biggest threats to the Empire. Without regular visits by Atal overseers, Provs in those isolated villages might forget the importance of adhering to their Function. They might even plot returns to their ancestral homelands in the Provinces. After the annexations, many Prov families had been relocated to Old Atal to make room for an upper-class Atal population in the larger Provincial cities while providing much-needed labor in Old Atal. Though it had been many generations since the redistribution of the population, most of those families still yearned to return to their former homes.

Once I’d finally stabilized the Empire, I hoped to assist those who wanted to migrate. But that seemed a long way off at the moment.

Grabbing an embroidered shirt and trousers of brushed wool, I dragged off my nightshirt and slipped the new garments over my underclothes. Overnight, I wore Azar’s charm pinned to the hem of the nightshirt. I unfastened it now and stabbed the pin through the collar of my new shirt. Lifting my heavy cape from its hook beside my chamber door, I stepped into the hallway and waited while five protectors formed a defensive wall around me.

Escorted through my own home as if assassins lurked in every corner. I shook my head at the thought. But after the attack last night, I had no more grounding for my arguments against it. For the foreseeable future, this would be my existence. I could bemoan the situation, or I could accept reality.

I chose to move forward. Straightening my shoulders, I strode for the palace exit.

Few servants were about the Hold’s grounds this early, and if not for the circle of guards following my every move, I might have felt alone in the crisp air. I passed the courtyard’s central fountain, its black-iron sand hissing endlessly over cornices and spouts, and strode for the entrance of the Hall of Mages. Inside, I veered for the Aurum Tower. Rather than knocking, I pushed the door aside and stepped into the gold-crusted antechamber.

“I’d like to see the boy,” I said to the apprentice who scurried to intercept me.

She swallowed and whirled on her heels, leading me forward without a word. Unlike with the wings belonging to the argent and ferro orders, a long hallway separated the entrance chamber from the base of the tower proper. Small rooms opened off the corridor, chambers used for the healing arts. If a man or woman was brought to the aurums with grave injuries, they didn’t wish to delay treatment while they dragged the victim up endless flights of stairs. A practical choice, and it also increased the size of the aurum wing, a fact which I assumed rankled the other orders.

We passed a handful of open doors before drawing near a chamber with both an aurum guard and a protector stationed outside. I assumed this was the boy’s room—a ridiculous amount of caution considering the child was no more than ten and recovering from an arrow shot besides—but the apprentice mage simply hurried past with just a quick nod at the guards. I paused, inspecting the pair, before continuing. The reason for their presence was a question for later.

No guard stood outside the boy’s chamber, and when the apprentice opened the door, I understood why. Resting on a bed that could have held five similarly sized children, the boy had sunken eyes and lips faded to a sickly blue. Another aurum apprentice stood beside the boy, hands on his chest. Just two rings encircled her fingers. Was this why the child still ailed? Because the aurums had tasked a mere apprentice with his healing?

“How is he?” I asked, containing my criticisms until I had the full story.

The apprentice turned tired eyes my way. “We won’t know for some time,” she said.

“Why?” As I spoke, I approached the bedside opposite her. As I reached for the boy’s wrist, she shook her head, violently. “Don’t—I mean—Beware, your eminence. There’s—the Trinity believes the arrow was poisoned. They’ve healed the physical damage, but the particular toxin is not something we’ve encountered before. It’s doubtful it would pass from his flesh to yours, but you shouldn’t risk contact until we know more.”

“Then you’re not the only mage tasked with his care,” I said.

Her mouth twitched in amused sadness. “The Trinity would never trust a situation this serious to a mere apprentice, your eminence. I’m only examining the arrow wound to make sure the repairs are holding. His lung was punctured, and if your return had taken even a few minutes more, only the ferro mages would have had a use for him.”

Meaning that only those who trafficked with the realm of the dead would find utility in the boy’s departed soul. I pulled up a stool and took a seat.

“What are his chances?”

The apprentice shrugged, her eyes closed as she moved her palms higher on his chest. Her brow knit in concentration, and then she nodded and opened her eyes. She stood and smoothed her apprentice tunic. “I wish I had a clear answer for you, your eminence. Perhaps the Trinity can offer more wisdom.” Sketching a bow, she moved to the door.

“It won’t harm him if I sit here a while, will it?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He’s wandering halls we can’t possibly enter right now, your eminence. But sometimes, voices help the sickest patients find the exit on their own.”

After her departure, I glanced up at my guards. Two of the protectors had entered the room with me. “I’d like to be alone,” I said.

The guards hesitated, but my pointed glance at the unconscious boy convinced them he wasn’t a threat. Nodding, both protectors stepped outside and allowed the door to swing shut.

I took a shaky breath and examined the boy’s face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t fast enough to protect you.”

I laid a hand on the bedcover and stared at my knuckles, hardened by practice in bare-handed fighting. During those hours outside Steelhold’s armory, I’d felt like a true soldier as I’d slammed my fist into wooden posts and shields held by stone-faced protectors. But last night had shown how removed from true war those practices had been. I thought back to the merciless attack of the aurums, the wet sounds of flesh parting, the gasps as blacksmiths and hostlers tried to breathe through severed windpipes.

I shook my head. My failing hadn’t been a lack of speed. I’d failed to protect the boy the moment I Ascended the throne.

“I thought I could begin my rule and immediately put everything to rights,” I said, running my hand across the soft-spun blanket. “Such arrogance. But still, I try to imagine myself as something better. I search for nobility in the deep, deep darkness. How am I to do this? How can I convince your neighbors and parents that I mean to change things, but that we must hold together? We can’t give up now.”

The boy’s breath was shallow, lifting the covers just a finger’s width with each inhalation. At his temple, a vein fluttered.

“Last night, I had the notion that if I rescued you and saw you healed… I suppose I imagined it would be a symbol. A sign that I could turn aside from this course. But here you lie, and here I sit.”

My head fell forward. I wanted so badly to recover the hope and determination that had led me to retake Steelhold. I wanted so badly to be different than the man I was rapidly becoming. More than both those things, I wanted the boy to open his eyes. Somehow still, I felt that if I could make him well, I could make the Provs believe in me.

But as the minutes slipped past, and the child remained utterly still, it was as if a shroud fell over my hope.

“Do I walk away then?” I asked. “If I declare the Atal Empire dissolved and the Provinces freed, would the people of Jaliss stop rioting and choose to rebuild instead? I’d like to do that. I don’t want the throne. But I saw the Bracer’s visions. The Empire must remain strong and united, or we all die. I feel as certain in that as Tovmeil did. So what do I do?”

The door to the chamber opened, finding me staring at the boy, waiting for an answer.

“Your eminence,” the Trinity said in greeting, three voices speaking as one.

I gathered what remained of my spirit and stood to greet them. Perhaps they saw despair swimming behind my mask. In any case, their faces showed more kindness than I expected from metalogists.

“The child won’t die today,” one of the mages said, a woman. She separated from their triangle and stepped to the boy’s bedside. “Though he doesn’t look well, life flows strong in his veins. The poison…” She twisted her mouth, displaying surprisingly human consternation. “We have never encountered such effects, your eminence. It’s… we believe it’s entirely new.”

A creeping thread of determination entered my body. I’d been feeling sorry for myself more often than not lately, indulging in pity where I ought to have channeled regret into action. If the boy could continue to fight against forces that defied the knowledge of the Aurum Trinity, the least I could do was forge onward.

“New in what way? Unrelated to other toxins?”

“We can’t sense the poison at all, though its effects are clear. The boy is healed, but he still suffers.”

I stared down at the wan face. The child’s brow was dry, but his condition nonetheless reminded me of someone suffering a killing fever. “But you’re certain the arrow was poisoned?”

The Trinity spoke in unison again. “If not the arrow, then the very substance of the mortal realm. Something infects him, but it’s beyond our understanding. We are doing our utmost to find answers, your eminence.”

“Please devote all available effort to solving this, Trinity,” I said.

As one, the mages nodded.

“There’s another thing,” the woman said. “A bit of irony, considering. The would-be assassin that was sent to us for healing… The wine-merchant—”

“Who?” I asked. I’d heard nothing of this.

If the Trinity was surprised by my lack of knowledge, it didn’t show on their faces. “Apologies. The Prime Protector had a man brought to the tower. She believed he’d fallen sick from poisoned wine he’d tried to have delivered to your table. We were asked to keep him alive so that he could be questioned.”

“And?” I asked, squashing the defeated feeling that swelled upon hearing of yet another attempt on my life.

“It’s perplexing. Though the man acted as if he were poisoned, thrashing and convulsing while he was carried into the Hall, we can detect no toxin whatsoever. As far as we can tell, he’s in perfect health.”

That explained the sentries posted outside the other room. “The guards down the hall. They’re standing watch over his chamber.”

The Trinity nodded.

“I will speak to this man,” I said, ordering my words so that no one dared object.

***

The aurum guard followed me into the room where the wine merchant had been confined. After my time in the boy’s room, I expected to see another comfortable bed draped with combed wool blankets and lit by braces of softly glowing candles.

Instead, the man sat on a table of polished marble. A heavy chain connected the shackle on his ankle to a metal rod embedded in the mortar of the floor, and cuffs of iron bound his wrists together. Despite the unforgiving bed and the harsh light channeled toward his perch by polished steel sheets laced with black iron, the man kept a relaxed demeanor.

He smiled when I stepped to the foot of the table, inquisitive gray eyes peering from beneath a shock of hair. His skin was dusky. Foreign, though I didn’t know enough to guess his homeland.

“I knew so much about these times,” he said in place of a greeting. “But out of dozens of visions, not a single one told me about you. How strange.”

Visions? I laid fingertips on the cold marble of the table. The aurums acted as if this man’s behavior were some sort of mystery, but I already had a theory. He was likely mad. I felt a twinge of pity. It must have been a relatively new condition, or he’d never have traveled so far from his home without running afoul of bandits or others who might take advantage of him.

“I understand you brought a sample of wine to the palace,” I said. The aurum apprentice had filled me in on his story before we entered the room. “You wished me to try it.”

He shrugged. “A believable excuse. I’m looking for a dead girl.”

“I see. Do you have any acquaintances nearby?” I asked. Given his apparent condition, I didn’t want to put him onto the streets alone once the aurums were satisfied.

The man planted his hands on the table. He certainly wore garb that I imagined a wine merchant might. Finely tailored linen, but not too fine. At the very least, he had enough resources to take care of himself. His shoes were more worn that I would expect, but perhaps he’d spent a lot of time lately wandering lost in his hallucinations.

He took a deep breath as sadness landed on his face, plain as day. “As I mentioned, she’s gone.” Shaking his head, he blinked and then his brow knit. “Forgive me, your eminence. I often have difficulty putting my thoughts in the proper order without preparation.”

“Forgiven,” I said.

“I came to Steelhold hoping to find news of someone dear to me. When I realized you had the information I sought, I feigned poison. It wasn’t the wisest choice, but I’ve never been a quick thinker.”

He raised his shackled hands and gave an embarrassed smirk. In the doorway, the aurum guard mumbled something to one of the protectors. Most likely asking him to find a messenger to fetch either the Prime Protector or the Trinity.

“And what information is that?”

When the man leaned forward, inspecting my face with all the etiquette of a curious owl examining a piece of meat, a protector stepped forward and pushed him back.

“I could start at the beginning,” he said. “Centuries ago. But you already think I’m mad. To be frank, now that I see you standing before me, I wonder how I could have failed to question my own mind. I foresaw Emperor Tovmeil’s murder, and though it followed that someone would replace him, somehow my mind ignored that fact. It’s as if you were a blind spot in everything I’ve come to believe.”

The man unsettled me more than he should. Madness wasn’t entirely uncommon, even in Steelhold. Well, dementia was known to me, anyway. For all Tovmeil’s failings, he’d been kind to his staff, and as the servants aged past their usefulness, he’d allowed them to stay on and live out their last years in relative comfort. But this man’s eyes were so sharp. I felt as if he weren’t so much mad as so far beyond my intelligence that I just couldn’t follow his words. If that were the case, was I risking my authority or safety by continuing to listen?

“You’re foreign,” I said.

“From Ioene.”

“That part of your story was true, then,” I said.

“But I’m not a wine merchant. I lied, and rather poorly at that. But I didn’t know how else to gain entrance to the Hold. This was the last place I felt Savra’s spark, and I must know what happened to her.”

Savra. I felt as if the air had been knocked from my lungs. Glancing behind me, I saw no reactions on the faces of the protectors or the aurum guard.

“Is the Prime on her way?” I asked.

The aurum nodded. “I thought she would be interested in what he’s saying.”

“Ask her to unlock this man and escort him to the palace. He’ll be given a room near my chambers, under guard if the Prime insists. But he’s no poisoner.”

Chapter Fourteen

Savra

A trail between a circle of standing stones and an ancient keep

I KEPT CONTROL of Joran as the conclave moved from discussing my fate to deciding the next steps for the Stormshard army. Shortly after the vote, Falla had pretended to unlock and remove my collar. Together, we’d left the circle of standing stones and now followed the path my father had taken toward the keep. Though I could sense the flow of conversation among the Shard leaders, I couldn’t focus on it. My father preceded us by only a few hundred paces, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off his back. My guilt was a deep pit sucking me down.

The farther we got from the conclave, the harder I had to concentrate to keep hold of Joran.

“I need to stop a moment,” I said to Falla.

The older woman turned and nodded, unshed tears brimming in her eyes. Blinking, she swiped them away. She knew what I’d done, and the betrayal hurt.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I said, stopping myself from making more excuses.

She drew a deep breath, then fumbled at the ties of the sling holding her arm. I stared for a moment, confused.

As Falla struggled to unfasten the knot with just one hand, I tentatively reached forward to help. If she wanted both arms free to fight me, I couldn’t blame her. In a way, I’d welcome the punishment.

The knot finally released and the sling fell to the ground. Falla opened and closed her fingers, then bent and straightened her arm to work the stiffness from it. “Been more than three fortnights since the break,” she said in explanation. “My arm had likely healed weeks ago. But I kept it in the sling because I was a coward.”

“I hardly think you’re a coward,” I said, picking up the sling. “Even if you’d had your arm free during the fight today, you wouldn’t have regained full strength yet.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I’m not afraid to fight. I left my arm in that sling for a different reason. Somehow, I hoped that if the break were still fresh, it meant that little time had passed since the cavern collapse. We never learned with certainty how many people were inside when the ceiling fell. My husband…”

“He could have been away from the camp.”

She nodded.

I stepped closer, laying a hand on her forearm. “Then there’s still hope, whether you wear a splint or not. You left the area right after the quake.”

“But we’ve sent enough scouts to know that no one returned to the site. If he’d lived, he’d have come back long enough to pick up our trail and follow us out of the mountains.”

“Maybe landslides cut him off from the area.”

She shrugged. “There will always be possibilities to consider. But both your father and I were forced to face the truth today. Our Shard is gone, and it’s time to move forward. He joined Stormshard to protect you. And now, he’s leaving for the same reason.”

I swallowed the stone that filled my throat. “It was me,” I said, nearly choking on the words. “Not Joran.”

“I know, Savra. When I left the collar open, I had little hope you’d figure out a way to escape. What you did was far more clever than I could have devised, and truly, I don’t think there was another way.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry for you and Papa both. Your Shard was together so long.”

“I can’t speak for your father, but you need not apologize to me. Better we spend our time learning the limits of your abilities, especially ways to defend yourself. Joran won’t forget this.”

No, he wouldn’t. I probed the link between us and felt his rage as a black presence. I needed to release my hold before it snapped of its own accord. Focusing my mind, I attempted to project my thoughts like I did when speaking to Lilik and Raav.

Accusing me of forcing your actions will do you no good, I said. I knew my projection had been successful by the sudden flare of bottomless hatred that battered at my control. No one will believe you. And the moment you try, I’ll just do this to you again. And again. And again. The only way you remain free is to continue as if this never happened.

I didn’t wait for the inevitable sledgehammer of rage. Instead, I snapped the link.

“I could hear you, you know,” Falla said, a brow raised in amusement. “Mind domain, Sensing aspect.”

A blush heated my cheeks.

“No, don’t be embarrassed. You did well. Though it’s strange…” She shook her head as if to dispel a thought before gesturing down the trail. My father had noticed us and had taken a seat on a low boulder to wait. “Let’s go. He needs you.”

***

A bonfire roared in one of the courtyards outside the keep, flames leaping far over the heads of the Sharders surrounding the blaze. Sparks curled higher still, swirling up to rival the stars. Around the vale, the high peaks cut the cold night sky like knives.

I sat on a stone beside my father while Stormsharders laughed and ate around the fire. At least four blazes of similar size lit other areas of the grounds, creating enough light and warmth that anyone who wanted could find companionship and conversation. Soon, the army would break camp, and any crate or barrel we wouldn’t need for the march on Jaliss had been piled on the fires. Snatches of song peppered the air, usually followed by laughter over their tunelessness. I doubted there were ten sober men or women among the hundreds.

Neither my father nor I had taken a single swallow.

My chest ached as another breath pulled scents of smoke and sizzling meats through my nose. I glanced at my father. Despite my betrayal and his coming departure, a faint smile touched his lips as he watched another man attempt to juggle a pair of sheathed daggers.

“I recommend another year or two before you try that with bare blades,” my father said as the man fumbled on the fifth toss.

The man responded with a hearty laugh. “And half as many swallows of liquor before the attempt,” he said, twirling one of the daggers between his fingers.

Faces lit by the fire’s glow, more Sharders laughed at the banter. Those who sat had their legs stretched straight, heels planted on the cracked stones of the courtyard. A few seats away from my father and me, a husband and wife leaned their shoulders together. His hand rested on her knee. Despite the battle today, none of the rebels sat with the beaten slump I’d seen in Prov shoulders from Cosmal to Jaliss. These fires and the shared food served as both a wake for their fallen friends and a celebration of the victory and battles to come.

When I could forget, even for a breath or two, the terrible thing I’d done to my father, I tried to imagine myself fully committed to their cause. Freedom for all Provs. We deserved it. No commoner should live and die slaved to a Function they didn’t choose. But how could I give myself to Stormshard when I didn’t believe the war was necessary?

When the would-be juggler moved off, my father sat forward with elbows planted on his knees. He stared into the fire, fingers loosely clasped.

“I need to tell you something, Papa,” I said quietly. With the roar of the blaze before us, no one could hear a soft conversation.

“Falla already told me.” Twisting on the stone bench, he locked eyes with mine. “You did the right thing.”

I shook my head. “There had to be a better way. It just happened so fast.”

Father laid a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t say it doesn’t hurt. But to tell the truth, I was ready to put down the burden. I made a promise to you that I intend to keep. I planned to wait until after our bid for Steelhold, but I don’t see any reason to delay now. There’s been no news of your mother and sister.”

“You’re going to Cosmal,” I said.

He shrugged. “It seems like the best choice.”

“I can’t stand to think of what I took from you,” I said.

“It’s okay, Savra, really. I’d have made the same choice if given the opportunity. Stormshard doesn’t need me anymore. And I learned today that I don’t need Stormshard, either.”

My gaze found the fire. I wanted to believe him, but couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that I’d stolen something precious from him.

He picked up a woodchip and tossed it into the blaze. “I’m going to leave when the moon rises.”

My head snapped to look at him. “I thought you planned to go in the morning.” Even then, it had seemed far too soon. I’d spent so many years wondering what had happened to him and wishing for his return. Now that we’d been reunited, I was losing him all over again.

“I plan to cross the high passes even if the others don’t feel it’s the best course. Night and early morning are the safest time to be on the snow slopes this time of year. Later in the day, the snow softens too much. It can give way.”

Gripping my knees, I stared at the fire and forced away tears. “Will you be safe?”

“As safe as you will be, I’m sure. Times are treacherous, Savra. But I’ve spent years in these mountains. As for you, both Sirez and Falla have promised to defend you with their lives. It’s the best we can hope for.”

“When will I see you again? How will we meet back up?”

He smiled sadly. “After you and Stormshard topple the Empire, our family will be free to live out our days in Numintown, right?”

I swallowed. Just the thought of all of us together in our simple cottage brought a wave of homesickness so strong I thought I might drown. “And if that doesn’t happen?” I said thickly.

“Dukket Waystation,” he said. “No matter what happens with the Empire, neither Prov nor Atal can survive without a trading post near the Cosmal Crease. If either of us can’t get home, we’ll send word to a friend of mine who keeps the stable there.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “I met him, believe it or not. Teppo.”

Father chuckled. “You aren’t kidding, are you?”

“When I was with Havialo.”

“Ahh,” he said. “That explains it. Well, regardless, send news of your location to Teppo, and I’ll do the same. We’ll be together again, Savra, I swear it.”

As he spoke, his eyes rose to a spot above my shoulder. I turned to look, and my heart sank. A glowing sliver of the moon had just crested the ridge.

“I have to go,” he said quietly.

“Oh, Papa,” I said as I fell into his hug. I squeezed him tight, the man who’d held me on his knee and taught me to skip rocks on days the Maelstrom was calm. I couldn’t bear to let him go, but somehow, my hands unclasped from his back, and then he was walking away from the fire, a shadow in the night.

Gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Kostan

A meeting chamber, Ministry Hall, Steelhold

THE MARBLE WALLS of Ministry Hall’s meeting chamber threw back the sounds of my footsteps as I entered. As I traversed the room to my seat at the head of the long, mahogany table, a dozen pairs of eyes tracked me. No one spoke.

Along one side of the table, the remaining ministers sat with spines stiff. Their faces were flat, their gazes distant. To an outsider, they might appear lost in thought, but I recognized the dull-eyed expressions worn by protectors across the Empire. Their minds were enslaved. Apparently, Argentmaster Yevinish’s efforts had succeeded. I noticed the glint of Maelstrom-silver beneath Minister Giller’s right sleeve.

Catching the argentmaster’s eye, I nodded approval. As he returned the gesture, I watched his face for signs of deceit, but either there were none, or he was too skilled to allow emotions onto his face.

Argentmaster Yevinish and the highest ranking ferro mage, a man who’d served for years beneath Ferromaster Ilishian, occupied seats opposite the ministers while the Aurum Trinity stood against the back wall. When I reached my chair and acknowledged them, the Trinity bowed in a quiet rustle of silk. I gestured to the seats nearest them, but the three aurum mages shook their heads.

“We stand to sharpen our bodies,” they said together.

I had no such compunction. After a restless night and the morning spent stewing over the terrible events from our rescue along with the troubling situation with the Prov boy, I was exhausted. My chair’s legs hissed over the marble tiles as I pulled it out and sat between Vaness and the Prime Protector.

Completing the list of attendees, the palace seneschal sat at the far end of the table picking at his cuticles. The chief astrologer had arrived from the city. A handful of pages and messengers were arrayed near the door while the new palace scribe stood at a podium along the wall. A glance at his uniform brought memories of Savra, but I forced them away. No matter how badly I wished to speak more with the false wine merchant, this meeting was far more important. My Empire was crumbling before my eyes, but today we would begin to plaster over the cracks.

When I inhaled, everyone at the table froze. All eyes were on me. I turned to Vaness.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” I said. “And I hope you accept my deepest regrets that the assignment I gave you led to yesterday’s events.”

Though faint circles darkened the area beneath her eyes, my friend appeared otherwise unharmed. She raised a hand as if to lay it on my forearm, but then appeared to reconsider. Probably wise. I needed to project nothing but strength to both my advisers and subjects. I might not feel like an emperor inside, but none of these people could know that.

“The errors were mine, your eminence,” she responded.

“A subject ripe for debate. Regardless, your courage is appreciated, Liaison. Now…” I turned to the rest of the group. “We must discuss last night’s events and our larger strategy for halting the rioting in the city. Foremost, the revolutionary Prov element must be contained and smothered. Prime, I’d like to hear your recommendations.”

The Prime stood, her face absent the gloating a pettier woman would have shown. From the first hours of my rule, she’d pressed for rigid enforcement of curfews and swift, decisive punishment for those Provs who failed to heed the commands. She’d been right while I’d been terribly, terribly wrong. Even yesterday evening, as my forces had assembled at the Sun Gate, I’d imagined a peaceful march through the city. A show of strength but not force.

I could forgive myself for making errors; I’d known I had much to learn when I Ascended. But my mistakes had caused bloodshed. I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to ignore advice again.

The Prime Protector laid hands on the table and leaned forward. “If I may, your eminence, there are two pieces of new information I’d like to share first.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“The first concerns the apparent poison in the arrows. I understand that you have visited the Prov boy and learned of his condition.” She waited for my nod before continuing. “I’ve just returned from an inspection in the barracks. There were five soldiers injured by arrows last night—that is, five aside from the unfortunate protectors who were slain in the streets. We’re organizing a small, elite force to retrieve their bodies this afternoon. With your permission of course.”

“Granted. Bring them back and please summon the families so that they may pay their respects.”

Following my words, Argentmaster Yevinish shifted in his seat. His expression remained flat. “Your eminence must have forgotten. When a protector takes the vow to serve the Empire—”

“He hasn’t forgotten,” the Prime said. “We spoke of the change already. Heretofore, Emperor Kostan wishes that protectors’ familial bonds be preserved rather than severed. A protector is bound to serve the Empire faithfully as long as their body allows. Afterward, they are to be released from their… vow.” As she spoke, she glanced at the wrist cuffs now decorating the ministers. “I sent a page to inform you of the change so that you might prepare.”

The argentmaster stared at her, a glare so withering I fought the urge to flinch. No page had been sent to carry the message because the Prime and I had not spoken of this. Most likely, the argentmaster knew the woman was bluffing to cover my ignorance in suggesting we inform the families of the deaths. But he would not accuse her. I needed to remember to thank her later—and to ask what the prior custom had been regarding protectors released from their duties. Or maybe I didn’t want to know.

“As I was saying,” the Prime continued. “Five men were struck by arrows and survived. Three were pierced on the arms and shoulders, one in the leg, and one was scratched by the fletching on an arrow that narrowly missed her neck. The last injury was healed by the aurums already, and the protector has resumed her duty atop the walls. The others…” Her brow furrowed as she sorted her next words. “Though none of the wounds was life-threatening, even after the expert ministrations of the aurums, the soldiers appear listless.”

I turned to the Trinity. “I wasn’t informed of this when I visited the boy.”

The elder of the two women spoke for the group. “We weren’t aware of any ill effects until now, your eminence.”

“I’ve only just noticed it myself,” the Prime said. “It’s a subtle shift, your eminence. Nonetheless, I recommend we move them to a separate barracks where the aurums will have free access to deliver examinations.”

When I raised a questioning brow to the Trinity, they nodded. “Perhaps we will gain insight into what ails the boy as well.”

Something in the situation caused unease to stir in my belly. “See that they’re guarded,” I said.

“What is your fear?” the Prime asked.

“I’m not certain. But until we understand the nature of this toxin, I believe we should use caution.”

“A wise choice. It will be done. Now, as to the other piece of information: we’ve had a number of reports from our friends in the Heights. Apparently, the elite families have been bombarded with paper-wrapped stones in the last hours.”

I cocked my head. “Explain, please.”

“Tossed over their walls from neighboring districts. The papers are covered with Prov demands for food and trade goods. The elite are demanding we move more forces in to defend the district.”

I sighed. “From a few rocks?”

“They fear for their safety. If the Provs grow bolder, they might scale the wall between districts.”

“We’ve already committed double the usual guard detail to the entrances to the Heights and added patrols to the Merchant’s Quarter. Perhaps we could station a few more along the top of the boundary wall, but otherwise, we’re stretched thin.”

“I doubt that will be enough to reassure them.”

“Do you have a suggestion?”

“Your eminence,” one of the ministers said. She swiveled her gaze to me as she spoke, the first eye contact I’d received from among the ministers.

“Yes, Minister Pranvill?” I said, dredging her name from my memory.

“We could house the elite families within Steelhold.”

I felt the disgusted twitch of my lip before I managed to fix my face in its flat mask. How would it look to the Provs when I invited the Atal elite to shelter within Steelhold’s walls? Especially considering the need to do something more drastic about the rioters. Then again, I’d already decided to rally the Atal as a first step to stabilizing my rule.

“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.”

“With respect, your eminence, you need to do more than that.” Minister Giller, the man I’d most recently questioned, laid his palms flat on the table. “If you lose the elites, the merchant class will follow. You can’t rule without the Atal. They are the Empire’s prized citizens. Even if the Provs were docile, you must keep Atal loyalty. They are the superior race.”

Anger flashed through me at his prejudice. Aside from our ancestral birthplaces, there were no differences between Atal and Prov. Beneath the table, Vaness laid a restraining hand on my knee.

“I will not tolerate such statements,” I said. “The only advantage Atal have over the Provs is their wealth and the status granted to them by this throne. A status that I’m no longer inclined to convey.”

I expected an angry rebuttal or sudden submission, but Minister Giller offered neither. Instead, he maintained his direct gaze. “I am bound to speak only the truth to you, my liege. And I speak with honesty when I say the Atal are better people.”

“And you?” I asked, turning my gaze to Minister Pranvill beside him.

“Minister Giller speaks truly. The elite are the finest citizens in the Empire. Their abilities are bred into them. This is why the Provs must be guided by the throne’s hand.”

I struggled to swallow. All along, I’d known these attitudes prevailed among the Atal, but down inside, I’d hoped—believed, even—that most people recognized the truth. No person born in the Empire was better than another. The divide between Atal and Prov was created by greed and a hunger for power amongst the Atal conquerors. Yet these ministers, when forced by magic to speak what they believed to be true, proved how deep the prejudice ran.

How could I change such deep-set beliefs? It seemed impossible, which meant I either needed to give up on the Atal or lie to hold their loyalty. I’d already taken actions I would have found abhorrent just a few weeks ago. How far must I stoop?

Atop the table, my fingers curled into fists. I took a deep breath to steady my thoughts, then turned away from the ministers.

“Thank you for the report, Prime. I believe the situation in the Heights will keep for now. The greater concern is our ability to contain the Prov unrest.”

“If I may, your eminence,” Vaness said.

“Go ahead.”

“While held captive, I tried to gather information regarding the agitators. I cannot be sure, but I believe there is an organized group of leaders providing fuel to the anger. Without them, the frustration would die out. People would focus on rebuilding their homes.”

I sat up straighter. “Any notion on how we might find them? If so, we should begin today.”

Vaness’s gaze dropped to the table. “I thought I’d made contact with one of their number before. Instead, I sent a would-be assassin into the palace.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“Vaness, setbacks are bound to—”

Like a sudden thunderclap, Vaness slapped the table. “Don’t you see Kost—your eminence? I failed. And I got captured in the process. If not for me, the fight last night wouldn’t have happened. I’ve made things worse, not better.”

I pressed my lips together. I’d spent so much time blaming myself for the deaths in the Splits that I hadn’t considered how she might be feeling.

“I gave you the most difficult job in the Empire. You’ve done better than anyone could have expected.”

My friend’s eyes burned with guilt as she stared at me. “That’s a lie, your eminence. Even if you don’t realize it, I know it for a fact. You need someone else to serve as your liaison. Let me—I don’t know. Make me a bodyguard. Anything else. But I can’t continue in this position.”

As her words sank in, my hopes dwindled. Who among these Atal could I trust to carry my message to the Provs? No one but Vaness. Maybe she was right, and the duties were beyond her skills, but by giving up, she left me with no one. Without loyal people working among the Prov, how could I hope to find the agitators?

A few weeks ago, I’d had two friends among the Prov. Now, the Prime Protector suspected Savra in my attempted assassination. I supposed I could try to get a message to Fishel, but most likely he’d refuse me now that he knew who I really was. Anyway, I’d probably just get him killed if I asked him to work for me.

I ran my gaze over the room, hoping for a suggestion. No one spoke.

Finally, I took a deep breath. There were Provs I could use to find the agitators. I’d just been avoiding them.

I nodded to one of the pages at the edge of the room. “Go find the Snitchlord. Tell him I will meet with him as soon as he’s available.”

***

“You can start by being frank with me,” I said as I stepped into the chambers I’d occupied for the last few years of my time as an imperial Scion.

The false wine merchant whirled in surprise. He’d been standing at the window, hands wrapped around the iron bars. It was the same spot where I’d spent so much time, watching the bustle in the courtyard, the billowing clouds over the high peaks of the Icethorns. A tide of nostalgia surged, and I forced it away. The guardians had claimed the bars were to protect the Scions from would-be assassins when in truth, they’d been set into the windows to assure we wouldn’t try to escape our duties. And in the end, they’d done nothing to keep my fellow Scions from being murdered in their beds.

I’d meant to have the bars torn from the window frames, but other issues had taken priority. In the meantime, the Prime Protector had decided a Scion’s chamber would make the best prison for the strange foreigner.

“In what regard?” the man asked.

“In the Atal Empire, it’s considered proper to address me as ‘your eminence.’”

“Apologies. In what regard, your eminence?”

I twisted a foot back and forth in the deep carpet as I considered the foreigner. I’d expect him to stammer or look aside when I chastised him over his impoliteness, but he’d done neither.

My honor guard had followed me into the room. Laying a hand on my scimitar’s scabbard to show I was prepared to defend myself, I turned to them. “Leave us, please.”

“The Prime has instructed us to accompany you everywhere outside your chambers, your eminence,” one of the soldiers said.

“And I’m instructing you otherwise.”

The soldier’s flat expression didn’t change as he thumped a fist to his chest and turned. The others followed him into the hallway, and the door shut behind them with a click.

“I hope I haven’t misjudged your intents,” I said as I strolled to one of the cushioned armchairs and sat. “But if you do mean to kill me, I assure you I’m well trained in combat. With the difficulties I’ve faced lately, I have little patience. I won’t be gentle if it comes to blows.”

A smile twitched in the corner of the man’s mouth. “Fear not, your eminence. I’m unable to harm someone even when it's in my best interests. Some consider it my greatest flaw.”

“Then I’ll say it again: I’d like you to be frank with me. When you said you hadn’t foreseen me, what did you mean?” More than anything, I wanted to ask about Savra. But what if this man meant to harm her? What if he wished to use her against me? His mention of her name had likely been calculated.

“If I were frank with you, it would likely confirm your earlier suspicion that I was mad. I have no wish to be locked away.”

I crossed my legs at the ankles. “You appear to have made the same error as everyone else in this Empire regarding my disposition. If you were infirm, I wouldn’t lock you away. I would ask my mages to treat you.”

Again, the man smiled, a crooked expression. “I didn’t mean to cast judgment on you with my statement. Only that I’ve learned much over the decades but haven’t yet acquired the trick of expressing myself clearly.”

“Decades. A strange measure of time for a man who doesn’t appear much older than me.”

The man stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I’m told your name is Kostan.”

“It is. Though, as I mentioned, it’s customary to address me as your eminence or Emperor Kostan. And your name?”

“Parveld. Though it’s not the first name I’ve had.”

“Explain to me how you’ve come to learn things over decades. And please sit,” I added, gesturing to one of the armchairs.

Parveld shuffled across the carpet and inspected a chair almost as if he feared it might swallow him whole. After a moment, he lowered himself to the edge of the seat. He didn’t meet my eyes when he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

“I don’t think so. Earlier, you spoke of even longer spans of time. Centuries.”

He clasped his fingers together and rubbed one thumb over the knuckles of the other. “You’re right, I did.”

“Explain. I dislike this evasiveness.”

The man’s gaze flicked to me and darted away just as quickly. “It’s—Tides but it’s difficult to meet you like this. In the day since I glimpsed you, you’ve stolen the final shreds of certainty I’d held for two hundred years. I don’t quite know how to feel or behave.”

Propping my elbows on the arms of the chair, I took a deep breath. “So you’re part of a long-lived race. I have heard tales of such peoples hailing from distant lands, but I didn’t expect you to look so human.”

He blinked as if dispelling a thought then forced his eyes to meet mine. “I have lived a long, long time. But it’s due to a particular ability of mine, not due to my ancestry.”

“And what is this ability?”

He glanced at my scimitar before continuing. “My magic is similar to spiritism, which I understand is outlawed in the Empire.”

I shrugged. What in the roiling storm was spiritism? Apparently, yet another thing the guardians had withheld from my education. When had our teachers intend to explain such basic knowledge? After Ascension? “My predecessor held beliefs somewhat different from my own. I haven’t yet made a determination regarding spiritism.”

“Well then perhaps you’ll consider letting me live.”

“If you begin explaining yourself, perhaps I will.”

He sighed. “All right. If you’re so determined. What would you say if I claimed I’d seen the future?”

I was grateful we were meeting here rather than within my chambers where my eyes might be drawn to the Bracer of Sight’s cushion. “I’m not sure. What do you claim to have seen there?”

Abruptly, Parveld’s face held an ocean of sadness. “Cataclysm. A ruined land, swallowed by waves and riven by gashes too deep to fathom. Death and pain and horrors I can’t bring myself to describe.”

I flinched at the man’s words even while a shiver crawled over my spine. “Tell me about the waves.”

“A wall of water. There are bodies. Shadows in the green. Whole towns sliding into the sea.”

My tongue felt heavy and my palms slick. It was as if by simply speaking, the man summoned the bone-deep dread that haunted my nightmares.

“What if I told you I’d seen the same thing?” I said quietly. “A set of visions I wish I could escape.”

Parveld sat bolt upright. “The waves?”

I nodded. “The land breaking apart. A war against the Provs. Steelhold collapsing atop the city.”

His mouth worked as he seemed to form then discard words. “And Savra? Did you see her?”

The sound of her name struck a blow to my chest, a fierce longing to be someone else. Somewhere else. With her.

I shook my head. “She wasn’t in the visions.”

“But you know her. I saw her in your mind before…” He trailed off, swallowing as he gestured toward my collar.

My hand fell over the black-iron trinket that shielded me from the metalogists. “We met in Jaliss before I Ascended.” I hesitated. He’d given me an opening to ask about her, and I didn’t think he intended her harm. And anyway, the words left my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. “During my Ascension ceremony, there was an attempt on my life. I believe she saved me. Do you know where she went? I’d—my Prime Protector is searching for answers about the plots against the throne. I think Savra could help me deliver those answers.”

Parveld pressed his lips together, and in his eyes, I glimpsed the centuries he claimed to have lived. “It makes sense now,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“On the night of your Ascension, Stormshard had a plot to enter Steelhold. They’d recruited Savra by promising information regarding her father’s whereabouts. It was difficult for me to understand the events precisely, but I suspect she found a way to allow the assassins past the walls.”

“Three of the protectors assigned to guard the Shadow Gate claimed she somehow took control of them.”

Parveld nodded. “That would explain it. She must be strong in compulsion. In any case, if, as you say, she saved your life, it would have meant she betrayed Stormshard.”

His voice broke over the last words like a wagon losing a wheel to the rocks. I waited while the strange man sank back into his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

“And then?” I asked, hating the words for the answer I feared they’d provoke.

“Part of my ability allows me to sense the spirits of the living. I think of them as sparks. I was able to connect with Savra’s spark and to sense much of what she was feeling. A few of her actions, even. The evening is a bit confused in my mind, but there’s one moment I simply can’t forget. A few hours after sunset, her spark simply vanished.”

The words landed like fists. Vanished. I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question. Instead, I gripped the arms of the chair, hoping he would just stop speaking. Savra had saved me, betrayed her mission with Stormshard, and they’d killed her for it. Of all the wrongs I’d committed since Ascending, causing her death was the single worst. I wished I’d never met her, the innocent Cosmali girl come to Jaliss to learn to scribe.

After a long moment of silence, I balled my hands into fists. “What do you know about Stormshard?” I asked.

“Vengeance won’t bring her back,” he said quietly.

“No,” I said. “But my visions command me to keep the Empire strong. It’s the only hope for salvation. The Provs won’t accept my kindness; seems it’s time for them to accept my wrath—those who oppose me directly, anyway. And if I can avenge an innocent young woman at the same time, even better.”

He sighed. “A few weeks ago, I would have argued with you. Only goodness can conquer the disasters that are coming, I would have said. But I spent centuries following my visions, and with Savra gone, nothing I’ve believed in will come to pass. So at this point, I suppose it’s time to let someone else bear the burden of the future. I know little of Stormshard or their whereabouts, but whatever resources I have are at your disposal.”

Chapter Sixteen

Savra

Just outside an ancient fortress, Icethorn Mountains

FROST CRACKLED UNDERFOOT as Stormshard set out from the ancient keep. Walking over alpine tundra laced in white, the rebels slowly fell into ranks, walking two and three abreast on the trail leading from the valley. At the rear of the procession, mules laden with spare weaponry, armor, and rations plodded with heads down. Buckles jangled and leather creaked along the column while in the lead, the scouts guided the handful of horses along serpentine courses.

Every few hundred paces, low stones caught the sunlight. Small patches of lichen spattered the white granite faces, crawling over carved designs that had been nearly worn away. My gaze kept returning to the patterns, wondering again who had cut them into the stone surfaces and what the designs had meant to the carvers.

When we passed the blackened area where the bodies of the twisted creatures had been burned, I steeled myself and summoned my aura-sight. The roiling mass of their spirits had finally dissipated, perhaps carried away with the ashes of their bodies. Only the faintest traces remained, so insubstantial that they might have been my imagination.

Where had they gone? Through the veil, or were they simply scattered and unable to find peace? I swallowed. Wherever they came from, I hoped it wouldn’t happen again. But the smell—the way they resembled the Maelstrom-spawn… Somehow, I doubted we’d eradicated their kind.

They’re coming because the Breaking is worsening, aren’t they? I asked Lilik. You told me that metalogy is tainted because it uses magical power which became twisted as it leaked through the Maelstrom’s seal. The relics come back from the Hunger as well, usually with strange properties. What’s to say that people and animals can’t return?

It seemed to take a moment before her awareness turned to me. The pause made me wonder what she and Raav did when I wasn’t speaking with them. Did they watch the world through our bond? Maybe they entered a sort of sleep. Two centuries confined to a bracelet was a long time.

I don’t know, Savra. Parveld never spoke of anything returning except for the magic that infuses the Maelstrom-metals and the occasional relic.

But you must have an opinion.

I felt a trickle of amusement flow from the bracelet. Some people would say that Lilik had too many opinions when she was alive, Raav interjected.

Oh, clap shut, Lilik said fondly. I had no more ideas than anyone. It’s just that I had less restraint about expressing them. Anyway, since you ask, I’d say they’re absolutely related. It seems obvious. The rifts opened by the Hunger take everything from our world. The living, the dead, the soil and sea and trees. Magic and sunlight. It makes sense that if magic and objects can be cast back, so can creatures. We suspect the seal is deteriorating, which is why the Breaking is accelerating. A weaker seal allows more things to pass.

If all this seems obvious, why didn’t you just say so at first?

Because I didn’t want Raav to accuse me of having too many opinions, she said. I could almost hear the smile in her words.

Hey! her husband protested.

I extended them a tendril of amusement and returned my attention to the trail ahead. Marching before me, the bulk of the Stormshard force looked much less like the ragtag group they’d seemed when they’d arrived at the fortress. Sharders scanned the surroundings with alertness and walked with confident strides. I spotted Joran’s hulking form among the ranks. I’d made sure to keep my distance, and so far, I’d had no further problems from the man.

At the front of the column, the scouts had already veered from the trail, cutting up the slope where the angle was gentlest. The lead horse rode directly for the low pass the conclave had chosen as our exit, a compromise between the ice-crusted notches between the high peaks at our backs and the ambush-vulnerable gorge where the stream left the vale.

The sun warmed the side of my face as I hitched my pack higher and matched my strides to the Sharders surrounding me. Approaching from the rear of the column, Falla drew even with me, a rock clutched in her hand as she worked her arm through exercises to restore strength and flexibility. Confidence molded to her body like a second set of clothing.

She caught me looking at her and smiled. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about Kostan.”

My back stiffened. “And?”

“I want you to know that every man and woman here would rather settle this without bloodshed. If we learn that he’s treated the Provs with respect and kindness, we’ll try to negotiate first. No matter how stubborn we seem, none among us want war if we can gain Prov freedom in other ways.”

“Really?” Why hadn’t anyone spoken of this to me before?

“Sure,” she said, tossing the rock and catching it. “But Prov freedom doesn’t just mean we’re freed from the worst of the drudgery the Empire has forced on us. It means a return to the old ways. No more Empire. Each Province an independent nation—or a coalition of separate nations if that’s what the citizens desire.”

I kicked a small pebble from the trail as I considered her words. No doubt Kostan would do everything within his power to bring peace. But I worried that Stormshard might go too far in asking to dissolve the Empire entirely. What purpose would that serve if the Empire agreed to allow us to live freely? With the threat of the Breaking—or if not that, the tribes in the Wildsends and nomads roaming the Sandsea—why divide our strengths?

Still, my footsteps felt lighter than they had in some time. Once we drew within reach of Jaliss, we’d surely hear news of the good work Kostan had already done. Perhaps this war could be stopped before it even began.

Our course soon left the trail, cutting up the slope on the path marked by the scouts. Falla drew ahead of me, seemingly unaffected by the climb whereas the march up the hill quickly set my breath rasping and my thighs burning. But on the ridgeline ahead, a pair of ancient guardian stones marked the pass and the end of the climb. The end of the difficulties, perhaps.

***

“…didn’t expect it to be this bad.” One of the Shard leaders, a woman with hair in a neat plait, was standing atop the low pass, speaking with Sirez when I arrived, huffing, at the crest. I took a last, few staggering steps to a flat-topped boulder and sat, swigging lukewarm liquid from my water skin. At least most of the Sharders were similarly winded. The climb had been steeper and longer than it had looked.

While I caught my breath, I examined one of the standing stones. Like the boulders that dotted the vale below, ancient carvings on its surface had been mostly rubbed away by time. I couldn’t guess what the faint designs showed, but the way the two pillars faced each other made me think of them as a gate. Maybe they’d marked the limits of the vale and the territory guarded by the keep.

“We haven’t been feeling the shakes,” Sirez said. “It must be a trick of the land.”

The other leader nodded. “That slide area doesn’t look very stable to me,” she said, pointing downhill. From our high point, the slope fell away toward another valley. A raw scar crossed the mountainside, a trough of bare dirt where the landslide had torn the vegetation free.

“Agreed. We’ll stop at the first place we can find that’s suitable for staying the night and scout in the morning. I’d hate to backtrack.”

“We’ll do what we must I suppose,” the other woman said. “We’ve waited a century for this fight. Another day won’t matter.”

Sirez smirked as the pair separated. As I leaned back, laying palms on the flat boulder, I felt the ridges beneath my skin. I turned and moved into a crouch, running fingers over the stone. Enough soil and moss had collected in the crannies that I hadn’t noticed the patterns before I sat.

For some reason, the work of the ancient carver seemed an inappropriate place to rest my rear, so I pushed wearily up and slung my rucksack back over my shoulders. The Sharders were already forming into marching ranks anyway.

It was midafternoon by the time we reached a spot level enough to make camp. Earlier during the day’s march, we’d passed an old barrow, a burial hill piled with rubble. The gray granite stones had been unmarked by any of the carvings that had decorated the vale. Most likely whoever had been laid to rest there came from a people even older than the carvers. I’d shaken my head in disbelief. Cosmali were so young. According to our history, we’d only settled the peninsula in the last couple centuries. Before that, the Maelstrom had been the subject of dozens of superstitions, enough to chase away even the bravest adventurers.

Now, as I laid my rucksack on the short meadow grass, my thoughts returned to that history. To me, earthquakes had always been a part of life in the Empire. Just another event like a thunderstorm or evening breeze. But could it be that they hadn’t always shaken the land? Had the Cosmali settlers somehow provoked the Maelstrom?

I supposed it didn’t matter much now. Even if every man, woman, and child on the peninsula migrated north, I doubted it would change what had already been started. And besides, the metalogists would never give up their source of Maelstrom-metals.

As the Sharders arrived on the flat bench where Sirez had called a halt, they quickly set down packs and set to work pitching tents and lean-to shelters. Others grabbed water skins from a central pile and struck off downhill. Seeing this, I hurried over and left my skin with the others. At the far end of the bench, low brush spread over the mountain grasses. A woman was stomping through it, possibly looking for enough dried sticks to kindle a fire. It didn’t look to me like she’d have much luck.

I scanned the gathering until I spotted Falla, then hurried over.

“How can I help?” I asked.

She finished checking the straps on her pack and then flopped down beside it. I was surprised when she pillowed her head on her hands and closed her eyes. “When it’s your turn to make camp, a Shard leader will let you know ahead of time. For now, I suggest you enjoy the sunshine.”

The sun did feel good, a striking warmth in the high mountain air. I considered reclining beside the spiritist but shaded my eyes and looked uphill. Since I’d left Numintown with Havialo, I’d been a prisoner, then a frightened girl surrounded by a crumbling city, a palace scribe at the beck and call of anyone who needed my services and, again, a prisoner. I hadn’t enjoyed a moment of pleasant idleness in months.

“I’ll be back soon. Going to head up and get a look at the terrain ahead.”

Falla pulled off one of her gloves and laid it over her eyes. “Suit yourself.”

I could feel the crunch of the meadow grass through the leather soles of my shoes as I struck off up the hill. A few hundred paces above the camp, scattered rock outcroppings broke from the slope like teeth. A little furry creature stood atop one and whistled as I approached. Out of curiosity, I summoned my aura-sight. The animal’s spirit was a faint thing compared to the bright flare of a human. It was pure, though, and unbothered by the complexity that swirled in a human spirit.

When I drew too near, the little creature squeaked and ran. I dispelled my aura-sight.

“I’ll take your seat, if you don’t mind,” I said as I clambered onto the outcropping where it had perched.

I started to lower my weight to a seat atop the pedestal but froze when I glimpsed movement below. Perhaps a hundred paces down the slope, someone had just ducked behind another outcrop.

The motion had seemed furtive, but perhaps that was just my imagination. Maybe I’d simply spied another Sharder out for a walk. Holding my crouch, I stared at the broken stone pillar. When no one appeared, I slowly stood. Either I was being followed, or I’d been mistaken about what I saw. Planting my feet wide to keep my balance, I allowed my aura-sight to spring forward. My racing heart slowed. The only spirit nearby was the same little animal, now hiding beneath a jumble of lichen-clad stones. Its small aura was a contented yellow as it crept around in its little home.

In any case, it was probably time I returned to camp. Down the hill, the Sharders preparing the encampment were the size of insects. I couldn’t hear their shouts; I’d hate to miss the call for dinner. Yawning, I searched out footholds for my descent from the rock pile. My feet landed in the stubbly mountain grasses, and I set off down the slope.

As I passed the little animal’s hideout, I extended a thread of affection to the creature. It didn’t seem to notice.

Ahead, a pair of outcrops reminded me of the pillars that had guarded the pass. I wondered again about the ancient people who had set them upright and decorated them with carvings.

Beneath my foot, a stone rolled. I squeaked and windmilled my arms, barely catching myself before I pitched forward. As I quick-stepped to regain balance, I saw movement again, unmistakable in the shadows below one of the outcrops.

I threw my aura-sight back into place but still saw nothing. A shiver ran from my hairline to my heels. Was it a phantom? With my gaze flitting between the terrain before my feet and the pillar, I hurried away across the slope.

“Where are you going so quickly, Savra?”

Joran’s voice stopped me cold as he stepped out from the shelter of the pillar. The man’s face was a mask of cold rage. His eyes lanced into mine as his lip curled back. Again I fell into my aura-sight, so far that the world dimmed. Again, I saw nothing but emptiness.

He stepped closer, wide shoulders blotting out a large swath of the landscape. I couldn’t help but notice his fists, leather-clad with brass nubs on the knuckles. He was real; I could smell his body, sweaty from the day’s trek. But he was utterly invisible to my sight.

“Falla is expecting me,” I said. “Training.”

The big man smirked. “Last I saw, Falla was asleep. Didn’t appear to be warming up for magic lessons.”

He took a step closer, boot smashing a clump of wildflowers. I glanced downhill, and my heart slammed against my ribs. I couldn’t see the camp from here. A cluster of boulders blocked the view.

I pressed fingernails into my palms. “What do you want, Joran?”

“Hmm. What do I want? Revenge, of course. But what else?” As he spoke, his fists opened and closed, the metal studs glinting in the sun. “How did it feel to take control of me, Savra? Did you enjoy it?”

“I hated it,” I said honestly. “It’s a terrible thing to do to someone.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yet you did it anyway.”

As he spoke, he continued to advance. I stepped back, heels catching on tufts of grass. I glanced downhill but still couldn’t see the other Sharders.

“Don’t worry,” Joran said with a grin full of malice. “I just want to talk. And maybe to make you understand how it feels to be powerless.”

“You wanted the conclave to vote for my execution. It left me no choice. I hope you won’t make me use my abilities on you again.” I held my chin high as I bluffed.

The big man snorted. “Nice try. But surely you’ve already realized you can’t affect me anymore. Not when I’m wearing this.” The man folded down the neck of his light leather armor, exposing the line between sunburned skin and his pasty flesh. Below the demarcation, the black-iron collar had been fastened around his neck.

I looked away. “Where did you get that?”

He shrugged. “You have your allies. I have mine. To be honest, I wasn’t sure it would work until I saw the expression on your face when I surprised you. But I figured if it could contain your abilities, it might shield me from them in the same way.”

I planted my downhill foot, preparing to run. From here, no one would hear my screams. My best hope was to flee.

When Joran took another step toward me, I whirled, spinning around my downhill leg to face away, and sprinted across the slope. Rocks clattered behind me as Joran sprang. I wasn’t fast enough. With a grunt, he plowed into me, knocking me flat. Rocks slammed my face as I fell, gouging my cheeks. Together, we rolled down the hill before slamming into one of the outcrops that had hidden our position from the camp. Rough granite scraped my shoulder before Joran’s fist sank into my gut.

The blow knocked the air from my lungs. Joran had landed atop me and now pushed up, knees digging into my thighs. He pinned my throat with a hand the size of a draft horse’s hoof. I saw sparks as I shoved at him.

“I won’t kill you now,” he said. “But only because there are too many reasons for the others to suspect me. I can’t have Stormshard turning against me while we’re out here in the wilderness.”

The world was fading around the edges, my pulse washing ineffectually against his weight on my neck. My lungs begged for air, searing with the need, but I couldn’t suck anything past. I grabbed his thick wrist, but I might as well have tried to pull a tree from the earth with my bare hands.

I sank further toward unconsciousness, my limbs growing fuzzy.

Joran laughed. “Pathetic,” he said. “Same as all women.”

With a last shove against my windpipe, he laid his free hand against the boulder and stood. Air wheezed as it entered my lungs. I coughed.

“It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it?” he said. “To know that another has absolute control over you. To realize that you are completely powerless.”

My first swallow was agony in my bruised windpipe. I didn’t think I could speak, so I nodded instead.

“I hope you’ll remember this in the coming days,” he said. “I hope you will live in dread of the next time I find you alone. You’ll consider telling your friend Falla about this. Of course you will. But you should realize what folly that would be. She’d make a move against me, probably an attack. She’d fail of course. And what then? The conclave would split. Her allies against mine. And how would she defend her actions? Certainly not by admitting that I attacked you because I was under your thrall when I voted to forgive your betrayal. The fact is, if she comes for me, it will look like revenge for your father.”

Awareness of my body was returning. Rough edges of stone pressed into my back and legs. My gut ached where he’d punched me. I wasn’t sure if I could sit up without fainting but clenched my stomach anyway. Gathering my legs beneath me, I laid a hand on the outcrop and stood. Joran still towered over me, but at least I wasn’t lying there like a bug ready to be squashed.

I met his eyes. “I don’t need anyone’s help to defend myself.”

He sneered as he stepped close, forcing me to stumble back. “No?” he said, raising a fist.

Joran laughed as my eyes fell away. Shoving me against the boulder, he stomped past and headed toward camp.

Chapter Seventeen

Kostan

Emperor's private audience chamber, Steelhold

THE MASTER OF Information, better known as the Snitchlord, entered my private audience chamber on a gust of arrogance and smelling of hallifas leaves, a popular stimulant. Tucked into his upper lip, the wad of chew caused his mustache to bulge unevenly. Despite that and the hooked nose presiding over it, I supposed most people would have considered the man handsome.

I’d chosen to stand for our audience. In fact, every time I did sit, it only made me feel as if I wasn’t trying hard enough. My Empire was held together by age-brittled strands of tradition and the lingering fear of protector wrath. Soon enough, the riots in Jaliss would spread across Old Atal and into the Provinces. Combined with the earthquakes opening chasms across the landscape and people starving in the ruins of their homes, the Empire would soon be a shattered husk.

Unless I did something.

“Your eminence,” the Snitchlord said, his voice hissing like a snake.

I dipped my chin in a nod of acknowledgment. “How do you prefer to be addressed?”

His smile seemed to slide over his face. “From most, I suggest Master Brevelak. However, with Emperor Tovmeil, I preferred the intimacy when he used my given name. Frawen, if you are so inclined.”

I wasn’t so inclined, but I’d already strained our relationship with my repeated refusals of his requests for an audience. “Very well, Frawen. Do you know why I requested this meeting?”

The man inspected a jewel-encrusted hand before scanning the room. He strolled to a chair that stood beside the single, small table opposite the door. The movement forced me to swivel to keep my eyes on him. A subtle manipulation, but effective. As the director of a network of Prov informants who tattled on their neighbors, it took little imagination to understand the Snitchlord’s character. He was a master in games of deceit and power. But I was still his liege.

“Please, take a seat,” I said as if oblivious to his machinations. Choosing the chair opposite him, I sat as well.

“The messenger claimed you seek information on Stormshard,” he said, buffing his fingernails on his tailored jacket. “Interesting that your query would come now, as I’ve been requesting audiences since the day after your Ascension. Was your eminence not interested in the movements of your enemies until now? And if so, why not?”

“I have my reasons for declining the audiences,” I said. “However, I am interested now. I would appreciate it if you proceeded to enlighten me—unless, of course, you’re no longer interested in maintaining your position.”

His mustache almost hid the twitch of his upper lip, a suppressed snarl. “When you refused me for the third tenday straight, I must admit I began to pay less attention to my informants’ reports. Given the poor state of communications across your Empire, it’s a surprise that information reaches my ears in any case. Speaking of positions of authority, you really ought to restore order if you wish to remain in yours.”

As he spoke, his eyes gleamed with the feral intensity of a predator. After weeks of refusing him, he likely knew I had an urgent reason to change my mind. And given my sudden rise to the throne, he probably surmised that I had little idea how to gain access to his network of Prov spies without his help. Unfortunately, those assumptions would be correct.

“Since you seem intent on forcing the issue,” I said, “yes, I now require your services despite my earlier refusals. I had idealistic hopes for my new reign, and they included improving conditions for the Provs such that the practice of snitching was no longer necessary. However, I have since learned that I was naive. Perhaps I can achieve my goals in time, but for now, I must restore order. I believe you can help me achieve that. Are you willing to provide your expertise and knowledge, or must I seek others who will?”

Triumph sat lightly on his features as he pulled a small bronze jar from his pocket. Plucking the disgusting wad from his lip, he shoved it through the neck of the jar, plucked a cork from the same pocket, sealed the container and tucked it away.

“I accept your apology,” he said.

I was grateful for the table between us; it allowed me to make fists without his knowledge. Above the slab of wood, he saw only the mask I placed over my features.

“And yes,” he continued, “I have some reports on Stormshard, but the whispers are weeks old at this point. At your request, I will resume my activities and seek more timely information.”

“Fine.” Compared to sending armed protectors against the Prov population, allowing the snitches to pass rumors of their fellow villagers seemed almost kind. I probably should have considered this step long before. “And what can you tell me from these weeks-old reports?”

“Well, to start, I’ve had a few scraps of information coming out of the distant Provincial settlements. I can’t declare with certainty that this relates to Stormshard, but people have disappeared.”

“Disappeared? As in kidnapped?”

From another pocket, he pulled a silk bag filled with oily shreds of hallifas leaves. I contained a grimace while he shoved the fresh load under his lip on the other side. During our conversation so far, he hadn’t yet shown his teeth. Most likely, they were stained beyond belief.

“I can’t say, of course. You know Provs. They spook at the slightest noise. But the rumors seem to come in two groups. First, there are the townspeople who appear to have left without saying goodbye. Traveling clothing was missing from wardrobes, cupboards emptied, and so on. So we can assume that those disappearances were intentional. As for the others…” He put on an expression of false pity. “People from isolated holdfasts and farmsteads are vanishing under rather more suspicious circumstances. Some of my informants have spoken of animal attacks.”

As if I didn’t have enough problems to occupy me. As far as I knew, the Atal Empire had little problem with wild animals, unlike the desolate northlands and the Wildsends.

“I appreciate the information. But what does this have to do with Stormshard.”

“Do you have any wine?” he asked. “I’m feeling rather parched.”

Along the far wall, a young page stared at the vaulted rafters. His mouth moved silently as if he were counting the ceiling bricks.

“Rellin,” I called. The boy jumped. “Please fetch a decanter of wine for Master Brevelak.”

Within two breaths, the youth was out the door. I didn’t blame him. The heavy drapes that hung across the walls and windows of the chamber muffled all sound, so he probably hadn’t even been able to entertain himself by listening in on our conversation.

“If you can continue despite your dry throat,” I said, “I have much left to accomplish today.”

The man put on an aggrieved expression as he nodded. Storms, but I wished I hadn’t required his services. Once I managed to bring order to the Empire, I would greatly enjoy turning him out of Steelhold with a few steel coins and well wishes in his search for a new occupation.

“As for the animal attacks, we can assume that’s nothing more than feeble-minded Provs seeing threats where none exist. Farmers run over by their plow teams, perhaps. It’s nothing to take seriously. The willful disappearances, on the other hand—the patterns make me believe Stormshard is rallying at one or more central points.”

“I’ve heard the same. Surely, you can do better than repeat rumors so common they’ve reached my vaunted ears. What makes you believe these disappearances can be attributed to Stormshard? Perhaps more Provs have decided to leave the Empire altogether. Even as a Scion, I knew that the Aniselan ports provide an escape for a number of disloyal citizens. The migration is called the Hidden River, is it not?”

He inclined his head in a manner that somehow seemed condescending. “Quite true, your eminence. If it weren’t for the other information I’ve recently received, I’d agree with you.”

“And what is that?”

“Many of my snitch masters believe Stormshard is gathering in the mountains. Quite possibly, they mean to—” He paused to laugh. “—attack Steelhold.”

They already have attacked Steelhold, I thought. And when Savra saved the Empire by stopping the attempt on my life, they murdered her.

“Where in the mountains?” If they were building an army, however small, I needed to send forces against them as quickly as possible. Strike before they surprised us.

He shrugged. “As I said, given your apparent disinterest in my information, I’ve been busying myself with other pursuits. There are quite a few Prov women in dire need of food and shelter. They’ve shown surprising enthusiasm for my requests for companionship.”

At that, he raised his eyebrows in a leer. The only thing that saved me from putting a fist into his smug face was the reappearance of the page with a crystal decanter of wine and a single glass.

“Have you received rumors of activity outside the mountain gathering? I need to understand who is fueling the Prov rebellion within Jaliss. I suspect Stormshard, but to continue to stoke the blaze, they’d need to be near.”

He inclined his head as the page set the wine on the table with a clack. “Not as of yet. But I will keep my ears open as you requested.”

“How soon will we know the details?” I asked as he poured a generous measure into his glass.

“Well, your eminence, that depends on you,” he said with another oily smile.

I steeled myself for another ploy. “How so?”

“For most of my time as Information Master, I’ve relied on the passive collection of information. When a carpenter sees the butcher across the street lazing about yet complaining about an unfair quota, the carpenter contacts the local snitch master. At the carpenter’s convenience, of course. As you can imagine, details can be slow in coming with this process. Provs aren’t particularly observant, and they rarely exhibit a sense of urgency.”

“And now you wish to tell me there’s a faster way.”

He sipped his wine and sneered. “How very clever of you to guess. Yes, I could instruct my subordinates to press for information. A more active approach, you might say.”

Something in his tone bothered me. “Active in what way?”

After another sip of wine, he swirled the contents of his glass. The red liquid lapped at the edges of his goblet, perilously close to spilling, but never crested the rim. “Snitches are more likely to bring information to their masters if they have a strong incentive. We’ve used a system of rewards for decades, of course, allowing those who make the most useful and consistent reports access to more luxury items, better food—you get my gist, I’m sure. If someone proves him or herself over and over, there’s even the chance they might advance out of their simple home and Function. Quite a few of the regional snitch masters began as humble Provs.”

“If you’re asking permission to increase the rewards, granted.” The Empire could spare the resources, and as for advancing out of their Function, that was a measure I could support without reservation. I’d hoped from the beginning that I could improve conditions for the Provs.

He cocked his head as he sucked his teeth, moving the wad of leaves to a different location beneath his cheek. “I’m afraid that might not create the results you desire. Too much influx of food and materials draws attention. If we move the snitches away from their communities, we lose their eyes and ears. But don’t worry, I’m confident I can find ways to motivate them.”

“You don’t seem interested in enlightening me.”

He shrugged, finger tracing the rim of his wine goblet. “The truth is I prefer to keep my methods to myself. You’ve already threatened to replace me once today. If I disclose all my secrets, what’s to stop you from enacting that threat?”

“For starters, I don’t know how to contact your network.”

He smiled, showing just a glimpse of teeth. Yellowed by his habit, unsurprisingly. “But you’re clever. It would be a simple matter to have me and my correspondence watched until I’d made contact. No, I prefer to keep the details of my work to myself. Besides, you have an Empire to rule. I shouldn’t bore you with details. You need results.”

Yes, but something told me I wouldn’t like his methods. I inspected the man’s face, and he bore the scrutiny without wilting.

It seemed I had a choice. If I wanted this man’s help in stopping Stormshard, I’d need to allow him leeway to gather the information I desired. But I also needed to take responsibility for his actions. I wouldn’t be the sort of ruler who hid behind his aides and ministers. I needed to accept that anything done by someone under my command might as well have been worked by my hand.

I was almost certain the man’s talk of new incentives had nothing to do with rewards. He intended to encourage the Prov snitches by threatening them. Could I accept that? By informing on their neighbors, the snitches had already proved they lacked integrity. If there were a group I could stomach threatening, shouldn’t it be the snitches?

Still… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t allow this man to apply unknown pressure in my name. Not if I wanted to keep hold of the shreds of honor I still possessed.

Exhaling, I slid the decanter of wine away from the Snitchlord, preparing to dismiss him from my audience chamber. As I did, Savra’s face leaped to my mind. I saw her, color high in her cheeks, in the scribe’s tunic. She’d saved my life. Stormshard had killed her for it.

Rage flooded my veins. Stormshard had murdered someone for the sin of believing in me. More, if they were behind the violence in the Splits, the blood of dozens of rioting Provs was on their hands.

Emperor Tovmeil had said I’d need to make difficult choices if I were to hold this Empire together. And given a choice between threatening a few Prov betrayers or watching the Empire descend into chaos and bloodshed—not to mention, the all-out cataclysm I’d seen through the Bracer of Sight—why was I even balking?

“Do what you must to find information on Stormshard and the provocateurs behind the Jaliss riots. I expect answers within the tenday.”

I stood, expecting the man to recognize the dismissal. Mouth twisted in a smirk, he instead took another sip of wine. “As your eminence commands.”

Jaw clenched, I carefully but firmly removed the wine goblet from his fingers. “Thank you for attending me. Now if you please, I have another audience scheduled.”

His annoyance showed only in the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Your eminence,” he said with a nod before he stood and left the chamber.

Chapter Eighteen

Savra

A rugged trail, Icethorn Mountains

STORMSHARD MARCHED FOR a week, climbing over passes, threading narrow valleys, and turning back again and again when landslides or unstable slopes blocked progress. The delays were met with grim determination on the leaders’ faces, but the mood in the camp grew wearier as the march continued. In the evenings, we made camp in flat valley bottoms if possible, far enough from slopes to be clear of landslides or avalanches. Every day, half a dozen small earthquakes rattled the landscape. The small shakes didn’t bother me much, probably because Cosmal Province shuddered and trembled all the time. But the unease in the Sharders’ eyes told me how unusual the mountain earthquakes were.

It seemed strange that the tremors hadn’t disturbed the area around the fortress while we’d occupied it. Maybe the ground beneath the keep was more stable than the surrounding mountains. The ancients might have known that. Maybe they built there for a reason. Or perhaps it was a coincidence.

Most days, Falla and I marched together. Her company helped distract me from Joran’s hate-filled glares. But I felt them anyway, boring into the back of my head, penetrating the walls of my tent at night. Since he’d attacked me, I hadn’t dared go off alone again, not even when asked to get water. Falla didn’t object when I asked her to accompany me. I wasn’t sure what excuse I’d offer if she did. I suspected Joran was right about how my father’s friend would react if she knew how Joran had threatened me. I’d already caused enough upheaval within Stormshard’s ranks. I didn’t want to do more harm to the organization Father had worked so hard to strengthen.

As we marched, Falla explained the theories on spiritism. According to the few scholars attempting to define the branch of magic, there were three domains: Body, Mind, and Essence. They represented the types of things a spiritist could affect. Body and Mind were straightforward to understand, but Essence was a bit more complicated. According to Falla, an essence described the part of a person that moved beyond the veil in death. A soul, in other words. But while most Essence spiritists did work with the dead, some could also weakly sense or affect the living. Falla’s abilities were in the Mind domain, but her experience with the minds of others manifested very differently from mine—she’d never envisioned auras as I described them. That made her wonder whether I might be in the Essence domain instead. Yet, as far as I knew, I couldn’t perceive the spirits of the dead.

A puzzle, but not the only one.

Not only did a spiritist’s abilities fall into a domain, they also employed an aspect. That was how a spiritist affected her domain. Depending on which group of scholars you asked, there were either three or four aspects. Sense, Control, and Speech were the types everyone agreed on. The debate was apparently ongoing whether the fourth, Binding, even existed.

As far as Falla had been taught, spiritists had just a single aspect. But seeing as I’d been able to both Control Joran and Speak into his mind, the classifications didn’t appear to make sense for me. It confused both of us. We’d been going through the information yet again when Falla finally threw up her hands.

“All I can say is it will be interesting when I introduce you to my teachers,” she said. “From here out, I think we’re better defining your abilities by what you can do than what the theories say you can’t. Just because there’s never been a spiritist fluent it two aspects or domains doesn’t mean it’s impossible, I guess.”

I grabbed a handful of tall grass and stripped the seeds away as we walked past. We’d been slowly descending as we wandered our way out of the mountains, and low pines now grew in stands on shady slopes. Faint trails cut by animals followed burbling streams. Sometimes, like now, the paths were wide enough for two people to walk abreast.

“So I’m a freak, but maybe I’m a powerful freak. I don’t know about the Essence thing, though. When Sharders died during the battle, their auras vanished from my sight.”

Falla lifted her water skin and drank, squinting in the bright mountain sun. “It could be you just haven’t learned how to perceive them through the veil yet. You’ve never heard the whispers, right? I’ve only known one Essence spiritist, and she claimed that’s how her talent first manifested.”

My heart beat a little faster as I cast my thoughts back. “You mean, like voices?”

She shrugged. “She described it as a little rustling in her mind. Eventually, there were words, but not at first.”

The grass seeds crunched when I squeezed them. Rolling my fingers over my palm, I sprinkled them onto the trail. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to talk about this. “There may have been something when I was young.”

“Oh?” she said, not pushing, but clearly interested.

“Maybe,” I said shrugging. “It used to happen right before I fell asleep. I called them the night whispers. My mother said they were just the edges of dreams.”

“Interesting,” Falla said. “But you don’t hear them anymore?”

I sighed, chewing my lip. “They frightened me. I used to have nightmares…”

“You worked to force them away.”

I shrugged, then nodded.

“Well, that might explain it.”

What do you think? I said to Lilik. Am I an Essence spiritist?

I don’t know, Savra. This talk of domains foreign to me. But I think you are chasing the right answers when considering your past and the mental walls you may have built. Our minds are far more powerful than we allow ourselves to believe.

Did you hear the dead? I asked.

A twist of amusement joined her thought. Oh, yes. A whole civilization of them. It was rather shocking the first time they broke through my barriers.

How did it sound? How would I know if they’re trying to reach me?

I don’t know, Savra. It’s different for everyone, I’m sure. But one thing caught my interest. The night whispers you mentioned… I had something similar. When I was a very young girl, I imagined voices in the alleyways and warrens of my home slum. I imagined they told me stories of the past. Later, I closed my mind to them—my mother abandoned us, and I needed to grow up and take her place in caring for my brother. But I couldn’t rid myself of the desire for more stories and adventures.

Or in her case, Raav cut in, misadventures.

Those too, Lilik said. In any case, once I learned to control and understand my ability, I realized that the voices had likely been real. The dead were telling a young child their histories because only she could listen. So think on those night whispers, and if you can, try to cast down the walls you’ve built. It’s possible you have no connection to the realm of the dead, but it’s a powerful tool if you can wield it.

I extended a measure of gratitude to her. Thank you for telling me, I said.

Her thoughts were tinted with wry humor when she responded. I’ve been stuck in this bracelet for more than a century, just waiting for the opportunity to be your wise sage. I should be thanking you for finally being born.

I smiled as I withdrew my awareness from her.

A pine bough hung over the trail, and Falla hopped up as we passed beneath it, plucking a pine cone from the branch. She started tossing the cone back and forth between her hands. “Back at the keep, you avoided my question about your teacher. I didn’t understand why you’d hide it until I put the puzzle together. I assume she’s connected to the conversations you keep having with your bracelet.”

I stiffened, nearly catching my toe on a tree root. “You can hear us?”

She smirked. “Most of the time. Well, I can hear you. I assume your bracelet talks back. Otherwise, I’m inclined to think you’re missing a few arrows in your quiver, if you know what I mean.”

“I—yes. There’s a spirit inside the bracelet. Two spirits.”

“Human?”

At this, Raav snorted. One of us is, at least.

Hey! Lilik objected.

“They’re people, yes. They lived a long time ago and were somehow bound to the metal after their deaths.”

Falla tossed the pine cone again, this time catching it behind her back as she stepped beneath its arc. “Well, then, that’s all you had to say when I asked if you can hear the dead.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I was in the Essence domain after all. Or maybe… both Mind and Essence? “I assumed it was different because they’re—because they’re in my bracelet, I guess.”

“That and you were worried about giving away your secret.”

Realizing I’d laid a protective hand over the bracelet, I let it drop to my side. “When I was a prisoner in the catacombs, they were the only companions I had.”

“So, care to tell me why you have a bracelet with dead people in it?”

I glanced over my shoulder, worried about being overheard.

“Don’t worry,” Falla said. “I already checked. The stream will cover any sound.”

“You’ll probably think I’m an idiot when I tell you the story,” I said. “I was awfully trusting when I left Numintown.”

Her mouth twisted in amusement. “We all learn caution somehow.”

“You know about Havialo and me,” I said. “How I let him take me away from home.”

“That wasn’t your fault. He’s an expert manipulator. And regardless of his motives, he probably saved your life. The registrar would have identified you as a spiritist and taken you away for execution.”

“Well, when we got near Jaliss, Havialo met up with a few others. They were arguing about how to use me—I think they were plotting against the Emperor. Havialo’s friends thought it was too risky, and they were about to kill me when a shepherd came to my rescue.”

Falla lifted up a low bough for us to duck beneath. “Few shepherds would fare well in a contest against an earth mage.”

“This shepherd was more than he appeared. He worked some sort of spell that made the attackers vanish.”

“Why don’t we rest?” Falla said. “I’d like to hear more about this.” Falla gestured at a narrow passage beneath a group of trees. Beyond, the stream bank was carpeted with fallen pine needles. A thick root made a sort of bench. Nodding, I followed her and took a seat.

“When you say ‘vanish,’ do you mean vanish from sight? Like a phantom?” she asked.

I shook my head and tossed a handful of needles into the flowing water. “Parveld said he sent them into the Sandsea. I don’t have any way to prove whether that’s true or not.”

“And did he explain how he sent them into the Sandsea?”

“He said his abilities were similar to spiritism.”

Falla snorted. “Not any spiritism that I’m aware of.”

“Lilik—she’s the woman in the bracelet—says that magic evolves over time. And Parveld claims that he’s two hundred years old. That might explain the difference in abilities.”

With an exasperated laugh, Falla pressed fingertips into her temples. “All right. We’ll let that go for now. So, he somehow transported these people from Jaliss to the Sandsea. Then what?”

“He said he’d been waiting for me all his life because I’m the only chance to save the Empire.” My cheeks heated at the ridiculousness of the statement, and I expected Falla to laugh again. But if she found the idea funny, she spared me the embarrassment.

“Well, I suppose those claims would catch my attention,” she said mildly.

I pried a little stone from the mud and leaned forward to wash it clean. The rock was flecked with sparkling mica that reminded me of searching the sluice boxes for the glimmer of Maelstrom-gold or silver.

“Anyway, I thanked him before riding into Jaliss. On my way, the big shake hit. I was scared and lost, so I went to an inn Parveld had recommended, and the next morning he’d left the bracelet for me.”

“And after that, you discovered there were spirits bound to it?”

“More or less.”

“What do these spirits want?”

I ran my finger over the entwined strands of silver and gold. “Same as Parveld. To help me save the world, I guess.”

Falla sighed. “You didn’t tell your father these things, did you?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t really have time alone with him on the journey to the keep. When I did, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

Falla plucked a blade of grass and started splitting it lengthwise with her thumb. When she had three strands, she began braiding them.

“My sister used to do that,” I said, smiling.

“An old habit,” Falla said. “I have a hard time just sitting and not doing something with my hands. Idleness is my enemy, I guess. Too much time with Stormshard. It always feels like there’s so much to be done for the movement.”

“How long have you been a part of it?”

She blew air through pursed lips. “Not sure. Thirty years, at least. I was eighteen when I left home.”

“You must have met your husband after you joined.” As soon as I spoke, I regretted bringing it up. But the mention didn’t seem to sadden her more than she already was.

After finishing the plait, she wound it around her finger and knotted it. “Happened recently, in fact. We hid our relationship for months before I had the courage to tell your father. I worried he’d think we weren’t dedicated Sharders if we’d become distracted by things like love. He always seemed so focused, you know. But I understand now. He was just thinking of his family and how he could keep them safe.”

“I wish he would have brought us with him,” I said, turning the rock over in my hand. “We never knew what had happened to him. My mother and sister still don’t.”

“He worried for your safety, I’m sure. Sharders are free, but it’s a dangerous life.”

Except now, Mother and Avill were probably still captives of Havialo’s henchmen. That or dead. So we hadn’t been safe staying in Numintown, either.

“Do you think he’ll find my mother and Avill?” I asked

Falla nodded. “If anyone can, it’s your father. Maybe by the time we leave the mountains, there will be news waiting.”

I tossed the rock into the stream, sending a small splash onto my ankles. “I hope so.”

Falla planted a hand and pushed herself up off the root. “Let’s get going. I want to reach camp in time to try a few things out. Maybe we can crack this mystery of your talent by forgetting the rules and focusing on the evidence.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

“And Savra,” she said. “I said your father’s a good man. It’s clear in his actions. It’s also clear in his offspring.”

***

“Okay,” Falla said, face set in a somber expression. “Try doing whatever it is that allows you to see auras.”

Nodding, I swallowed and tried to ignore the thudding of footsteps behind me. But the low voices of the other Sharders pressed into my ears as they trudged past. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a pair of women make little superstitious gestures with their fingers.

“Don’t worry about them,” Falla said. “It’s the cemetery that makes them uncomfortable, not our interest in it.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t argue. It had been a couple of days since our discussion at the stream, and though we’d made little progress in unraveling my talent, I respected her methodical process for trying to understand it. We’d tried meditation, aura manipulation, all types of sensing. Particularly since her experience with spiritism was so different from mine, I found her creativity inspiring.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I returned my attention to the small graveyard before me. Tucked in a hollow before a stand of birches, it appeared to have been used by the nearby village for centuries. At the rear of the area, small piles of stones marking the graves had been crusted over by lichens and mosses. Tufts of grass grew from some of the piles. If the deceased had descendants in the village, they’d long forgotten which graves to honor. There were no cut flowers or bangles decorating the oldest graves. Just dappled sunlight and the ruffling caress of the wind fell over the ancient mounds.

Closer, stones and wooden planks had been planted vertically to serve as markers. The names of the dead might have been written upon the headstones at some point, but they’d faded now. Here, though, an occasional bouquet or carved wood trinket had been placed upon a plot. The sight gave me a sense of peace. It warmed me to know that these people had been loved and that the generations here still remembered. The Empire hadn’t stolen their sense of family or their memories.

Closest to the low fence of dry-stacked stones, five fresh graves had been dug and filled. The earth above them was raw, smelling of soil after a rain, and though it had been tamped almost flat, there’d been no time for grass to grow atop the graves. The markers at the heads of the trenches were fresh-split pine planks, and names had been burned into the flat faces. But despite the recent deaths, no flowers had been laid in remembrance. No inscriptions had been burned along with the name.

No loving inscriptions anyway.

On a plank marking a grave for a man named Cerrold, a single word stood below the name.

Snitch.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Had Cerrold been killed, perhaps along with his family, for tattling to the Empire? In Numintown, such a thing would never have happened. Snitches were disliked. Hated, even. But none would ever be killed for the crime of trying to better their family’s lives. And what had inspired the villagers to so boldly label the grave? Briefly, I wondered if the Provs finally felt safe rejecting their fear of punishment. The village ahead of us would be our first contact with others since we marched into the mountains. Our first chance to learn how Kostan had chosen to rule.

“Can you feel them?” Falla asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I—not yet,” I said as I put my focus into my aura-sight.

Closing my eyes, I pressed away my awareness of the scents of sun-warmed grass, the rustle of the breeze in the trees. Only the auras mattered.

But even with all my effort focused on it, I felt nothing from the graves. Beside me, Falla’s aura pulsed with interest. Her Mind domain gave no awareness of the dead, but she was likely observing my thoughts for the sudden surprise I’d feel if I contacted their spirits.

Unfortunately, if I could cross over the veil, my ability wasn’t manifesting. I couldn’t sense these people, nor explain why they’d died. That was the other motive behind this attempt. As we’d drawn nearer to the village, passing scattered shepherd’s huts, the conclave had hoped to gain information about what to expect when we arrived.

“Nothing,” I said after a while.

Falla exhaled. “Well, we tried.”

As I opened my eyes, blinking against the glare, I felt it. A furious rasping at the edges of my awareness.

“Wait,” I said, throwing myself after the sensation.

But I caught nothing.

“Yes?” Falla said.

I shrugged. “Gone.”

***

The Stormshard column marched somberly through the outskirts of the little mountain village, keeping a slow pace out of respect for the mounds of fresh earth in the cemetery. Hardly anyone spoke. I got the sense that no Sharder wanted to know how the five villagers had been slain, especially the body that lay in a trench far too short to hold an adult’s remains. No doubt it would be up to Sirez to get the story. I didn’t envy her.

Given the number of outlying dwellings, I’d expected a larger settlement. My mind had even wandered into fantasies of sleeping in a proper inn, an honest mattress beneath me and a goose down cover over the top. But the cluster of buildings gathered around the central square and well house was no bigger than Numintown. Smaller than my hometown, even. Except for the largest structure, a wooden frame built atop a low stone foundation, there were only stacked-stone buildings thatched with stalks of wheat. Low fences bounded gardens filled with scraggly plants.

When our army had gathered into a milling horde surrounding the well house, the village seemed even quieter. Eerie, even. We hadn’t passed close enough to the shepherds’ huts to know whether anyone had been inside, but I’d assumed the herders were out tending their grazing flocks. Perhaps not. Already unsettled by the graves and the strange rasping I’d felt, I fought the urge to shiver. The other Sharders shifted, glancing about. When a door to the town hall opened, a few people gasped.

A man with a receding hairline and careworn face stepped onto the threshold. His eyes darted nervously over our gathered crowd. Only after searching the entirety of the square did the tension leave his shoulders. “Why are you here?” he said without preamble.

“Clear skies greet you, friend,” Sirez said as she wove through the Sharders toward the man. “We’re passing through. Thought we might stop for news, and perhaps speak to any able-bodied men and women who might have interest in hearing some… proposals.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of proposals?”

In a window behind him, motion flickered before a curtain dropped over the glass. Focusing my aura-sight, I peered through the wall. There were at least twenty people in the hall, probably having holed up inside when a lookout spotted our approach. Their auras showed a mixture of sadness and fear. I glanced quickly at Sirez, wondering if she knew any of this.

“You’re fairly isolated out here,” Sirez commented. “No… official presence?”

“If you’re asking whether we’ve got protectors listening in, the answer is no. They left already.”

A rustling rose from the gathered Sharders at the man’s words. Sirez shifted her weight onto her other hip. “Already?”

Again the man’s eyes roved over the crowd. “You’re Stormshard, aren’t you?”

Sirez shrugged a shoulder. “Depends on who’s asking.” Despite her casual stance, she slid a hand toward her belt and the long dagger sheathed there.

Falla nudged me. “Be ready,” she muttered under her breath.

The man held Sirez’s gaze as if judging her. Finally, he heaved a sigh and stepped out of the doorway. Behind him, I spotted the glint of eyes watching the discussion.

“Whether you are or aren’t, you lot look able to protect yourselves. And none of you have the dead-eyed stare of a protector. So you might as well hear the news.”

I hadn’t realized how tense the Sharders had become until they relaxed in response to the man’s words.

“Where might we speak, friend?” Sirez asked. “And may we have use of your well to water the horses?”

“Take what you need,” the man said. “You’re welcome to beds, too. We’ve homes for two hundred here, and as you might have noticed, not half that number to fill them.”

Chapter Nineteen

Havialo

A narrow gorge, Icethorn Mountains

FROM JUST TWENTY paces away, the entrance to the hidden cavern system was invisible. Havialo smirked as he approached. The other geognosts had mocked his inability to find harmony with nature, but wasn’t this proof of how wrong they’d been? It wasn’t that he’d been incapable of mimicking the natural forms, it was merely a lack of interest. He simply hadn’t had the motivation until he’d had something important to protect.

Approaching the entrance, he shook his head in amusement. What had inspired him to consider sharing his secrets with the other geognosts? Fear, he supposed. He’d been afraid to take all this power for himself. But he’d made a vow as he walked away from the ruins he’d created. Never again would he show such weakness.

Never again would he cower.

Within the first half-hour’s walk from the monastery, he’d released another fault. And another. The corruption didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the masters had feared, it hadn’t touched Havialo. Whatever threat this taint posed, he commanded the power to defeat it. And now, he’d only get stronger.

Straightening his shoulders, he approached the cliff and slipped behind a detached pillar to enter a darkened cleft, the sanctuary’s antechamber. He laid a hand on the wall and channeled energy from the breeze outside, widening the fissure at its apex and allowing more light to penetrate—it no longer mattered whether the entrance could be seen from outside; he and his spiritists would leave for Steelhold tomorrow.

Though the rock outside was coarse-grained granite, rough and unpleasant, the walls within were smoothed to the texture of polished marble, each chamber lovingly hollowed by his will over the past years. Every time he’d brought a new spiritist, freshly rescued from certain execution by the Empire, he’d channeled additional energy into extending the rooms. He wanted his young mages to feel safe. Comfortable.

Most especially, he wanted them to feel loyal.

Running fingers over the wall, he advanced. As he stepped through the arched doorway into the main cavern, a woman in her twenties looked up and gasped.

“Master Havialo!” she said, face lighting to match the collection of candles floating in a bowl in the center of the chamber. “It’s been so long!”

“How are you, Reashel?” he asked. She had been one of his first recruits, back when he’d still associated with Stormshard. More, she’d been the first to unlock the technique of refilling his gnosty. As far as he understood, only spiritists with aptitude in the so-called Body domain could aide him in this way. The others he’d rescued were of little use to him. Which is how he’d ended up with a surplus of spiritists, a circumstance that had led to his ill-fated partnership with the Ministry. For utility, he’d kept a few recruits who were skilled in the other domains, but rather than discard the remaining spiritists as useless, he’d sold them to the palace conspirators as tools. Unfortunately, the Ministry hadn’t understood how to use them properly. Had they done a better job with the resources Havialo had supplied, they wouldn’t have bungled Tovmeil’s assassination so badly.

But done was done. And over the past weeks, Havialo had come to appreciate the Ministry’s failure. For a long time, he’d believed that any plot which led to the demise the Atal Empire would satisfy his need to avenge his daughter. Now he knew the truth.

The destruction of Atal must come by his hand alone.

“I’m well, Master,” Reashel said, grinning. “The last shipment had apricots! Where did you manage to find those?”

Havialo raised his eyebrows. Apricots, huh? In truth, he rarely thought about the system he’d set up to have provisions delivered to the sanctuary. A buyer in Jaliss collected whatever goods were available and turned them over to a string of carters who made regular trips into the mountains. The last delivery always happened at a crossroads, never at this hidden refuge. But the spiritists knew how important it was to be careful when fetching the supplies. No one must see them slip from the folds of the terrain to gather the delivery. Especially when just one of the young women could carry a crate weighing double her body thanks to her spiritism.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he said. “A fruit-seller came all the way from Anisel—a wonder the apricots hadn’t gone bad.”

“Well, you know how grateful we are,” she said, dipping a curtsey.

Havialo nodded as he scanned the chamber. Around the room, young men and women slipped from branching corridors and nodded greetings.

Turning his eyes back to Reashel, Havialo composed his features into a serious expression. “How has the training been going, Reashel?”

A faint blush rose to her cheeks. “I think you’ll be pleased,” she said. “All but three of us are ready to offer our strength. And I have another surprise.”

“Indeed?”

“The shielding you were hoping for. Vivea—she’s Essence domain—has managed the trick of walling off her abilities. Or, a more practical use, of walling us off from each other. None of us can get past a shield she builds.”

Havialo’s brows raised—if his theories about the relationship between spiritism and metalogy were correct, Vivea’s protections would defend him from attacks by the palace metalogists. Altogether, this was far more progress than he’d hoped for. Minus the three who were still learning, Reashel had managed to train twenty spiritists to refill his gnosty. Using them would be like standing on the nexus of regeneration. The process drained the spiritist, of course. He’d learned that early on with Reashel. Her first attempts had left her bedridden for a week each time. But she’d persevered, knowing how much Havialo had sacrificed to rescue her. Or at least, she’d believed the claims he’d carefully crafted.

Over time, he and Reashel had learned to identify when a spiritist was too exhausted to continue safely. At that point, Havialo could clamp down on his inner font to signal the spiritist to sever the bond. But with twenty spiritists, he’d have little need for such caution. If one burned out, perhaps even died, he had plenty more to power him.

“Wonderful news,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “And I have good news for you, too. I’ve been in touch with a renegade band.”

“Stormshard?” Reashel asked, clearly excited.

He nodded. “We’ve agreed to join forces—they’ve given us a task that will aid the cause. We’re finally going to end the Empire’s tyranny. No more spiritists will be hunted or executed. You’ll be safe to go home.”

Chapter Twenty

Savra

A humble tavern in a mountain settlement

“WATCH HIS AURA. If you fear deceit, signal me,” Falla whispered as we followed Sirez and a small cluster of Shard leaders into the village’s tavern. I’d been surprised when Sirez suggested I join them; Falla should have been able to sense if the man was lying. Maybe the Jalisswoman thought I might see something Falla couldn’t. Or maybe she was thinking of her and Falla’s promise to my father. They’d vowed to protect me. Leaving me outside with an army of Sharders, many of whom hadn’t yet forgiven me, wasn’t the best way to keep me safe. Then again, my greatest enemy was right here in the tavern.

“Is there a barkeep?” Joran asked loudly as he pulled out a chair. He slapped the table before him, raising a cloud of dust.

“Afraid not, sire,” the villager who’d greeted us said. “He’s gone with the rest of them. I might manage to tap you an ale if I can find the keg.”

Joran perked up. “Please—”

“Thank you, friend,” Sirez cut in. “But we have no need for drinks. Given your caution earlier, I’d rather hear your tale with a sharp mind.”

Joran’s cheeks purpled, and he glowered at her from below lowered brows, but he said nothing. I chose a table on the opposite side of the room from the big man.

The villager smiled a bit shakily as he rubbed a hand over his bald pate. “Just as well,” he said. “Otherwise I’d be tempted to pour one for myself, and that would not please my wife. Especially considering the situation. She wants me to go after them. Her sister’s daughter was among those hauled away, from what we understand.”

“It sounds as if your troubles have been legion,” Sirez said. “Sit.”

Nodding, the man pulled out a chair. “I’m not used to speaking for a group,” he said. “Actually, I’m a bit unused speaking at all. I’m the town’s scout, and I spend most of my time alone.”

The man didn’t strike me as a scout, but then again, I didn’t have the strong build suited to shoveling gravel into sluices along Cosmal’s coast. None of us had chosen our Function. We just did what the Empire demanded.

“Your name, my friend?” Sirez asked. Around ten Sharders had entered the tavern and taken seats. Most sat in respectful silence. Meanwhile, Joran busied himself drawing stick figures in the dust.

“Tendal,” the man said, touching his brow. “Apologies for not offering it sooner. Anyway, I wasn’t here when things went bad, so I’ve asked a lad to join us after he sees to his younger sister’s midday meal. Until then…”

“Perhaps you could begin the tale,” Sirez prompted. “Were you on patrol?”

Tendal shook his head. “It happened about a tenday past, now. I’d just come in from a patrol the evening before. There was a shake in the dark hours of the night. Just a small one, but it changed the stream bed above a village in the next valley over. The land above the village got waterlogged, and a mudslide buried part of the town. Around half of us left near dawn to help.”

“Good of you to do,” Sirez said.

The man shrugged. “This far into the mountains, we have to support each other. A consequence of isolation, I suppose.”

I found myself nodding. Numintowners were much the same. Even if it meant forsaking our Functions and coming up short on quotas, we wouldn’t hesitate to help Agartown or any other Cosmali settlement in an emergency.

“As I mentioned, we were a town of about two hundred. Around one hundred men and women left to help dig, leaving mostly children and the elderly behind.”

While the man was speaking, a shaft of light swept across the room as the door to the tavern opened. A boy slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. Once my eyes adjusted, I scanned his face and judged him to be about fifteen, lanky with a thatch of hair that stuck up from his forehead. He nodded at the man.

“And here’s Serl, come to tell the rest of it,” Tendal said as he gestured at the boy.

As all eyes in the room turned to him, the boy dry-washed his hands. After a moment, he rubbed his palms on his thighs and nervously searched for a seat.

“Here,” Sirez said, nudging a chair away from her table with her foot. “And take your time.”

“Thank you,” the boy whispered. He cleared his throat to recover his voice, then sat. “I was helping Edwoll and Challi bring in their sheep when the protectors came. The minute I saw them, I knew there’d be trouble, so I sent those two back into the hills.”

“You did well,” Tendal said, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

“They’d come to see Cerrold,” Serl said, his eyes turning fierce as he spoke. “We all know—knew he was a snitch, but no one much cared. We’re far from Jaliss and wool isn’t all that valuable. As long as we meet quota, the Empire doesn’t bother us. Plus, Cerrold sometimes shared the extra flour he got from the local snitch master.

“Anyway, the snitch master came in person this time, which was something we’re not used to. Brought around two dozen protectors with him. They grabbed Cerrold and his family. Dragged him to the square and started asking questions.”

At this point, the boy raised his eyes to the group. I peered at his aura and was shocked to realize he was angry with us. I leaned over to Falla and told her as much.

“He asked about Stormshard,” the boy said. “That’s why this happened. They were looking for you. We were living here peacefully, and now my grandmother’s gone, and my younger brother with her.”

“Why would they look for Stormshard here?” Sirez asked. “We’ve always been careful to operate from places where Provs won’t be blamed if we’re caught.”

Muscles in the boy’s jaw worked as he controlled his anger. “It’s the new Emperor. He ordered this.”

My breath stilled. Kostan had sent the protectors here? That couldn’t be right.

“He’s specifically asking for Stormshard?” Sirez asked.

“The protectors said he’ll imprison anyone who so much as thinks a nasty thought about the Empire. And as for those who speak openly against him, or worse, join up with groups like you?” The boy shook his head. “The protectors had already hung nooses from the tree branches by the time I crept close enough to watch.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Joran said in mock horror. He grinned at me as he spoke. “Emperor Kostan is a good man! He would never kill innocent Provs. This must be one of Tovmeil’s orders.”

The man smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. I pressed fingernails into my palms. He could mock me all he wanted, but I knew my actions in Steelhold had been right. Or at least… I hoped they’d been right. In truth, I’d become increasingly worried as we marched. Amongst hundreds of Stormsharders, I was the only one who’d even consider Kostan’s innocence. And it wasn’t because I was the only one who’d met him. My father and Falla had spent time with him, too. And he’d betrayed them. Maybe I was blind, refusing to see the truth in the situation because it would make me the ally of a tyrant.

The boy fixed Joran with a flat stare. “I don’t know the new Emperor’s name. But I’m sure it was his choice. Before the snitch master came, we got a message passed along from the settlements between here and Jaliss. What happened here might be bad, but it’s worse there.” As he spoke, he looked toward the scout as if to ask whether he should continue.

“I heard it from the messenger myself,” Tendal said. “I don’t know exactly when this happened, but not long ago. The Emperor marched into the city with a whole army of protectors plus a group of aurum mages who could kill you before you drew breath to scream. They went straight into the Splits, not caring when the Provs gathered around and begged for relief from the suffering. Half the city’s either burned or toppled or so befouled where the old sewage trenches have been blocked, and there’s nowhere for people to go. Anyway, the Emperor ignored them. It seems the whole expedition was a ploy to prove his power. When they were deep in the Splits, his army turned on the mob that was trailing them. Killed three or four dozen innocent people.”

I blinked, hoping to banish the words as if they were unshed tears. There must be another explanation. Even in a town the size of Numintown, rumors spread and changed so much that when a story got back to the original teller, it was hardly recognizable. The Sharders had to know that. But as I scanned the room and took in the disgusted expressions on the faces of the Shard leaders, I realized they believed every word the man was saying. They’d already decided that Kostan was a monster, and these stories only proved how right they’d been.

“And then they just marched back to the Hold?” Sirez asked.

Tendal’s upper lip twitched as he shook his head. “After the slaughter was when the Emperor did his worst. He killed a boy no older than ten. Or rather, he was getting ready to when one of his guards shot the child with an arrow. Right in front of his mother, too. And instead of leaving her the body to grieve over, he took the boy’s remains back to Steelhold.”

I tugged at my collar, the room suddenly stifling. These things couldn’t be true. I knew they couldn’t.

Unless I had been wrong all along.

Falla must have sensed my distress because I felt her gloved hand slip into mine. She squeezed to reassure me, but I didn’t want to be reassured. I wanted to know the truth. If Kostan was the sort of man who killed children to prove a point, how could I ever forgive myself for ruining Stormshard’s chance to eliminate him?

I’m not saying ignore this information, Lilik said into my mind. But don’t turn into a puddle of self-pity.

Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? Raav responded.

No, I said. She’s right. If it’s my fault there’s a tyrant on the throne, it’s my responsibility to fix it.

I squeezed Falla’s hand then released it. If Kostan had done those awful things, I owed it to every man, woman, and child in the Empire to fix the mistake I’d made in sparing his life. And if he hadn’t, if this was some confused rumor swollen by ingrained hatred and decades of imperial evil, I owed it to Kostan to help heal the rift. More than a few Sharder eyes had turned to me as the villagers continued their tale. Thanks to Joran’s mocking, the conclave had just been reminded that they’d voted to forgive me even despite my lack of repentance. They wanted to know what I thought of the man I’d saved after hearing the awful truth of what he’d done.

An expectant silence had fallen over the room as even Sirez turned to face me.

“The tales are troubling,” I said, as evenly as I could manage. “I’ve seen this Emperor, and he didn’t seem the type. But we know too well how power corrupts those who sit on Steelhold’s throne.”

It seemed to satisfy the conclave, for now at least. One by one, the Sharders turned their attention back to Tendal and Serl.

Joran snorted. “Go on with your story, then.”

As if the minutes during which he’d escaped attention had dispelled any confidence he’d gained earlier, the boy swallowed. His eyes remained on the table as he continued his description. “As I said, they dragged Cerrold and his family down to the square. They had nooses hung from the big fir, and that was enough to put the fear into Cerrold. When they asked about Stormshard, at first, he said he didn’t know anyone with ties to the group. And that’s true, of course. We pretty much mind our own business here. But when they stuck his daughter up on a barrel and put a noose around her neck, he started naming names.

“I’ll say this for Cerrold,” Serl continued. “He might have been a snitch and a betrayer, but he tried to protect us. Every man and woman he named was unmarried. No wife or husband or children to leave behind when the protectors laid down their punishment. The problem was, none of those people were home because they’d all gone to help with the mudslide.”

“Why were Cerrold and his wife home?” Sirez asked.

The boy twitched his shoulders in what I assumed was a shrug. “Just because he chose names that would hurt the fewest people didn’t make him a good man. His sons weren’t so bad. Even helped my grandmother when her roof needed new thatch. But Cerrold was as lazy as he was selfish. Anyway, when they couldn’t find the people Cerrold named, the first thing they did was kick the barrel out from under his little girl’s feet.”

I felt sick. I didn’t want to stay in the tavern any longer. But I had to. Whatever lure Kostan had sunk into my heart, I needed to cut it free. If he had ordered this, I would use every drop of spiritist power I held to defeat him.

“After that, Cerrold started gibbering. He called out name after name. Young and old. Anyone he thought might still be in town. I think that some crazed part of his mind thought he could bring his daughter back by giving answers the protectors wanted to hear. Didn’t matter though. The snitch master and his soldiers were done with Cerrold and his family. They were cutting their throats when I ran to get help.”

“Serl must have made half a day’s walk in an hour of hard running,” Tendal said. “But by the time we got back, Cerrold’s family was dead, and everyone else was either taken or hiding. Anyone under thirteen they didn’t bother with, thank the clear skies. We found most of the children hiding in haystacks and sheep paddocks, and we’ve sent them into the hills for now, just to be safe. But the elderly and the adolescents who were the future of this village are gone.”

“Where were they taken?” Sirez asked. “Why?”

“We don’t know. Maybe the snitch master promised results, and when he didn’t get them from Cerrold, he decided to pass off innocent Provs as the rebels the Emperor was seeking. You asked earlier about our able-bodied men and women. And the truth is, they can’t meet with you here—unless you count the few left behind to defend our homes and babies. But if you want to speak with the others, I suggest you finish watering your horses and start marching. They left three days ago to hunt down those protectors—skies defend them. They’ll probably die before they free a single captive, but we made the decision together. No more bowing to an Emperor who would kill innocent children. We’ll take our freedom, or we’ll die.”

A heavy silence filled the room. After a moment, Sirez scooted her chair back and stood. “How many did you say are chasing after the protectors?” she asked.

“Eighty. Maybe more. And we’ve had offers from friends in other towns. If you sent runners, you could gather a hundred more from this valley and the next.”

Sirez whistled. “When I spoke of recruitment, I’d hoped we’d find a few brave people to strengthen our ranks, not dozens. Though I’d never have wished to hear the tales you’ve shared today, I can take heart in our mission. We will unite the Provs, and we will topple Steelhold. Sharders, are you ready to march?”

As one, the Shard leaders stood from their seats. Even Joran’s eyes held the fire of coming vindication. Grim-faced, they filed out into the sunlight.

***

I’d thought I’d found the strength to handle my mistakes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the graves. Cerrold’s daughter had been innocent. Protectors working for an imperial snitch master had hanged her.

As I stepped from the stifling tavern, I looked up at the icy ridges soaring over the valley. How could they look so clean while my heart felt so soiled? For weeks, Stormshard had been telling me about the evils of the Empire, but I’d refused to believe it. In my arrogance, I’d thought my hours spent with Kostan proved he was different. I’d even known he’d been lying to me during those days in the Graybranch Inn, yet I’d still refused to believe he was the same sort of man as his predecessors.

I hadn’t even listened to my own father, the man who had abandoned everything he loved to protect me. How could I have been such an idiot?

In many ways, even the deaths of Cerrold and his family were my fault. The protectors had strung the nooses, and the snitch master had given the order, but I’d allowed it to happen.

As I stood in the village square, Stormsharders hurrying to and fro while they prepared to march, I wondered how they could even stand to be near me.

“Savra,” Falla said.

I jerked, having failed to notice her approach. I couldn’t look at her. My tongue was a dead thing, too swollen to speak.

“Oh, Savra,” she said. “I should have been thinking… You’ve changed your mind about Kostan, haven’t you?”

Swallowing, I nodded, head moving in little jerks.

“And I doubt it will make you feel better when I remind you that your father and I were fooled just the same.”

Finally, I dragged my gaze to hers. She was about my height but somehow seemed to look down on me as if I were a troubled child. Falla sighed and set a hand on my shoulder.

“Your guilt will fade. I swear it. But listen… until then, you need somewhere to channel your anger. Don’t put it on yourself.”

“But this is my fault!”

At once, her eyes threw daggers. “That, Savra Padmi, is the most self-indulgent drivel you could speak. You didn’t hang that young girl. You didn’t make the Decree of Functions. The Empire did this. And to say otherwise just makes them stronger. We need fighters like you. And if you spend your days wallowing in regret, we can’t use your strength.”

I bit off an argument. I’d already tried to tell myself the same things, but it didn’t change how disgusted I felt with myself. Eyes burning, I looked over Falla’s shoulder at the brave Sharders cinching straps and rubbing down horses. To one edge of the small square, Tendal was speaking with a handful of villagers. As he spoke, he tossed a furtive glance at Sirez and the other leaders. The conversation between the villagers seemed heated, and out of habit, I fell into my aura-sight. Amongst the Sharders’ steel-gray determination, the villagers’ auras were dark with apprehension.

Why? Had there been some untruth in the story? Or maybe an important omission? Was Tendal afraid we’d learn of his lie? I searched my recollections of the time in the tavern and didn’t recall any signs he’d been misleading us, but then again, I’d been distracted.

“Even if you can’t forgive yourself,” Falla said, “you can atone. Devote yourself to your abilities. I will do everything I can to teach you. We lost one chance to eliminate the Emperor, but we only had that chance because of you. Whether or not you want to believe it, you are one of our best chances to free the Provs and bring peace to the Empire.”

I submerged my aura-sight, focusing again on the woman before me. She was right about that, I supposed. I had created that first opportunity even if I turned around and destroyed it.

With a deep breath, I finally swallowed my guilt. I would help the rebels end this. Starting today.

“Thank you, Falla,” I said.

The skin in the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.

“What do you think those villagers are discussing?” I asked, gesturing toward them with my chin.

Falla turned and cocked her head. “I think we’re about to find out,” she said as Tendal raised a hand to get Sirez’s attention.

“There’s something else we’d like to offer you,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind a few minutes’ delay.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Kostan

Central courtyard, Steelhold

IN THE GLARE of the midday sun, Steelhold’s central courtyard was a desert of white stone broken only by the liquid shadow moving in the black-sand fountain. I sat with Parveld on one of the stone benches shaded by Ministry Hall’s colonnade. Hidden from the harsh rays of the mountain sun, the air held a definite chill, a warning that the season was truly changing. But I knew how blazing a sunbaked bench would feel. It had been this way all my life. The high grasslands of Old Atal and the rugged valleys cleaving the Icethorns knew little of gentle weather. Whether hot, cold, dry, or drenched, the skies and air were harsh. Perhaps Atal brutality was nurtured by such conditions. Or perhaps the savagery of the climate had drawn the Atal here in the first place.

In any case, Chilltide was approaching. If I didn’t regain control of my Empire before the frost arrived in earnest, it would be too late. Stripped of their homes by earthquakes and given no help in rebuilding their shelters, legions of Provs would die.

“It’s fascinating,” Parveld said, gesturing toward the fountain. “How does it work?”

Stretching my legs, I crossed them at the ankles. “There’s no real trick to it. As you must have heard, the ferro mages have the ability to imbue black iron with certain properties. The sand is nothing but iron shavings enchanted to flow endlessly over the fountain’s rim, into the basin, and back through a hollow core in the center.”

Parveld grimaced. “The ferros. Of course. Have you ever considered where the energy for a creation like the fountain comes from? In all my studies, I’ve never encountered a mage who could create motion without force. There is always a source of power. A cost to the casting, particularly when the effect continues indefinitely.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t considered it. The ferros are secretive. I do know they converse with the dead.”

“I’ve heard similar things.” He sighed deeply. “In my homeland, we have similar magic. Well, we did at one time. The gift has faded over the generations, and that’s a good thing. There was a process we called nightforging where a spirit was compelled to give power to an object. This achieved many different effects, some terrible and some wonderful.”

“That does sound similar. But why do you treat it as distasteful?”

“To begin with, such enslavement is immoral. No one, living or dead, should be forced to do something against their will.” With that, he looked pointedly at me. I knew he was thinking of the Decree of Functions, but I didn’t bother to defend myself. Words were empty. I needed to act if I wished to prove my intents regarding the Decree.

“But with nightforging, it’s much worse than simple compulsion,” he continued. “The passage from the mortal realm to the aether is a bit like trading vitality for eternity. The dead live forever, if you don’t mind my choice of words. Imagine being imprisoned against your will. At the very least, death would be a release from your confinement. Not so if you’re already dead.”

As his words registered, I found myself staring at the fountain with the same disgust I’d seen on his face. “That’s awful.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

“So you think the ferro mages nightforge their black-iron creations to give them power?”

“I don’t know. From what I’ve learned so far, there are many similarities between metalogy and the magic which was prevalent during my youth. It seems likely.”

“Can the spirits be freed from their duties?”

He shrugged. “I can’t really say.” For a moment, his eyes seemed to grow distant. “And in truth, it may not matter if the worst possibilities come to pass. You wanted to talk about my visions, right?”

I bent my legs and cupped my knees with my hands. As uncomfortable as the revelations about ferro magic had made me, I preferred the distraction to the real reason I’d wanted to meet with him. Glancing over my shoulder at my honor guard, I sighed. There was little I could do about the lack of privacy.

“I did. We talked briefly about our visions, but I’ve been wearing my Bracer more often. I’m afraid for the future, and I know the visions can help me navigate it, but at the same time… I hate what they show me.”

Parveld plucked at his trousers, a melancholy smile touching his lips. “I know quite well how you feel. My visions were granted during a short period. It was… overwhelming. I nearly lost myself in them. But though it was difficult to have so many terrible futures battering my mind, I’m grateful the experience was so short-lived. I don’t envy you the daily choice of whether to—yet again—witness your Empire’s destruction in hopes you can avoid it.”

“As far as I’ve been shown, there is no avoiding the damage. The best I can hope is to save some of my subjects. I don’t know if that’s what troubles me most, or if it’s the actions I must take to minimize the devastation.”

“Has the Bracer shown you specifically what you must do?”

I sighed. “No, though I wish it would. All I have is this certainty that I must remain strong, the unbreakable core of the Empire. I must hold my subjects together. But I’m already failing in that. Why does it give me this knowledge without a specific vision of how to accomplish it?”

“Prophecies are difficult things. Perhaps if you knew your precise path, your fear of a misstep would keep you from moving forward. Or maybe fate only knows what must happen, but not how. It was much the same with mine. I saw the cataclysm. A brief vision of Savra came with the certainty that she was critical to minimizing the destruction. But I wasn’t given knowledge of how she was supposed to achieve that.”

“But the Breaking is certain, it seems. We’ve both seen it.”

He cocked his head. “It’s interesting how much our visions have in common. Yet…”

“Yet in your version, I wasn’t present,” I said.

Parveld stood and began pacing. His motion brought a quick reaction from my guards. Steel hissed as swords were pulled halfway out of their scabbards. When Parveld gave them nothing but the barest glance, the guards slowly settled back into restful attention.

“I’ve been considering that. It’s not that you weren’t present, exactly. It’s more like I had a vast gap in what I could see. After Tovmeil’s death, there simply wasn’t an Emperor in my vision, yet I was unable to realize how odd that was until I met you. It’s a strange incompleteness.”

“Savra was so important to your visions, but she never appeared in mine,” I said. As her name left my lips, I felt another sharp pang in my chest. I forced the hurt away. I’d already taken steps to make Stormshard pay for her murder. But my Empire depended on me. I couldn’t indulge my selfish grief while such grave threats sunk claws into my future.

Parveld, too, seemed to struggle with his emotions. He paced back and forth for a moment before nodding. “I think I understand it. Two hundred years ago, the events that shaped this world were distant. My foretellings gave the best approximation of probable events at that time. But your visions are much more accurate because they needn't account for centuries of change. In some subtle way, that gives me comfort. Tovmeil used the Bracer before you. If he’d received visions of Savra helping save the Empire, he would likely have devoted much to locating her, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose.”

“So by his actions, we can assume he didn’t see her in the Empire’s future. Her death was likely inevitable, written on destiny’s gilded pages long before I arrived to help her. At least, that’s how I’ve attempted to comfort myself.”

My brow furrowed. “This talk of different futures is difficult for me to understand.”

Parveld stopped pacing and stared at the fountain. “Prophecy is a cruel master. Difficult to interpret and painful in its enslavement.” Sighing, he stepped back to the bench and sat. “Describe to me the feeling you get about keeping the Empire strong. Perhaps I can help interpret.”

I tapped my foot against the courtyard stones, considering what to say. “It’s difficult to put into words. The visions of the destruction are clear and precise. I see war and earthquakes, all the things you mentioned. I sense a great darkness, always lurking at the edges, ready to drown us all. But when it comes to my role in the coming events, it’s almost like instinct. A gut feeling. When I remove my awareness from the Bracer, I am infused with the certainty that I must act to save my people and that my only hope of succeeding is to keep the Empire together. I must keep my people united, not disintegrated into separate Provinces or worse, isolated groups working toward different goals. Tovmeil felt the same pressure.”

“In many ways, that’s not so different from what I envisioned for Savra. As with you, it was a feeling more than a vision. I imagined her as the leader who moved an Empire with her words. With her quill and ink, she was meant to rally the people around a common goal. I believed she would lead an army against a dark tide, though I had no certainty of how or what form that darkness would take.” Parveld shook his head, shoulders slumped. “I was so certain it would come to pass. It was everything I worked for.”

“Perhaps portions of your vision might still serve to guide me,” I said.

“For centuries, I followed a prophecy that was a lie,” he said. “I fear any advice I might have would only steer you falsely.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Will you remain in Steelhold for a while, at least? Your information on metalogy is of interest to me. It’s not spoken of openly, but my hold on the mage orders is weak at best. I could use your expertise.”

He shrugged, appearing indifferent to the offer. “I have little else to do with my time.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savra

A mountain village, Icethorns

JUST A FEW of us, me, Sirez, Falla, Joran, and another Shard leader, Charle, followed Tendal around the back of the town hall and down a packed-earth trail to a small barn and corral. As we approached the humble buildings, I summoned my aura-sight. Judging by his aura, Tendal’s mood had shifted from apprehension to certainty. I hoped that didn’t mean he’d had a trap laid and was now certain it would succeed.

Beyond the barn and paddock, a faint path headed for a thick copse of pine trees. Studded with rocks and carpeted with leaves, the trail didn’t appear to be used very often. When Tendal gestured toward the darkness beneath the boughs, Sirez hesitated.

“Forgive me, friend,” she said. “But would you mind telling us why you’re bringing us back here?”

Tendal swabbed a hand over his forehead. “It’s you who should forgive me. We’ve become so used to keeping our secrets from the Empire that it’s become a habit.”

At his words, Sirez’s shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. “And you won’t mind correcting that now,” she said.

“Of course not. Though it’s easier to see than describe. First of all…” He dug into a pouch at his side and pulled out a handful of polished red stones. “For safety, it’s best you each carry one of these.”

One by one, he dropped the stones into our hands. The small rock was cool against my skin. Its bright banding, red and purple, reminded me of the polished spheres in the keep’s banquet hall.

Sirez ran a thumb over hers. “What are they?”

“You mentioned your battle with the Riftspawn,” the man said.

“You have a name for them? We’ve heard rumors of scattered attacks through the years, but never a proper name.”

“I don’t know about other towns, but they first appeared here in my great-grandfather’s time. A shepherd was found dead along with half his flock. The bodies were mangled, but it didn’t seem to be the work of wolves or hunting cats—there was no missing meat, no sign of gnawing. Around that time, another of our local boys found a cavern. Well, not a cavern. More like a crypt carved into a cliff face. There were dozens of stones like this inside. It was only luck that he grabbed a handful that day, because when he surprised one of the beasts on the trail home, he was certain he’d die where he stood. But the creature seemed afraid, and in fact fled when the boy advanced. The rest of the story is simple. Over time, we learned to protect ourselves by carrying these stones.”

“Why do you call them Riftspawn?” Falla asked.

“Because they appear after quakes. Most often near new cracks in the earth.”

I swallowed. That explained why they smelled like Maelstrom-spawn. The Maelstrom and the Breaking were related.

“So you learned to keep the Riftspawn away by carrying the stones,” Sirez said.

“Right,” Tendal said. “But even after we understood the stones’ use, we still lost occasional souls to the Riftspawn. Sheep mostly. So my great-grandfather and the other leaders decided we should do more than carry the stones as wards to deter attacks. We should actively rid our valley of the beasts.” He gestured toward the woods. “This was their solution.”

I hadn’t been focusing on my aura-sight, but now I pulled it forward. My stomach clenched. In the dark beneath the trees, a mass of corrupted auras writhed.

“Sirez,” I said, one hand grabbing the neck of my cloak as if the garment could protect me. “There are beasts in the trees. I can’t tell how many.”

At this, Sirez whirled on Tendal. “Explain quickly,” she said, hand straying toward her dagger.

He raised his hands. “Yes, there are Riftspawn in the trees. But they won’t hurt you.” He glanced at the ground behind her. When Sirez had spun, she’d dropped her stone. The agate lay on the thick layer of pine needles. “You should be safe even without the wardstone. But I suggest you bring it for extra protection.” The man licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I was trying to explain what we’ve done without angering you. Your group lost many friends to the Spawn.”

I held the agate—the wardstone—before my eyes. It was about half the size of a chicken’s egg, striped with vibrant colors. No indentations marred the glass-smooth surface. As I stared, I realized that it was glowing. A deep hue like a ripe currant berry. I blinked and peered closer. As I did, the colors seemed to swirl, almost like an aura.

Interesting. I banished my aura-sight, and the glow from the stone vanished.

Finally, I pressed my aura-sight into the forest again, fighting nausea at the sight of the Spawn’s corrupted auras. As I focused on them, a faint sensation spread from the stone. I felt calmer as the feeling traveled up my arm and into my chest. More, the sense of corruption infesting the Riftspawn’s auras dimmed. The putrid color still roiled in the mix of spirits, but it held less power over me.

“Would it help if I entered the trees first?” Tendal asked. “Please believe I mean you no harm.”

“Falla? Savra?” Sirez asked, no doubt looking for insight from our spiritist’s abilities.

“I believe he’s telling the truth,” I said. “There is magic in stone, and it seems to press against the beasts.”

With a growl, Sirez nodded. Like a cat retreating from a fight against a rival, she stalked back to the stone and picked it up.

“All right then,” she said. “Show us what you have hiding in your woods.”

As if holding scraps of night beneath their heavy boughs, the big pines pressed close over the trail. Between their exposed roots, clusters of mushrooms pushed up the soil. Daylight faded just twenty paces into the grove. If not for the auras lighting my vision, I wouldn’t have known which way to go without Tendal’s guidance.

I smelled the Riftspawn around ten paces before we stopped at a fence of sharpened stakes marking the edge of a dark pit. Sickly sweet, the scent of rotted fruit. Traces of sulfur and metal. I grimaced even as it reminded me of home.

“Whenever a beast gets near our herds or homes, we call the Wardens,” Tendal said. “It’s a task passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. This far from Jaliss, the Registry is lazy, and unless someone dies, children receive the same Function as their parents. My great-grandfather was a scout, which made it difficult for him to be named Warden. But the tavernkeep and the shepherds who work the closest pastures are near enough to hear the summons bell.”

“The summons bell?”

“It’s in the town hall attic. When we ring it, the Wardens stop whatever they’re doing and bring their herdstones to the town. They’re like wardstones, but we picked the most effective from our collection and gave them to the Wardens.”

I joined Sirez where she peered over the row of stakes. Though I couldn’t make out many shapes in the darkness, the roiling auras told me the pit was no deeper than I was tall. It was about twice that across. In the center, twisted shapes moved, strangely silent compared to the shrieks and wails I remembered from their attack. I wondered why none of the Riftspawn were trying to escape until I fell deeper into my aura-sight. When I did, faint spots of red glowed from the trunks of the surrounding trees. Stepping away from the corral, I slipped over to a tree and laid a hand on the glowing spot. A niche had been carved from the bark, and a wardstone inserted.

“The stakes don’t really do anything, do they?” I asked.

“The fence is more to keep us out than the Riftspawn in. We don’t want someone stumbling into their midst on accident.”

“How many are there?” Sirez asked.

Tendal threw a pine cone into the pit. The Riftspawn didn’t react. “Half a dozen now. You’ve seen for yourselves how hard they are to kill. Few of us have the fortitude to hack one to pieces even if we could manage it without being harmed. So we keep them here. They do die eventually, all on their own. It’s as if they run out of whatever twisted magic fuels them.”

“I can understand why you’d fear our reaction. Why did you decide to show this to us?”

“The town borders are defended by wardstones we’ve installed around our perimeter. The boundary is not much different than this enclosure, but it keeps the beasts out rather than in. We sent around half our spare stones with the group who are pursuing the protectors and their captives. We’d like for you to take the rest.”

“We’re heading out of the Icethorns,” Sirez said. “Aside from the group that attacked us, the Riftspawn don’t seem that common. I doubt we’ll encounter any.”

Tendal shrugged. “We’ve heard rumors from farther west. A massive incursion of Spawn near the geognosts’ monastery.”

“Then why give up your defenses?”

“Because the next earthquake may bury our fields or homes. Things are getting worse in the mountains. The Empire is crumbling, quite literally, and the throne does nothing. So if we wish for our children to live to adulthood, we have to put our hope elsewhere. Stormshard offers our best chance to see the Empire toppled and order restored. We have enough food within the perimeter to last our small group through Chilltide. If our loved ones—and the other half of our wardstone supply—haven’t returned by then, we have little hope anyway.”

“If a landslide buries your homes, you’ll need to flee the mountains. You’ll want your wardstones for the journey.”

He shook his head. “A handful of adults defending dozens of children and elderly. Wardstones or not, we wouldn’t make the journey. Please, take the stones for whatever defense they can supply.”

Tendal unbuckled the leather pouch from his belt. The wardstones within clicked as he held it out. “There’s around forty more inside. Not enough to protect every fighter. Not even close. But if the rumors from the west are true, you’ll want any help you can get.”

Sirez extended both hands to receive the pouch, a gesture I recognized from my time in Jaliss. I’d seen it only when someone wished to convey the deepest gratitude. When displayed by merchants, it had seemed almost sarcastic, a falseness. But when Sirez followed the motion by dropping to a knee, there was no doubting her earnestness.

“We will stab the Empire through the heart,” she said. “And after that, I will not stop until I know your village is safe. Whether from Riftspawn or bandits, you’ll never fear such danger again.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kostan

A healing chamber, Aurum Wing, Hall of Mages

THE SICKROOM IN the Aurum Tower smelled of medicine and the alcoholic spirits the aurums used to clean wounds. On the boy’s bedside, a single candle burned. Two layers of blankets covered his small body.

His eyes were wide and staring.

I stopped short. “Is he…” I feared to speak the words.

Beside me, an aurum apprentice shook her head. “His eyes opened yesterday, but he still won’t respond to conversation. He’d have died days ago if we weren’t able to trickle water down his throat. The body responds automatically—he swallows, but only when the alternative is choking.”

I stepped to the foot of the bed, followed by Parveld. I didn’t know how the man could help the situation, but it had been seven days since the poisoned arrow had pierced the boy’s narrow chest. The aurums had no ideas, and they’d run out of tests to administer days ago. Perhaps Parveld had seen a similar case in his long life.

As I shuffled forward to stand near the child’s head, I ran a hand along his bare arm. The Aurum Trinity had determined that whatever poison afflicted the boy, he wasn’t contagious. I was grateful for the knowledge, though I couldn’t approve of their methods. For the first three days after his arrival, they’d forced a chambermaid to spend every moment in the sickroom with the boy. She’d bathed him, spooned water into his mouth, and changed his chamber pot. After a subsequent three-day period of isolation, the only ill effect from her ordeal was a severe case of boredom.

The boy’s skin was warm, if sallow. Though I’d imagined I might somehow sense the sickness inside his veins, I felt nothing.

“Good morning, my friend,” I said, remembering that speaking to him might help his recovery.

The boy’s eyes remained fixed. Blank.

“How long again?” Parveld asked as he stepped up beside me.

“Seven days, I believe.”

“Might we have a moment alone with the child?” he asked, turning to the apprentice.

“Of course, my… my lord,” she said, clearly unsure what sort of status my foreign friend enjoyed. With an awkward bow, she retreated through the door and closed it behind her.

“Do you have a theory?” I asked. His request for privacy surprised me.

But Parveld didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, eyes closed, face slack. After a moment, his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Do you have guards on his room?” he asked. “Such a small body. I doubt he’d be a threat.”

“Guards? He can’t even move.”

“I suggest at least two. It may not be necessary, but when dealing with the Hunger and its twisted methods for affecting our world, it’s best to be safe.”

“I assume you’ll explain,” I said.

Face grim, he nodded. “But not here.”

As if mourning a loved one already dead, Parveld reached past me and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

With a shriek, the child woke. Parveld shoved me back as the door to the chamber exploded open. My knees hit the seat of a chair, sending me reeling. I hit the floor and caught a glimpse of the aurum apprentice running for the boy’s bedside before she somehow ended up on the floor, eyes wide and breath gurgling through a crushed throat.

“Guards!” Parveld yelled, dragging me away from the bed. At the same moment, a pain unlike any I’d felt clawed my chest. I felt as if my lungs and heart were being pulled through my throat.

“I’m sorry about the pain,” Parveld said through gritted teeth. “And for this, too.” Abruptly, I felt as if my body were weightless. Parveld grabbed me under the armpit and heaved me toward the door. I flew through the opening and hit the wall on the far side of the corridor. My head cracked stone as a dozen protectors sprinted for me. Parveld rushed out the door, slamming it behind him.

“You’ll need shackles,” he said. “Possibly a gag that can’t be chewed in half.”

Seeing me slumped against the wall, the protectors had no interest in heeding his words. Swords drawn, they rushed at him.

“Wait!” I yelled. “He’s no threat!”

Immediately, the guards halted. The closest sword point was just a hand’s width away from Parveld’s heart.

“The child,” I said. “Do as Parveld says. Shackle him and secure the room until you receive further orders.”

***

The Prime Protector looked up from her desk, startled, when I burst through the door with Parveld on my heels.

“Your eminence!” she said, jumping to her feet.

“The protectors who were injured by the arrows. Where are they? Are their barracks secure?”

She blinked, confused. “Their condition was unchanged, last I knew. The listlessness grew worse, and eventually they stopped rising from their beds. It’s particularly confounding because their oaths should compel them otherwise. Once the Trinity declared they had no more research to perform—basically, admitting that they were giving up—I’ve left them in peace. Their fellow protectors provide them water, but we see no reason to nurse men and women who are beyond our help. We can only allow them to die with dignity if that is to be their fate.”

“Sound the alarm,” Parveld said.

Though the woman had spoken to me with respect, her eyes flashed when she whirled on him. “Your eminence, it went against my counsel to allow this man the freedom to roam Steelhold’s grounds. Unless you’ve raised him to serve in an official capacity, I suggest you instruct him in the hierarchy here.”

“Please, Prime,” I said. “We can discuss this later. For now, it is imperative that you send more guards to the barracks where you’re keeping the injured. Restrain them if it’s not too late. However, please prepare your soldiers to confront resistance.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “The poison? How?”

“It appears to drive them mad. Parveld has information on this, and I’ll be speaking with him now.”

“Can they… infect others?”

Parveld shook his head. “If I may, Prime. Forgive my impertinence earlier. But there is little time. They cannot pass on their affliction, but if you don’t hurry, you may find a trail of corpses leading from the barracks.”

The Prime Protector needed no more encouragement. With a curt nod in my direction, she ran out the door. Moments later, the alarm gong tolled, setting my molars vibrating.

Apparently unconcerned with the offense he might cause, Parveld sighed and took the seat she’d just vacated. “You should get comfortable,” he said. “It may take me a while to explain.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the doorway. It didn’t seem right for me to sit in this chamber while a battle might soon be waged inside Steelhold’s walls.

“You’d only make her job harder,” he said. “If she must commit more guards to your defense, they cannot focus on the threat.”

I knew he was right, even though I hated to admit it. Loosening the buckle on my sword belt so I could sit more comfortably, I took the chair across the desk from Parveld.

“Under other circumstances—if you hadn’t jumped to defend me, I mean—I might accuse you of waking whatever… ferocity dwelt in that child. He did attack right after you touched him.”

“Most likely, it was my fault,” Parveld admitted freely. “All I can say in my defense is that the awakening would likely have happened within the hour anyway. And, of course, my part in it was entirely inadvertent.”

“What did you do?”

The man’s gaze grew distant as he fiddled with a sheaf of papers. “I’ve mentioned that my magic resembles spiritism, yes?”

I sighed. “You have, but I’ll be frank. I don’t know a storm-blown thing about this spiritism. Your mention of it was the first I’d heard. Though…” I hesitated as the thought coalesced. “Savra’s trick at the Shadow Gate—I assumed she’d used some sort of device, perhaps black-iron, to control the guards. Is she…?”

“Quite talented, too. In any case, spiritism is similar to metalogy in that a mage can affect the mind, body, or spirits of the dead. But spiritists have no need for tainted metals. They are born with the ability. I believe it arose naturally in the Provinces to counter the corrupted magic of the Maelstrom.”

“So should I think of you like a metalogist without Maelstrom-metals, too?”

He shrugged. “It gets complicated. But yes, I’m intimately acquainted with some of the abilities exhibited by your metalogists. But as with spiritists, my magic is innate.

“Magic is strange, your eminence. Sometimes branches of its evolution manifest similarly, like close cousins. Other times, as with the geognosts, there are abilities which bear no resemblance to magic in other times or places. Yet I feel there is an underlying truth. All magic seeks to harness or change energy. Perhaps someday, a truly gifted mage will understand how to bring the many manifestations into a single, joined pursuit.”

I nodded. The philosophy went a bit beyond me, but Parveld’s passion for the subject was clear. “Something you said caught my attention. This wasn’t the first time I’ve heard that the Maelstrom-metals are tainted. Can you explain?”

“I’ll do my best. It’s related to the corruption of that poor child anyway. You see, there’s another realm which exists outside of our understanding. It’s a dark place, the embodiment of greed and avarice, madness and destruction. In my time, we called it the Hunger. The Hunger lies beyond a barrier which is ordinarily impregnable. But because it covets our life and vitality, it wants nothing more than to sunder that barrier. Occasionally, it succeeds.”

I grimaced. “What happens then?”

He shook his head. “Almost every civilization has a history of a rift somewhere in its shrouded past. The effects vary each time—or maybe the passing of the story from mouth to mouth alters it, I can’t say for sure. In the case of the Atal Empire, the boundary was torn about a thousand years ago. From what I’ve learned in your history books, civilization was nearly eliminated. If that had happened, I don’t believe the Hunger could have been stopped. It would have swallowed the continent and gone on to consume all existence. But in the end, a gathering of mages managed to join their powers and seal the rift—almost. Unfortunately, the seal leaks, and that’s how the Maelstrom was born. Not only does the Hunger nibble at our world, it also sends back some of that it has taken. But the things that return are twisted. Tainted.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees in rapt attention. “Why is this history not taught?”

“As I mentioned, the event nearly destroyed the last civilization who settled these lands. It took me decades to piece the story together, and even then, I was guided by my vision. I knew what was coming here, and so I was able to make intelligent guesses about the events leading us to this juncture.”

“Where did you find the information?”

“The largest troves—and by trove, I’m speaking of a few moldering scrolls and rune-carved stones—were deep in the Icethorns. I suspect that the mountains were the final strongholds where the mages gathered and finally managed to push back the Hunger’s influence. Many of their ruins still stand, but they’re largely ignored by the current inhabitants.”

“Does the Breaking mean the seal is failing?”

Parveld’s face grew somber. “Given what I’ve just seen in that child, I suspect so. I mentioned the Hunger’s constant desire to tear the boundary. There are certain patterns that manifest whenever the Hunger grows closer to achieving its goal. The rifts can only be opened from our world—I don’t know why, but we can certainly be grateful for that. In order to rend the boundary, the Hunger needs people. Sometimes they must perform a ritual. Sometimes they start wars or invent magic that damages the fabric of possibility. In any case, the first sign is the rise of greed and madness. Such conditions make a person’s mind susceptible to the Hunger’s whispering.”

I chewed the inside of my lip while I thought about this. “So the Hunger turned the child mad? How? The poison came from a Prov arrow.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, and that bothers me. I believe it’s paramount that you discover the source of this toxin.”

As if it wasn’t already critical that we learn how the Provs had gained the ability to turn our soldiers mad with just a scratch from an arrow or blade. “So go on,” I said. “The Hunger caused the Maelstrom, and the seal is failing. When it does, our… world will be sucked into the breach?”

“More or less. Sometimes it consumes in more of a figurative sense. People and animals simply lose the will to live as their vitality drains into the Hunger’s bottomless pit. Given the earthquakes, I suspect you’re closer with your description. It’s difficult to envision the shape of a continent when you live upon it, but if you imagine a map of the Atal Empire, I suspect the lines made by the recent chasms would resemble a loaf of bread being pulled at one edge, breaking apart as the outer rind is devoured, bit by bit.”

“And Cosmal Peninsula is the rind.”

Parveld nodded, eyes pained. “I believe its loss is inevitable. I suppose it’s a mercy that Savra’s no longer here to witness her home vanishing beneath the waves.”

“Back to the tainted magic of metalogy… is it dangerous?” As I spoke, I couldn’t help but recall the Sharder woman, Falla’s, warning in what felt like a different life. She’d taken my silver ring, the band that enabled my first-rank argent magic, and told me that I didn’t want to be associated with such corrupt magic anyway.

When Parveld chuckled, I got the sense it was only because the other alternative was to cry. “Months ago, I might have warned you to do everything you could to stop the practice of metalogy. Most certainly, the taint has an effect. I believe it’s one of the mechanisms by which the Hunger influences our world. Many of the mages in this Hold are likely infected day by day with ever stronger avarice, greed, or madness. But even if you could convince the mages to abandon the source of their power, I doubt it would save the situation. The Breaking will happen. When it does, the corruption which has leaked into the Maelstrom-metals will be like a few grains of salt tossed into the ocean. If anything, those mages who still remember the people they once were might help you in your fight to reseal the rift.”

“I wish I’d known all of this sooner.”

“I’ll be honest, Kostan,” he said.

I jerked at the use of my given name. In just a few short weeks, I’d become so accustomed to being addressed as your eminence, I’d almost forgotten how it sounded.

“Apologies,” he said. “Your eminence.”

“No, it’s all right. I prefer Kostan.”

“By the time you Ascended, it was already too late. I did try to reach out to Emperor Tovmeil when I first arrived in the Empire. I wasn’t in Jaliss at the time, but I sent letters. I asked to speak with him about the dangers of metalogy—particularly when it came to the apparent fascination many of his ministers had with gaining ranks in the different orders. When he refused my requests for a meeting, I waited until the time of his assassination approached. I sent multiple warnings. Futile, I know. By then, the Ministry likely read every scroll and letter that arrived.”

“But if I’d known even a few weeks earlier… maybe there’s something I could have done.”

“Perhaps. More likely, you wouldn’t have listened to me. Not until we spoke about Savra and you saw what happened to that child.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Speaking of the child, how did you know the corruption had taken hold in such a way.”

A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “And that brings us back to the beginning. My magic—I believe the Hunger sensed my touch on the boy and woke him to madness. Among other things, I have the ability to sense the inner light which glows in all our hearts. I call it a spark. Savra, you may be interested to learn, called it an aura. In any case, the closest resemblance among the magic of your civilization would be argent magic.”

“Magic of the mind.”

“More or less. There is also a particular way that I can use the life forces of others. I weave them together to achieve my Wants. But it has a cost. You felt it before I threw you from the boy’s chamber.”

“The pain?”

He nodded, regret obvious on his face. “It’s both my boon and my burden. I must hurt—or to achieve the greatest effects, kill—others if I wish to accomplish great tasks with my magic. For that very reason, I can’t truly Want to do something unless its critically important. My friend Lilik called it the curse of my noble heart. I have the power to remake the world to my desire. But I can’t because I can rarely hurt someone willfully. And only twice in my life have I killed to gather the power needed for my greatest weavings.”

I felt a little headache between my eyes. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I understand,” he said. “The short answer is I looked into the boy’s soul, and I saw the taint infecting his spark. I meant it when I said the madness was poised to take control.”

“Is there no way to cure him?” I asked. “Because if not, maybe it would be a mercy to kill him instead.”

Parveld blinked as he considered this. “Actually, there may be.”

For the first time that day, I felt a thrill in my chest. I sat up straight. “How? Returning a healthy boy to the Splits would help me tremendously. Not to mention, I’ve been unable to sleep most nights worrying about him.”

With a sigh, Parveld rapped a knuckle against his forehead. “Oh, tides. That came out poorly. Yes, I suspect the madness can be purged from the boy. Unfortunately, you’ll have to seal the Maelstrom rift to do it.”

My shoulders slumped as hope fled. “That’s all, huh?”

“In any case, I wouldn’t kill him if you have a place to keep him safe. It’s likely the Provs have little idea what their arrows have done. At least, I’d hope they don’t truly understand the effects. You could use him to beg them to stop employing the toxin. Or who knows… maybe you’ll manage to close the rift.”

Maybe I’d manage. Was I supposed to take heart in that faint encouragement? Well, whether or not Parveld believed in me, I had no choice but to keep trying.

“I’ll move him somewhere safe, then. Outside the Hold. I appreciate everything you’ve shared—”

My words were cut short when the Prime Protector shoved through the door. Blood leaked from a small cut on her cheek.

I jumped from my seat. “Report, please.”

She paused long enough to cast a glare at Parveld, who had at least shown the good sense to get out of her chair.

“The threat is eliminated, your eminence.”

“Damage?”

“The maddened protectors had to be killed. We lost three sound-minded soldiers in the process. No one else was injured, largely due to your earlier suggestion that we post guards on the barracks. They managed to keep the maddened soldiers confined to the building.”

I shooed away her compliment with a gesture. “Without your quick response, it wouldn’t have been enough.”

Her gaze shifted to Parveld who nodded politely as he moved toward the door.

“I suppose I have your friend here to thank, too. The aurums said he saved you from the child in the tower, and that his quick words to a soldier on the way to my office prompted an early response. In fact, it’s rather intriguing. By the time the alarm was sounded, extra protectors had already joined the guards fighting their maddened brethren. The vow that binds the protectors to your will should not have allowed a foreign wine merchant to provoke them into action.”

Parveld shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. He wasn’t a very good liar. Given what he’d just told me, I suspected his ability had allowed him to influence my guards despite the argent magic that should have prevented it. But he clearly wished to keep his secrets near.

“Most likely, the protectors have seen the close company that Parveld and I have been keeping. Added to that, he’s persuasive when he wants to be.”

Though the Prime Protector’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t argue. Instead, she faced us and bowed. “If your eminence wouldn’t mind, there’s something else we should discuss.”

Parveld had already opened the door, and the comparatively fresh air of the alley outside the woman’s office called to me. But I had a duty. Taking a deep breath of the coolness outside, I nodded.

“Thank you again, Parveld. We’ll speak later,” I hope.

He bowed, a motion that he clearly wasn’t accustomed to. “Your eminence,” he said as he closed the door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Savra

A wide trail through the Icethorn Mountains

THE STORMSHARD COLUMN marched four and five abreast now, with wardstones distributed evenly among the ranks. Sirez and the leaders were less worried about Riftspawn than they were the protectors we pursued, but the tighter grouping protected us from attacks regardless of the source.

As before, I walked with Falla. Most of the time, I focused on my aura-sight. I’d grown better at seeking precise information by inspecting other Sharders’ spirits. This used the Sensing aspect, according to Falla. It was her area of expertise, which helped her teach me the techniques. I’d learned to focus on someone and learn the gist of their thoughts and emotions. I was a bit confused between the Sensing and Speech aspects, but she explained that the Speech aspect allowed direct communication. Though Falla’s Sensing allowed her to hear me talking to Lilik in my thoughts, she couldn’t project her voice into my mind.

Given what we’d learned, then, I seemed to be able to use all the aspects, but in somewhat limited ways. For instance, Falla could tell if someone was lying when they spoke, but I could only guess based on their emotions. Our progress gave me hope, though. In a few days, we would reach the Atal grasslands. We would finally meet Kostan’s forces. And I wanted to be ready.

Around midday on the third day out from Tendal’s village, we reached a suspension bridge that spanned a deep gorge. Far below, a mountain stream cascaded down tiers of stone. The bridge itself was made from ropes anchored to pitons driven deep into the rocks on either side. Wood planks made a bouncing, swaying platform, and in a few places, flat slates had been used instead of planks. The construction did not look sturdy.

I chewed my lip. At least I wasn’t trying to cross on horseback.

As we waited, the bridge swaying and jouncing with every footstep of the soldiers crossing in groups of four and five, my mind wandered to thoughts of my father. Where was he now? Had he made it safely across the mountain passes?

Or had an avalanche swallowed him whole? The worries were a familiar echo of the years before I’d left Numintown. Growing up, I’d spent countless sleepless nights wondering whether my father was still alive.

As I cast my thoughts back to those cool nights, the thin covers scratching my bare legs, I couldn’t help recalling the night whispers.

I touched Falla on the shoulder. “I just had a thought about my domain,” I said.

Falla had been watching a laden mule as it stepped, wild-eyed, onto the first of the bridge planks. Almost as if she didn’t realize what she was doing, she took a step back and pressed her hand against one of the pitons supporting the structure.

“If that thing pops, it will take your hand off,” a nearby Sharder said.

Grimacing, Falla lifted her hand. “Good point.” She returned her attention to me. “And?”

The mule squealed when one of the slate footsteps tilted under its hoof. Eyes nearly as wide as the beast, the Sharder leading the mule hissed through clenched teeth then forced calming words from between tight lips.

“I was thinking about the night whispers. Sometimes I imagined they were my grandmother and my aunt speaking. Grandma died when I was young, and my aunt was born with weak lungs. One day she went to the sluices early and didn’t return.”

Falla raised a brow. “Did that scare you? You mentioned nightmares as a reason you closed yourself off.”

“I thought so. But I just remembered something else. After father disappeared, I was so afraid that I’d hear him speaking to me in the same way. I thought that would mean he was really dead. I remember focusing on pushing the whispers away. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Well, he’s safe now,” Falla said. “Maybe you can remove whatever guards you put up.”

“Is he?” I asked. “And what about my mother and sister?”

Her eyes seemed to penetrate the excuse without needing words. But she spoke anyway. “Would you rather live in ignorance? Especially if the fate of the Empire depends on it?

I sighed. “I suppose not.”

Again the mule squealed. I winced at the shrill sound, and didn’t look up; it would be our turn to cross the storms-cursed bridge soon anyway. But when more shouts peppered the air, followed by a mind-chilling wail, my heart stuttered.

I knew that sound. The Spawn were here.

Across the gorge, five creatures flowed down the nearly sheer cliff in a foul waterfall. The fastest had giant spider’s legs and goat’s hooves. With a shriek, it leaped toward the small huddle of Sharders who had gathered on the far side of the bridge to wait. The other monsters followed.

A man fell beneath the fangs of a three-legged beast with the bloated belly of a toad and half a wing sprouting from its back. I watched in horror as, together, the pair rolled off the edge of the trail and plummeted into the gorge. Bones snapped, and the crack of the Sharder’s skull was loud over the roar of the stream. He plunged into the water, his blood turning the spray into a pink froth. But the Riftspawn whipped out a clawed leg and caught hold of the cliff. Shrieking, it began the climb out of the depths.

“Back!” A Sharder yelled as he pulled out his wardstone. Beside him, a woman was grappling with a beast less than half her size, trying to hold back its snapping jaws while she pulled her blade. When the man with the stone opened his palm, the Spawn shrieked in pain. As if burned, it leaped headlong, fleeing in terror. The jump took it to the edge of the precipice where another Sharder put a booted foot into its head. The monster tumbled over the edge, cracking against a tooth of stone. Moments later, the stream swallowed it.

Roaring, the Sharder advanced on the remaining three beasts. They’d managed to down a horse and were ripping into the animal’s flesh. Another Sharder, a woman I recognized from the conclave, pulled a second wardstone from her pouch and joined the man. Hands outstretched, they advanced on the beasts.

I fell into my aura-sight.

A few days past, I’d sensed light inside the wardstones. But the glow had been faint, like a fire burning low. As the Sharders carried them close to the Riftspawn, the stones’ auras flared, a light so bright I could scarcely look at it. And as the glow spread and widened, shapes formed.

Anchored in the Sharder’s hands, white, human-like figures the size of children spread their arms wide. Between their hands, balls of liquid fire grew. The Riftspawn shrieked as their souls stretched and tore. The dark veins of corruption infesting their bodies sheared away from the roiling auras.

With unholy wails of pain, the Riftspawn sprang away, maddened and fleeing. One missed the edge of the trail and sailed over the drop, knocking free the monster that was climbing back up. The others tore down the trail until a break in the slope allowed them to bound up and out of sight.

I pulled my attention back to the bridge. In the absence of the Spawn, the white figures were quickly fading.

Wait! I called across the gorge, projecting my thoughts toward them.

In the final instant before the figures dwindled to nothing, one whipped its head toward me.

Who? I heard. The voice was melodic, neither male nor female.

Here. I’m across the gorge.

But it was no use. They were already gone.

An animal’s scream echoed through the gorge. I banished my aura-sight and confronted horror. The poor horse thrashed on the trail, abdomen open and innards spilling out. Huge sections of its flesh had been torn free. On the narrow trail beside it, Sharders were trying to get close enough to grant it the mercy of a quick death.

When the animal screamed again, it was finally too much for the mule trapped in the center of the span. Rearing up, the beast struck with its front hooves, knocking its handler flat. Desperate, the man scrambled away as the bridge twisted and bucked. With a last bray, the mule reared again, and this time, lost its balance. Its feet came down on the wrong side of the low rail, and in an instant, it was falling. I looked away before the poor beast hit bottom. There was nothing more to do for it.

But the horse… Throwing myself into my aura-sight, I willed my focus toward the horse. Its aura was a mass of pain and terror and rage. There was no saving the poor animal. With a lance of my aura, I shoved my spirit inside the horse’s and burst my influence wide, taking hold of the beast. Already terrorized beyond all limitations, the animal thrashed, but now its fight was against my control. Outwardly, its body stilled.

Shh, I said into its mind. I felt the dagger enter the beast’s skull, its agony echoed in me. With a cry, I fell to my knees. My vision tunneled down.

As I toppled forward, I glimpsed the edge of the trail.

“Savra!” I felt Falla’s hand on my shoulder as blackness descended.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kostan

Office of the Protectors, Steelhold

“WE HAVEN’T SPOKEN about the assassination attempts in nearly a tenday,” the Prime said. She stood at attention behind her desk, clearly unwilling to sit without being invited to do so.

“Please,” I said, gesturing to her chair. My own seat was still warm from my time upon it during my conversation with Parveld. After sitting, the Prime unbuckled a sheathed dagger and set it atop a stack of papers.

As far as I was concerned, the attempts on my life scarcely mattered, not given what I’d just learned about the Hunger. But the Prime was just doing her job. She worked hard for me and was one of my most stalwart supporters. I owed her the respect of hearing her out. Not to mention, I hadn’t yet explained what I’d learned about Stormshard and Savra. Without that information, the woman might as well have been chasing her tail.

“I’d like to speak first if you don’t mind,” I said. “I’ve been lax in sharing things with you, I’m afraid. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I serve at your pleasure,” she said. “Not the other way around.” Her expression didn’t change. If she was annoyed, she hid it well.

“Parveld knew about the most recent attempt on my life.”

At that, she stiffened, hand edging toward her dagger. “And you allow him to remain here? Why?”

“It’s complicated. He didn’t know until after the fact.”

“So he’s been investigating the situation independently?”

“Allow me to back up if I might. He was aware that Stormshard was in contact with Savra after she entered Steelhold as the new palace scribe.”

She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Then my suspicions were correct.”

I sighed. “Not precisely. Apparently, she’d been granted probationary membership into the organization—she wished to join in hopes of locating her father. In order to become a full-fledged Sharder, however, they set her what should have been an impossible task: open the Shadow Gate to grant Steelhold entrance into the Hold.”

The Prime shook her head. “With all our security measures, a simple scribe was our weakness. How did she do it? The protectors are incapable of lying, so when they say they were compelled against their will, I believe them. I just don’t understand how.”

“Parveld tells me she’s a spiritist.”

The Prime’s eyes widened. “I should have considered it. When I heard the other rumor…”

“Rumor?”

“Pardon me. It relates to the update I have for you. I’ll get to it. Please go on, though.”

“According to Parveld, Savra only realized what Stormshard intended once it was too late. Savra recognized me when I climbed the dais, and she jumped in front of the assassin to save me.”

The Prime turned her head and cast me a skeptical eye. “You believe that?”

“It makes sense. In fact, it’s one of the only explanations that accounts for all the facts we’ve uncovered.”

“Except nothing you’ve told me leads me to believe Savra is that stupid.”

I ignored the flare of anger at her words. “Savra’s dead. And she wasn’t stupid. I don’t doubt she knew what Stormshard intended. In Jaliss, she watched the protectors take the head from an innocent Prov boy simply because he had no information regarding the attempt on Tovmeil’s life. She had every reason to hate the Empire. But when she saw…” I had to stop speaking when my throat closed down. “When she realized I’d been crowned the new Emperor, she tried to stop the plan. She thought I’d be different.”

As I said it, I felt the color in my cheeks. And what would Savra think of me now? I’d never escape my sorrow over her death, but at least I could take selfish comfort knowing she wasn’t witness to my failures.

The Prime ran a finger over the leather wrapping of her dagger’s hilt as she considered my words. “I suppose it makes sense,” she said. “How did she die, and how did you and Parveld learn of it?”

“He has solid information that points to her death at Stormshard’s hands. That’s another reason to believe my version of the events.”

She sucked her teeth. “Fair enough. I was inclined to believe the assassination attempts were related—it just makes sense. But your explanation holds up. It’s a relief, I suppose. Gives us an enemy we understand.”

“We really should have spoken sooner,” I said. “I neglected to tell you about the other steps I’ve taken.”

She cocked an ear but didn’t speak.

“Given the attempt on my life and the continued unrest, I believe Stormshard is behind the riots. Someone with combat experience organized the ambush in the Splits. Among the Prov population, Stormshard best fits that description.”

“Agreed,” she said.

“I’ve instructed the Snitchlord to search out information on their whereabouts and plans.”

“A wise step. I have sent word to the protector garrisons, especially those closest to Jaliss. Your soldiers are keeping a wary eye out for suspicious activity; I’ll add a directive instructing them to be especially aware of Stormshard involvement.”

“Good.”

“As I mentioned, I did have other information to share,” she said.

“Please.” I gestured for her to continue.

“It involves the first attempt on your life and the slaying of the Scions.”

I nodded. “Go on.” Though we’d already subdued or executed the masterminds of the plot against Tovmeil and the Ascension, it would improve our security to understand how they’d managed the assassinations.

“I was particularly surprised when you mentioned Savra’s spiritism. As you probably know, the Empire instituted measures as part of the Decree. They were intended to eradicate the trait.”

No, I hadn’t been aware. I hadn’t even known about the ability until Parveld had introduced me to it. But while honesty was a virtue, drawing attention to my ignorance wouldn’t do me many favors.

“Was the ability somehow involved in the first attack?” I asked.

“It was indeed, which gives credence to the policy of eliminating spiritists as a scourge. We understand far too little about their capabilities.”

“Perhaps we could discuss the policy later,” I said, keeping a rein on my temper. “How were spiritists implicated?”

“Their abilities may explain how the assassins gained entrance to the Scions’ bedchambers. The rumor I heard was that the Ministry hired the services of a geognost named Havialo.”

“But I thought you said spiritism was involved, not geognosty.”

She shook her head. “You’re right. I did. Yes, Havialo is an earth mage, but his magic is unrelated to the attacks. He’s disgruntled, unhappy with the lack of political power geognosts hold in the Empire. I recently learned that he has spent the last few years seeking out Prov spiritists and shepherding them to a sanctuary in the Icethorns.”

“So it wasn’t the earth mage’s services that were hired, but rather the spiritists he’d rescued?”

She nodded. “As far as I can tell, yes. He was something of an intermediary, but a willing one.”

“Are he and his spiritists a threat now?”

The Prime picked up her dagger and pressed its point into the wood of her desk, rotating it back and forth as she spoke. “I’m not certain. To tell the truth, I’ve been more occupied with the pressing threats than an old investigation. As you mentioned some time ago, the ministers involved in the plot have already been punished.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised to hear that she agreed with me in this regard.

Her mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smirk I’d seen. “I assure you, despite my apparent bullheadedness, I do listen to everything you suggest, not just the direct orders.”

“I won’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise again,” I said, inclining my head. “So what do you recommend? Should we alert the garrisons to keep watch for this rogue geognost?”

The Prime’s brow knit as she twisted the dagger again. “I think that’s probably the best course, though I suspect we have little to fear in him without the Ministry’s influence.”

“Agreed. Is that it, then?”

“There are a couple stray rumors we should consider. First, I’ve heard strange stories of trouble at the geognosts’ monastery. A trader who was passing through believes that the monastery buildings may have toppled.”

“May have?”

“He only glimpsed the area from the nearby crossroads so he couldn’t be certain. He’d suffered delays in his journey and didn’t have time for a detour. If he wasn’t mistaken, however, it’s a terrible blow to their order. No doubt an earthquake struck hard in the area.”

“Aren’t earth mages supposed to have mastery over such phenomena? Of all the places in the Empire, I would expect their monastery to be the most impervious to quake damage.”

She chewed her lip. “That’s a good point. More likely, the trader was confused. In any case, the other rumor is even more difficult to believe. A caravan came from the western reaches of the Icethorns a few days ago. Or rather, a battered wagon and the single survivor of the group exited the mountains. The man was nearly raving when he reached the nearest village and the nearby garrison. He claimed to have been attacked by strange beasts. Wolves with the legs of mules. Human eyes in the face of a hunting cat. He said his companions were torn apart as he watched, and only the luck of a landslide spared him. It came down upon attackers and victims both, and he was the only one to dig himself free.”

“Do you believe it?” I asked.

“I’m not certain,” she said. “The man’s family was in one of the crushed wagons. I have no kin of my own, but I understand such losses can drive a person quite mad.”

It had been weeks since I felt the isolation of my own family situation. Like the Prime, I had no family to come home to. I’d been taken from my mother and father before I could walk, based only on the astrologers’ pronouncement that the circumstances of my birth made me a Scion. All my life, I’d yearned for someone to care about while forcing myself to hide that emotion lest I be deemed unsuited for my station. Even friendship had been largely forbidden, though Vaness and I had managed a fumbling sort of affection with one another.

It wasn’t until I’d met Evrain and the members of his Shard that I’d glimpsed what it might be like to have people I truly cared about. And then, after I betrayed my first friends and fled to Jaliss, I’d met Fishel and Savra.

Now one of them was dead. Given the violence in the Splits, Fishel might well be gone, too.

I shook my head, a subtle motion. No, family and friends, love and affection were not something I was meant to receive. My destiny lay in my duty to the Atal Empire.

Tightening my jaw, I turned my gaze back to the Prime. “I appreciate your diligence,” I said. “The rumors are intriguing, but I don’t think we should spend any more effort on investigations until our more pressing issues are addressed.”

“I’m inclined to agree, your eminence,” she said.

“Anything else?” I asked.

She stood. “That’s the last of it.”

“Then we focus our immediate efforts on Stormshard. As soon as the Snitchlord or the protectors turn up reliable information regarding their plans and movements, we should prepare to strike. As we did with the unfortunate situation in the Splits, I want to bring as much force to bear as we can muster.”

“As you command, my liege.”

With that, I left her office, eager for the fresh outside air. Unfortunately, evening had settled into the Hold, and with it, the smoke from cookfires and hearths. I sighed. Perhaps tomorrow I’d catch a breath of clear air.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Savra

Draped over a horse, Icethorn Mountains

I WOKE STRAPPED over the back of a horse, neck aching and thighs raw from being slung over the saddle. Apparently, the Sharders hadn’t wanted to leave me behind. I could be grateful for that, I supposed.

Storms, but my head hurt.

“Falla?” I asked. I couldn’t see anything but the belly of the horse and my feet hanging over the other side. Beyond my dangling shoes, dense trees hemmed the trail. I tried to arch my back to get a better look around, but the horse’s hoof caught on a rock, and the jolt made me flop back down.

“Falla, your so-called prodigy woke up!” a man yelled. Moments later, the horse I’d been unceremoniously draped across stopped walking in response to the man’s quiet command.

“Well, get her off there! Or do I have to do everything?” I’d rarely heard Falla so gruff.

“I just—I didn’t want to cause problems.”

Falla sighed audibly. “I know, Megeald. I’m sorry. These last days have been stressful.” The crunch of her boots stopped beside me. I turned my head, granting a view of the throwing knife strapped to her thigh while she fussed with the straps keeping me in place. Once the buckles were free, she and the man, Megeald, circled the horse and grabbed me by the hips to pull me off its back. My head swam when I stood.

Shaking free the dizziness, I looked around. We seemed to have descended quite some distance out of the mountains while I’d been unaware. In fact, the warm swirls of air carried hints of grass ripe with seeds.

“How long has it been?” I asked, confused.

I glanced down the trail. The Stormshard forces marched on a road cut between shadowed trunks of pines and the occasional birch, and the ranks had swelled by at least double or perhaps three times. I licked my lips and only then noticed how dry and cracked they’d become.

“Whatever fool thing you did back by the bridge, it knocked you cold for three days.” I started at Sirez’s voice. The woman had approached while I’d been watching the retreating backs of our forces. “When you have a chance, thank Falla for keeping you alive in the meantime.”

I puffed my cheeks and exhaled, overwhelmed. “Could I have some water, please?”

Nodding, Falla laid a hand on my shoulder while she gestured to a fallen log beside the trail. “You can move on, Megeald,” she said to the man who’d attended me. “Savra should be able to walk from here.”

With my head both spinning and pounding, I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t argue. The log, silvered and long since stripped of its bark, sat in dappled shade that looked appealing. On shaky legs, I stepped over and took a seat.

“What do you remember?” Falla asked as she sat beside me.

“I took control of the horse’s spirit… I was afraid it would kick a Sharder off the trail. When they killed it, I…” I shrugged. “I passed out again, I guess.”

She sucked her teeth. “Well, I suppose we’ve identified a limitation of your magic if nothing else. Your heartbeat was terribly slow for some time. I did what I could to keep it beating—cost me a bit of rapport with the healers.”

“Is that what Sirez meant when she said I should thank you?”

Falla smirked. “Well, Joran kept saying we should leave you behind. I argued against it. But yes, I assume she was talking about how I browbeat the healers into doing their jobs. I suppose Body is a worthwhile domain, but it takes two of them to fix the slightest ailment. One to Sense what’s wrong and the other to Control the patient’s body and force a cure. If you ask me, Body magic is more useful for combat where a sledgehammer will do as well as a needle prick. But anyway… Healing is a situation where multiple aspects in a single spiritist would really help. Unfortunately, you’re the only one I know with that particular quirk.”

“You make me feel so important.”

Falla snorted. “At the very least, you stand out like a mule in a herd of sheep.”

I smiled as she handed over the water skin. “Thanks.”

Almost as quickly as her good humor had come, Falla’s face sobered. She watched the column of fighters marching past. There were so many now.

“Where did all these people come from?” I asked.

Falla sighed. “It’s unfortunate news even if it did help the recruitment efforts. Tendal’s village wasn’t the only settlement with people taken. The conclave had hoped to gain enough fighters to grow our ranks by half our original size. We’ve added four or five times that.”

“Did we catch up with the captives we were chasing?”

Falla’s hands curled on her knees. “We arrived in time to give comfort to the survivors.”

Storms. “Sorry to hear it. What happened?”

“Their abductors met up with an argent mage the Snitchlord sent from Jaliss. The Provs lined up for interrogation; poor lot thought it would be a good thing to have the argent peer inside their heads and see they weren’t Stormshard.”

“And?”

“Since they weren’t rebels, they were just slowing the protectors and snitch masters down. Some escaped when they realized their mistake. Unfortunately, not all.” She pinched a fold of her trousers, knuckles going white with the force. “We came upon the others just a few hours ago. Sent them home with a detachment of soldiers.”

I stared past the marching soldiers, eyes unfocused. How could Kostan allow this? When we reached the grasslands, I wanted a chance to confront the new Emperor directly. I wanted him to know what I thought of him before Stormshard took his Empire.

The rear of the column was finally approaching, a group of five horsemen scanning the surroundings with alert eyes. “No more problems with the Riftspawn?” I asked.

Falla shook her head. “Thank the clear skies. We’ve been keeping the wardstones outside their pouches, held high when we can.”

I sat up straight, abruptly remembering what I’d seen from the stones. “Falla, can you sense anything in the wardstones?” I asked.

Brow knit, she shook her head. “Like what?”

“It’s—when we first received them, I sensed something similar to an aura. But when they were used against the Spawn, the stones… I’m not sure. I think they summoned some sort of beings to drive the Spawn away.”

She raised a brow in surprise. “Beings, huh?”

“They were white. So bright. They drove the corruption out of the creatures.”

She cocked her head. “You are full of surprises, my young friend. I’m looking forward to the day when we understand your magic.”

Beings, Lilik said, shoving her way into my thoughts. Summoned by stones? I’ve never heard of something like that.

“But listen,” Falla said. “We’re almost to the grasslands. With you half-dead the last three days, we’re out of time for discovering new facets of your talent. Best to hone the abilities you do have.”

“I’d hoped we’d discover something that would turn the fight in our favor.”

She shrugged. “You’re already among the most powerful spiritists. But if we don’t solve this problem of losing consciousness when something you’re controlling dies, I can’t allow you near a battle.”

I winced. It wasn’t that I wanted her to mince words, but still… “Am I really more of a risk than a benefit?”

“It’s not that. It’s my vow to your father. Sirez wasn’t exaggerating. You might have died without the healers, Savra. Unless we can eliminate that vulnerability, I will do whatever it takes to keep you from the fight.”

My hand crept to the back of my neck and squeezed. Sure, I believed that I’d been unconscious for three days. But I didn’t feel like I’d been near death. Still, I recognized the steel in her voice—if I wanted to fight for Stormshard while Falla was part of the organization, I needed to solve this problem.

“I don’t even know why I lost consciousness,” I said. “Makes it difficult to find a solution.”

“That, at least, is something I can answer, I think. Though you’re in control of the other’s aura, the binding flows both ways. You feel their pain, among other things. No matter your constitution, you can’t bear to experience their mortal wounds. Instead, you lose consciousness and your control snaps. But the real danger lies in a person dying while under your control. If the death were swift enough, I don’t think you’d black out from pain. I think you’d follow your victim across the veil. Or maybe just part of your aura would, which might actually be worse.”

“So how do I keep it from happening?”

“I have some ideas on that, but the day is wasting. Are you strong enough to march?” She gestured toward the trail, and I noticed the rear guard had reined up to wait for us.

My head spun when I stood. Though I didn’t feel like I’d recently escaped death, I certainly wasn’t at my strongest.

“Do you think there’s a chance I could—”

“Ride?” She snorted. “I planned to see how far you’d stagger before admitting you needed it.” She nodded at one of the guardsmen who promptly dismounted. “Maybe you’re slightly smarter than I’d judged. Mount up. The healers forced you to swallow food and drink while you drifted, but it was hardly enough. You’ll spend the rest of the day riding and eating to recover your strength.”

***

At camp that evening, I sat in a nook between age-smoothed boulders and gnawed on a strip of dried meat. My bedroll cushioned the rocky ground beneath me while the buzz of the camp filled my ears. My thoughts kept returning to the silvery beings summoned by the wardstones. The power they wielded against the corruption inside the Spawn was tremendous. If only it were so easy to banish the evil in the hearts of men. I sighed and took a swig from my waterskin then glanced up to see Falla approaching. A group of sullen Sharders and Prov recruits trailed behind her.

“Evening, Savra,” she said. “My friends here made the mistake of indulging too deeply from our wine stocks. We can’t have that when we’re so close to the grasslands.”

“Evening,” I said, unsure how to respond. Why was she telling me this?

“So, to make amends, they’ve volunteered to help in your training.”

I scanned the faces of the delinquents, noticing a stark difference between the Prov “volunteers” and the Sharders. Judging by their glowers, the veteran rebels had a notion of what aid they’d be lending, while the wide-eyed newcomers were ignorant. I suppressed a groan. When Falla had spoken of honing my abilities, I’d forgotten I’d need subjects upon which I could practice my compulsion.

I met her eyes. “Falla, I—” I grimaced. “It’s not something I like to do.”

Bending and straightening the arm she’d broken in the earthquake, she shrugged. “These exercises aren’t particularly pleasant either. But if I don’t build my strength before the battle ahead, I might as well admit I’m going to lose. And make no mistake. Losing means dying.”

I scanned the gathered crowd of so-called volunteers, my aura-sight flaring to life. The Provs shifted on their feet, their spirits confused. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see the effects of the alcohol in their auras—I’d hoped the drink had numbed them. As for the Sharders, resentment painted their auras a smoldering red.

My mind rebelled at the thought of compelling these people. But Falla was right. By taking control of the imperial soldiers, I could save Stormsharder lives. Maybe even the lives of these so-called volunteers.

With a deep breath, I stood from my comfortable seat amongst the boulders. “All right,” I said. “I suppose we should get on with it. What do you suggest?”

“Let’s make sure we understand your limits. If we solve the problem of your vulnerability, it will be advantageous to know them, don’t you agree? How many auras can you hold?”

During the night of Kostan’s Ascension, I’d taken hold of three guards at once and compelled them to serve my will. Beyond that, I had no idea how many auras I could command. Better to find out now than in the middle of a battle.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” I said to the volunteers, swallowing the sickness rising in my throat.

Exhaling, I shot a spear of aura into the nearest Prov. She gasped as my lance pierced her soul, but when I exploded the spear into thousands of splinters that lodged deep in her aura, her voice cut off. The life vanished from her gaze while her arms went limp at her sides. At my command, she marched across the jumble of grasses and age-rounded stones to stand alone.

I clenched my jaw as she battered at my control and lanced the second volunteer. He, too, stepped across the meadow to join the first woman.

One by one, I bound the rebels to my mind. As their number grew, first to five, then ten, then surpassing a dozen, my aura began to feel stretched. I envisioned myself as not just one body, but as many. Focusing my awareness on one of my thralls at a time, I found I could control their movements with incredible detail, but when attempting to command all twelve at once, cold sweat sprang from my pores, and my limbs began to shake.

“Amazing,” Falla whispered as I forced all of them to march forward three paces then sidestep. From behind me, footsteps crunched. I turned to see Sirez draw a surprised halt. Behind her, the three remaining volunteers—all Provs—stood wide-eyed. I didn’t blame them, but at the same time, I pitied them in their ignorance. Though nervous at the sight of their brethren’s dull-eyed obedience, they had no idea of the real terror they’d feel if I took control.

“Can you control the rest?” Sirez asked.

“Not very well,” I managed, my tongue thick in my mouth. “It’s… it’s a strain.”

“Try,” she commanded.

I gagged as I sent two more spears into the waiting volunteers. My aura stretched painfully, thinning until I felt near to panic. Still, I focused on the two newcomers and sent a mental request for them to join the others. Haltingly, they obeyed.

That’s all I can do,” I croaked. “Too dangerous otherwise.”

“Now,” Falla said suddenly, “Release.” As she spoke, she sprang at my thralls. On instinct, I tapped into the closest woman’s aura, sensing the reflex her body wished to follow. Her arm raised to block Falla’s kick just in time, but Falla wasn’t stopped so easily. Drawing a blade, she snapped it to the woman’s throat. A line of blood formed on the Sharder’s neck.

“Release!” Falla growled.

Cold fear gripped my spine as I tried to unwind my aura from the woman’s. When I’d released the gate guards and later, Joran, I’d focused on the splinters of my aura, pulled them together, and retracted the lance. Otherwise, I felt the fragile tendrils would break, shattering and leaving fragments of my soul behind.

“I can’t,” I squeaked through gritted teeth. “Not like this.”

Releasing the woman, Falla sighed. “One at a time, then. It’s no use controlling twenty enemies if the first one slain will break your mind.”

Shaking, I closed my eyes again and focused on my aura. One by one, I slid my control away from the volunteers. As each regained control, they fixed me with a look of pure hatred.

When Sirez noticed, she stalked over and slapped a rebel across the face. “You will remove those glares from your faces,” Sirez said. “You will turn to Savra, and you will thank her for learning the techniques that may save your lives in the days to come. And you will stay here and serve as assistants in her training until she is too exhausted to continue.”

The man who had been slapped nearly vibrated with rage, but after a moment, he managed to collect himself.

“As you command,” he said.

“Let’s start with him,” Falla said. “Now, take control.”

***

I sat, hugging my knees, unable to cry but wishing I could. The sun had set hours ago, and a half moon peeked over the forested mountain ridge opposite our encampment.

My soul hurt. Again and again, Falla had forced me to control and release the Sharders. With their auras laid bare before me, their hatred had been as naked as if it were written on their faces or spoken aloud. No matter what Sirez commanded, she couldn’t control their emotions.

And the truth was, I couldn’t blame them.

When I’d finally lost the ability to take control, knees buckling as I failed to form my aura into a spear, Falla had dismissed the Sharders with a nod. The Prov volunteers had been sent away hours before; no sense in losing allies we’d so recently gained. When the final Sharder had staggered away, I’d expected Falla to praise me for my efforts. I’d worked so hard, and it had hurt so much.

But she’d simply pressed her lips together and glanced southward. Soon, the road would leave the cover of the foothills for the wide expanse of the plateau. Falla was thinking of the impending battle. I’d be no help to Stormshard unless I made more progress; despite the evening’s efforts, I hadn’t been able to release control fast enough.

“Get some rest,” she’d said. “We’ll likely make camp one more time. You improved tonight. We’ll just hope tomorrow’s training will get you where you need to be.”

With that, she’d stalked toward the nearest fire, leaving me to collapse onto my bedroll. But I couldn’t sleep. Not after what I’d done. So I’d pulled my cloak over my shoulders and stumbled past the sentries, making the excuse that I needed to find some grass to water.

I hadn’t wanted anyone to hear me cry. As it turned out, my soul was too wrung out even for that.

Heart empty, I dropped my forehead to my knees. Falla was right to push me. But where she thought I still had the potential to learn, I knew I would fail. Death could happen so fast. And no matter the strength of my control, I simply couldn’t gather the shards of my aura fast enough to retreat when the killing blow fell. But sitting out here feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help either. The least I could do was keep trying to sleep so that I could train again tomorrow.

With a heavy sigh, I planted my hands on the night-cool grasses and got ready to stand.

The footsteps behind me were just a whisper. Whoever approached had hidden their presence well. By the rustling sounds, I guessed they were no more than five paces away.

Pulse slamming in my veins, I did my best to pretend I hadn’t heard them. This late at night and beyond the sentry perimeter, the person—people?—behind me surely had nothing good in mind. As if weary with the need to sleep, I yawned while I rose.

When the first running footstep vibrated the earth, I sprang.

Or rather, I tried to spring. Exhausted by my efforts in training, my body couldn’t obey the command. I managed a single footstep before the world spun. I staggered, narrowly catching my balance before falling on my face.

Rough hands grabbed me. A callused palm clamped over my mouth, sealing in my scream. As I kicked, weakly, I forced my aura-sight forward. It felt like dragging my soul through a field of broken glass. But even as auras bloomed in the encampment, tranquil in their sleep, I sensed nothing nearby.

I stiffened when Joran breathed in my ear. “I told you to be careful, didn’t I? But here you are with no one to help you.”

Growling, another figure moved forward. The other man was as invisible to my aura-sight as Joran.

Finally, a tear spilled down my cheek. I had no illusions what would happen to me next.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kostan

Emperor's chambers, Steelhold

“I’VE LOCATED STORMSHARD, your eminence.” The Snitchlord didn’t bother to knock before entering my private chambers. I knew I should punish him, but instead, I simply touched Lyrille on the hand to let her know I was moving away. She turned her head to track my movements, a habit from her years as an ordinary, sighted girl no doubt.

“You may speak freely in front of my guest,” I said.

I hated the knowing look that came over the Snitchlord’s face. His lip curled in a manner nothing short of lecherous. Emperors were expected, or at least allowed, to choose a wife-consort. The woman would share the ruler’s bed and perhaps even provide a small measure of companionship. But since heirs to the throne came not from the Emperor and spouse, but rather from the calculations of the astrologers, little attention was paid to whether an Emperor sired a bastard or two upon the serving staff. I had no such intentions with Lyrille, of course. I merely enjoyed her company, and occasionally, her advice.

I took a deep breath to keep from defending Lyrille’s honor. She was perfectly capable of defending herself. She might even see my attempts as condescension.

The Snitchlord seemed to enjoy the suspense as he crossed the room and ladled a measure of water into a stone cup supplied for my needs. Again, I paid the insult no mind. Instead, I crossed to the window and looked out over Steelhold’s grounds. It was mid-afternoon, and as always, the servants were busy with their tasks. The alleys and courtyards brimmed with hurrying figures. Steelhold hardly needed such a large staff, but one of my first acts after Ascension had been to request as many laundresses, cobblers, tailors, and barbers as could be accommodated within our servants’ quarters. I could do little for the Provs still down in Jaliss, but at least those sheltering inside Steelhold’s walls were spared the hunger and cold that plagued those living in the shadow of the spire.

“You show a surprising lack of interest, given the urgency of your request,” the Snitchlord said, a faint hint of pique in his voice.

I turned, pleased despite myself for finally landing a small blow against his pride. “I was merely waiting for you to wet your throat before reporting. I’m sure you taxed yourself in your rush to bring me the information.”

His smile was entirely insincere. “Of course. If I may?” he asked, gesturing to one of my richly upholstered chairs.

“Go ahead,” I said. I chose not to sit.

After he settled into the embrace of the chair, he adjusted the ever-present wad of shredded leaves beneath his lip. “There are two items of interest. First, I’ve discovered the nest where your agitators are hiding. It’s in Pascar. That’s a middling settlement not far—”

“I’m aware of its location,” I said, fighting sudden vertigo. In my vision, I’d battled the Provs in a small town located about the same distance from Jaliss as Pascar. I remembered well how I’d stood on a low hill in the town’s center, watching in horror as Steelhold toppled onto Jaliss and crushed everyone within.

“It’s a rather small number of rebels. I haven’t determined whether they’re under the guidance of a larger arm of the renegade organization. But if you were to have your soldiers surround the bakery they’ve chosen as a hideout, you could likely eliminate their influence with scant danger to your forces. There are around ten Atal merchant families living in the settlement. You could have them evacuate in case the raid were to turn violent.”

“What about innocent Prov citizens? How far is this bakery from the edge of the town?” If there were truly just a few agitators, I certainly didn’t want to march into the town with a large force. That would only give the Provs more reasons to call me a tyrant.

The Snitchlord made a small moue with his mouth. “Unfortunately, it’s central to the settlement. Any action will probably bring out renegade sympathizers.”

“Does that mean the townsfolk are associated with Stormshard, too?”

He shook his head, gracing me with an expression that seemed to ask whether I was really that stupid. “Law-abiding Provs across the Empire would defend Stormshard if asked to. They may not be official members of the organization—the distinction between a rebel and a Prov is more a matter of actions than loyalties. But make no mistake: Provs are like trapped badgers right now. If you poke them, they’ll fight back.”

“So why did you claim that the danger to my forces would be minimal?”

He shrugged, taking the opportunity to examine Lyrille. “She’s an attractive one despite the mask,” he commented.

“Lyrille, you may leave,” I said. “You need not endure this treatment.”

“Fear not,” she said. “I’ve heard much worse. Both before and after I was blinded.”

“As you wish,” I said before turning back to the Snitchlord. “I believe I asked you a question.”

“It should be obvious, I would think,” he returned. “Armed protectors hardly need fear a contingent of angry Provs. The townsfolk will be unarmored, untrained in combat. It’s just the Sharders you need to be concerned with.”

I made a slow fist with my hand then uncurled it. This man might be my best hope for finding Stormshard, but I hated him all the same.

“Please provide exact information on the bakery’s location to the Prime Protector. Include known details on the rebels and any information on lookouts they may have stationed around the town. She and I will determine tactics without your… advice.”

The man had the gall to sneer. I took a deep breath.

“And the other information you’ve gathered?”

“Yes, well,” he said. “That. Unfortunately, it seems that while my attention was focused elsewhere—that was your doing, as you’ll recall—Stormshard has built themselves quite an army. In an interesting turn of events, they’re marching to attack.”

“What? How soon?” My thoughts whirled to consider my forces. Readily available, I had the protectors assigned to Jaliss and Steelhold plus the nearby garrisons. I assumed the aurums were still at my disposal. Subtracting the small force I’d need to leave to defend Steelhold’s walls, I calculated around a thousand fighters at my command today. Given a week, I might gather ten times that number.

A look of false dismay spread over the man’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t have great news in that regard. You see, by the last report, the Stormshard army was two days away.”

I whistled. Storms. That was close. But I could work with it. I seriously doubted Stormshard had gathered more than a few thousand fighters. Moreover, many of those people had likely never seen a real battle. Combining my protectors and aurum mages, I could easily win this.

“Which direction are they coming from?”

“The mountains, your eminence. They’ll exit near the Westpass Cut. Not far from Pascar and the nest of agitators, in fact. But I wasn’t quite finished explaining the situation. You see, the last report had the army two days away. But the messenger who brought this news had to travel that distance to carry word to us. She was mounted, of course, and was therefore much fleeter than an army weighed down with supplies and foot soldiers. Nonetheless, I’d estimate you have less than a day before they spill out of the mountains like the storm they claim to be.”

His words struck like a sudden gale. So soon. “And you waited until the end of our audience to share this,” I said, fists clenched. Why had he even bothered with the information on Pascar? I certainly wasn’t going to worry about a handful of agitators while an army marched on the city.

The man shrugged. “How was I to know which information would most interest your eminence? As you suggested just moments ago, perhaps I don’t have a head for tactics.”

Controlling my temper, I whirled to Lyrille.

“Please see the Master of Information from my chambers. If he gives you difficulty, call for the protectors. I will instruct them to heed your cry.”

“Of course, your eminence.”

“And Lyrille?” I said, remembering my vision of Steelhold toppling. Despite my intent to ignore the situation in Pascar for now, the town’s resemblance to the settlement in my vision concerned me deeply. I felt that events were moving beneath the surface of what I perceived.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be sending a friend to your chambers shortly. His name is Parveld, and I plan to escort you away from Steelhold. In the coming days, I believe you’ll be safer taking shelter elsewhere.”

“As my liege desires,” she said.

I’ll give warnings to Vaness and Azar as well, asking them to leave the Hold. It was the best I could do. Spinning on my heels, I ran for my door and the corridor beyond.

***

“The army is the bigger threat,” the Prime Protector said. “We can deal with the agitators later.”

“I agree. It sounds as if Stormshard’s forces could be out of the mountains as soon as tomorrow morning. The Snitchlord was baiting me with the other information, I believe. Though I am concerned about one thing: Pascar is near Westpass Cut. The Provs in the town may witness our battle. If nothing else, we must make sure we fight with honor. No protector will strike someone who surrenders.” Again the Bracer’s vision of a fight within the town echoed in my thoughts. Was it inevitable? And if so, was Steelhold doomed to fall?

The Prime stalked toward the far side of her office, twirling her dagger as she considered. “A worthy consideration. Perhaps we should also send a few argent mages into Pascar. If the agitators leave the bakery and try to rile the population, the argents could strike the rebels with a quiet mental assault.”

I winced as I remembered the agony Argentmaster Yevinish had inflicted on my mind while interrogating me on behalf of the Ministry.

“A wise plan as long as the argents restrict their attacks to the agitators,” I said.

As the Prime turned to pace the other direction, a sharp rapping came at the door.

“Prime,” a young protector said when the leader opened the door, “we’ve finally tracked down the source of the toxin.”

I snapped to attention. With everything I’d just learned from the Snitchlord, I’d nearly forgotten about the poisoned arrows. I hurried across the room. “Where?”

“Pascar, your eminence,” she said, averting her eyes as was customary when a protector spoke to the Emperor. “It’s a town near—”

“I’m aware of its location. Thank you, protector.” My head swam, and I steadied myself with a hand against the door jamb. Pascar, again. The Bracer’s vision swelled at the edge of my awareness. I could almost smell the blood soaking into the earthen streets.

“Go on, protector,” the Prime prompted. “How did you receive the information?”

“An investigator from the Western Garrison heard the story. After a recent quake, the stream that runs near the town became tainted. A few sheep sickened and died shortly after the shake, but few noticed the loss. Around twenty days ago, a number of people grew ill and eventually went mad. They tracked the problem to the stream because most of the sickened were the laundresses who scrubbed clothing in its water, earning raw knuckles that allowed the poison into their blood.”

“This is good news, your eminence.” The Prime Protector paced toward her desk. “When we eliminate the agitators, we’ll also put a stop to the threat of poison entering Jaliss. After we take care of Stormshard, we can go to Pascar in force. We can even explain it as a necessary measure to ensure the safety of the townsfolk—we’ll bring casks of fresh water and aurum healers to examine any who have been sickened.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I tell her I’d foreseen the battle for Pascar and that it ended in Steelhold’s destruction? If I marched an army into the town, I’d be fulfilling the prophecy.

“There’s more, Prime,” the protector in the door said.

“Oh?” The Prime said, turning with brows raised.

“We don’t know the full extents of the plan, but soldiers in the nearby garrison saw barrels of stream water being loaded onto wagons. Some have already left the town, bound for Westpass Cut, while at least one load is on the road to Jaliss.”

“Storms,” the Prime whispered. She turned to me. “If those wagons reach Stormshard, every fighter in their army will be able to kill with just a scratch of a blade.”

“I’m guessing we wouldn’t fare well in that situation.”

“With so little time to prepare, I don’t think we could possibly win. We must stop the town from aiding our enemies.”

“I’m concerned about a march on Pascar,” I said. “It’s—Through the Bracer of Sight, I’ve seen dire consequences resulting from such an act. What if we were to remain here and defend Steelhold from within its walls?”

The Prime seemed to accept my words about the prophecy without argument, but she shook her head at the suggestion. “We’d be sacrificing every Atal in the city. We could allow some of them into the Hold, but we don’t have space for them all. We might withstand a Stormshard siege for a few weeks, but in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, the collapse of the Empire will continue. You’re right. It wouldn’t serve any purpose.”

The Prime’s face was grim as she nodded.

“How long before reinforcements could arrive? Could we allow the siege only while we wait?”

“Possibly. But frankly, your eminence, hiding in the Hold will win you no hearts. Your people already think you’re weak.”

I sighed. Indeed, I was a far cry from the strong core the Bracer’s visions commanded me to become. I couldn’t hide behind Steelhold’s gates. The Ministry had done that following Tovmeil’s assassination, and as a result, Lowtown had burned.

Ice filled my spine as I straightened and met the Prime’s eyes. “Send your fastest squads ahead to intercept those wagons. Tonight. Even if we can’t stop the first loads of poison, we’ll blockade the roads to prevent the next ones from reaching their destinations.”

“And then?” she asked.

“We’ll form ranks before dawn and prepare to march for Westpass.”

“So we’ll fight even if the toxin reaches Stormshard?” the Prime asked.

“I would rather die in an attempt to save the Empire than cower while it crumbles beneath me.”

I gritted my teeth at the other reality of the situation. It wasn’t just me who might die tomorrow. A thousand protectors would fight by my side.

At the door, I caught the attention of a page. “Inform Argentmaster Yevinish that I must speak with him immediately. It regards the protectors’ oaths. I wish them to fight with me tomorrow, but I will not take slaves to their deaths.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sirez

Sharder encampment in the Icethorn foothills

WEARY AFTER ANOTHER day’s march, Sirez leaned back against the single, sturdy pole that held up her tent. Except it wasn’t just her tent anymore. With Stormshard now gathered at the very edge of the plateau, hidden from the wide expanse by just a few folds of the terrain, the canvas structure was now the command tent for the Stormshard army. Soon, the members of the conclave would filter in to line the walls, hunching to avoid the press of canvas against their backs.

No doubt the discussions of strategy would go long into the night. Tomorrow might bring war.

Sirez looked up when the canvas flap at the entrance shifted.

“I’m sorry, Sirez,” the lead scout said as he pushed into her tent. “I haven’t found any sign of the girl. But I did discover that Joran went missing around the same time.”

Of course. The scout’s words were like daggers slipped between Sirez’s ribs. This was her fault. She should never have believed that Joran would give up his vendetta against Savra. He’d always hated Stormshard’s practice of giving women equal say in the rebel group. But with Savra, it was worse. She was scarcely more than a red-haired girl, and she’d gained the loyalty of some of the most powerful Sharders.

But there was something more than his dislike for women driving Joran’s new hatred—Sirez just hadn’t been able to figure it out. Joran’s usual anger was a dim ghost compared to the rage he’d exuded since the day he’d voted for Savra’s innocence.

Joran had won that day by earning Evrain’s expulsion from Stormshard, yet for some reason, it had only made him more hateful. Now, it seemed he’d decided to take some sort of revenge.

She blew a few stray hairs from her face. Savra’s loss was a major blow, and not just because of the promise Sirez had made to her father. Stormshard had just a few spiritists among their ranks, and all but Falla were skilled in the Body domain. A handful of those had aptitude in healing, which was useful but required them to work in complementary pairs of the Sensing and Control aspects. The Body fighters had increased endurance and combat reflexes, but the magic didn’t run very strongly in any of them. One man, Grenn, had the ability to weaken an opponent’s body. Compared to the others, his skill was a rare boon—whichever squad he fought with usually won. Still, the advantage was a bee sting compared to Savra’s battering ram.

Falla’s abilities were closest to Savra’s, but only because they both operated in the Mind domain—or was Savra’s Essence? Falla’s explanation had been confusing. In any case, when Stormshard had been a clandestine organization, Falla’s mind reading had allowed her to dig up many useful secrets. But unless she could get close to the imperial commanders to pluck battle plans from their thoughts, she offered little more than another sword arm in the coming battle.

But Savra… Sirez couldn’t stop thinking of how easily she’d made puppets of the guards at Steelhold’s Shadow Gate. Apparently, she’d done that without any prior training. How tremendous could Savra become with a proper teacher and a chance to practice?

She shook her head. It was no use dreaming about that sort of ally when the girl was lost. “Keep trackers looking for her. If there’s any chance we can find her, it’s worth the effort.”

Still standing at attention, the scout nodded.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Two things. First, one of the rangers roving behind our force spotted a large number of tracks crossing our trail. Unfortunately, given the mix of prints, he believes the trail was made by a large band of Riftspawn. He wasn’t eager to remain near, so he hurried back with the information.”

Storms. As if things couldn’t get worse. Sirez pulled her knees close. “Messenger!” she called.

Moments later, a low-level Sharder stuck her head into the tent.

“Tell Megeald to double the rear sentries. And make sure everyone on watch has a wardstone in hand.” When the messenger vanished, Sirez returned her gaze to the scout. “What else?”

He sighed. “More bad news, I’m afraid. We sent advance lookouts to get a vantage on the road between Jaliss and our exit onto the plateau. It seems Emperor Kostan may be expecting us.”

“How so?”

“About an hour before dusk, two small squads of protectors left Jaliss by the western road. Fully armed and armored, riding fast.”

Sirez tapped her foot as she considered this. “Destination?”

The man shook his head. “Too hard to tell once darkness fell.”

“But the lookouts believe it’s a threat to our plans?”

“It’s hard to say. But the squads could be riding for the outlying towns and garrisons, rallying forces. Or maybe they plan to take up positions where Westpass Cut exits the mountains. A preemptive pincer attack would harm our advance.”

“Or it could be a coincidence.”

The scout nodded. “That would be the best case.”

Sirez sucked her teeth. Stormshard had known they’d meet resistance within the day. She’d hoped to enter battle on Sharder terms, but if necessary, they would adapt.

“The conclave won’t enjoy hearing that we may have the Riftspawn at our back and the Emperor blocking exit from the mountains.” She smirked. “Care to stay and deliver the news yourself?”

The scout quickly raised his palms and stepped toward the exit. “I’m sure they’d much rather hear it from you.”

Sirez shooed him out of the tent and leaned her head back on the post. They were between the hammer and the anvil, it seemed. Yet… she started scuffing a heel back and forth in the dirt as she considered. Maybe there was a way to turn the situation to their advantage.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kostan

Central courtyard, Steelhold

STANDING BESIDE THE Prime on a hastily erected dais, I surveyed the ranks of protectors gathered in the predawn gloom. Around nine hundred in number, they represented the bulk of my army. Even if we stopped the poison from reaching Stormshard’s army, the men and women standing before me seemed an exceedingly small force to take into open battle. The aurum mages would help, of course, and the ranks would swell as we pulled fighters from Jaliss and the Western Garrison.

Still, we would need more than those added reinforcements to win. Fortune would need to bless us today.

And I was about to make fortune’s job more difficult.

I nodded at Argentmaster Yevinish. The mage stood outside the Hall of Magic surrounded by more than a dozen high-ranking argents. I waited, pulse throbbing in my temples, for his response. This was a true test of his loyalty; the man had protested my request, calling it idiotic at one point. But I wasn’t going to back down. For all I knew, every soldier who marched out of Steelhold would die today, driven mad by Maelstrom corruption.

I would not force them to risk that fate. The choice must be made of their own free will.

Finally, Argentmaster Yevinish nodded, pinched-lipped. He leaned to the argent mage on his right and spoke in a low voice. The command passed through the argent ranks. Confusion showed in knit brows as the argents shifted. Finally, Argentmaster Yevinish spoke loudly, voice carrying over the square.

“Your Emperor has made a request. I suggest you obey.”

Quickly, the argent mages moved into the rows of protectors. With eyes closed and hands grasping the wrists where bracelets of Maelstrom-silver bound the protectors to follow me with unwavering loyalty, the argents released the soldiers from their magic-enforced vows. One by one, protectors coughed and staggered and looked about with confusion. A few fell to their knees, hands pressed against temples. Guttural cries peppered the air while tormented gazes turned to the sky.

When all the soldiers were free from their enslavement, I nodded at a group of palace servants who moved among the men and women with waterskins. The argent mages continued to weave through the ranks, probing the fighters for signs of broken minds. According to Argentmaster Yevinish, many would be unrecoverable after so long under the Maelstrom-silver’s spell.

After a quarter of an hour, the argents had herded a small handful of fighters into the shadow of the Hall of Mages. One of the women was speaking gibberish while another tugged at his hair and pulled a hunk free from his scalp. I winced. I’d hoped the argentmaster’s warning had been exaggerated. But whether they were released now or at the end of another decade of service, their minds would not have accepted the freedom. Later today, the mages would reinstate the argent bond, giving the afflicted men and women some semblance of purpose. They would join the small force of defenders remaining in the Hold.

For now, though, my concern was with those whose minds remained sound. Across the square, Parveld leaned against the outer wall of the palace. I cast him a quick nod and nearly staggered when the resulting sense of calm infused me. Parveld had mentioned an ability to affect general moods; I hadn’t expected his magic to be so effective.

When I cleared my throat, an instant silence fell over the square.

“Protectors,” I said. “I realize you may be disoriented. By my understanding, your memories of the months or years since you took your vows are fragmented and hazy. Is this true?”

A few nods acknowledged my words.

“I’m sorry. You have been deceived by the very throne to which you freely pledged your service.”

A confused murmur traveled the crowd.

“It’s been a well-kept secret, but the moment a protector takes the oath to defend the Empire, argent magic removes that soldier’s free will. You have been a slave since the ceremony.”

At the edge of the crowd, one of the soldiers laid a hand on her dagger and stepped toward the cluster of argent mages.

“It’s not their fault,” I called. “Though the argents worked the magic, the order came from the throne. Please direct your blame toward me. But please consider this also. I’ve freed you today because no one, man or woman, Atal or Prov, should have their freedom of choice stolen.”

Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared up at me. I couldn’t read their faces, and my heart thudded against my ribs.

“Never again will I force you to fight,” I said. “But I will ask you to fight today. Steelhold, Jaliss, and the Empire face a grave threat. Our enemy may have access to a poison that kills with just a scratch. Death is not immediate, but it is certain.

“If we don’t fight now, it is not just soldiers who will risk the toxin. Your families will be attacked in the streets. Those who would use this poison don’t care if you are Atal or Prov, soldier or citizen. They only wish to stoke the fires of hatred in the mistaken hope that this chaos will topple Steelhold.

“So right now, I’m giving you a choice. You’ve served the throne loyally, and you may return to your homes and families without shame. A clerk is waiting at the Sun Gate to take your information so that a pension can be dispensed from the treasury. However, I’m asking you to fight for me today. We must stop this threat, and I can’t do it without you.”

Silence settled over the courtyard when I stopped speaking. At the back edge of the ranks of protectors, three soldiers sketched small bows and backed away into the shadows of the nearest alley. I kept my face even and nodded at them. If their hearts weren’t in this fight, I didn’t want them at my side.

Before me, a man raised his hand. He looked a bit more bewildered than most of the soldiers. Gray streaked his hair; perhaps his longer tenure as a protector made it harder to shake off the effects of the oath.

“Forgive me, sire,” he said. “But who are you?”

Storms. I felt like the biggest fool ever to stand on Steelhold’s grounds. Did they not even know I was their Emperor without the argent binding? The argentmaster had assured me that memories would return after the disorientation passed.

“I know who you are, your eminence,” someone at the rear of the crowd shouted. “You’re that Scion who used to patrol the walls. We must have missed your Ascension.”

I searched for the voice and nearly winced when I realized it had been Parveld. Didn’t he know the accent he’d used was common in Anisel, not in the Atal families of Jaliss? Fortunately, no one else seemed to have noticed.

“No, I remember it,” one of the soldiers shouted. “Tovmeil gave his throne to Emperor Kostan. We were there.”

As the courtyard descended into shouts of realization, I caught the Prime’s eye. She cracked a short whip which I—unfortunately—remembered from the flogging I’d endured shortly before Tovmeil’s arrival. The snap silenced the courtyard.

“As Emperor Kostan mentioned,” she said, throwing emphasis on my name to remind those soldiers who hadn’t yet recovered their memory, “war is on our doorstep. You can indulge your memories later, but for now, we must know. Who will fight for Atal?”

At the rear of the crowd, a shout went up. “I!”

I didn’t want to know whether that had been Parveld. Fortunately, the sentiment quickly caught on, and before I knew it, nearly nine hundred soldiers thumped their fists against their chests in salute.

“Well,” the Prime said under her breath, “that went better than I hoped. Now we just have to hope they remember how to fight.”

Chapter Thirty

Parveld

On the walls of Steelhold

DAWN HAD BROKEN over the Atal Empire, gilding the vast grasslands and drawing sharp shadows on the jagged creases of the Icethorns. Standing atop Steelhold’s walls, Parveld watched Kostan’s army assemble on the western road. At this early hour, Steelhold’s spire cast a spear of shadow over the road, drenching the protectors and aurum mages in darkness. Parveld couldn’t help but think that a superstitious person would see an omen in the situation. Superstition or not, the shadow set his nerves tingling. Did that mean he hoped for a certain outcome today? No longer guided by the prophecy that had driven him forward through the centuries, Parveld held no particular allegiance to the Empire’s forces. If anything, his long-ago common birth ought to have made him favor the Provs and Stormshard in the following days. But over the last fortnight, he’d come to respect the young Emperor. Kostan had a good heart, and he was doing his best with a terrible situation.

Laying palms on the cool stone railing, Parveld smirked. If he was honest with himself, it was something of a relief that his vision hadn’t come to pass. Devastating events still loomed, but Parveld wasn’t their prophet anymore. Now, he was just an ordinary man swept up by terrible tides. Well, mostly ordinary, anyway. He supposed his centuries of life set him apart, as did his command of a few magical techniques that had otherwise faded from the world.

He sighed. It would be easy to shrug off responsibility, but no matter how he tried it just wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t know what role he might play in the coming events, but he’d never forgive himself if he sat back and watched a cataclysm arrive.

For today, however, he’d promised Kostan that he’d guide the young woman, Lyrille, out of Steelhold. He was only waiting for her to awake, and then they’d go. For now, he sought the calmness of the aether. With a deep breath of the cool morning air, he closed his eyes and allowed his senses to slip away from the physical realm.

Sparks flared in his vision, tens of thousands of lights carpeting Jaliss and the grasslands beyond. For the most part, the lifelights of the citizens twinkled with dull discontent, but here and there, he sensed passing moments of happiness. The children of Jaliss, in particular, were the most resilient. Despite the squalor of their fallen-down slums, they glistened with the joy of another day.

As for the army, the sparks held the emotions he’d expect. Determination mixed with fear. Loyalty and a sense of righteousness. The Stormshard fighters were feeling similar things, no doubt. Parveld had witnessed many wars in his long life, and the emotions rarely changed.

Finally, Parveld expanded his awareness further, taking in the leagues of grassland and folded terrain of the Icethorns. He nearly staggered with shock when the spark flared in his awareness.

In the years since he’d left home, only one person had blazed so brightly.

Savra? he asked as he formed a bond with the spark. Is it really you?

Parveld?

She was alive! Parveld’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor beside the low stone wall.

Where have you been? What happened? He had so many questions, he didn’t know where to start.

Her answer came slowly. I… I’m not sure. I was marching with Stormshard out of the Icethorns, but a man named Joran captured me. I’ve been blindfolded for two nights.

Laying his hand over his mouth, Parveld shook his head. Focusing on her spark, he tried to place her location. Distances in the aether were less straightforward than in the physical realm. But if he wasn’t mistaken, she was moving slowly along the foothills to the west of the city.

Are you in danger? Are you walking? Already, he was imagining how he could get Lyrille out of the Hold then hurry to Savra’s location.

Horseback. I’m tied to the saddle. I think he means to kill… Storms, Parveld, the collar. I’m about to lose—

And with that she was gone again, her spark vanished.

Chapter Thirty-One

Savra

Unknown location, a musty gunny sack over her head.

DIM LIGHT FILLED my surroundings when Joran pulled the scratchy sack off my head. Moments later, the smell of his wine-sodden breath followed—from what I’d been able to gather from within the confines of the sack, he’d been drinking heavily since we’d ridden away from the camp. I recoiled from the smell as, blinking in the gray dark, I strained to make out details. Beneath me, jagged rocks made a jumbled floor. Overhead, a pair of massive stone slabs leaned together at an awkward angle, cracks webbing the once-smooth faces. Around twenty paces away, the entrance to the makeshift cave was a triangle of brilliant light. Glancing over my shoulder, I spied a vertical cliff face cleaved by a dark passage my vision couldn’t penetrate.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Joran slurred. When he grinned, his teeth glinted in the darkness. Beside him, three more hulking shadows moved about, unpacking supplies. One of the thugs had ridden with us from the mountain encampment where Joran had captured me. The other two had joined the group shortly after Joran had snapped the black-iron collar around my neck, cutting off my spiritism.

My teeth ground together. If I hadn’t been distracted by Parveld just before the collar had touched my neck, I might have sensed the brief moments when Joran’s aura was exposed. Or maybe he’d taken the trinket from his henchman as extra protection while he made the transfer. In any case, it was too late now. I needed to think about my next steps, not my past failures.

Unfortunately, my next steps didn’t look very promising. My father’s warning returned to me when I noticed the amount of light Joran and his men blocked. No matter my skill in combat, most men would have the advantage simply due to strength and reach. And with my hands bound behind my back, I had even less hope.

“You’re probably wondering why I haven’t killed you yet,” Joran said, swaying as he grabbed the wineskin for another deep swallow.

I shrugged, tongue working at the gag between my lips. For all I knew, Joran had used it to blow his nose. At the thought, bile rose. Vomiting with a gag in my mouth would not be good; I quickly focused on something else. Revenge. Somehow, I’d get out of this.

“Truth is, I will kill you eventually,” he continued. “But why waste something I might need? That wench, Sirez, would sell her toes to keep you safe.” He shrugged, meaty shoulders blocking more light. “Maybe your precious Emperor would, too.”

He took another swig of wine. A rock was jabbing the back of my leg. I shifted, but it didn’t help. Near the entrance to the cavern, the other men continued to organize supplies while their boss lolled about and poured more wine down his throat.

“So as I said,” he mumbled. “I’ll keep you alive for now. Prast!”

Across the cavern, one of the men—Prast, I assumed—turned a glower on Joran, who didn’t seem to notice the reaction.

“Feed her,” Joran said. “No need for the gag. Anyone wandering through the chasm will run the other way if she screams.”

With a grunt of assent, Prast clambered over the rubble and shoved a knife between my skull and the back of the gag. The dull side of the blade didn’t break my scalp, but it still hurt. I clenched my eyes shut as he sawed back and forth. When the gag finally cut, I spat it into my lap, then spat a few more times to try to get rid of the taste.

The man shoved a waterskin between my lips. I nearly choked as the liquid poured into my mouth, but drank greedily. The water was lukewarm with a hint of soured wine. Compared to the taste of the gag, however, it was like the sweet meltwater that flowed from the glaciers in the Icethorns.

Finally, unable to keep up with the water flooding my mouth, I did splutter. Prast laughed.

Capping the waterskin, he picked his way across the floor to the supplies. After clanking and rummaging, he pulled out a hooded lantern and sent sparks from a flint onto the wick. A yellow glow flared, exposing details. I couldn’t help shrinking in upon myself when I looked up. The slabs leaning over us didn’t look very securely balanced.

Joran chortled, apparently noticing my reaction despite his drunkenness. “A drop the height of a thousand men didn’t shatter them or leave them flat. Not going to crush us now.”

Understanding arrived in a flash. The flat expanses of stone had recently been part of the Chasm Span. When Joran had mentioned a chasm, he meant the chasm, the deep crevice separating Steelhold’s spire from the Icethorn Mountains. That meant the vertical wall at our back was either the first line of cliffs guarding the mountains or the spire itself.

I felt a flush of accomplishment for having figured it out, but the sensation quickly faded. What good would knowing my location do now?

With the lantern lit, the thug rooted through rucksacks until he finally pulled out a packet made from oiled leather. Unfolding the flaps, he sniffed the contents, dipped a grimy finger into some sort of paste, and sucked it clean with a smack.

“Hmm. Haven’t gone off yet, at least,” he said before moving back toward me.

With the same saliva-coated finger, he scooped up a pile of what I finally recognized as the mashed turnips the Stormsharder cooks had served the evening I’d been taken. Holding the finger beneath my nose, he grinned.

I curled my lip, fighting another surge of nausea. I might have managed to suck the food off his finger if I’d been starving, but maybe not. When I turned my head away, the man laughed.

“Guess she’s not hungry, boss.”

Joran’s head rolled on his shoulders as he slumped back against a boulder. “Can’t have her starve before we kill her.”

“Good point. Open up, buttercup,” Prast said, pressing the cold wad of turnips against my mouth. I clamped my lips shut.

Finally, he just sighed and smeared them on my face. “For when you get hungry later,” he said with a laugh.

Disgusted, I spat them away, but I couldn’t get the paste off my cheeks. When I craned my neck to try to clean them off on my shoulder, I only toppled to the side. The men seemed to enjoy the show and laughed heartily.

A sudden darkness at the cavern’s entrance silenced them.

“Who’s there,” Joran said, hand slapping for the hatchet holstered at his belt.

“Just me, boss,” a thin voice said.

“Dumb fool. Announce yourself next time, Warrell,” Joran mumbled as the newcomer scrambled over the jagged rocks to join the group.

“Sorry, boss,” Warrell said, nodding a greeting to the three thugs. In contrast to the other henchmen, he was slight of build with wiry muscles that spoke of quick reflexes. A brimmed leather cap was pulled low over his brow. In the sunlight, it would have shaded his eyes and provided a small measure of anonymity. But with the lamplight shining from ground level, hard eyes peered out with the intensity of a raptor. Complementing his agile form, a soft leather tunic and trousers moved easily with him.

“Well, how soon until we move?” Joran asked.

Warrell’s eyes darted to me, but Joran dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand and gust of wine-scented breath. “She won’t be telling anyone, not to worry.”

With a shrug, the small man continued. “You were gone longer than we expected. There’s much to go over. As you know, the initial ploy worked. Emperor Tovmeil made it easy to rile the Provs when he locked the Hold up tight. We just reminded them how it was the throne’s fault they were homeless and starving. Plus we started a few fires in the parts of Lowtown where they’d spread most easily.”

I sat up straight. Joran’s allies had started the Lowtown fires that had ravaged the town on the night of Kostan’s Ascension?

Joran rolled his eyes and waved his hand through the air. “Get to the part I don’t know. After Evrain thought he had the right to summon me.” He glared at me when he spoke the final words.

“Well, after you left for the Icethorns, I had minor difficulties assuring the Shard they should treat my commands as if they were yours.”

Joran’s chest puffed. “Can’t suppose I blame them.”

“Perhaps not. But if we encounter the situation in the future, I need you to formalize my authority.”

With a clumsy swipe, Joran grabbed a bedroll and shoved it behind his head as a pillow. “Yeah, fine. I’ll tell them.” He snorted. “Maybe I’ll name you as my first minister.”

Warrell didn’t answer, but rather searched the cavern for something to sit on. After discarding a deflated rucksack, he finally grabbed a cookpot, overturned it, and planted himself upon it. Meanwhile, one of the thugs clambered toward the entrance. Moments later, I heard the unmistakable splattering of a stream of urine against stone. The other two henchmen had taken seats and now watched Warrell and Joran.

No one was paying particular attention to me. Twisting my fingers, I reached for the knots securing my wrists. I’d worked at them a few times during the long, stumbling trek out of the mountains. At this point, the knots might as well have been welded shut. But if I could rotate them… Straining, I managed to slide the loops of cord around so the knots were between my wrists and my body. Next, I felt the jumbled stone with my fingertips, searching for a sharp edge of rock similar to the point jabbing the back of my thigh. After a few seconds spent crabbing my fingers over dust-covered rocks and crumbling lichen, I found a likely crystal jutting from a rounded edge of stone and started rubbing the loops of rope back and forth across it.

“Comfortable?” Joran asked his lackey with a sneer.

Warrell ignored the gibe. Compared to his boss, he seemed almost even-tempered, a trait that made me wonder why he associated with the likes of Joran.

Joran picked up a small stone and threw it into the corner where the block from the Chasm Span met the talus beneath. The rock made a sharp crack before clattering down into the jumble. As if amused with his effort, he raised the wineskin in a toast and took another deep swallow. “I believe you were getting on with your story.”

Warrell cast him a look just short of a glare. “As I said, after I convinced the Shard to follow me in your absence, we regrouped for a few days. The riots and burning in Jaliss were quite spectacular, but we needed to do more than create chaos. Plus, the untimely Ascension forced us to rethink our strategy.”

Joran snarled. “Stupid to change what we’d already planned. We still have access to the Hold. Easy, right?”

It seemed that they were planning an attack on Steelhold itself. But as part of Stormshard, why would Joran strike at the Empire alone when the conclave was rallying an army? As soon as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. Joran didn’t want Stormshard to overthrow the Atal Empire. He wanted to claim the throne himself. For decades, Stormshard had operated as isolated splinter groups, the individual Shards striking small blows against the Empire’s interests. But Joran, no doubt aided by the more clever members of his Shard, had thought he’d found a way to accomplish the penultimate goal of taking the throne. But then, my father and Sirez had crafted a conflicting plan which relied on a united renegade force.

Joran wasn’t the sort of man to share power when he could take it for himself. When he’d been summoned, he’d likely feared that the conclave would suspect him of plotting at cross-purposes with the group, and so he’d journeyed into the mountains as if his loyalties laid with the conclave.

Sometime in the march out of the mountains, I’d overheard Sirez and another Shard leader mentioning their surprise at how diminished Joran’s Shard had become. But the real situation was that Joran had brought only a fraction of his forces to the ancient keep.

Warrell stared at his Shard leader in open disdain, but Joran was too busy digging through a rucksack, likely in search of more wine. The underling knew his leader was an ignorant donkey, but for some reason, he did nothing about it. Perhaps he had secret plans of his own. I kept a careful eye on the man as, behind my back, the rope continued to roll and slide over the crystal. I couldn’t tell if any strands had parted, but it had begun to feel a bit more frayed. I wanted to work faster, but I knew that swift motion would only draw attention. Gritting my teeth, I kept moving my wrists slowly up and down.

“There were many factors in our recent decisions, few of which are relevant now,” Warrell answered. “But the largest problem was that the bungled assassination attempt put the Hold on alert. Our ordinary method of entry became unavailable.”

Sucking his teeth, Joran indeed dragged out another wineskin and took a deep swallow. When he burped, the foul scent gusted through the cavern. He yawned and stared at the ceiling.

Warrell continued as if his boss were listening attentively. “Under the new Emperor, the patrols have altered their routes and tactics. The Provs are less susceptible to our goading than they were under Tovmeil, and it’s taken a large effort on our part to keep their anger stoked. Not only is our access to the Hold keenly guarded—the Prime Protector now has sentinels with a vantage on every cranny—we are simply unable to rile Jaliss hard enough to provoke the direct assault we’d planned as a distraction.”

Joran took another deep swallow before curling his lip in disgust. “Incompetents. I should have returned earlier.” He burped again.

Warrell ignored the comment. “I have yet to explain the new plan. It would be useful for you to understand what will happen today.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Joran said, rolling his eyes.

“Given the unsafe conditions in the capital, we established a new base of operations in a small settlement to the west. Pascar, it’s called.”

“Congratulations. You retreated,” Joran said.

“We chose a tactical position for our next phase,” Warrell said, finally allowing an edge into his voice. “And made a discovery which will ensure our victory. During a recent quake, a small stream which runs near Pascar shifted course. For unknown reasons, the water is now tainted.”

“And?”

“And the effects of this taint are both deadly and irreversible.”

Joran didn’t seem to understand what his underling was saying. His eyelids drooped as he stared at the far wall of the cavern.

“It’s a poison unlike any we’ve seen,” Warrell continued. “The perfect bait. We needed Emperor Kostan to understand the threat, so we coated bushels of arrows and distributed them among the Provs. You can imagine the effects.”

Warrell was speaking faster as Joran began nodding off. I wondered why he even bothered. But even if their so-called leader wasn’t paying attention, the remaining thugs were. As was I.

“As it stands now, we’ve attracted the Emperor’s attention by loading wagons with the tainted water—we recently let rumors about the source of the poison reach the Hold. It appears to be working. A force is gathering. We expect them to move on Pascar—once there, we’ve arranged a surprise for our young sovereign.”

At this, the man chuckled. When Joran offered no reaction, he shrugged and continued. “Our normal means of access should once again be unguarded. While Emperor Kostan is off slaughtering Provs a couple hours march from Jaliss—with his flank exposed to Stormshard’s attack no less—we plan to get a small cask of the poison into the kitchens. I hear the chef’s new soup is a favorite among Steelhold’s inhabitants.”

Warrell paused and waited for a response. Joran replied with a snore.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kostan

On the western road leaving Jaliss

IN THE HISTORIES I’d studied, armies of fifty thousand had once marched over the grasslands. The first Emperor of Atal had left Old Atal with a sea of men and women at his back.

Now, I advanced on Stormshard’s location with around one thousand soldiers. It was hardly the glorious legion described in the texts. Even so, the ground shook beneath my protectors’ feet as they marched west. A cloud of dust choked the air, clogging my nostrils and clinging to my face. The road was only wide enough for six soldiers to walk abreast, but I’d taken the Prime’s advice and placed three ranks to either side of the roadway, shields facing the grasslands. On the column’s flanks, the aurum mages moved like ghosts, hardly disturbing the tall grasses while flushing any would-be ambushers. The going was slower, as the army was forced to match pace with the protectors walking through thigh-high grass, but we’d be too strung out otherwise.

We didn’t anticipate an early attack, but I felt the Prime was right to be wary. All night and into the morning, vague unease had tickled the base of my skull. I couldn’t shake the notion that I’d missed something. I’d done what I could to avoid fulfilling the Bracer’s vision—we planned to swing wide around Pascar, avoiding the town despite the added delay. But hadn’t Tovmeil done everything he could to avoid his own murder?

I rode at the center of the column surrounded by men and women who had chosen to fight for me. Wearing the ordinary uniform of a protector, I would be invisible among the ranks, and the central position would give me extra protection. Every soldier in the army knew where I walked, but only a red scarf tied around my wrist made me recognizable.

The army had been marching for an hour before we emerged from the shadow cast by the Hold’s spire. With the warm rays against my back, I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been too cold in the spire’s shade. Too dark. If I weren’t already threatened by another prophecy, I might even have thought the darkness a grim omen.

Sunlight on the haze of dust made it harder to see from within the column. I was grateful for my height, at least, because it allowed me to look over the heads of most of the protectors. Of course, an ambusher with a crossbow might also be grateful for my extra height. I was just as thankful for the aurum mages gliding around the perimeter of our small army.

A plume of dust rose from the road ahead. At the front of the column, soldiers stiffened, slowing their pace while awaiting orders.

“Halt!” the Prime called to our soldiers as the rider drew near.

The man was one of ours. When he neared the column, he slowed his mount. The animal’s sides heaved, and froth dripped from the corners of his mouth.

“Come ahead,” the Prime called. The ranks of soldiers parted to allow him through. Well trained, the man’s horse tossed his head but plodded forward through the crowd.

“Good news, Prime,” the man said when he drew near.

At his words, the tension in my chest eased a notch. I didn’t recognize the man, but the Prime apparently did.

“The wagons?” the Prime asked.

The man nodded. “We intercepted both loads. The drivers claimed to know nothing about their contents—or rather, they believed they were ferrying casks of ale. We’ve left the wagons under guard and plan to put the drivers to an argent inspection to verify the truth of their words.”

I dropped my head back and stared at the blue dome overhead. Thank the clear skies. We still had a difficult fight ahead, but at least we wouldn’t face the insurmountable odds I’d feared.

Ever steely, the Prime simply nodded. But I glimpsed her reaction in her gloved fingers uncurling from their fists. “That is good news indeed,” she said. “Ride on to Jaliss. I’ve left word with the guard detail instructing them to seize any wagon attempting to enter the city. We’ll keep the cautionary measure for now, but they should know the immediate threat is eliminated.”

“As you say, Prime.” the man said as he nudged his mount forward. The column parted around him and closed ranks once he had passed. Soon enough, the dust plume rose on the road to Jaliss.

“Onward!” the Prime called.

The column began to move, returning to march pace much like a heavy wagon lurching to motion under the determined pull of a team of draft horses. I tried to take heart in our early victory, but as we neared the town of Pascar, my stomach once again tightened around the unease that lodged within.

“Prime,” I said. “We turn aside now.” We’d originally planned to divert from a closer point, but I couldn’t shake my sense of foreboding at seeing the motley collection of buildings. The rise in the center of town was unmistakably the hill from my vision.

Without questioning my directive, the Prime Protector gave the order, which was shouted up the column. At the head of our force, ten mounted soldiers rode abreast. Tugging the reins, they nudged their horses into the grass and began cutting a path around Pascar.

When my feet left the road, my nerves began to settle. The smell of crushed grass rose to my nostrils, and the direction of our march allowed the sun to hit one of my cheeks. Already, the day felt brighter.

We continued for perhaps half an hour until we reached the widest point of our arc, a position directly between Pascar and the Icethorns. There, the Prime Protector called a brief halt. After advancing through the column, she spoke with a scout who quickly mounted up and rode at a gallop for the break in the foothills where Westpass Cut emptied onto the plateau. Good. The scout would be back with information on Stormshard’s position well before we arrived. I nodded in approval. We needed to be as informed as possible before this battle began. The soldiers around me had come by choice. I valued their lives and wished to do everything I could to protect them.

At the rear of our forces, a few adolescents in training to take their protectors’ oaths pulled waterskins from the supply packs slung over our mules. Winding their way through the forces, they offered drinks to the soldiers. Today’s march was only a few hours, but I needed the soldiers fresh when we arrived. As fresh as they could be, anyway.

Soon enough, everyone had been given a chance to drink, and those who wished had received a few bites of flatbread—the Prime had counseled against overfull stomachs. Combined with pre-battle nerves, we might otherwise find ourselves waiting while protectors emptied their stomachs into the grass.

With a shout, the vanguard mounted up again and set a course to intersect the road a short distance beyond Pascar. Around me, protectors muttered small charms, superstitions designed to bring luck in battle. With our destination now in sight, the column simmered with excitement.

I couldn’t feel the same anticipation. If anything, this battle was a eulogy for my early hopes—and, I supposed, for Savra. But I was determined nonetheless. Pascar would soon be behind us. With good fortune, today would begin my path to rebuild the throne and strengthen the Empire for the challenges to come.

At the edges of the column, grass swished as the aurums wove back and forth, continuing their search for hidden assailants. Soon enough, the hooves of the leading horses clopped onto the hard-packed dirt and embedded stones of the road. I paused, shaded my eyes, and scanned the cleft where Westpass exited the Icethorns. A risk of our strategy was that Stormshard might arrive at the battlefield first, earning the most advantageous positions. Without the advantage of terrain, we would have a much more difficult fight. But even if forced to meet the enemy at such a disadvantage, I believed the aurums would turn the battle to our favor.

As I climbed this shallow embankment leading to the road, a shout rose from the rear of the column. Beside me, the Prime whirled, hand slapping her dagger.

More shouts rose, and from the trailing ranks, supply mules squealed. One reared up, hooves flashing.

“What’s going on?” I yelled.

Despite my height, raised shields and drawn swords blocked my view of the rear ranks. My sword hissed as I drew it from the scabbard. Had Stormshard somehow slipped out of the mountains? Had they joined the group inside Pascar?

“Prime!” someone yelled, shoving through the ranks. “Attackers! It’s—something’s wrong.”

“Slow down, protector,” the Prime command. “Who is attacking?”

“It’s the townspeople. They’ve gone mad.”

The soldier’s words landed like blows to my sternum. It had to be the poison, but how? The people living in Pascar knew that the stream water was tainted, didn’t they? How could they have succumbed?

“Subdue them,” I called. “Do as little harm as possible.”

The protector turned frightened eyes to me. “I don’t know how we will manage that, your eminence. They outnumber us three to one or worse. And… there’s no uncertainty in their condition.”

I could see the unspoken words in his eyes. He feared their weapons were poisoned as well. These men and women knew what they risked when they’d agreed to fight for me, but at the thought of suffering the same fate as the townspeople, they balked.

“Your eminence,” the Prime said. “It is much more difficult to take a prisoner then create a corpse. If these people are afflicted, you know as well as I that their lives are already forfeit.”

My head swam yet again. Storms curse the Bracer and its visions. I did not want to fight at Pascar. I did not want to watch Steelhold topple onto the city.

“Is there no other choice? No way to contain them?”

“You are an honorable man,” the Prime Protector said. “I respect that. And if there were any alternative, I would gladly offer it. But if we don’t fight back, our soldiers will die unnecessarily.”

I gritted my teeth. It was the first time she’d spoken of personal feelings regarding my character. I knew she was loyal, but that allegiance was to the throne, not to the man or woman who sat upon it. Her compliment meant a lot, because it wasn’t directed at her Emperor, but rather at the man behind the title.

“Do it,” I said. “Make their deaths quick, and be sure to strike only those who are already lost to the corruption.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Savra

A chamber formed by a collapsed bridge

I SAT WITH a rigid back, still working the rope binding my wrists against the sharp crystal. Near the front of the cavern, Warrell conferred in low tones with the thugs from Joran’s Shard.

Stormshard needed to know what Warrell had done to bait Kostan. A distant part of me still hoped the Emperor was innocent of the crimes I’d recently seen—Warrell’s words had even bolstered that faint hope. But I needed to be realistic. Kostan was unlikely to show restraint against the threat, especially with the surprise Warrell had mentioned. The town of Pascar was probably doomed.

And if those problems weren’t enough, everyone in Steelhold would soon be poisoned.

I pressed harder on the crystal, tearing at the loops of rope. I didn’t know how I’d proceed if I freed my hands, but I wouldn’t just lie here while people died.

Joran’s snores echoed off the walls when Warrell ducked out the cavern’s low entrance, motioning the thug, Prast, to follow. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll gather a progress report and return with enough fighters to take the Hold.”

“Hey,” one of the two remaining men called, “shouldn’t we wake him or something?” He jabbed his thumb in Joran’s direction.

Warrell shook his head. “Let him sleep off some of that wine. Maybe he’ll be close to sober by the time we’re ready to move.”

“How long?” the thug asked.

“Midday, no later. If I’m not back with our attack force by then, try to secure the upper exit.”

With his last words, Warrell peered at the cavern's back wall where the dark fissure opened in the cliff. I stiffened—he’d spoken about a secret entrance into Steelhold. Did the crack in the wall lead there? My sudden motion pushed my wrists harder against the sharp edge of rock. With a faint tearing sound, one of the loops of cord binding my hands parted, and the rope immediately loosened. I started to topple backward and sucked in a breath as I pawed at the jumbled rocks behind me. My heart thudded. Surely, one of Joran’s men had heard the tearing sound or the subsequent clatter.

My hand caught on a stone which rocked slightly. I coughed, hoping to cover the sound. Moments later, another loud snore reverberated off the stone walls.

“Storms,” one of the thugs muttered. “I hope he rolls over soon.”

A shaky breath left my lungs when the other men nodded.

With a wave of his fingers, Warrell stepped into stark daylight. Prast’s lumbering form followed. Following their exit, Joran sucked in another immense snore. One of the remaining thugs picked up a small stone and prepared to throw it at the big man, but his companion laid a hand on his arm.

“Warrell’s right. Let him rest.”

The first man dropped to a seat and pressed his head against the overhanging rock slab. “Almost makes me wish I’d stayed in Guralan.”

“It’s not like logging camps are quiet.”

“True,” the first man said, sniffing his armpits. “But at least there’s time to jump in the river every few days. Weeks marching around those storms-cursed mountains, fighting rotted monsters with pig’s heads and the bodies of wolves, and now I have to sit here in my own stink. I hope they have scented baths up there in Steelhold.”

Again, he glanced at the fissure behind me. I was careful not to follow his gaze. Instead, I opened and closed my fingers, working blood back into them. Could I escape the men if I ran for that crack in the wall? What if it was just a shallow break in the cliff face? Escaping through the entrance to the cavern was a safer choice, but two men were between me and the gap. Three, counting Joran.

I glanced at the pile of supplies, an assortment of traveling gear and cooking equipment. Aside from a heavy skillet, I couldn’t spot anything that would serve as a weapon.

If you’re ever in a fight, figure out a way to flee. My father’s words came back to me. You’re at too much of a disadvantage. Put distance between you and your attacker so you can use your spiritism.

Since I didn’t have a way to put distance between the men and me, and my spiritism was negated by the collar, I needed another plan. As I scanned the cavern, my gaze landed on the belt knife Joran kept sheathed at his side. True, I couldn’t fight either of the thugs, but in his current state, Joran was an easy target.

Carefully, I brushed the loops of rope that had fallen from my wrists into a crevice between stones. I didn’t want them to get looped around me when I sprang. As I shifted my weight to get my feet beneath me, one of Joran’s men looked over and gestured at me with his chin.

“Say Warrell doesn’t come back on time and we head out to secure access to Steelhold,” he said. “What do we do with her?”

The other man stared at me for a moment, sucking his teeth. “Evrain’s whelp. Doesn’t look much like him, does she? Too pretty. Anyway, we can’t leave her, and she’d just slow us down. Joran might have wanted to keep her around, but I don’t see much reason for it.”

When he finished speaking, he cast me a cruel grin before turning his attention to the cavern’s exit. I sprang and landed beside Joran, sending rocks clattering. My hand fell on the belt knife and I yanked it free. The brutes at the door leaped to their feet.

Joran’s eyelids fluttered when I pressed the blade against his throat.

“Huh?” he said, coming groggily awake.

“Come closer, and I slit his throat.” It was a gamble because I didn’t know how loyal the men were. My heart climbed into my throat as I waited for their reaction.

The closer of the two laughed. “And what if you do?” he asked. At that, Joran turned his head, causing the blade to bite into his skin and raise a line of red. He clenched a fist, ready to strike at me.

“Get her off me, you idiots,” he growled.

“I will kill you if I must,” I said, pushing harder on the knife. He let out a strangled cry. “Now, tell your men to back off.”

He blinked, still clearing the drink’s haze. I changed the angle of the blade to bite harder into his skin.

Gagging, he waved the thugs back.

Crouching over the man with his life in my hands, I felt a strange sort of power. It was different than when I’d controlled someone through their aura. His pulse throbbed beneath my knuckles. Seeing the man helpless before me, I remembered the look on my father’s face when he’d given up his place on the conclave. Joran deserved to be punished for that. But as much as I hated the man, I didn’t want to kill him. It wasn’t in my nature. Besides, I wanted him to regret his actions. Dead men had no regrets.

“Where’s the key?” I asked.

“Key?”

“You know what I mean,” I said, sliding the knife and causing more blood to well. “The key to my collar.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Despite his nap and the rude awakening, his words were still slurred and his motions slow.

“To be honest, yes. But I’ve thought that for a while. Give me the key, and I’ll let you live,” I said. While I spoke, I scanned his body. I rotated my knife hand to check his neck; Sirez had worn the key on a silk cord. Joran’s neck was bare. I ran my eyes over the pockets on his vest and trousers. If I were to guess, Joran would want the key on his person rather than leaving it hidden in a backpack. I started patting down the pockets.

I knew I was close when his bloodshot eyes widened. He’d reacted when my hand neared a small pouch fastened to his belt.

Across the cave, one of the thugs sprang with a grunt.

I didn’t have time to think, only act. Following his henchman’s movement, Joran grabbed for the dagger. His hand never reached his neck. As I snatched the small belt pouch, yanking with all my might to rip the stitching holding it to his belt, I pressed hard on the knife. The cartilage in his windpipe resisted then gave way with a pop. It reminded me of cutting through the tough skin of a cucumber to feel the blade sink through the softer flesh beneath. Joran’s breath gurgled through the wound in his throat, and a spray of arterial blood soaked my arm. I held down vomit as I backpedaled, my heel catching a stone that sent me tumbling. At the sight of their Shard leader thrashing, lifeblood pulsing from his throat, the thugs froze.

It wouldn’t last. Scrambling with the pouch clutched tight in my fist, I lunged for the crevice in the back wall. When darkness closed around me, I pawed at the pouch’s drawstring and shoved my hand inside. My fingers closed on the coolness of black iron as I stumbled forward, blind. Behind, the men roared in anger. Metal clattered, and an angry shout punctured the air as the faint glow from the chamber was abruptly snuffed. They must have kicked over the lantern.

I breathed as quietly as I could and continued forward, probing with my toes before placing my feet. Inside the confines of the passage, the floor smoothed. The rubble outside had fallen from the cliffs over the period of centuries, but few stones had tumbled from the walls of this fissure. I fluttered my fingers over the collar until I found the keyhole, and the key clicked against the opening as I shoved it inside. I nearly fumbled the small piece of metal as I twisted it, freeing the collar’s clasp. As the collar came free, I coughed in relief and threw the infernal thing to the ground.

My aura-sight flared to life as I whirled to face my pursuers. Though the passage was pitch black, their auras shone like beacons, red with rage. Without hesitation, I formed aura-lances and impaled their spirits, exploding my control into their souls. Immediately, their pursuit ceased while their imprisoned spirits battered at my confining aura.

With a cry of relief, I sank to my knees. Thank the skies.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kostan

Pascar

HOW HAD THIS happened? The people living in Pascar, understood the danger of the stream water. How could they all have sickened? Standing in the midst of the fight, I felt nearly paralyzed by my lack of understanding.

When the crazed townsfolk had first attacked, the rearguard of protectors had formed a wedge, shields up, with spears bristling through the gaps. Marching in time to the cries of the Prime Protector and the generals she commanded, my army now advanced, pressing the ravaging citizens backward. I could scarcely stand to watch.

Five thousand people lived in Pascar, and it seemed that every one of them had succumbed. The swath of land between the town’s perimeter and our army boiled with shrieking madmen and women. They clutched makeshift weapons—kitchen knives, sticks, and pitchforks. Their faces were smeared with dirt. I didn’t know why, and I supposed it didn’t matter. Slowly, the army was gaining control of the battle and pushing the townspeople back. Two or three protectors had fallen early, and the supply mules lay dead behind us, blood still leaking from their wounds as flies gathered. The boys who’d so recently brought water to thirsty soldiers had escaped unscathed, or so it appeared. But I couldn’t shield my eyes from the bodies of the slain Provs, their blood-soaked tunics and ragged, rough-spun trousers.

I shook my head. I’d seen this all before.

At the edges of the battle, the aurum mages whirled and struck, nearly invisible as they stung and darted away, leaving victims toppling in their wakes.

I ached to call a halt to the fighting, but how could I? The crazed mob, driven mad by forces far more powerful than any one of us, would never cease. Only death could bring them peace.

When the roar of battle ebbed so that I could attract the Prime's attention, I shouted in her ear. “Stormshard will hit us from the flank once we cross into the town.

She looked at me, her true emotions showing. I was stating the obvious, her eyes said.

I shook my head. “Not the bakery rebels,” I yelled. “The main force. They’ll lead with their horses.”

“Why do you say that?” she shouted.

“The Bracer.”

Face abruptly grim, the Prime caught hold of one of her generals and passed along the word. “Beware a strike from the northern flank.”

The man nodded acknowledgment then returned to directing the battle.

Slowly, steadily, we advance through the melee. Now and again, a shrieking farmer or hammer-wielding carpenter managed to break through the ranks. Each time, a dozen soldiers formed a shield around me. I felt like a child standing behind the wall of guards, blade drawn with no one to fight.

The tenor of the battle changed when we entered the town, the wood walls of the humble structures throwing back the clash of steel and groans of death. Just as I’d envisioned for weeks, the low rise in the center of town provided the best defense. The generals and protectors aimed for it. My heart trailed behind as I trudged to the center of the mound, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers and thousands of Provs fighting and dying. Already, at least half of the maddened Provs lay lifeless on the earthen streets. The battle would end quickly if not for the charge I knew was coming. When I heard the drumming of hooves on the grasslands, I didn’t look toward the thundering advance of Stormshard’s ragged cavalry, but rather toward Steelhold. A symbol of the Empire, it soared over Jaliss, proud and defiant. I hoped Parveld had gotten Lyrille to safety.

In my vision, there’d been a gap between the Stormshard attack and the handshake that somehow brought Steelhold toppling onto the city. How would it happen? Was there anything I could do to defeat fate’s plan?

Shouts went up from the ranks of soldiers as first the dust cloud, and then the snorting wall of horses slammed into the fray. Protectors fell beneath spiked cudgels and steel maces and razor-sharp short swords. A crazed Prov squealed with glee at the chaos and jumped at a horse’s neck, sinking teeth into sweat-slicked fur. The Stormsharder shouted in sudden confusion, and the first of the rebels fell from his horse to be swallowed by the chaos of ravaging Prov and stolid protector.

I drew my sword.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Savra

A passage far below Steelhold

I COMMANDED ONE thug to return to the cavern and search the chamber for the overturned lantern. The other I brought toward me. As unpleasant as the training had been on the night of my abduction, it had hardened me to the revulsion I felt over taking control of these men. They struggled against my control, but unlike previous times, I was able to build a shell around my emotions. I considered them dispassionately.

As dispassionate as I’d felt when I cut Joran’s throat? I shuddered at the reminder. Had I really grown so callous?

Or perhaps you’ve only done what you needed to survive, Lilik said into my mind.

Wait. You can read thoughts now?

It doesn’t take much to imagine what you must be feeling, Lilik said gently. I remember the hours and days after I first killed someone.

As do I, Raav added.

You were brave, Savra.

I leaned against the corridor wall. Cool air soaked into my skin and reached for my heart.

I don’t feel brave, I said. I feel sticky with a dead man’s blood. I feel terrified of Warrell’s plan. I feel betrayed by Kostan. I feel guilty for what I did to my father. I feel lost in this dark tunnel.

Yet you’re still moving forward, Lilik said.

I swallowed. Well, technically, I’m waiting for a lantern.

Lilik laughed. Okay, technically you’re not moving forward. But I assume you intend to continue in a moment.

Does it get easier? I asked.

Killing?

Yeah.

I suppose it does. A little, Lilik said. But not that much easier.

Good, I said. I don’t want it to be easy.

It’s important to learn how to isolate yourself from your emotions. You will get better at that, with time, she said. But when you follow that path, always remember how to find your way back.

I nodded. Thanks, Lilik, I said.

In response, she sent a tendril of comfort across our bond.

Back in the cavern, the thug had finally managed to locate the lantern. Digging through the rucksacks, he came up with another flint and managed to strike sparks onto the wick. Through the link formed by my aura, I noticed that the lantern was disconcertingly light; it seemed most of the oil had spilled when it had overturned. But I didn’t recall seeing another flask of oil among our supplies.

I issued another command, compelling him to hurry back to me.

The thug who’d been feeling his way forward in the dark was finally able to speed up when his friend caught up with the light. Moments later, they stood before me, the lantern flickering dimly in the passage. Above us, the fissure pinched off to a hairline crack. Ahead, the corridor twisted, cutting off our sight.

“Does this lead to Steelhold?” I asked, at the same time commanding one of the men, the burlier of the pair, to answer. I hadn’t tried such a technique before, but it seemed to work. He opened his gap-toothed mouth and grunted assent.

I pressed myself against the wall and forced the men to go ahead of me. If Kostan knew about this passage and had left protectors to guard it, Joran’s thugs would be the first to discover them.

I expected the path to rise—after all, Steelhold perched thousands of feet above the bottom of the chasm. But for at least three hundred paces, the corridor zig-zagged into the deepest heart of the spire. I kept my aura-sight lingering in my awareness, partly to keep watch on my bond with the thugs, and partly because it might allow me to spot attackers before they saw us. It took me a while to notice the dull glow growing in my awareness.

“Do you see that?” I asked, issuing the same command that they must obey and answer my question.

“See what?” the smaller of the thugs, the lantern-bearer, asked.

“The glow.”

“Can’t see anything but the lantern.”

Confused, I drew my brows together. “Shutter the lantern for a moment.”

Pinching the brass tab, the man slid the shade over its light. The tunnel turned inky. Yet the smoldering light still burned in my vision.

I chewed my lip and dismissed my aura-sight, leaving just the barest thread of awareness monitoring my control of the men.

The light vanished.

Do you sense anything? I asked Lilik.

Only vaguely, she responded. It’s as if the spire has a spark.

Like Parveld, Lilik called auras “sparks.” But that didn’t explain how the spire could have a soul.

Returning my aura-sight to a low smolder, I compelled the man to reopen the lantern, and we advanced. Regardless of what I did or didn’t see with my aura-sight, the oil in the lantern wouldn’t last forever. We needed to find our way into Steelhold before we lost our light.

After another hundred paces of winding corridor, a cavern opened ahead of us. Unlike the fissure we’d been following, this chamber seemed crafted, its walls hewn smooth. The lantern scarcely breached the darkness, and the far end was lost in shadow. To our left, a staircase climbed a gently curving wall. At the sight, the base of my spine tingled. I’d never been great with heights, and the stairway had no railing.

Before we climbed, I wanted to understand the extents of the chamber. Grabbing the lantern, I left one of my new guards inside the fissure in case Warrell made a sudden appearance. The other followed on my heels. With the lantern outstretched, I shuffled across the empty space. Rough granite scuffed at the soles of my shoes until suddenly, the surface beneath my feet was smooth as glass. I stopped short and looked down. Beneath me, polished stone rose to a low dome in what seemed to be the center of the room.

I fell to my knees and laid a hand on the floor. It was cool, smooth.

My brow furrowed. Could it be?

I brought my aura-sight forward and gasped.

Like the wardstones, the entire surface seemed to glow. The surface undulated just slightly, but the folds were smooth and polished, ripples that reflected the candlelight. I raised the lantern higher and finally noticed the banding in the stone. The lantern’s glow wasn’t strong enough to show colors, but I suspected the bands were deep red and vibrant purple just like the wardstones.

This had to mean something. There had to be a reason that an agate the size of a house lay beneath Steelhold. The wardstones pushed back the corruption. Steelhold was the seat of the Empire, the center of the continent. When the mages had sealed the breach, had the stones been part of it? Was the seal somehow anchored here?

And was there a strange white being dwelling inside this stone, too?

I tugged a strand of hair that had escaped my braid. As soon as possible, I needed to talk to Parveld about this.

I sat up straight. Of course. Parveld!

I had to get word to Stormshard about Warrell’s plans and Kostan’s march. The town of Pascar had to be warned they were being used. And if that weren’t enough, I needed to get to Steelhold’s kitchen and stop the cook from serving a poisoned soup. Parveld could help me.

Closing my eyes, I flung my awareness wide. Each time we’d spoken before, Parveld had contacted me. I didn’t know the trick of it. Nonetheless, I screamed into the vastness blanketed by my wide-flung spirit.

Parveld!

His voice boomed in my ear like the crash of a wave in a hollow cave. Thank the tides! Are you safe?

I quickly drew my spirit closer, hoping to lower the volume of his voice. As safe as I can be right now. Listen, Parveld. You have to stop Emperor Kostan. He’s going to massacre a whole town. Get to Stormshard and help them intercept him.

Why would Kostan massacre anyone?

That’s the kind of man he is, I said.

As I spoke, I hurried toward the stairs. With one guard ahead of me and one guard behind, I began the climb, my free hand trailing along the wall to give comfort with the drop yawning on the other side.

Savra, I think you’re mistaken, he said. Kostan and I spent time together recently. We thought you were dead, and he was grief-stricken.

Dead? Why would you think that?

Because you vanished. Because you saved Kostan and ruined Stormshard’s plan. We assumed they took their revenge.

I shook my head as I climbed. It’s a long story, but no. I was with them, but they didn’t harm me. Parveld, Stormshard is close. They’re bringing an army out of the mountains. They plan to attack Steelhold, but if you tell them Kostan is going to attack a town—Pascar is the name—they can help you stop him.

Oh tides, Savra. I know this will be hard to hear, but Stormshard intends nothing good for the Provs. For so long, Kostan wanted to speak to them and find peace. But they’ve been feeding the riots. Everything Kostan does to try to help the Provs, Stormshard erases by spreading rumors to fuel their hate.

I blinked. Stormshard hasn’t been spreading rumors—wait! Of course! Joran’s Shard has been spreading discord the whole time we were in the mountains. Parveld, it wasn’t Stormshard doing those things. It was just one man and those dumb enough to follow him. Stormshard only wants to end the cruelty against Provs. They want freedom for the commoners.

But Kostan wants the same thing. He’s been trying so hard. The willingness to meet Stormshard in battle is his last resort. And if he didn’t blame the rebels for your death, I’m not even sure he’d be able to countenance it.

Step after step, I ascended the staircase. I thought about the families taken from the mountain villages. There was no doubt it’d been imperial protectors behind those abductions. Was it possible that there’d been a mistake that had led to their actions? I needed time to think about this, but right now, I didn’t have it. Whether Kostan was innocent or not, Warrell seemed certain that his plan would lead to Kostan slaughtering a town of Provs.

Either way, we have to stop Kostan’s army, Parveld. Joran’s Shard has laid a trap for him in Pascar. They believe their plan will lure him into attacking the townspeople in Pascar.

Stop it how?

Where are you? Can you get to him?

Parveld was quiet for a moment. Possibly, he said. Though it may not be necessary. Last I spoke with him, he planned to avoid Pascar on his way to meet Stormshard. In either case, he needs to know he’s being manipulated. But even if I reach him, it may be difficult to turn him aside. Kostan is a determined man.

You’ve spent time with him lately, right? Maybe he’ll listen more readily than you think.

I suppose I must try, he said. When he learns you’re alive, it may give him pause. But Savra, what are you doing? Where are you?

I glanced to my right where the drop now ended in nothing but darkness. I couldn’t say how far we’d climbed, only that I was certain we still had a long way to go.

Heading into Steelhold. I need to warn the cook. There’s tainted water in a stream—

I know about it, Parveld cut in. If it’s gotten into Steelhold’s kitchens, you must stop it. I’ll try to reach Kostan.

Keep in touch, I said.

Parveld huffed. About that… whatever you’ve been doing to hide from me, would you kindly not repeat it for the rest of the day?

I thought back to the black-iron collar, discarded on the corridor floor far below.

I don’t think that will be a problem, I said.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Parveld

Common room, Graybranch Inn

PARVELD’S FRIEND, FISHEL, had changed in the space of a few short weeks. The smile that was once a permanent resident on his face now came and went like a nervous guest. He wore his concerns on his shoulders where they pecked at him like blackbirds.

Lyrille smiled when the innkeeper laid the tray between her seat and Parveld’s. Gently patting, she located the teacups and the small kettle and poured a serving for each of them.

“You like Kostan, don’t you,” Parveld said to the innkeeper.

“Despite what those ruffians who wander the Splits would have me think,” Fishel said as he pulled out a chair, “I was fond of the lad when he stayed here, and I don’t believe the tales they tell about him.”

“And you?” Parveld asked, touching Lyrille on the forearm.

“If his ideals don’t send him to an early grave, he’s the Empire’s best hope.”

Parveld nodded. “I have something to ask you.” He’d been thinking about it since he’d spoken to Savra. For nearly two hundred years, he’d lived with the terrible knowledge of events to come. He’d also known, through some inexpressible insight, that his role in helping Savra must be limited. He could teach her and protect her, but he could never influence her choices without dooming the future. Fate was a difficult mistress.

On the other hand, Kostan had never appeared in Parveld’s visions. Parveld had no knowledge of the young Emperor’s future, and as such, he wouldn’t upset fortune’s wheel by advising the man.

He hoped, anyway.

Lyrille turned her masked face to him. “Go ahead.”

“He’s been targeted in a plot,” Parveld said. “I need to reach him with a warning.”

“If you’re asking whether I’ll keep an eye on this young woman,” Fishel said, “she doesn’t appear to need my help. But she’ll have a room here as long as she needs.”

“Unfortunately, Kostan believes Jaliss itself is in danger in the coming hours. I suggest you take horses, ride east, and wait out the day. But first… I need something more from you. It’s not a pleasant process. I would not ask it if time weren’t so short.”

Fishel shrugged. “Very little is pleasant in the Splits of late.”

“If you’re in such a hurry, perhaps you could just get on with it,” Lyrille said as she sipped her tea.

Parveld smirked. In many ways, the young woman reminded him of Lilik when she was young.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I apologize in advance for the discomfort.”

Focusing his awareness on the aether, he turned his attention to their sparks. They glimmered bright, lighting the vastness as only pure hearts could. That didn’t make his task any easier. Nonetheless, Parveld stretched his awareness and took hold of the sparks, gathering their energy and binding it to his own.

In the common room, both Fishel and Lyrille gasped in pain. Parveld had never felt it, but it had been described to him many times over the centuries. The sensation of giving from your spark to power a dawnweaving was like having your heart and lungs pulled through your throat. It was Parveld’s curse, to be given such ability at such cost to others.

Around him, the potential of the dawnweaving grew. He felt lit from within, brimming with power. The sensation was glorious. That made it all the more difficult.

Finally, when he pulled as much energy as he could safely take from his friends, Parveld channeled it into his Want. He Wanted to be beside Kostan. He Wanted to spare the young Emperor the lifelong anguish of murdering thousands of people.

Parveld’s Want exploded through the aether, unfurling in a scintillating carpet. He felt the thunderclap as the world bent around him, and within a heartbeat, he stood on a hill surrounded by death.

His feet were planted on an open scrap of packed dirt beside the Emperor. Nearby, a few soldiers stared, stunned by his arrival. Their paralysis quickly broke when snarling townsfolk shrieked and leaped onto their suddenly inattentive adversaries. Weapons flashed and fell against flesh, and the battle roared back to action.

Parveld staggered, releasing his bond with Fishel and Lyrille. As he fled the aether, he glimpsed the surrounding sparks. The lifelights of the soldiers were solid with determination. But every Prov fighting in the streets was infested with the Hunger’s corruption.

“What? Parveld?” Kostan mouthed as Parveld turned a slow circle, taking in the scene. He’d seen battles. Sometimes from within. But this was chaos. Provs attacked both Stormshard and protectors. With stark-white grief on their faces, Stormshard rebels swung at townsfolk who attacked with wild eyes and bared teeth. Protectors sliced with practiced efficiency, severing limbs and opening throats.

The horror of it rose around Parveld, threatening to drag him down.

Desperate, Parveld threw himself wide to the aether again. Around him, sparks flared to life.

Confusion swirled among the Stormshard fighters, imperial protectors, and even the aurum mages. But as for the Provs, only madness filled their sparks. Tentatively, Parveld reached his awareness for one of the ravaging people. The spark squirmed beneath his grasp, recognizing the threat. He stood for life and sanctity. The Hunger craved madness and blood, destruction and fear.

Though their minds were already gone, the Provs’ vitality clung to this world. Parveld harnessed that life and pulled it close, performing a dawnweaving for the second time in as many minutes. He became a pillar of energy, a nexus of potential. The power filled him to bursting.

Around him, Provs fought on despite the pain when Parveld pulled from their sparks.

Blades and mallets and pitchforks struck. On all sides, people died.

Parveld Wanted it to stop.

And suddenly, motion ceased.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Kostan

A battlefield

“WALK WITH ME,” Parveld said.

I shook my head, blinking as if I could dispel the sight before me. The fighting had simply ceased. Men and women were real-life statues, frozen in battle. Droplets of blood hung in the air. A horse stood on one leg, his tail outstretched like a pennant, front hooves pawing the air. The stallion’s rider stood in the stirrups, armor tangled with the horse’s mane, weapon raised to strike. Beneath the glinting edge of the rebel’s sword, a Prov stared up with feral eyes. A strand of saliva dribbled down the man’s chin.

“Parveld? What is this?”

“We have time,” he said, “but not forever. Please, Kostan, walk with me.”

The town’s streets were silent except for the crunch of our boots and the buzzing of insects. Somewhere out in the grassland, a few birds trilled. Time moved on even as the battle remained still.

“Did you do this?” I asked.

Parveld nodded. “I accomplished it with something called a dawnweaving. I once thought spiritists might evidence the talent, but I was mistaken. I believe I’m the last living person with this ability.”

“It’s impressive.” Before us, a Prov and a protector stood frozen, hands locked around each other’s throats. I laid a hand on the protector’s wrist and noticed that he still wore the cuff of Maelstrom-silver. It would need to be cut free eventually. Beside the smooth metal, his flesh was still warm, but his pulse didn’t move through his wrist. “Will it harm them?”

“The suspension of motion won’t, but the casting causes pain to those who lend power from their sparks. It draws from their vitality. After I release the weave, those from whom I stole will feel fatigued. In a few cases, they’ll remain ever so slightly diminished—you’ve shown tact in never demanding an explanation for my longevity.”

“I assumed you’d explain when you were ready.”

He shrugged. “The weaving is complicated. Their spirits become entwined with mine. It’s not always a simple matter to release every shred of life they lend me.”

“I understand. So, when you release them, will they be too tired to fight on? That would be an easy way to end this.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment. “I drew only from the maddened Provs in hopes I could achieve just that. Unfortunately, I doubt anything short of death will stop them. Of course, when I release the weave, some may die. A conjuring on this scale… I may have taken too much from them to power it.”

I stopped, feet kicking up small puffs of dust. “Is there a way to know who may not survive?”

Parveld clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head sadly. “Perhaps, but the skill is beyond me. The other times I killed this way it was entirely inadvertent. I do know that when drew from the townsfolk, I was far less cautious than I should have been. Perhaps my fate is fitting, considering.”

“What do you mean, your fate?”

A shadow crossed his face. “When I drew energy from the maddened Provs, I didn’t anticipate the Hunger’s grasp. It clung like rot to their vitality. It’s in me now—I feel its putrid roots like silken tendrils. I understand what happened here, too. Tainted water was added to the wells… I feel it throbbing in time to the darkness inside me.”

“There is no way to cast it out?”

He shrugged. “Unlikely. But I’ve lived far beyond my expected span. I don’t fear to cross the veil and join with the aether. I’ll need your help in that, my new friend. Once this is over, grant me a clean death. I don’t wish to lose my mind to the Hunger.”

I grimaced. “I’m not sure I could bring myself to kill you.”

“You see what I’ve done here,” he said, sweeping an arm to indicate the paralyzed battle. “This sort of power cannot fall under the Hunger’s control.”

The thought sent a chill through me. “All right. I agree to end your life when this is done, but only if you devote yourself to considering all alternatives first.”

“Consider it a bargain struck,” Parveld said as he strolled around a tumble of combatants. Two Stormsharders stood back to back, weapons drawn. Surrounding them, the Provs were like beasts. Three big men were frozen in the act of shoving neighbors to the dirt in their desperation to reach the Sharders. With teeth bared and blood streaming from scratches, one raised a meat cleaver in the still noon air.

I stepped forward and put my face close to one of the Sharder’s. His eyes stared through me, fixed as they were on the attacking madmen. What frozen thoughts inhabited the man’s mind? He was my enemy, but to me, he looked scarcely different than the man I saw in the mirror. “I knew this battle would happen,” I said. “I did everything I could to avoid it, yet here we are. What good are prophecies if they only describe the inevitable?”

“I’m sorry, Kostan,” he said. “Sometimes I think we’re nothing but tools in fate’s plan. Who can say what would have happened if you hadn’t foreseen today’s events? Perhaps the alternative is far, far worse. Knowledge is a difficult—no, impossible—burden to bear. But I have something to tell you which will lighten your heart.”

“Oh?” I asked, continuing along the road. We were traveling toward the north edge of town where Stormshard had entered the battle. Around a hundred paces ahead, the street petered out into patchy grass.

“Savra is alive,” he said with a melancholy smile.

“Alive? How?”

He shook his head. “It’s ironic that I learned her fate with so little time remaining. Maybe it explains why I never saw a role for myself in the coming years. As for the explanation, it seems I drew the wrong conclusion from her sudden disappearance. Something else shielded her spark from my awareness.”

“Where is she now? Is she safe?”

“She’s the reason I came to you—in the past hours, she’s learned many things about today’s events. Foremost, Stormshard is not behind the riots. A small splinter group has been acting alone. One of its members spoke of a trap.” He gestured at the frozen combatants. “These Provs were poisoned to lure you into this battle. But the main Stormshard force had nothing to do with it or with the rioting in Jaliss. Savra still believes there’s a chance for peace.”

I stopped where the first tufts of grass poked from the road. Stepping on one, I felt it crinkle under the sole of my boot. “I would give anything for a peaceable resolution. But this…” I turned in a slow circle to look over the frozen battle. “How do we turn back from this?”

Parveld gestured toward a woman fighting on the fringe of the battle. Her dagger glinted in the sunlight, the point already a finger’s depth into the joint where a protector’s helm met his chain mail collar.

Another woman stood behind the pair. I blinked in sudden recognition. Falla had survived my betrayal in the mountains. Though her hand wrapped a short sword, she stood back from the battle, a look of concentration on her face. I recalled that she had some sort of spiritist power. Perhaps she’d been using it when Parveld performed his weaving.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Sirez,” Parveld said as he gestured at the first woman. “She’s the leader of the Jaliss Shard. Her word holds tremendous sway in the organization.”

Strolling forward, he touched Sirez on the shoulder. With a gasp, she returned to life, slamming into the protector and rebounding awkwardly. Her dagger pulled free from the man’s neck as she looked around in wide-eyed panic.

“Hello, Sirez,” Parveld said. “We met once before. Do you recall?”

Blood dripped from Sirez’s blade as her gaze flicked back and forth between us. When she recognized me, she growled, raised her dagger, and dropped into a combat crouch.

I raised my free hand and slowly bent to place my sword on the ground. “I mean you no harm,” I said.

Her glare could have frozen a lake in Highsummer. I felt a small measure of relief when she turned it on Parveld. “There have been many mistakes, Sirez,” Parveld said. “This situation is no more Kostan’s making than it is yours. Will you listen to our explanation?”

The woman’s eyes took in the scene, the dead and dying, her fighters locked in battle against the commoners they professed to protect. “I suppose whatever trick you’ve worked here is enough to earn my attention.”

“Is Savra’s father here? I believe Evrain would like to hear this, too.”

My blood turned to slush. “Evrain is Savra’s father?” Storms. If I had the chance to see her again, I had a lot of explaining to do.

The others ignored my question. “He’s not,” Sirez said, offering no further information. “So, explain. What’s going on here?”

“You know a man named Joran, I assume. I recently spoke with Savra—”

Sirez stiffened. “Is she okay? I suspected he took her, but my trackers couldn’t find their trail.”

“She’s safe now,” Parveld confirmed. “On her way into Steelhold to stop another of Joran’s plots.”

Wait. Savra was heading into Steelhold? My eyes shot to the spire as the terrible moment from my vision leaped forth. I saw the great sheets of stone cleaving from the granite tower as it began to fall.

“I shouldn’t have let that man retain his seat on the conclave,” Sirez growled. “Tell me what’s happened here. Why is no one moving?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Perhaps after you’ve settled your differences and put a stop to this, Kostan can give you the details. As for the hostilities, perhaps the two of you could talk.”

The man’s mention of my name dragged me from the horrors of my vision. I swallowed hard and turned to the woman. “Parveld tells me that Stormshard is not responsible for sowing dissent among the Jaliss Provs. The ongoing riots are not your doing. I’ve heard a different story, of course.”

Her brow lowered. “We know nothing of what’s been happening in Jaliss. How could we? We’ve spent the last weeks deep in the mountains gathering a force to free the Provs from your oppression.”

“What oppression? Since my Ascension, the Provs have rejected my every offer of help. I’ve withdrawn the protectors from the streets, sent masons and food and scrip into the city. When I Ascended, I hoped I could abolish the Decree of Functions before Deepwinter. But for weeks, the riots have continued. My messages are ignored. The workers I send into Lowtown and the Splits are hassled or beaten. And when I sent investigators to uncover the source of the uprising, the name they all returned with was Stormshard.”

Sirez’s eyes narrowed. “Are these investigators the same men and women who’ve taken reports from the snitches?” She spat on the ground at my feet. “Don’t talk to me about helping the Provs when you’d torture or kidnap innocent villagers for some so-called search.”

“But I didn’t…” At once, the Snitchlord’s words returned to me. I’d prefer to keep my methods to myself. I yanked the helm from my head and threw it on the ground. I’d been an idiot to use the man.

“I realize what must have happened,” I said. “It was not my intent, but I take full responsibility.”

“That won’t bring back the innocents who were killed.”

Storms… killed, even? No, taking responsibility would do nothing to help those poor people. “I can’t make up for what I allowed to happen. I can’t even ask your forgiveness. But I’d like to beg that you consider an offer of peace. We shouldn’t kill each other. Far worse enemies wait in the Empire’s future.”

An involuntary shiver seemed to travel the woman’s body. She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I may have seen some of those enemies first-hand.”

I cocked my head, unsure of what she spoke. Before I could ask, though, she continued speaking.

“Stormshard is not ruled by a single person,” she said. “I can’t promise peace or even negotiate on behalf of the group. At a minimum, the entire conclave must hear your proposal.”

“If we work quickly,” Parveld said, “I can help both of you release your commanders. But you should come to an agreement first. If you share a common goal, I believe they will follow you. Don’t accept their arguments. Remain strong.”

Sirez fixed me with a steady gaze. “Did you speak truly about your desires for the Provs? We won’t stand for another century or even another month of being stepped on.”

“I want nothing more than to treat you as equal to the Atal.”

“And the Provinces? Would you release the Empire’s hold on them?”

What could I say? My visions commanded me to hold the Empire together or face worse consequences. Yet there had to be a way to satisfy fate’s demands as well as Stormshard’s.

“I truly believe we must stand together to face the coming battles. If the Empire splinters before the axe even falls, I fear we are doomed. But once we have faced down the coming struggles, I have no desire to hold power over those who wish to be free. Can you accept that?”

Her lips thinned as she considered my words. After a moment, she granted me a curt nod.

“Are we settled, then?” Parveld asked. “We’ll wake the others and form an accord?”

I glanced again at Steelhold, soaring so high above the capital. Savra was there. Or soon would be. I’d seen these events many times. If I allowed Parveld to wake the others so that I could make peace with Stormshard, Steelhold would fall. But if I refused peace, would it still stand? I didn’t think so. This was my only chance to unite my people, and if I rejected it, all hope was lost.

I’m sorry, Savra, I whispered in my thoughts. But I thought you were dead once already. If the skies will it, a miracle will keep you alive this time, too.

Clenching my jaw, I faced Sirez. I dropped to a knee before her. “I vow beneath the wide sky: I will not raise a hand against any Prov who seeks a peaceful, free life in the Atal Empire. And may the storms strike me down if I fail.”

Twirling her dagger in her hand, she looked down at me for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. “Good enough. Let’s see about putting this mess to rights.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Havialo

Chasm Road, Icethorn Mountains

HAVIALO CLOSED HIS eyes as his horse rounded the final bend before Steelhold came into view. For the last day and a half, he and his small band of spiritists had followed the Chasm Road, the thoroughfare which sliced into the mountains from the former end of Steelhold’s Chasm Span. The bridge no longer existed, of course, which meant Steelhold was unreachable from this road. But that was no concern for Havialo, not with his bottomless gnosty ready to channel the tremendous forces straining against the Empire’s besieged crust.

He knew the fortress had come into view when a few of the spiritists gasped in amazement. Raised in the Provinces, they’d never seen the seat of the Emperor. Most had never visited a town larger than the ramshackle collection of buildings in their home villages. He could understand how the massive spire with its crown of soaring ramparts might look impressive.

Soon, though, they’d understand what true power looked like.

Under his feet, a small network of faults stressed the bedrock. The fractures were nothing like those nearer to the Maelstrom, but with the practice he’d gained lately, snapping cracks and observing with fascination as the ripples from the quakes shook loose other faults, he could trace the lines of strain all the way across the Empire. From here, the faults connected to larger fractures webbing the grasslands. Beneath the waving grasses, those faults networked with cracks near the bench separating the plateau from Guralan Province. In that windblown territory, wider rifts already yawned, but they yearned to spread wider, to swallow the land down. Farther, Cosmal Province was already bent and sinking. Soon, there would be nothing left south of the Cosmal Crease.

And it would all begin with the proper tweak to the small—almost innocent—faults that vibrated beneath Havialo’s feet.

Finally, he opened his eyes. There stood the spire. Between his position and the chasm separating the mountains from Steelhold, a few miles of winding ruts threaded their way through boulders and around scraggly copses of trees. Even on horseback, the circuitous course of the road meant their destination was still a couple hours distant.

Unless…

Havialo cocked his head. “It’s been a long journey, don’t you think?” he asked Reashel, the spiritist he’d first trained to aid his earth magic. “I’m weary of the saddle.”

She rode beside him, her face tilted in enjoyment of the sunny day and light breezes. “I’m content in your company, Master Havialo.”

“Well, I’ve been patient for a rather long time,” he said. “I’d like to see this business concluded. Are your pupils ready to assist me?”

She smiled. “Of course. As soon as you desire the help. You’ve been so kind, but we’re eager to return to our homes.”

Her willingness warmed his heart. Turning in the saddle, he scanned his small group and sorted through those skilled in the Body domain. He wanted to save the strongest of the mages for his final assault—after all this waiting, he wanted the conclusion to be spectacular. Finally, his gaze landed on the youngest member, a girl with honey-colored hair and wide, innocent eyes. Nodding at her, he said, “Don’t hold back when you lend your strength. But be very careful. When you feel me shut down my gnosty, you must immediately stop feeding it, understand? We’ve had little time to practice together, and I will not see you harmed.”

Her eyes were trusting as she nodded. Moments later, he felt the touch of her magic sending strength into his inner well.

Reveling in the power, Havialo cast his awareness toward the slopes that loomed over the road ahead. He would use the faults, but not yet. That power was for later. Hanging above the valley floor, a great many cliffs held hidden fractures and weak points. Heavy boulders teetered on the edges of drops. One by one, he plucked the massive stones free, willing them to topple and crash and tumble down the mountainside. Gathering energy from their fall, he channeled it back into the cliffs’ weaknesses. When those crumbled, he delved deeper, releasing weaknesses that webbed the mountains themselves.

With a roar, slopes on either side of the road collapsed, landslides a mile wide that set dust billowing higher than the icy crests of the mountains. The roar was so deafening, Havialo built a cushion of air around his small party to spare their eardrums from bursting. Meanwhile, he sought control of the massive slides and ever so slowly brought order to the chaos.

On either side of the valley, the mountains began to tremble. Slowly, the high ridges began to sink, crumbling on themselves like apprentices genuflecting for a master. Rubble poured onto the road before him, covered it, then filled the widening valley. A few weeks ago, this would have been impossible. His power had been limited by his ability to control so much energy.

But with the young spiritist funneling power into his gnosty, it was almost easy. He grabbed hold of the raw energy and forced his will upon the ruined valley, flattening rock and soil and other debris until the space before him was a flat plain. Collecting the dust from the air, he tamped it down, forcing it into gaps and cracks until the surface gleamed like polished marble.

To either side, low hills of rubble had replaced the once majestic mountains. He glanced at them, considering whether he might sculpt the heaps into something more attractive, but decided not to waste his resources. Already the girl’s touch had faded. She had no more to give, and Havialo didn’t wish to squander more potential.

Behind him, the young spiritist toppled from her horse.

Feigning horror, he wheeled his mount to look. “Storms!” he cried. “No! I tried to force her away, but she was too eager. She wouldn’t stop!” He turned on Reashel, eyes spitting daggers. “You taught her the techniques, but you didn’t teach her to obey.”

His first recruit stared at him with brimming eyes. “I’m—I’m so sorry, Master. I told her that she must be aware of your cues. We practiced, I swear.”

Havialo forced his cheek to tremble as he stared at the lifeless girl. Already, her skin grew pallid. For the barest instant, he saw an echo of his daughter, Cartilla, cut free from the gallows and delivered to her mother’s doorstep in a handcart. He quickly banished the vision, turning his eyes from the spiritist’s corpse. This was what the Empire bought when they dared harm his precious child. This and much, much more.

“We won’t let her sacrifice be in vain,” he said, voice cracking. With a touch of lingering power from the landslide, he opened a shallow trench in the ground. Next, he dismounted and lifted her body from the road. He laid it gently in the grave. Another shaping of the earth energy allowed him to deepen the trench and very slowly close it over her body.

Solemn, he stood over the grave before searching the road for a small stone. He hefted the rock and placed it upon the fresh earth.

“Come on, everyone. Add your offering. She should be remembered.”

Once a small cairn marked the girl’s grave, the somber party remounted and continued across the newly shaped plain. It was rather well made, Havialo thought. The surface was utterly smooth, yet gave slightly under the horse’s hooves. Putting heels to his mount, he snapped the tails of the reins against its flank. The beast leaped into a gallop, followed shortly by the spiritists’ mounts.

Ahead, Steelhold waited.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Savra

Steelhold

I STOOD WITH the thugs where the stairway ended at a small landing that, thankfully, was bounded by a low railing. In front of us, light leaked from cracks and sketched a simple door. At my command, the smaller of the two men squeezed the latch while the other raised his dagger.

Light flared when the door swung open, brilliant and painful. Squinting, I peered around the hulking forms of my bodyguards. No one moved inside the unfamiliar chamber. Heavy drapes covered the walls and softened the echo of our footsteps as we entered the room. Sunlight streamed through massive windows set with real glass panes. A handful of wooden tables and chairs had been polished to a golden sheen. Upon one, a gem-crusted goblet stood beside a crystal ewer.

Two exits left the room. Through one, I saw a massive bed, the covers rucked and half-falling off the side. By my guess, the other door was our exit.

I shut the door we’d just come through, wincing at the click of the latch. Tense, I waited for the sound of running footfalls in the bedchamber, but no one appeared. When I glanced at the wall behind me, I could scarcely make out the seams where the door met the carved stone blocks. Both hinges and latch were hidden. Either there was no way to open it from this side, or the secret of it defeated me.

I tiptoed across the floor until reaching a rug that dampened the sound of my footsteps, instructing my guards to do the same. At the outer door, I placed my ear against the wood then scanned the area beyond with my aura-sight. It, too, appeared deserted. Quietly, I squeezed the latch and commanded my thugs to lead the way.

I recognized the outer hallway. I’d passed this short corridor many times during my time as a palace scribe. The Emperor’s bedchambers had been strictly off-limits to the servants.

Following my bodyguards, I hurried down the short hallway and intersected the palace’s main corridor. The eerie silence held here, too. Warrell’s plan to bait Kostan emptying the Hold of protectors must have worked. I cringed at the thought, hoping Parveld had reached the Emperor in time.

Outside, there was more activity even if it scarcely matched Steelhold’s usual bustle. A few servants moved about in a desultory manner. No doubt the absence of guardsmen lowered their enthusiasm for their chores. None paid me much heed as I rushed toward the kitchens. When I neared the door, a low rumble shook the ground.

Shouts went up on the northern side of the Hold. Behind me, the kitchen door swung open. I recognized the head cook, a large man with rosy cheeks.

“The soup,” I said, attention snapping to the task at hand. “You can’t serve it.”

He looked at me as if I’d gone mad, then shook his head before trotting off in the direction of the shouts. In his wake, half a dozen scullions escaped the kitchens, clearly eager for the respite from the oven’s heat.

I peered through the door. The cavernous room was empty. In the hearth, the soup cauldron bubbled. I commanded a thug to hurry inside and overturn the pot. The tainted mixture hissed as it doused the coals. I sighed in relief at a task accomplished.

The rumble grew to a roar that rolled over Steelhold. More shouts rose as a dust cloud drifted over the spire. Running figures passed me as they streamed toward the north walls. Shrugging, I followed.

Rumors traveled the crowd, but the words confused me. How could the mountains beyond the chasm have been flattened into a road as wide as Jaliss?

At the north edge of the Hold, people packed the walls and others jammed the stairways waiting for a turn to view. I didn’t bother. Instead, I commanded my bodyguards to work the winch that opened the Chasm Gate. In case anyone objected, I prepared another aura-lance.

With a squeal, the iron portcullis slid upward. Next, the pair of heavy steel doors swung open over the chasm. A fresh wave of vertigo struck me at the sudden view of so much empty space. While I recovered, a few people rushed into the gap. Someone stumbled, shrieking as they nearly went over the drop, and the onlookers quickly made space around the gate.

I stared across the chasm, dumbfounded. The mighty mountains that had once hemmed Chasm Road were nothing but heaps of broken talus. Between them, a flat plain reminded me of a ballroom floor. It gleamed in the sunlight, broken only by a small huddle of horseback riders approaching at a gallop.

I stood, both awed and confused, as the group reined up on the other side of the chasm. The leader dismounted and waved cheerily. Along the wall, a few people raised their hands in response, but most continued to stare, dumbstruck.

“Hello!” the man called. At least two hundred paces separated the Chasm Gate from the gorge’s far edge. Though it was faint, something about the man’s voice was familiar.

“I wish to speak to the Emperor of Atal,” he yelled.

The wind blew through the chasm, a low hiss. The crowd of onlookers shifted, their clothing rustling. I cocked my head. Where had I heard the man before?

“Hellllooo,” he called again.

On the wall, a small group of mages huddled, their silken robes a mix of colors from the three orders of metalogists. With confused silence blanketing Steelhold, their murmurs floated through the alleys. Finally, one of the mages nodded, a ferro dressed in a journeyman’s tunic. He stepped to the edge of the wall and pulled out a black-iron rod with carvings along its length.

He held the rod aloft. “You may request an audience at the Sun Gate.” When he spoke, his voice boomed, echoing off the far wall of the chasm.

“That’s quite a trick,” the man called from across the gorge. “Nice trinket. But you see, I’m not interested in traveling to the Sun Gate. I’ve come all this way already.”

“Apologies, but petitions are accepted only at the Sun Gate,” the ferro mage called. He cast a nervous glance back to his peers. One of the aurums shrugged.

Finally, I placed the voice. Storms. Why had it taken me so long? I’d seen Havialo’s power at work when he stopped the landslide on Twenty-Turn Hill during our journey to the capital. The effort had taxed him greatly. I glanced at the low hills where mountains had once stood. Clearly, his abilities had increased.

Havialo hated the Empire even more than he hated my father. If he would level mountains to get attention, what would he do to the seat of his greatest enemy’s power if his demands weren’t met?

Sidestepping to a nearby servant, I leaned close to her ear.

“Evacuate Steelhold,” I whispered. “Hurry.”

She stared at me, brow knit in confusion. Pulling my aura-sight forward, I focused on her spirit and nudged. As if shaken from a trance, she blinked, nodded and turned. Moments later she was whispering in the ears of others.

I commanded my henchmen to clear a path up a staircase leading onto the wall. As the big men brushed servants and Atal aside, I grasped wrists and repeated the warning in their ears. “Leave Steelhold as quickly as you can. Your life may depend on it.”

The Provs hurried to obey, especially when I prodded their auras. As for the Atal, the best I received was an offended look, and the worst was a muttered threat. I shrugged. I couldn’t force them to heed my warning.

From up on the wall, I got a better count of Havialo’s group. Around twenty people stood behind him. Their auras were strange, unthinking loyalty edged with just the barest traces of fear. Somehow, Havialo had slaved their wills to his. But to what end?

“Let me speak to him,” I said when I reached the cluster of mages.

A high-ranking mage looked down his nose at me. “Excuse me?”

“I know this man. If you wish to live, let me speak to him.”

Something in my tone must have convinced the man because he nodded to the ferro. “Go ahead and let her try,” he said in a faintly beleaguered tone.

With a shrug, the ferro mage handed over the rod.

“How does it work?” Heat flooded my cheeks when my voice echoed over Steelhold’s grounds. “Nevermind,” I muttered.

With the black-iron rod in my hand, I stepped to the railing. Across the chasm, Havialo cocked his head as if curious.

Savra, Lilik whispered, a touch of awe in her voice. Do you feel them?

Feel what?

The spirits. Parveld always suspected they were the secret behind ferro magic. The black-iron objects channel the energy of the dead.

I focused on the hard metal clutched in my palm. It was still warm from the ferro’s grip, but I could sense no life inside.

I just don’t think I have the ability, I said.

I wouldn’t be so sure, Lilik said. You can hear us, can’t you?

I thought that was because you were a spiritist. That, or I’d assumed it was the bracelet’s magic, not mine.

And if I told you I lost my magic long before my death? The power comes from you, not me. You are much more than a Mind or Essence spiritist, Savra. You just have to stop imagining barriers where none exist.

“I hope you plan to tell me the Emperor is on his way,” Havialo called, cutting the discussion short. As if to punctuate his sentence, he gestured to his left. A massive sheet of stone cleaved from the cliff and plummeted into the chasm. Behind me, the mages shifted and whispered. Maybe they were starting to understand the severity of the threat.

“The Emperor is currently occupied,” I called. “Perhaps I could deliver a message.”

Though I couldn’t quite make out his face, I could swear Havialo smiled. “I thought I recognized that voice. Why, hello, Savra! I figured you’d be dead by now.”

“I’m glad to have exceeded your expectations.”

“Well, I commend your fighting spirit. I suppose you inherited it from Evrain.”

“Why are you here, Havialo?”

“I think you know.”

“I suppose I do. What the Empire did to your daughter was unforgivable, but those who were involved are dead now. Would you punish innocent people for the actions of others?”

“Oh really? Evrain is dead? Stormshard is no more? The protectors who marched my precious Cartilla to the gallows—they’re gone too? The order might have come from the throne, but many people bear responsibility for her murder.”

“It was your disagreement with Stormshard that brought you—and Cartilla—to the Empire’s attention. If you blame the rebels, shouldn’t you accept responsibility for the role your stubbornness played?”

I knew I’d gone too far when Havialo’s aura turned black with rage. I set down the speaking rod so I wouldn’t be overheard and turned to the mages. “Evacuate Steelhold now,” I commanded.

To my abundant shock, the mages obeyed. At once, people streamed from the wall and ran across the grounds toward the Sun Gate. I wondered if I should follow. But then who would deal with Havialo? I’d spent much of the last weeks fearing for my life—no reason to turn coward now. I’d been pulled from Stormshard’s army before I could join the fight, but now I had a chance to save innocent lives.

I grabbed the speaking rod and faced the geognost.

“Forgive me,” I said, hoping to gain some time. “I am often quick with words but slow in thought.”

Havialo’s anger quieted, but only slightly. I judged the distance across the chasm. Though I’d tested my limits when it came to the number of souls I could command, I hadn’t discovered how far I could stretch a bond. I knew from my time commanding Joran that control faded as I moved too far away. If the distance separating us was too far, Havialo would overthrow my bond.

But no one else could reach the man—the only other access to Chasm Road required a day’s ride through the mountains. I needed to try something before he lost patience and attacked.

Focusing an aura-lance, I closed my eyes and speared it toward Havialo’s glowing aura. The tip of my javelin pierced the outer edge of his spirit and then stopped as if hitting an iron wall. Moments later, frigid spirit daggers streaked across the chasm and lodged in my chest. I gasped, staggered, and whipped my aura away. Coughing, I formed a clumsy shield of my spirit. A pair of daggers slammed the barrier, and then the barrage stopped.

Havialo laughed. “Do you think I would march on Steelhold without protections against metalogists and spiritists?”

The geognost spread his arms wide. The stone blocks beneath my feet began to tremble then shudder. Dust puffed from cracks in the walls of the chasm. I slapped my palms onto the low railing to keep my balance.

Behind me, more shouts filled the grounds. I glanced over my shoulder to see the last servants and Atal draining away through alleys near the Sun Gate. Closer, a group of armed men burst from an aisle between the palace and an adjacent building. They looked about in confusion, weapons raised with no one to fight. I shook my head. Warrell and his cohorts had arrived.

As the earth continued to tremble, I cast an aura net over the members of Joran’s Shard and projected a thought.

Leave if you value your safety.

I reeled in the strands of aura before sensing their response. No doubt some of the newcomers were ignorant of much of Warrell’s plot. They didn’t deserve to die for the mistake of joining Joran’s Shard. But I couldn’t force them to leave.

The spire jolted hard to the side as I turned back to the earth mage. I hefted the speaking rod, wracking my memories for words that might give him pause. If I could just gain time, the evacuees might make it down and away from the spire before Havialo vented his rage.

“I’m not lying, Havialo. Kostan isn’t here, but he’ll return. If you…”

My words died as the earth’s rumble abruptly stilled. In the silence that followed, spears and shards of rock detached from the gorge’s cliffs. As if pulled by strings, the massive chunks of stone floated upward, coming level with the railing before me. Broken boulders and jagged pebbles began to fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, forming a span across the chasm. Gaps closed and cracks sealed, and within moments a seamless bridge the width of my forearm stretched away from the railing, arched high across the chasm, and landed delicately just two paces from Havialo.

“Let’s talk, Savra,” he said, voice light. “I don’t enjoy yelling.”

I looked down into the chasm, a dizzying height. No way.

“I saw you whispering to the others. You’ve probably told them to get out. Get somewhere flat and safe and far away from fortresses that could topple on their heads. That was a wise decision,” Havialo said. “But they’ll never escape unless you do something to delay me, right? Let’s. Talk. Savra.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Just give me a moment.” My chest felt tight. When I lifted my hands from the railing, they shook. Swallowing, I commanded one of my thugs to clamber onto the bridge. One solid footstep after the other, he crossed. The span didn’t collapse.

I looked back at Steelhold’s grounds. I couldn’t see anyone, but the descent from the Sun Gate to Jaliss was long. At least a half-hour at a light run, which was as fast as I thought anyone could safely make it.

With a deep breath, I pocketed the black-iron rod and climbed onto the span, crawling forward on hands and knees.

Havialo laughed. “Afraid of heights?”

I ignored him. I ignored the sight of the chasm floor thousands of feet below. All that mattered was the granite span in front of my face. One slow crawling pace after another, I advanced across the bridge.

When I reached the high point, the span began to tremble. I fell to my belly, and Havialo snorted. “Just checking your reflexes,” he called.

Pressing my lips together, I took ten slow breaths while hugging the small walkway. Finally, I gritted my teeth, inched up to hands and knees, and then shifted my weight onto my feet. I stood, locked eyes with Havialo, and walked the rest of the way across the chasm.

The area on the new-formed plain smelled of static electricity, the strange scent of rocks banged together. A faint haze of dust still hung in the air. I set foot on the smooth ground in front of the earth mage and couldn’t resist crouching and running fingers over it. Viewed from close up, where the sun’s glare didn’t hide details, I could see different substances making up the flat surface. It looked as if the ground had been pressed flat by an immense iron, worked over until not a single nubbin broke the perfect expanse.

As I stood, I sent a quick mental command to my other bodyguard. He jumped up onto the railing and started jogging across the span.

Rolling his eyes, Havialo sighed. “It’s already crowded over here, don’t you think?”

A grating sound filled the air as the bridge came apart. The henchman threw himself at the tendrils of my aura that bound him to my commands. He thrashed at my control as he began to fall. I felt the air rushing around him, his stomach rising and tumbling as his body cartwheeled through the air.

Oh, storms. If I still held control when he died…

I snapped my attention to our bond, focusing on it as I had when training under Falla. Thread by thread, I began to withdraw from his aura. Still, he fell. In his eyes, the jagged boulders loomed. He recognized his approaching death, and his spirit quieted, but still my aura remained twined with his.

Heat rose from the sun-warmed talus at the bottom of the chasm, washing over his skin.

At the last instant, I yanked my final tendrils free, staggering and colliding with Havialo as I heard the distant thud followed by the clatter of stones.

“It’s nice to see you again, too,” Havialo said.

I recovered and stepped away from him, grief over the man’s death blooming. Regret pressed hard against my heart. But I had to forge onward.

“Cartilla wouldn’t want you to hurt people,” I said.

“And I wouldn’t need to if your glorious Emperor would agree to my demands.”

“You haven’t even given him a chance,” I said.

He shook his head as if saddened. “Your innocence is charming, Savra. If not for Evrain’s blood in your veins, I might spare you in the end.”

Talking wasn’t working. I commanded my henchman to draw his blade. Instantly, the young woman beside Havialo raised a hand. My guard began to choke. I forced him to drop the knife, and the young woman smiled, lowering her hand. “You’re a spiritist. Master Havialo wishes to free us from persecution,” she said. “Why would you try to stop him?”

I ignored her. A look of faint concentration came over Havialo’s face, and the ground began to tremble.

“I can help you speak to the Emperor once he returns,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll feel as angry as you about what happened to your daughter.”

Havialo whipped his head to glare at me. “How dare you suggest he’d feel anything close to my pain.”

“I don’t—I mean. He’s a good man. He would never harm an innocent child.”

“Lies!” Havialo yelled. Eyes locked with mine, he raised his hands high. The ground began to shudder, and from deep within the earth, cracks reverberated. Around us, the polished surface crumbled, fragments bouncing like water droplets in a hot pan.

Hoarse cries rose from Steelhold’s spire. An ache spread through my limbs. Perhaps some people had finished the descent, but not everyone had escaped. Stones began to fall from the Hold’s outer wall. Cracks peppered the air as the three immense towers of the Hall of Mages swayed.

I fell, knees pounding the hard ground. “Please, Havialo,” I said.

With a boom that pressed my eardrums inward, a sudden rift in the earth opened to the west of Jaliss. The black gash severed the grasslands and the hard-packed dirt road that traveled along the foothills of the Icethorns. The edges of the rift widened, the great crack yawning and swallowing down earth and grass.

From deep within the new gorge, shrieks echoed. The first of the Riftspawn clambered up the raw earthen wall and threw contorted limbs over the edge.

“Now, watch,” Havialo yelled.

“No!” I cried out in despair as a massive panel of stone fell from Steelhold’s spire and plummeted toward the edge of Lowtown where shanties and half-burned warehouses lapped against the great pillar. It crashed down in a cloud of dust and explosion of debris.

The earth beneath me shuddered and shook as the entire spire began to tilt. Blocks detached from the tops of the mages’ towers, rolling through empty air before smashing onto the grounds below. Steelhold leaned away from the chasm, the great column groaning and grating. From the far side, a massive dust cloud billowed.

Desperate, I commanded my thug to leap at Havialo. As if batting away a fly, Havialo made a fist in the air and swung it toward the charging man. A chunk of earth lifted from near the geognost’s feet, whizzed through the air, and took the thug in the stomach. Pain flared across our link as the man fell to the earth. I gagged and stumbled. When the thug hit the ground, alive but winded, I extracted tendrils of aura, leaving just enough to command him to lie still.

A roar from the spire joined the rumble in the earth. It leaned farther, looming over the city like a headsman’s axe. If it fell, it would obliterate the Heights, the Merchant’s Quarter, the Splits. Tens of thousands would die.

I snatched the black-iron rod from my pocket. Scrambling across the juddering earth, I fixed my gaze on Havialo. He stood amongst the chaos, feet planted on a small platform of stable ground. Behind his group, the horses had fallen. Legs and hooves had been smashed between blocks of earth, and the beasts screamed and rolled their eyes. The young men and women who accompanied Havialo were terror-struck now, their auras flaring red and purple. Most had lost their feet. Still, tendrils of spirit bound them to Havialo. Bright motes of energy surged along these connections. I formed my aura into a blade and tried to swipe through the bonds. Spirit met spirit with a clash I felt in the base of my skull. My aura recoiled.

“Havialo!” I yelled, the rod magnifying my voice over the roar and crash.

Eyes closed, he ignored me. A beatific expression consumed his features as he shoved his hands forward. The spire tilted farther, cracking and grating deep in its core.

Clutching the rod, I shrieked, the sound piercing the air. Somewhere deep inside the black iron, I heard a resonating whisper.

The spirits inside the rod. I felt them, and at the same time, the idea came to me in a rush. If I could just reach them…

I chased after the spirits’ contact, opening my thoughts. Memories of the night whispers surged, and I cast down the remembered fear of nightmares, the years-long despair over my father’s fate. I would not be a slave to my fears. I would own them, and whatever came, I would embrace.

Finally, I heard the voices. A chorus of ghosts lamented the scene. I sensed that they could see everything that happened.

“Can you hear me?” I yelled, my voice both rolling over the terrain and echoing though the link opened by the rod.

Yes! came the answer, a million voices speaking at once. I felt as if my mind were being shaken inside my skull.

I focused my thoughts, attempting to aim them into the halls of the dead. I seek a girl named Cartilla, I yelled across the veil. After a moment that seemed to stretch toward eternity, a quiet voice answered.

I’m here.

Chapter Forty

Kostan

A low hill in the center of Pascar

“WE MAY HAVE another problem,” Sirez said. The Sharder woman stood on the hill in the center of Pascar, shading her eyes and squinting toward the gap in the mountains where Westpass Cut entered the grasslands. A mid-sized group of figures was spilling from the cleft. I, too, shaded my eyes, because their motion didn’t make sense. They were moving as fast as mounted riders, yet they appeared to be on foot. Some even seemed to run on four legs. Strangely, an area of dusk seemed to slip across the waving grass as the group ran forward.

Grunts of surprise rose. The leadership of both armies stood around us on the low rise. The foot soldiers, protectors, and aurums were still frozen, locked in combat and awaiting the conclusion of our negotiations. So far, however, it seemed Parveld had been right. Surrounded by so much carnage, both Sharders and Atal recognized the horror that their battle frenzy had camouflaged. The dead and the injured blanketed the ground, and Pascar’s streets were black with spilled blood.

“Who—what are they?” I asked. In the space of a few breaths, the band had put at least a hundred paces between them in the mountains. Behind, a smaller group of mounted riders exited the cleft between hills. As they raced onto the grasslands, another low rumble shook the earth. The bones of the continent were restless today; from what we’d seen while waking the leadership from their frozen combat, a massive landslide had recently sent a cloud of dust billowing from the area where Chasm Road exited the mountains.

“It was our backup plan,” Sirez said. “Beasts roam the mountains of late… terrible things. That group had been on our heels. We thought we could turn the situation to our advantage.” She glanced at the other leaders of Stormshard’s forces. “Do you have your wardstones?”

One by one, the others nodded.

“Wardstones? What do you mean?” the Prime Protector asked.

“Those things,” Sirez said, gesturing with her chin, “are like nothing we’ve ever seen. Nearly impossible to defeat. But the wardstones repel them. We planned to soften you with the first attack and then retreat to let the Riftspawn finish the work.”

Parveld stepped between us. His gaze was distant, and his face twisted in a grimace. “Cursed tides,” he whispered. “They were in my visions, always lurking but never clear enough to see. The darkness, though… I’ve always known it would come. Do you feel it, Kostan?”

I blinked, thinking. Yes, I did know what he meant. Both of our visions had left us with fears of a dark force rising from the bones of the earth. But, like Parveld, I’d never seen the threat directly.

“So these wardstones…” I said.

“We don’t have many,” Sirez said. “Those riders carry a few, enough to herd the Riftspawn like shepherds guiding sheep. The remaining stones are enough to form a defensive perimeter around Stormshard’s forces if we cluster together.”

“But they’re not enough to defend my forces as well as yours.”

She pressed her lips together. “I said I would work with you to find peace, and I don’t make a vow with the intent of breaking it. We won’t abandon you; I’ll send riders with instructions for the herders, and we’ll try to turn the Spawn aside. But if those beasts come at us, will be lucky if half our joined number survives.”

I ran my eyes over the frozen battle. We could release everyone but the townsfolk. The Provs were already lost. If Stormshard failed to divert the Riftspawn, perhaps the beasts would fall on the maddened townsfolk first.

I extended my hand to the Shard leader, taking in the rest of her conclave with a glance. She’d spoken of vows, but we hadn’t yet made our allegiance formal. “And I meant it when I said we’ll fight beside you,” I said. “Stormshard, will you stand with the Empire of Atal until we defeat our common enemies?”

Sirez ran her eyes over her fellow Sharders. One by one, they nodded, and finally, she clasped my hand. “You have no enemy in Stormshard.”

As we shook, the ground began to tremble. I locked eyes with Parveld. Curse fate and her cruel ways. Clenching my fists, I turned to face Jaliss. The earth’s shivering grew so violent that I lost my feet.

But I kept my eyes on Steelhold as sheaves of rock began to cleave from the spire and fall toward the city below. I’d seen this dozens of times before, but I would not turn away this time.

Chapter Forty-One

Savra

A flat plain that was once Chasm Road

CARTILLA? I SAID. Do you know what’s happening? As I spoke into the halls of the dead, I felt as if my voice echoed. A strange hush had fallen over the spirits.

I leaned forward… and felt the spirits’ home take shape in my mind. Suddenly, I envisioned vast, soaring ceilings, hallways that branched and divided and had somehow been built by the many emotions the dead carried beyond the veil. Meanwhile, beyond the edges of my awareness, it seemed that time in the mortal realm had slowed.

I can hear you, the girl said. But I don’t understand where you are.

She confuses easily. Another voice entered my mind, and with it came the image of a woman. Her bone structure reminded me of the Atal elite, but her face lacked the cruel sneer I’d so often confronted. She wore a simple gown of violet brocade.

Who are you? I asked.

I’m Cartilla’s mother, she answered.

“Havialo’s wife,” I said, somehow turning my thought into echoing speech. Havialo had said she’d killed herself not long after her daughter’s death.

A sad smile touched the woman’s lips. “I would’ve been. But we weren’t allowed to marry. The Empire has long persecuted the earth mages.”

Beyond the boundaries of my vision, another crack reverberated from deep, deep within the earth. I blinked to make sense of the juxtaposition of the living and the dead and saw Havialo shivering in pleasure as power flooded his body. Someone shrieked. I was losing time.

“I need Cartilla’s help,” I said. “I need her to…”

To what? What could Havialo’s daughter do to stop this?

I focused on the black iron of the speaking rod pressed against my hand. Lilik had said that the spirits gave life to the rod’s magic. Could they also guide its effects? When I pressed my aura hard against the warm metal, a hollow hum filled the halls. Deeper into the vast cathedral, an alcove began to glow. Somehow, I knew it represented the link between rod and spirits.

“There,” I said, pointing.

I hadn’t needed to ask. The dead had already started to drift toward the chamber, perhaps drawn by the rod’s call.

“Does Cartilla know what her father is doing in her name?” I asked.

Her mother fixed me with a glare. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

“Mama? What’s happening?” Cartilla’s voice was so faint I could scarcely hear her. I peered at the drifting procession of the dead. I hadn’t yet caught a glimpse of the girl, but a gauzy presence hung beside the mother. Both were being pulled, feet sliding, along the corridor toward the chamber. Ahead, the glow bloomed as the first of the phantoms entered the alcove.

“She’s suffered far more than she should have,” I said. “What the Ministry did to your daughter was unforgivable. But those men and women are dead. Would you let every Jalissman and Jalisswoman you knew be slaughtered by your lover’s rage?”

At once, the woman’s face screwed up in a mask of anguish. “You don’t know how it felt to have her body delivered to my doorstep. How I hated Havialo. I wailed and screamed and demanded this revenge he’s taking right now. My baby girl…”

“Mama?” Cartilla said again. “Who are you talking to?”

“Shh, darling, it’s all right. We’re just waiting for Eshel to come fetch you for school. You’re in the Academy now, remember?”

I stared, aghast. “Does she not know?”

“She didn’t deserve what happened. She deserved…” The woman clamped her lips shut, shaking her head. Where the other spirits were beginning to look more real to me, their faces reflecting the people they’d been in life, the girl was still shrouded in mist. She didn’t know she was dead, or if she had once believed it, her mother had worked hard to erase that knowledge.

I needed Cartilla’s help. I didn’t wish to go against her mother’s will, but the fate of everyone in Jaliss depended on this. Besides, what her mother was doing was wrong. I’d lived my life under an Empire that told me what I would become. Cartilla shouldn’t spend eternity waiting for some long-gone friend to walk with her to an Academy she could no longer attend.

I pushed against her mother’s spirit, forcing the two apart. The sensation made my stomach roil. The living and the dead were not supposed to touch like this. But I didn’t care, not now.

I reached for Cartilla’s spirit. “You have to remember,” I said. “You died. Evil men killed you for something your father did. But now your father will kill many more children unless we stop him.”

“What? Dead?”

“Do you remember the noose around your neck. Do you remember how afraid you felt?” I hated myself for forcing these things on her.

“I—Yes, the rope was scratchy. I didn’t understand why people were cheering.” As she spoke, the girl began to fade into view. Behind me, her mother shrieked and beat incorporeal fists against my back.

“What else?” I asked.

“I stood on a platform, so scared. I couldn’t help myself. I released my water. It was warm, running down my legs.” The girl’s voice broke under the pain of her memories.

The blow landed on my jaw, rattling my teeth and cracking my neck. Cartilla’s mother, insubstantial no more, screamed and dug claws into me. The pain was real, as real as a hunting cat tearing out my throat. I gagged, shoved her with my aura yet again, then spilled a tendril into her mind. Back in the mortal realm, bile flooded my mouth, and I spit on the earth as my stomach heaved again.

“I’m sorry you were so scared, Cartilla,” I said as I tightened my grip on her mother’s spirit. I couldn’t control the woman, not if I wished to keep all of my sanity. But I held her at bay.

“Why did they do it?” she asked, her voice small.

“No answer I could give can explain the nature of evil,” I said quietly. “They were small men and women eager for power. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to die, but you can help other people now.”

“Help them how?”

“Your father was very sad about what they did to you. His anger allowed evil into his heart. He’s not himself anymore, but if you talk to him, you might be able to cast out the bad parts and bring your Papa back.”

“Talk to him how?”

“That chamber,” I said pointing. We’d drifted close, almost near enough that the golden glow fell upon us.

I reached out a phantom hand. Her smaller hand materialized in my grasp, reminding me of my sister, Avill. The last mists faded as Cartilla’s body consolidated. She looked like Havialo had during the small moments when I’d seen him at peace: before the campfire on a still night; asleep in his bedroll. Beneath the hatred and anger, the man who’d loved his daughter still existed. I just hoped we could reach him.

Once inside the chamber, I focused again on the black-iron rod. The light around us flared as bright as the sun at midday.

“What now?” Cartilla said.

I think if you focus on my hand, you’ll be able to feel your father. It felt right to bridge the auras this way, using the rod as a focus—I just needed to somehow connect with Havialo. But the shield that had deflected my aura-lance was likely still in place. I needed to try something else. Keeping my awareness split between the realms, I inspected Havialo. His upper lip curled back from his teeth as he watched Steelhold’s fall.

Gathering my energy, I sprang and caught hold of his ankle. His eyes widened in shock as he stared down at me.

Now, I said into the halls of the dead. Try to speak.

“Papa?” Cartilla’s voice came from my mouth, amplified by the black-iron rod.

Havialo froze.

“Papa, it’s me.”

The earth mage began to tremble. He knew her voice even years after her death. I kept my gaze locked with his, compelling him to listen, not with my aura but with my heart.

“Cartilla?” he whispered.

“Papa, she said you’re killing people. Why?”

“I miss you, sweet one,” Havialo said. “But when I’m done here, we’ll be together again.”

“But what are you doing?”

“I’m avenging you. Finally.” Even as he said it, his voice shook. Deep in his eyes, I saw the man I’d recognized in Cartilla’s face.

“But I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

“You don’t understand. They killed you. They deserve to die.”

“No, Papa. Other people did this too me.”

“Shush now. Let me finish, and we can talk about it. I’ll come to you.”

“But I don’t want you to come. Not if you do this. My father wouldn’t kill people.”

Havialo’s face twisted in pain. Behind him, the young people who’d followed him were dropping to their knees, their faces pale. Their auras were weak, maybe from the efforts of helping him. If we could delay long enough, perhaps their bonds would give out.

Gently, I probed Havialo’s spirit, looking for an entrance for my aura-lance. Whatever shell the others had built around him was still there, but I sensed chinks in the armor.

“You’re doing a good job Cartilla,” I said in the realm of the dead.

“He’s not the man I remember,” she said, sounding older now. She’d been twelve when she died. Closer to a woman than a child in many ways. But the decades of her mother’s control had stripped away her maturity. It was just now returning.

“No, he’s not,” I said. “But maybe we can still save him.”

“Too late,” she said sadly.

“What—”

Beside Havialo, the spiritist who’d defended him from me gasped, her eyes locked on the scene ahead. Keeping my hand on Havialo’s ankle, I rolled to look at Steelhold. The spire had finally tipped and now fell toward Jaliss. From the fortress walls, a few people recognized their approaching deaths and leaped into empty air. A last moment of freedom, perhaps.

Angry beyond words, I shrieked and yanked on the earth mage’s ankle, sprang up and tackled him. The spiritists who were still standing backed away, seeming to wake from a trance. Most of the others lay motionless. Quite possibly dead.

With a quick mental gesture, I commanded my thug to sprint over and hand me his knife. I shoved the point against the earth mage’s chest, pressing with my aura at the same time. As my blade cut his flesh, my spirit-lance pierced the shield.

I exploded my spirit within his soul and took control.

Strange, overflowing coldness surged through my mind. Abruptly, I felt the position of every nearby rock, every twist of the wind, even the warm potential in sunlight. At the sensation, my sanity started to shear away. It was too much. Too foreign, this sudden flood of geognosty.

Hold on to yourself! Lilik yelled into my thoughts. Parveld said it many times: all magic is one. We all manipulate energy. This isn’t something other. This is you. It’s always been you.

I reeled, struck with the power, blown to and fro by the tides of potential. And slowly, as if catching grass blades in a storm wind, I began to take hold of myself. I wrapped my awareness around Havialo’s gnosty, reimagining it like an aura. The life force of nature. Not so different from the life inside a human.

Abruptly, I felt Steelhold. The spire was a field of chaos, fragments hurtling for Jaliss. The first stones had already punched through roofs. Massive splinters had crashed into the streets, new obelisks like tombstones jutting from the cobbles. Though I sensed the spire’s aura, I couldn’t control it. My mind just couldn’t encompass it.

Savra, Lilik said. Take from Havialo. You must use his strength.

But how?

Open yourself. Understand him. Align your spirit with his.

I…

“I can help you,” Cartilla said suddenly.

I gasped as her light surged across the bond we’d created. As if guiding me by the hand, she pulled me into Havialo’s soul. I felt his anger and torment.

And Havialo felt his daughter. More than her voice, he felt her spirit, the child he’d loved so desperately. His soul flared with unfathomable joy and bottomless regret.

Cartilla, he whispered into our shared spirit.

Help us stop this, Papa, she said.

At once, I felt his guiding hand on my magic. The hanging scythe of stone fit within my mind. I understood where every boulder would shatter and every pebble would strike.

Together we stopped the spire’s fall. Together, we hurled the crumbling mountain out over the plateau, a spray of destruction that mowed down the grasslands in a fan a league wide.

The mage’s towers struck last like massive spears impaling Atal’s flesh.

You did the right thing, Papa, Cartilla said. For a moment, I felt Havialo’s spirit sigh, finally at peace.

But I can’t stay. Goodbye, Cartilla said as her spirit dissipated from our joined auras, leaving me alone with the link that kept Havialo under my thrall. Again, the physical world pressed against my senses. The smell of dust. The sun on my back. The blade in my hand as it slipped between Havialo’s ribs.

I looked down in horror as the geognost’s lifeblood spilled over my hand. His heart, impaled by the blade, pumped against the dagger. Once. Twice. No more. His gnosty drained away, melding with the wind and the earth and the tiny clouds of raindrops forming over the grasslands.

At first, the pull at my aura was a gentle tug, but it quickly became harder. Stronger. My heart slammed my ribs as I tried to withdraw from his spirit, Falla’s words echoing in my mind. The next time someone dies while you’re controlling them, I’m afraid you won’t survive.

A bird trilled in the distance as my vision dwindled. My aura tendrils were lodged too deep. Wrapped too tight. I yanked but couldn’t free myself.

My hands grew numb, followed by my feet. The sensation crept up my limbs. Once again, I noticed the warmth of the sun before it began to fade away.

Chapter Forty-Two

Parveld

The Atal grasslands

THE ARMIES FOUGHT well together. That pleased Parveld. As he watched Sirez and Kostan guide their forces into retreat formations, he marveled at the irony of the timing. He’d waited for so long to see humans put aside generations of hatred to stand shoulder to shoulder. If he’d met these people earlier, would his life have been different? Would he have walked through it with a sense of hope rather than fearing the inevitable?

It mattered little now. He’d had a good life. But he couldn’t cling to the experience much longer. The energy of the dawnweaving still vibrated in his soul, flooding his veins with joy, waiting for his next command. Another irony really, for as its energy flowed through him, the Hunger’s tentacles sank deeper. The weaving kept the ill effects at bay, but before he released his grasp on the lifelights of the corrupted Provs, he must warn Kostan and assure he was ready to act.

He couldn’t allow the madness to get a grip, not after everything he’d seen it do.

Every few minutes, another earthquake shook the ground. But the trembling felt increasingly muted, as fresh earthquakes happened farther and farther from the capital. Destruction was surging across the Empire. Parveld had seen it many times before.

As for the threat at hand, the Riftspawn were more fearsome than he’d imagined, and he could imagine a lot. He Wanted to stop them, to send them back to the dark Hunger that had birthed them. But his weaving couldn’t accomplish it. No matter how he focused on unleashing the power, it seemed that the Hunger’s darkness was too much for one man to turn aside.

At the front lines of the fight, brave soldiers hacked at the creatures, combatants dashing out for an attack then retreating behind the line of wardstone bearers. Only a handful of humans had fallen, while at least a dozen of the twisted beasts lay in pieces on the grassland behind the retreat. If they could reach Jaliss, they could funnel the Spawn into choke points for even better defense. Despite it all, Parveld believed that the people of Atal could win today.

The young Emperor stepped up beside him, sword drawn. It took restraint, Parveld knew, for a young man to hold back from battle. But Kostan understood that he represented more for his Empire than a ready sword. He would defend himself, but he wouldn’t risk himself unnecessarily.

Parveld was leaving the future in good hands. Speaking of, he should check with Savra. Casting his mind into the aether, he searched for her spark. He’d been keeping watch over her through the day’s events. Strangely, her light had flared a few minutes ago when Steelhold had crumpled—only to halt in midair then spray outward as if blown by an unimaginable wind.

He looked forward to asking about that. Reaching to form a bond with her, he froze. Tides. Where moments ago, her spark had rivaled the sun, now it dwindled, shrinking rapidly toward nothing.

I thought we had a deal, Parveld said into the aether as he snatched hold of her fading light.

Her response was sluggish. Confused. What?

You promised you wouldn’t vanish again today, he said. As he spoke, he pulled gently at her spark. Too hard, and he might tear her to bits. He sent comfort and confidence across their link. Did you think I wouldn’t hold you to that?

I’m… I made a mistake, I think, Savra said. It’s hard to remember.

By my guess, you saved the city, Parveld went on, continuing to pull against her aura. If that’s your idea of a mistake, I’m curious what would happen if you succeeded. You need to let go of whatever’s pulling you down, Savra.

Let go? Savra said. Wait… Havialo. I remember.

Heartbeat by heartbeat, resistance eased. Parveld grasped her tighter, bundling her spark to him as she rose like a sunken ship from the sea bottom.

There we go, Parveld said when he sensed her full return. Safe and sound. And your betrothed fights bravely, too. I believe that we will win the day.

Betrothed?

Fishel told me of your engagement. Congratulations!

Wait! she protested. That was only because he needed a place to say.

If you say so, he teased. But enough of that.

Parveld, she said. Havialo had people with him. Spiritists. I’d like to see if any are still alive.

Please, he said. Do what you can.

Thank you for saving me, Parveld. I was careless.

Parveld chuckled. Don’t be too critical of yourself. Sometimes it’s hard to tell bravery and carelessness apart.

The armies had retreated around half the distance between Pascar and the outskirts of Jaliss. It was growing difficult for Parveld to keep hold of the sparks in the town. As soon as he lost control, his weaving would collapse. There were things Kostan needed to know before they settled the final arrangements for Parveld’s death.

“I can see you now, in the future,” Parveld said.

Kostan turned to him. “A new vision?”

Parveld shrugged. “Not exactly. Despite what I thought I knew about prophecy, the visions I once received have reordered themselves in my mind. It’s clear as a cloudless sky now. I see you and Savra together. That’s how the Empire is saved.”

“Why would they change now?” Kostan asked.

“Perhaps only an unlikely set of events could have allowed you both to survive. Maybe it was uncertain whether you’d be enemies or friends.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “Or more.”

The young man immediately flushed. “I—” he cleared his throat. “It will be interesting to see if the Bracer grants me visions of Savra.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the jagged stump where Steelhold once stood. “If I recover the relic from the rubble, that is.”

“Interesting indeed,” Parveld said. “Kostan, I need to release the weaving—”

Parveld’s words were cut off by a cry from behind them. He spun, and his breath stuttered. Blocking the route to Jaliss, a wide chasm had opened in the ground—the tall grasses had hidden the rift from sight until now. And between the small army and the chasm, a horde approached on twisted limbs, shrieking and wailing. There were two Riftspawn for every soldier.

The first beasts screamed and leaped. The slaughter began.

Chapter Forty-Three

Savra

A flat plain that was once Chasm Road

FOUR OF THE spiritists who’d come with Havialo had survived. Only four. The bewildered young men and women reminded me of the innocent girl I’d been when Havialo had taken me away from Numintown. I pitied them, knowing far too well how it felt to learn who the geognost had really been.

I crouched beside the first, a man of maybe twenty. As I laid a hand on his brow, I fought a wave of lightheadedness. My control over the thug still tugged at my awareness, draining my remaining energy. Strangely, though, the man had stopped fighting me. I swallowed, then directed my awareness toward him.

May I release you? I asked. I’ll do so gladly, but if you attack me, I’ll just take you again.

He didn’t fight, but he didn’t respond either. Maybe he didn’t know how. Cautiously, I pulled back my control, tendril by tendril. When I released the last strand, the man fell to his knees, gasping.

“I…” He coughed, gathering himself. “I chose wrong before,” he said. “I won’t harm you.”

“I’d feel safer if you left,” I said, gesturing toward the open expanse leading into the mountains. “I need to concentrate and don’t wish to worry that you’re lying.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the man trotted off. I watched him go then turned my attention to the spiritist sitting before me. His eyes were vacant, his face blank. Shocked, no doubt. I laid fingers against his neck and felt his pulse throbbing. His heart was strong. That was good. I peered into his eyes, wondering how to pull him back to awareness.

Savra, Parveld burst into my thoughts.

Just a moment, I said.

No time. We are—Savra, I don’t think we’ll make it back. The Riftspawn…

I jumped up, dashed to the edge of the chasm, and shaded my eyes. Where are you?

West of the city.

“Storms,” I muttered when I saw them. Kostan’s army was a small huddle on the grasslands. It looked as if soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, making a solid wall around the center. Outside that wall, the land boiled with dark figures. They struck at the human fighters again and again, avoiding just a few areas on the circle’s perimeter.

Is Stormshard with you? They have wardstones.

They’re here, Parveld said. It’s not enough. Even if we could make it to a defensible location within the city, we can’t hold back this many.

Wait. What about…? My eyes snapped to the foot of the chasm and the ragged stump of Steelhold’s spire. A low ring of rubble surrounded the hollow space that I’d discovered just hours ago. And in the center, the huge dome of polished agate shone in the sunlight.

Parveld, I said. You have to get to Jaliss. Steelhold was built atop a wardstone. I mean, a really big wardstone.

A thread of hope tunneled across our link, but a moment later it was gone.

We can’t, Parveld said. We won’t make it around the rift.

Right, I thought as my eyes grazed the chasm now separating the army from the capital.

Actually, Parveld said. My dawnweaving. It might be enough.

What’s a dawnweaving?

It doesn’t matter now. Savra, I need you to make me a promise. I’d asked Kostan to help me, but if I send him away…

Whatever you need.

What I’m about to do will drain the last energy from my weaving. When it collapses, I will change. Once you’ve secured Jaliss—if you secure Jaliss—I need you to find me.

Where will you go?

Let me restate, he said. When Jaliss is secure, I want you to hunt me. I want you to kill me. I’ve seen the Hunger’s effects many times. It doesn’t always turn its tools into crazed beasts. Some have been cold and calculating. Others have been masters at manipulation. No matter what I say to you, do not listen. It won’t be me speaking. The only way we can talk like this again will be when I am beyond the veil.

Parveld, I don’t understand. My lower jaw trembled. I’d scarcely spoken to the man, but after the events of the last weeks, I felt I knew him. Lilik and Raav cared for him immensely. I’d been looking forward to growing our friendship.

There’s little time, Savra. Please promise.

I— yes of course. I promise. Whatever happens, I will find you and release you.

Thank you, he said.

The ground beneath Kostan’s army began to glow. I stared, mesmerized, as the light swelled, brighter and brighter until I could scarcely stand to look at it. Only when the thunderclap shook the air, did I glimpse the small circle of light beneath my own feet.

Chapter Forty-Four

Kostan

Amidst the rubble, former site of Steelhold's spire

WE STOOD WITHIN a ring of crumbled stone, upon a polished surface the color of blood. I fell to my knees, dazed. What had happened?

“… in Jaliss,” someone said nearby.

I looked around. Was it true? Over the ring of rubble surrounding us, I spotted the gables of a Heights mansion. I blinked. Indeed, it seemed we were inside Jaliss. I recalled Parveld’s last words. He’d asked me to prepare for a shock and to take care of the future for him. He must have done this.

A pair of small, scuffed shoes stepped up beside mine. My eyes traveled over shapely legs, a rather stained tunic, and past a wild tangle of red hair.

“Savra?” I asked.

Her cheeks were pink as she nodded.

I looked down at her for a moment then couldn’t help myself. I pulled her into a hug, and she sank into the embrace.

“Kostan?” she said, stepping back. “What are you wearing? I felt something… hard. It has power.”

My face was abruptly so hot, I was sure she must have felt the warmth from where she stood. Savra placed her palm on my chest, covering the lump formed by the Heart of the Empire. Oh, that.

I coughed. “It was given to me as part of my Ascension,” I said, pulling the pendant from beneath the cloth that covered my armor.

She gasped when she saw it, her gaze flicking back and forth between the pendant and the red stone beneath her feet. I couldn’t help but notice the same resemblance. It was as if the relic and the ground beneath us had been cut from the same stone.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

Too distracted by her discovery to be shy, she grabbed my hand. Light calluses roughened her palm, and the bones of her hand felt fragile in mine. The sensation was so distracting I could scarcely hear her words.

“… wardstone,” she was saying excitedly. “The auras are connected. Steelhold’s heart calls to your necklace. Heartstone to Heartshard. I don’t know how I know their names, only that I’m certain they’re the truth.”

I latched onto her words. Since receiving it, I’d imagined that the pendant was more than a polished gem. Instinct had told me it was needed for the fight ahead. The core of the Empire must remain strong. Hadn’t I felt many times that the Heart must remain on the throne?

Savra tugged on my hand, urging me to my knees. She laid my palm on the smooth surface beneath us. “Do you feel anything?” she asked.

I shook my head, but then concentrated harder. There was something after all. Just the faintest hum. “I don’t know what it means,” I said.

Her delicate brow furrowed. Around us, soldiers milled in confusion. Savra looked through the crowd as if searching for someone. After a moment, she jumped up and rushed over to Falla. I ducked my head. I hadn’t yet apologized to the woman for stealing her horse and abandoning her in the wilderness. Unfortunately for me, Savra grabbed Falla’s elbow and pointed at me.

To Falla’s credit, she only glared for a moment. Together, the women approached.

“I don’t see anything,” Falla said. “Whatever the connection, it’s not from the Mind domain.”

They were referring to magic, no doubt. Speaking of… “Did Parveld come? He said strange things before…”

Savra pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Later. I promised him I’d secure the city first.”

Her casual assumption of responsibility for a city of nearly a hundred thousand made me smile. I covered my mouth so she wouldn’t think I was condescending. But her words brought me back to the situation at hand. The Riftspawn were coming. Savra was right; this wasn’t the time for questions or reunions. Standing, I trotted to the rubble hill and climbed. My heart sank.

The chasm might have been a barrier for us, but the Spawn had been born there. Like a pool of oil, they spilled across the grasslands, poured down one side of the chasm, and sloshed back up the other. Already, their shrieks and wails filtered through the ruins of Lowtown. At the edge of the slums, a few Provs lived in shanties and tents that had been erected since the fires. The leading edge of the Riftspawn washed over them, overturning cook fires and setting fire to the ramshackle structures. The blaze quickly began nibbling at the edges of the city. Undeterred, the Spawn pressed on.

“My best hope of setting a defense is from the Merchant’s Quarter,” Savra said, stepping up beside me. Somehow, she’d managed to convince someone to give her a sword.

“Let me stand with you,” I said as I laid a hand on my weapon’s hilt. I carefully avoided suggesting she’d need protection. I didn’t know if she’d appreciate the comment.

“I can take care of myself when it comes to Riftspawn,” she said gently. “I’ve learned a lot about my abilities recently. But I can’t beat them single-handedly, so kindly get back and figure out how to work that thing.”

“Work what thing?” I mouthed almost silently.

She laid a hand on my breastbone, pressing the Heart of the Empire against me. “It’s bound to you,” she said. “I can see the bond as clearly as I see your face—it needs you to be the conduit. You need to go back, stand in the middle of that red thing, and open yourself.”

Her eyes widened as she commanded me, showing no self-consciousness over daring to give orders to the Emperor of Atal. My mouth turned up in the corner. I’d liked her before, but I liked the changes just as much. “Yes, my lady,” I said.

I bowed, and as I straightened, she was already running down the hill, sword raised.

Chapter Forty-Five

Savra

Merchant's Quarter, Jaliss

BEHIND THE HALL of Registry—the building where I’d once imagined I’d begin new life—an iron ladder was bolted to the stonework, allowing access to the building’s roof. Good. If I had any hope of surviving the coming onslaught, it started with taking the high ground.

Slate shingles roofed the building. Massive black-iron spires soared from the peaks of its roofline. As I glanced at the spikes, I forced away a legion of questions born during my time in the cathedral of the dead. Later.

From the forward edge of the roof, I looked over the city as it fell away to the grasslands. To my right, Lowtown spread in dilapidated squalor, fire leaping from building to building as it slowly ate its way through the district, burning the structures which had been fortunate enough to escape the last blaze.

As the flames rose through the streets, so did the layers of shadow spread by the Riftspawn. Their shrieks pierced the air. Wood splintered and rock walls tumbled as they tore through the rubble. Here and there, a few brave defenders yelled battle cries and rushed to meet them. The fights didn’t last long.

I focused on the Spawn’s auras. So many of them. I didn’t see how we could hold. Perhaps in the end, those standing on the Heartstone would survive. But the rest of us? Unlikely.

Before me and to the left, the streets of the Merchant’s Quarter descended toward the Splits. Lowtown was already lost. But maybe I could delay the beasts’ advance into the other districts.

I chose a group of advancing Spawn and sent a portion of my aura forward, planting it before them and stretching it across the street. Next, I imbued the shield with the repelling technique I’d used to move about Steelhold unnoticed. In Steelhold, I’d been deflecting attention from my presence. Now, I focused my intent to convince the Spawn that something blocked their path. Something pressed them backward, making it too difficult to continue.

After a moment of confusion, the corrupted auras stopped moving then turned aside. Ten Riftspawn diverted. Only thousands more to stop.

***

A half-hour later, sweat drenched my brow. I held twenty barriers in place, but my strength dwindled. My spirit was fading, and soon it would collapse. Where Lowtown met the Heights, soldiers defended a few streets. But at most intersections, only my aura held back the horde. Again and again, they crashed against my boundaries, a dark sea determined to batter me down. The moment my control broke, the city was lost.

Splayed on the rooftop, I kept fingers pressed into the gaps between the slates to keep from sliding down. The fires in Lowtown were getting close, now. I felt their heat. As I raised an arm to wipe the stinging sweat from my eyes, a massive wave of Riftspawn struck one of my boundaries. My breath hissed through clenched teeth as my first shield stretched then shattered. The whipping snakes of aura snapped home. Dizzied, I lost purchase and started sliding for the lip of the roof.

As my heel caught in the gutter, sending a shock up my spine, my remaining boundaries collapsed. The returning aura slapped hard blows against my soul. I groaned and rolled over, too tired to move. I’d given my best. It hadn’t been enough.

Above, the wide blue sky stretched clear and clean. Evening approached, and the color above the eastern horizon had begun to purple. Beautiful, despite it all. Not a terrible place to wait for the end.

My eyes began to close when suddenly, Lilik sent a jolt of cold shooting from the bracelet.

“Hey—” I began before my words died.

Before my eyes, a radiant white being rose from the Heartstone, brilliant against the sky. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I couldn’t breathe as the woman, a shining warrior nearly as tall as Steelhold’s spire, raised a gleaming sword. With a cry like a thousand silver bells, she swung her blade into the city. I sat up, head spinning. The woman’s sword cut through the streets, skimming above the ground. It passed through buildings and the auras of the soldiers defending our city, but where it contacted the Riftspawn, colors exploded in my aura-sight. The sword eviscerated the Spawn’s corruption, severing the darkness and splattering strands of it back toward the rift. Over and over the woman struck, reaping the monsters, leaving their tangled auras confused and stumbling.

With a roar, the city’s defenders surged forward. Did they see the shining warrior? I banished my aura-sight, and the woman vanished. The glow left the sky. The soldiers couldn’t see her. Why the sudden push?

Glancing at the closest battle, a fierce group of Sharders defending a narrow alley, I understood. The feral intensity had abandoned the Riftspawn. Some swayed on their feet while others made stumbling attempts to flee. Soldiers cut them down, and unlike the battle at the keep, the monsters died, their auras seeming to sigh with relief at the last moment.

Pace by pace, street by street, the soldiers pressed the Spawn back. Sitting on the rooftop, I cradled my forehead in my hands for a moment before standing.

The battle was over. All that was left was giving the Riftspawn peace. I wrapped my hand around the hilt of my sword as I clambered toward the iron ladder leading to street level.

I had some monsters to kill.

Chapter Forty-Six

Kostan

Common room, the Graybranch Inn

“IT’S NOT MUCH,” Fishel said as he set the plates of steaming food before us. “Not for the saviors of the city.”

I stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend,” I said. “And thank you for giving us sanctuary. The city is a mess tonight.”

Beyond the door, shouts of joy and grief mingled. Festival drums competed mourning dirges. It would be weeks before we could restore order. Not to mention, I dreaded learning how the quakes had affected the Provinces. Deep in my heart, I already knew what our scouts would find.

But for tonight, we could rest in the knowledge that whatever emotions filled the city, Atal and Prov were feeling them together. Peace finally reigned in Jaliss—for now, anyway.

“Indeed it is,” the innkeeper said. “You have much work ahead of you.”

I couldn’t argue that. If the visions were true, the worst was yet to come for the Empire, and I had little idea where to begin in defending it. According to Savra, we’d receive no more wisdom from Parveld—she’d been so anguished at my mention of the man that I hadn’t pressed her for details. I doubted I’d ever recover the Bracer of Sight, which meant neither Savra nor I had visions or sages to guide us. My throne was rubble and my leadership scattered. Savra’s family—if any still lived—were somewhere out in the Provinces; she hoped to find them but, like me, didn’t know where or how to begin.

But tomorrow, we would begin. And I hoped we would do it together.

“Ale?” Fishel asked.

Savra’s cheeks colored. “I’m afraid I have a poor constitution when it comes to alcohol.”

He knuckled her gently in the shoulder. “All the more reason to partake. I’ll water yours by half. And you?” he said, glancing at me.

In truth, I already felt lightheaded sitting beside this woman.

“Just say yes,” Fishel said. “I can see you’re impatient for me to leave the two of you alone.”

“Fine. But water mine, too.”

The man rolled his eyes before stepping toward the small keg on his counter. He tapped measures that I thought were awfully generous before dribbling in a little water. I caught Savra’s eyes as he plunked the mugs down before us. She shrugged as if to suggest we wouldn’t get far arguing with the man. I was inclined to agree.

“So,” Fishel said, stomping back to his counter and pulling out his heavy ledger. He carried the massive book over and dropped it between us. “I hope to hear you’ll be abolishing the inspections, your eminence. Because I’m fairly certain neither of you is related to a strange wine merchant from Ioene, and I’d hate to be caught in a lie.”

“No more inspections,” I said with a smile.

“Then there’s just one thing to settle,” he said.

“I’ll have to go dig through the rubble of Steelhold if you need payment tonight,” I said.

He waved off my comment. “I trust you’ll settle accounts eventually. This is just bookkeeping. You see, I need to know whether to write you down for one room or two.”

My ears went hot. I couldn’t speak.

After a moment, Savra cleared her throat. “We wouldn’t want to take advantage of your generosity, Fishel. I think one room will be fine, don’t you, Kostan?”

She laughed when I stuttered, but after a moment, I finally managed to spit out the words. “One will be just fine.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Parveld

Atal Plateau

PARVELD TRUDGED FORWARD, night breezes ruffling his hair, his legs weary. Around him, moonlit grasses bent their seed-laden heads. To the north, the distant Icethorns cut the horizon, their frozen summits silver against the sky. He couldn’t see the torch-glow of Jaliss; by his reckoning, he’d come somewhere to the east of the capital. Near the boundary with the Wildsends, perhaps.

It mattered little where his weaving had sent him, of course. He’d only Wanted to be away. Far, far away from that searing warrior who had towered over Jaliss like agony made real. Even now, he shuddered at the memory. Just gazing upon the radiant executioner had turned his blood molten, a white-hot inferno of pain.

Fortunately, there’d been a few, scattered lifelights near him when the glowing warrior rose from Steelhold’s rubble. Enough for a dawnweaving to enable his escape.

The breeze blew harder, and Parveld shivered. This close to Chilltide, his clothing offered little defense against the night air. Ahead, though, a campfire burned, sending sparks swirling on the breeze. A handful of tents made angular shadows against its glow.

Herders, most likely.

Parveld focused on their sparks, but his sense of the aether wavered. The lifelights shimmered in his inner vision then dimmed. Shaking his head, he released his grasp on the aether. His reserves were tapped, his abilities as weary as his body. Plus, he was still off-balanced by his newfound power, his connection to something bigger, deeper.

Parveld sighed. He’d been a fool. For centuries—tides, centuries!—he’d traveled the world, studying myths and histories and legends about the rifts. He’d dedicated his life to defeating the Hunger.

Even now, his face heated with shame at his ignorance. The Hunger wasn’t some evil realm or malevolent presence. Nothing of the sort. It was the penultimate aim of existence. A condition beyond the wearying struggle of individual souls. Once joined with the Hunger, all life became one. All the pain and heartache disappeared, leaving only the joy of ultimate understanding and communion. Much like his belief that magic was a single force, so too was life and existence. The sea, the stones, a toddler’s bubbling laugh. All the same.

Parveld had been so mistaken, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that his studies of the rifts were not futile. Far from it. By learning how the Hunger’s rifts had been sealed, he understood how to tear them wide again. Across the known world, he would rip the fabric separating humanity from its ultimate destiny.

Connectedness. Community. Peace at last.

The path would not be easy. Parveld had long disdained violence. It would be so much easier to just show his fellow souls what he now experienced, to teach them how things might be. Across the Empire, he could sense his brethren rising from the fresh chasms gashing the land. Legions crawled forth, driven to bring more souls into their communion. Bonded to the Riftspawn by the Hunger’s tendrils, Parveld was greater than himself. His heart sang with the desires of a hundred thousand beings. And their souls responded to his yearnings.

All one.

But humans would not accept what the Hunger offered. They were naïve—Parveld knew, because he’d armored himself with the same innocence for decades. Men would raise armies to confront the tide swelling from beneath the Empire like a flood rising through the floorboards. Worse, the Spawn were vulnerable. They hadn’t joined the Hunger with the same strength of knowledge as Parveld had, and so they fought without strategy or direction. They needed a leader, someone whose heart beat with the same need to, at last, bring peace to an existence crushed by millennia of suffering, hatred, and war.

Parveld would be that leader.

In the days and weeks to come, he had much to learn and accomplish. The Hunger was weak against the searing force of Steelhold’s wardstone and the cruel warrior it had summoned. Though Parveld had spent his life studying humanity’s fight against the rifts, he knew little of the wardstone’s secrets. Before he could lead an army in a final assault, he needed to learn how to defeat this infernal power.

And he needed to learn how to command his legions. He had an inkling already—in fact, he sensed a group of Riftspawn on the opposite side of the herders’ camp. They were small beasts, around the size of large rodents. His awareness of them was different than his perception of human sparks. When Parveld spread his mind to encompass them, the Spawn became a portion of himself. Another limb to wield. Another manifestation of his desire.

Parveld was cold. He desired warm clothing, a hot meal, a campfire to banish the night’s chill. Under other circumstances, he might achieve this Want with a dawnweaving—casting his mind back over the years, he had to scoff at how infrequently he’d used his talent. He’d been weak to the pain it had caused others. But now, he knew that life in the mortal realm was pain. Anything he did to show his human brethren the truth of their existence only furthered his plans to save them.

For now, though, his ability to weave was exhausted. But his new Riftspawn companions were eager and strong.

Like clenching a fist, he gathered the Spawn into a coordinated group. On paws and hooves with teeth and claws bared, they advanced on the herder’s camp. Parveld already felt warmer as they neared the fire, its glow transferred across his awareness.

The herders were sleeping, not inside their tents, but in a contented circle around their fire. Parveld hesitated, wondering whether he should give them a chance. Perhaps he could explain to them what the Hunger promised. But he knew their answer already. Better they died quickly, too surprised to feel fear. Their souls would cross the veil where they would wait in relative peace for the Hunger’s final assault.

Parveld’s cause was righteous. He had no doubts in its purity. With the deliberate certainty that only the most noble could feel, he struck.

The humans didn’t scream for long.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for reading Rise of the Storm. I really hope you enjoyed it! As a working writer, I utterly depend on readers to spread the word on my books.

Please consider leaving a review on Amazon (click here) for this book and for other authors you enjoy. I promise that I read every review (yes, even the critical ones). Sometimes, they help me shape the story to come, and often, they are the reason I get out of bed and in front of my computer long before the sun rises. Thank you!!

If you would like to grab some free goodies and join my reader community, head over to CarrieSummers.com and join my reader group. This is something I’m actively growing, and I expect to have some super fun things going on this fall and winter. The group is how I let readers know when new books are out.

Speaking of, the next book in the series, Fate of the Drowned, is coming Fall/Winter 2017. Click here for more info.

Finally, for the story of Parveld (once known as Paono), Lilik, and Raav, check out my Shattering of the Nocturnai series:

Nightforged

Shadowbound

Duskwoven

Darkborn

Thank you so much!

Carrie