The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  Adechike didn’t notice. The longer the fight went on, the deeper he drowned in his fury, his movements getting wilder and wilder. But Kris’s own anger was slipping away, replaced by heartsickness. The two of them had been friends once. Did they really believe Adechike had betrayed that in cold blood? Would it make anything better if they stabbed him?

  No. Hurting him, killing him, would be the final mistake. Kris had come to Twaa-Fei to build a brighter future for Rumika, not through warfare and death, but through friendship and alliance.

  I’d rather die failing to achieve that, than live and cast it aside.

  And that meant there was only one thing to do.

  Adechike pressed them harder and harder, craft abandoned in favor of the blade alone. But Kris used one of Adechike’s own tricks against him, stepping close and then evading with a twist of the hip that let them slip past to the other side, and in that brief opening they carved the sigil for the Heart-Piercing Dart.

  Then they hurled their sword downward, the sigil driving it through the boards of the pier as if they were rice paper.

  And Kris knelt to Adechike’s blade.

  •••

  Kneeling saved them.

  The first strike parted the air where their head had been a breath before . . . and the second didn’t come.

  His voice so distorted it was barely recognizable, Adechike snarled, “Pick it up.”

  “No,” Kris said. Their chest heaved with exertion and passion. “I’m done. If you want me dead, Adechike, then go ahead. I won’t stop you. There’s no point in me fighting anymore.”

  “You have to fight!” Adechike’s hand shook. “You—you have to—”

  “Do what?” Kris looked up at him, slumping with weariness and sorrow. “Kill you? Hurt you the way Ojo’s been hurt? No. All that would do is make things worse . . . and I’m done making things worse. I hate what happened to him, to Quloo, to the entire sky. I want—” Their throat closed up without warning. “I want to go back to being friends.”

  It came out so quietly, they weren’t even sure Adechike could hear the words. But his expression trembled, the rictus of anger dissolving into something more fragile. “We can’t.”

  The hilt of Kris’s sword sat flush against the boards of the pier, creating the illusion that it was a weapon without a blade. “Why not? We both want the same thing: safety for Quloo, and for Rumika. We both want peace. And the only way we’re going to find that is if we work together.”

  “Our countries are at war.”

  Kris stretched out their hand, palm up and empty. “That doesn’t mean we have to be.”

  The tip of Adechike’s sword wavered. Then it dropped. His free hand came forward to grip Kris’s, dragging them to their feet. Exhaustion made Kris stumble and Adechike caught them, steadying them in an embrace. They rested their heads against each other’s shoulders until their ragged breaths smoothed out.

  When they finally let go, Adechike glanced down. “Are—are you going to leave that there?”

  For one delirious instant, Kris almost said yes. It would have made a hell of a gesture, a warder walking away from their sword.

  But there was a crowd gathered along the edges of the island, watching their duel and its concluding truce in the morning’s light, and if Kris left the blade thrust through the planks, someone would probably come take it as soon as they were gone.

  Besides, the sword stood for more than just death.

  Kris bent and drew it from the wood, then sheathed it at their hip. “Come on,” they said to Adechike. “We’ve got work to do, and I want to see Ojo. You can tell the guards at the embassy not to stab me.”

  Episode 11

  All the Nations of the Sky

  By Mike Underwood

  Chapter 1

  Takeshi

  Bellona paced around the low table in the receiving room of the Ikaran embassy. She’d tried to cover the scratches on her face from several days ago with makeup, but he knew they were still there.

  Takeshi had been surprised that Bellona accepted his invitation, thinking she’d insist he meet her at the Mertikan embassy as if she were the senior and he the junior. But something had changed for Bellona recently.

  So much had changed. The assassination attempt on Ojo. The escalation of the war. And now . . .

  “There’s far too much here for us to just sweep away and ignore, Bellona. With Lavinia gone, it is up to the two of us and Michiko—”

  “Don’t talk to me about Michiko.” Bellona’s face was red with anger, her normally warm tones flushed into the colors of a raging fire. “We will deal with us, you and I. Block Kris from bringing their witness to the council, work with the agents here to discredit their account. But we may need to ask the fleet to take a more direct hand with the Rumikan leadership. With them in protective custody, we can keep Kris from destroying their country with these horrible lies.”

  Takeshi took a deep breath. He wanted little more than to return to his laboratory, his books. To retreat from the world, be left alone to his research. But Lavinia was gone. Kensuke, too. He was the senior-most imperial warder.

  He’d sat through enough meetings with Bellona that he knew there was a delicate balance between letting her get her anger out and letting her roll over you like a cavalry charge. You had to pick your moment, pick your position.

  Takeshi stood and drew himself up as much as he could, casting aside his default slouch.

  Bellona stopped, her head cocked in confusion.

  “The truth will get out,” he said. “If we face it head-on, we may be able to salvage a working relationship with Rumika. The empress wants us to use this conflict to put Quloo on the defensive, force them back and show them that they should not stand in our way. But we cannot hope to do that without cooperation from Rumika. You and I should sit down with Kris and talk through this. I think I can get them to hold off on a public hearing—”

  “Let them try. We’ll overrule them, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll force a duel to dismiss their witness’s testimony.”

  Bellona had learned all of the wrong lessons from Lavinia, and seemingly none of the right ones.

  “At a certain point,” Takeshi said, “you cannot bully everyone and expect to have any allies remaining. If Kris brings up the evidence, I will not vote to block their motion.”

  Bellona stepped forward, her breath hot on his chin. “How dare you defy me, defy the empire?” She was trying to be Lavinia. But she had neither the presence nor the skill to back up her threats the way Lavinia did. Nor the authority.

  “We’ve received no orders as to the evidence as of yet. Therefore, we have discretion in how to handle the situation. Talking may forge a way forward where threats and violence do not.”

  “I’m surrounded by cowards and fools!” Bellona shouted, storming out of the room.

  Chapter 2

  Michiko

  The first lights of dawn cut across the horizon, not yet warming the chill wind rolling through the streets of the lowest island of Twaa-Fei. Michiko drew her furs tighter as she sat on one of the only two wooden chairs at the noodle stand.

  They’d seen this place during their hunt for the Golden Lord. Ancestors . . . how that felt like a lifetime ago. She’d been so hopeful then. Eager to please, ignorant of the brutal truth of what it meant to be part of the Mertikan empire.

  Kris was late. She could have guessed. They’d never been an early riser, often hiding yawns as they walked into council meetings.

  All around her were the familiar sights of the island. Laborers hurried to their posts, sailors staggered from their beds back to their ships. But unlike that daylong hunt, the streets were now filled with Rumikan refugees. They slept in alleys under makeshift fur and muslin tents, filled boarding houses five or more to a room.

  If she did what she meant to do back home, before long, refugees from Kakute would be fighting for survival alongside these people. There was no war in history that didn’t produce orphans, that
didn’t drive people from their homes.

  But if she did nothing, her people would be the ones at war, making orphans and burning fields.

  There were no easy answers, no quick fixes. But nothing about her life in Twaa-Fei had been easy or simple. If the Golden Lord weren’t her ancestor, she might have been able to keep her life simple. Serve the empire, devote herself to Lavinia’s will, rise in the ranks slowly as a good weapon in the hands of the empire.

  Now she was her own weapon, wielded for her people and no others.

  Kris emerged from the crowd, and Michiko saw why it’d taken them so long. Every step they took, a Rumikan refugee came to them asking for something. They passed out coins and gave the cloak from their back to a pole-thin parent who turned the cloak into a blanket for their child.

  Her heart went out to Kris, and to everyone around her. But she knew she could do more in Kakute than by staying here and suffering under Bellona’s bullying.

  Kris disentangled themself from the last cluster of refugees and approached. “Sorry I’m late,” they said to her. “Two breakfasts, please,” they said to the proprietor, who was still deep in morning prep.

  “Tea is fine,” she said. That got a nod.

  “Why did we need to meet down here?”

  “Anywhere I step on the ambassadorial level will be watched. It took me the better part of the night to lose my tail on the middle level, even with illusion sigils.”

  “What’s going on, Michiko?”

  She pulled a small weatherproof bag from her satchel and handed it to Kris. “This is everything I’ve found out about what really happened to the trade fleet. Present it to the council, share it with your government, whatever you want. And you should leave a note for Anton at the Autumn Leaf. He’s hosting one of your countrypeople, who you really should meet. She tells the most amazing stories.”

  Kris looked confused.

  “You never know who is listening.”

  Kris nodded, and Michiko hoped she’d gotten her point across. She’d included her own note about Xan at the top of the folder, and Kris was clever enough to follow through. “Mertika cannot be allowed to brush this under the table and keep pretending that their involvement is about anything more than opportunism.”

  Kris’s eyes went wide. “This is amazing. Thank you so much. When we present this, they’ll—”

  “You’ll present it. I’m leaving.”

  The proprietor set two mugs next to them on the lip of the stall and poured still-steaming tea, dark and rich, an ironic mix of Quloi red bush and Mertikan imperial black. Michiko slid some coins across, which the proprietor pocketed with a nod. Payment for the tea, and for his discretion.

  She took a sip, delighting in the taste even as the too-hot liquid burned her tongue.

  “Go?” Kris asked. “Why? How? You can stand up to Bellona. I’ll back you—”

  “I can do more good at home than here. I should have seen it earlier; I knew it but didn’t believe. While Kakute remains in the empire, I’ll never have real autonomy on Twaa-Fei, even as Senior Warder. The empress is preparing to send thousands of my people off to die so they can scare the Quloi. But there are forces at home, the people who brought the Golden Lord here, and I can help them. For my people, for our ancestors, and for all of the nations of the sky.”

  Kris grinned, looking amazed. “What happened to the loyal Mertikan subject I met on that ship not so long ago?”

  She grinned, the warmth of courage pushing away the chill of the morning. “Same thing that happened to the arrogant, careless bladecrafter. We must become more than we were, more than we ever thought we could be. And that’s why I have to go.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “If I do,” Michiko said, “it will be with an army. Or in chains.”

  Kris took their mug in hand, looked down as if divining from the tea leaves, searching for a revelation. “I . . . I wish you could stay. Mertika is helping us, but I don’t trust them. This whole war never should have happened! It all fell apart so quickly.”

  “Now we have to pick up the pieces and do our part.” Michiko wanted to stay, to protect their friends, to thrash Bellona and take over the imperial delegation. She wanted to stand with her fellow warders against everything the empress could throw against them. But that was suicide. The path she’d chosen meant leaving the friends she’d made, Kris and the others, but it would have to be worth it. Michiko downed her tea in one long gulp to screw up her courage. “Don’t let this war turn friends into enemies. The more Rumika and Quloo fight, the more you and Adechike need to be friends.”

  She stood, wrapped her arms around Kris’s shoulders in a tight hug, then set off for the docks, her resolve holding by a thread. She could not look back, could not doubt herself. The only way out was forward.

  Chapter 3

  Kris

  Kris scanned the evidence over their tea.

  Without the account from the sailor that Michiko had turned up, the rest of the evidence was circumstantial. Reports of troop movements, ships unaccounted for, time-marked reports of when the trade ships had checked in.

  Kris stopped in with several groups of refugees before visiting the Autumn Leaf on their way back.

  A note from Anton was waiting for them:

  Kris, my friend! I met one of your countrypeople in my travels and I think you two would get on very well. Please meet me at the corner of the Four Winds at your earliest convenience.

  Two hours later Kris and Anton escorted Xan to the Rumikan embassy, hands on their swords the entire way.

  “Thank you, Anton,” Kris said. “Rumika is in your debt. I am in your debt.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, friend. With some of that famed Rumikan aerstone, my ship would be the envy of the seven nations!”

  Kris gave a polite smile. “Of course. But I can’t promise anything right now.”

  “That’s perfectly fine. It’s better to hold on to debts for a little while anyway. Far more fun to extract some free drinks out of someone as interest along the way.” Anton winked.

  Then Anton went on his way, leaving Kris to assemble the embassy staff.

  They called Alyx and Nik, and together the three of them sorted through the evidence that Michiko had assembled and ran through Xan’s account what felt like a hundred times.

  Kris turned to the sailor. “If you go through with this, Mertika will not soon forget it. I will protect you as best as I can—”

  “I should be dead already, food for the mist-fiends. Let them come. I set sail for Rumika, and I’ll see this through.”

  Kris beamed. Their heart soared to be surrounded by their countrypeople’s bravery. Their refugee neighbors, robbed of everything except their lives, the scraps they could carry, still clung to hope, came together to support one another.

  This was Rumika’s true strength. Quloo could not take that from them, nor the empire.

  “I will make it so that there is no room to question you,” Kris said. “We’ll make Ojo see reason. We can send the refugees home—”

  “We can’t get our hopes up,” Alyx said. “Truth only matters in politics if you have the power to enforce it.”

  Kris looked to their sword. “I can enforce it.”

  “Will you fight every warder in the Circle? A whole new gauntlet just to force a perfunctory admission? Nothing changes unless Quloo calls their fleet off and returns the island.”

  Xan’s eyes were wide. They should probably send her to quarters with her guard, but if she was willing to risk her life, she should know the context. Kris could imagine what it would be like to be an unlikely witness as she’d become, swept up in the winds of fate, and in Xan’s position, Kris would want to know everything.

  “I don’t care if it won’t stop the war; we have to move forward. It might let me restart negotiations with Ojo, lead Vania to back off so we have time to reach a cease-fire.” Kris knew they were grasping, but when you were falling to your death, you grabbed hold of whatever yo
u could get.

  “I’ll make the summons,” Nik said, standing.

  “We should keep working on this,” Alyx said. “I’ll have some locals follow up on the leads, try to corroborate some accounts.”

  “And for you,” Kris said to Xan, “our chef makes the most amazing tarts. No good facing danger on an empty stomach.”

  •••

  An hour later Kris stood alone in the public council chambers. They looked at the clock and despaired. The others should have arrived half an hour ago. They’d sent runners via Yochno to remind the warders of the meeting, but there was no response.

  Xan stood next to them, stepping side to side with nervousness.

  Without a quorum of warders, Kris could not enter anything into the record. Xan’s testimony did not exist for the Circle if it wasn’t in the record.

  I called using the proper channels. I used the system.

  But they would not come. Not even Takeshi.

  They waited another half hour, fuming as they looked the documents over again and again, the words burned into their mind like an undying sigil.

  But no one came.

  Chapter 4

  Ojo

  Ojo hung his head in shame as Adechike cut Distant Friends. Ojo could barely stand, and he definitely couldn’t craft.

  The faces of Guildmasters Nenge, Izebry, Amewezie, and Edokwe appeared. Ojo hadn’t seen a face from back home other than these four since their High Skies faction had seized power.

  “So good of you to answer our summons, Warder,” Nenge said.

  “I was unavoidably detained,” Ojo said, wearing his best diplomatic smile. He stood, his left arm leaning on the strong oak chair at his desk, the right wrapped tightly in a sling. The doctors said that his right hand would never again be able to hold a blade. He’d waved them off, refused to believe it. He’d rehabilitated injuries before.