Kerrigan looked back at Naga Rock, and so did Ashlyn. The island was getting smaller with each passing second, but in the dying light, she could just barely make out the silhouettes of misshapen figures. Glowing eyes dotted the cliffside like infected fireflies.
Kerrigan turned to Bershad and Ashlyn. “And seeing as I lost my island to demons because of you two, I am thinking that you owe us some assistance when it comes to relocation.”
“We do,” Ashlyn agreed. “Make a heading for Himeja. I’ll ensure that you and your people are given pardons and a place of your own. One of the smaller Papyrian islands along the eastern point, maybe.”
Kerrigan considered that.
“Sharing a scrap of blood with Empress Okinu won’t necessarily put her in a forgiving kind of mood for all the shit Simeon and I have pulled in her backyard. Giving over one of her islands sounds like a real stretch.”
“Okinu is a pragmatist,” Ashlyn said, lifting her arm so that Kerrigan could see what she’d done to it. “And I have something to give her that’s far more valuable than a few islands.”
Kerrigan chewed her lip a few more moments. Then turned to her pilot.
“Make for Himeja. And signal the other ships in the fleet. We all go together—I do not want stragglers or strays.”
“Aye, Captain. Himeja.”
Ashlyn turned to Bershad. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Bershad nodded. “Belowdecks.”
* * *
“You put a lodestone inside yourself?” Bershad asked Ashlyn after she explained what happened while she was Simeon’s prisoner.
“No. I put twelve of them between the deep tissue and bone of my forearm, and linked them to the prongs of the dragon thread that is slowly spreading through my body.”
“Didn’t that hurt?”
“Yes. But it had to be done.”
“Why?”
“We needed a way to combat those skyships. Now we have one.”
“The plan was to get more dragon threads.”
“There were none left.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Osyrus took them when he left. He knows their potential, he just hasn’t figured out how to unlock it yet.” She blew out a long breath. Tried not to think about what he would do if he did. But one problem at a time. “Every skyship engine contains a system of lodestones, just like Simeon’s armor. That means I can fight them.”
Bershad looked at the machinery that she’d grafted around the wild black tendrils of dragon thread. The intertwining of flesh and metal and dragon thread was both impressive and unsettling.
“What’s the range on that?”
“Five or six paces,” she said.
“Ashe, in case you forgot, those skyships don’t fly five or six paces off the ground.”
“I’ll figure something out, just like you did back there,” she said. “There has to be a way to increase the range, and the answer is probably inside one of those ships.”
“What’re you gonna do, climb into one and go poking around?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to stop Osyrus Ward. The things that I saw in that pit. The things that he’s planning to do. Or already doing.” She looked at him. “We have to stop him.”
Silas gave a nod. “I’m with you.”
He said it as if she’d just asked him to do something as simple as tracking a deer through a forest. But that was always his way. Easy acceptance of the most difficult and dangerous tasks. It was the safe, synthetic routines of civilized life that gave him trouble.
He sat down next to her. Put a hand on her shoulder.
“Osyrus Ward’s work isn’t the only thing that you found in that pit, is it?”
“No,” Ashlyn said. She hesitated. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s all right, Ashe. You can tell me.”
She swallowed. Looked at him.
“I found out why that Nomad has been following you. And it’s awful.”
56
VERA
Almira, Floodhaven, Castle Malgrave
Fourteen Dainwood wardens were brought into the same audience hall where Kira had murdered Linkon Pommol and his lords, although the blood had been cleaned up.
The jaguars’ weapons and armor had been taken when they entered the city, but Kira had allowed them to keep their masks, which were hooked at their belts. Torches spat and crackled in the corners, which Kira had insisted be fueled with normal animal fat instead of dragon oil. To make it feel familiar, she’d said.
Decimar’s archers were stationed in the gallery above, same as before. Although their orders were very different.
High-Warden Carlyle Llayawin bowed in front of Kira. Glanced at the archers before speaking.
“Most of my men said that my head was packed with dragonshit for accepting your invitation. Said you made porcupines out of the last lords to treat with you, and you’d do the same to me. They right?”
Kira smiled with understanding. “Some of my advisors warned me against this audience as well. But no, Carlyle. You are in no danger. My archers are simply a precaution. I’m the last living Malgrave. The only way to avoid joining my father and sister on the long swim is to be wary of betrayals.”
Carlyle nodded. Seemed to accept that answer and relax a little.
“I served your sister during the siege of Floodhaven. And I fought by her side in the battle that followed. What Linkon and Wallace did to her is unforgivable.” He swallowed. “It grieved me to learn of her death. For weeks, I clung to the hope that she had survived. Snuck away, somehow.”
“I appreciate that, Carlyle. My sister always trusted you, which is one of the reasons that I was willing to make this peace offering to you. You’re a better breed of Almiran than the men who died in this room.”
Carlyle nodded. “What are your terms for peace?”
Kira readjusted herself on the dais, moving to business.
“I ask very little,” she said. “You may keep sovereignty of the Dainwood, and decide who will rule from Deepdale for yourselves. You will pay no taxes of silver or gold to me, and you will owe no portion of your lumber sales to me.”
“We will sell no more of the Dainwood for profit,” Carlyle said, voice firm.
Kira nodded. “That is your choice, and will not be disputed.”
Carlyle hesitated. “This can be sealed in a contract?”
“Of course. Valid from the birthing of the forest gods out of the Soul Sea to the end of time.”
Many of the wardens nodded happily at Kira’s mention of the gods. That was a lesson that her older sister never learned. Respecting the Almiran religion was one of the fastest ways to win their loyalty.
“Good. But if we are allowed to choose our own sovereign, and you do not want taxes or levies, what do you want from the Dainwood?”
Kira leaned forward. “My predecessor, Actus Thorn, brought the Balarian armada to Almira with selfish motivations and violent intention. The theft of the Clear Sky harvest was a terrible crime, and it will never be repeated. But there are thousands of innocent, starving people in Balaria who need food. All that I ask of the Dainwood is that you lend a portion of your rich crop yields to their aid.”
“What happened to the crops you already took?” growled a young but rough-looking warden with long black hair.
Kira bowed her head in regret. “Those yields were taken by the aristocrats and military of Burz-al-dun. They never reached those who needed it most.” She paused. “But the men responsible for that injustice are dead. I will not repeat their crimes.”
“Why should we trust your word?” the warden continued. “You still got those fucking skyships. You still got those assholes with their longbows.” He motioned to the gallery. “What’s different?”
“I also have Almiran blood in my veins,” Kira said. “But that isn’t enough. Not on its own. All my life, I watched while my father and the high lords tore this country apart, one land squabble and skirmish at a time. M
y sister wasn’t a warmonger, but she would have turned Almira into a dragon sanctuary if she had her way. I am different. I haven’t come back to my homeland to bleed the Dainwood dry, or to let the great lizards run wild across it while people suffer. I’ve come to make it a prosperous and peaceful land.”
Carlyle brushed a strand of hair away from his face.
“That sounds awfully nice,” he said. “But just to entertain a hypothetical. What happens if we refuse?”
“That is your choice, and it will force me to search for a solution to Balaria’s starvation problems elsewhere. We can live in harmony on opposite sides of the Gorgon River, I am sure. But you will forgo the protection that my armada offers. Both from foreign invaders and from the legions of dragons that will be returning to Almira come spring, forcing your farmers to keep one eye on the sky once again. With my help, every year will become a Clear Sky harvest. Without it?” She shrugged. “You will be on your own to face the dangers of this world.”
Carlyle cleared his throat. “This is a surprise. Ashlyn was a famous lover of the great lizards.”
“I am not my sister. My priority is the people of Almira. Not the dragons of Terra.”
Carlyle’s jaw worked back and forth and his shoulders tensed as he weighed his options. Eventually, his posture relaxed.
“I will need all of this drawn up in contracts. Reviewed by my stewards. But for now, how about we drink and feast on it, like proper Almirans?”
Kira smiled. “Agreed.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, drums were booming in the corner of the feasting hall and servants were everywhere, bringing jugs of wine and ale, platters of roasted boar and chicken and goat. The massive floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window on the western wall poured multicolored light into the large hall.
Vera sat to the left of Kira on the dais, looking out over the feast. Watching the wardens of the Dainwood laugh and drink and slap shoulders with the small lords of the Atlas Coast that Kira had already won over to her cause. Two of Decimar’s archers stood behind Kira’s chair. Osyrus was seated to her right. One of his acolytes loomed behind him. He took slow, rough breaths and scanned the sectors of the room in a steady, endless loop. Vera had insisted that he carry no weapons, but she couldn’t deny the value of an extra set of vigilant eyes.
And, of course, Decimar and his men remained above on Vera’s orders. There would be no massacre like Linkon and his lords, but she’d told them to keep their eyes open and their hands within reach of an arrow at all times.
“Do you know what this means?” Kira asked, smiling out at the crowd.
“That there will be quite a few hungover jaguars tomorrow?”
Kira snorted. “Well, yes. But there’s a bigger picture! We’ve set a precedent for diplomatic resolutions, despite the skyships we could have used.”
“You might not have used them, but I am fairly certain their presence played a part in this peace.”
“Either way, now that we’re allied with the Dainwood, we can return to Balaria with the rations we need to stabilize Burz-al-dun and Ghalamar. It’s perfect.”
“What about Lysteria? When Osyrus Ward called these ships to Floodhaven, they were dropping mayhem and destruction upon their country.”
“I didn’t give those orders.”
“The Lysterians may not appreciate that distinction.”
“It’s a good thing that I can be very convincing.”
Kira smiled at her again. Not the fake, beautiful smile that Vera had seen her use for her entire adult life. But a vulnerable, genuine expression.
“I’ve never seen you this happy before,” Vera said.
“That’s because I’ve never done something like this before. And it really means something! It’s not some stupid feast or little victory over some fat minister who’s mostly just hoping for a better look at my tits. This is real. And it will help people.” She turned to Vera. Put a hand on her wrist. “And once things have calmed down here, you and I can go for a nice, long ride in my skyship. Just the two of us.”
“What about a pilot?”
“Entras has been teaching me. He says I’m ready!”
Vera smiled. Squeezed Kira’s hand. “All right, Ki. Just the two of us.”
The acolyte took a step forward and leaned down to Ward’s ear.
“Master,” he rasped. “There is a drunken warden with a bad look in his eye.”
It only took Vera a moment to find the man in question. It was the dark-haired warden who’d spoken up during the audience. He was on a bench to Vera’s left, drinking ale the way a man fresh from the desert drinks water. But those things alone didn’t bother Vera. It was the meat knife he was shifting between callused fingers with a singular focus.
“Yes, a very bad look,” Osyrus agreed. “Please remove him from the hall.”
“No,” Kira said quickly. “I do not want to make a scene.”
“Number Seven will be discreet,” Osyrus said.
“That is not possible.” Kira turned to Vera. “Please handle this. Quietly. Even a small altercation could put this entire treaty at risk.”
Vera didn’t like leaving Kira’s side. But she liked the idea of Osyrus Ward’s gray-skinned behemoth trotting through the ranks of wardens and snatching one by the back of the neck far less. She turned to the two longbowmen standing behind Kira. “Keep sharp.”
Vera stepped off the dais and walked toward the drunken man, both hands on her daggers. The wardens all went quiet as they saw her approaching, but Vera didn’t sense any fighters among them. Not tonight, anyway. They were full of meat and ale and they were happy.
“What’s your name, warden?” Vera asked the man.
He looked up, eyes bleary. “What do you care, Papyrian?”
“We’re allies now. Best get to know each other.”
He glared at her a moment longer, then turned back to his mug and his knife. “Oromir.”
Vera took a closer look at him. His face was scratched near the scalp—his fingers callused and raw. He had the hungry and hollow look in his eyes of a man who hadn’t seen a bed in a very long time.
“The war went hard on you, yes?”
“All wars go hard. ’Less you got yourself a fucking flying ship to hide inside.”
“We’re not hiding. And we’re not here to keep fighting.”
Oromir looked up again. “I’ve known a few widows. The only thing you lot are good for is killing. So don’t come over and ruin my sulking with dragonshit words of peace. I know the truth.”
Vera stepped closer. “You’re drunk. And you are obviously upset. But you can stay if you give me that knife.”
She reached out with one hand. Tightened her grip on Kaisha with the other. But the warden just grunted and handed the blade over.
“Take it. Ain’t looking for trouble.”
“Appreciated.”
“One question for you, though. Since I’m being so reasonable.”
“Yes?”
“Has a man come to Floodhaven in the last few weeks? A foreigner with gray eyes and a mole on his face, right here.” He gestured to a place on his forehead. “He’d be armed, most likely.”
“I haven’t seen anyone who fits that description. And if he was armed, we would have arrested him.”
Oromir grunted. Turned back to his drink.
Vera spun. Started heading back to the dais. But something caught her eye in the crowd. A serving woman who was also moving toward the dais, but there was a row of benches between them. She was carrying a tray of sliced beef wedges. Something in her posture was wrong. Too coiled. Too careful.
The woman turned to Vera just before she reached the dais.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. A forked scar across her cheek and lips.
Vera had never met Shoshone Kalara Sun in person, but every widow knew what the empress’s most prolific assassin looked like.
Shoshone gave a little nod of acknowledgment. Then she dropped her tray and drew a meat cleaver
. Rushed toward Kira with the naked blade.
“Stop her!” Vera screamed.
The two longbowmen behind Kira reacted quickly—drawing swords and moving to intercept Shoshone before she reached the empress—but they were no match for the widow. She vaulted over both men, slashing one’s neck open as she flew through the air and hacking the other in the back of the neck as soon as she landed. Shoshone coiled her body and launched toward the dais.
Kira screamed, frozen in her chair. Vera threw the cutting knife at Shoshone. She’d been aiming for her ear—a blade to the brain was the only chance she had for a kill shot from that distance—but she caught her in the meat of her shoulder instead. Useless, except to put one small hitch in the widow’s murderous step. Vera followed her throw, leaping over a table and pounding across the room.
She drew her daggers just before she slammed into Shoshone.
Both widows landed in a heap to the side of the dais. Vera felt Owaru sink between two of Shoshone’s ribs, but Kaisha slipped out of her hand and skittered into a corner. Almost immediately, Vera was hit with three concussive blows to her face, barely getting her arm up to block a fourth punch that would have collapsed her windpipe.
And then it stopped.
Vera got her bearings just in time to realize Shoshone had jumped off her and was sprinting toward the empress again.
“Shoot her!” Vera screamed at the archers in the gallery above, who had their bows drawn but hesitated. Shoshone was within three strides of Kira.
“Black fucking skies, shoot!” Vera cried as she lurched to her feet and followed Shoshone.
Three arrows plunked into Shoshone’s back. The widow’s step faltered again. She dropped her cleaver but somehow managed to stay on her feet. As she took another stumbling step, she yanked Vera’s dagger out of her side and lunged forward, up the dais where Kira and Osyrus were still sitting.
Vera didn’t have a good view of Shoshone’s attack. But she saw the acolyte snap into action at the last moment—grabbing Shoshone by the wrist with blinding speed, trying to wrench the blade away. He was too slow.
The dagger plunged deep into Kira’s stomach. Then her chest.
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