River watched as the guard led me to his side. He was good at concealing his shock—I had only caught a flash of it, now buried under an opaque expression.
“Your Highness,” River began, “what—”
“This girl is a witch,” Elin announced. The crowd gasped in near-perfect unison, which I might have found comical under different circumstances. As it was, there was nothing amusing about the expression in Elin’s eyes.
The emperor’s eyes.
River’s composure had slipped a hair. “There must be some mistake.”
“Don’t be fooled by her appearance.” The emperor stood and came toward me. I shrank back instinctively—I had thought him equally fearsome in his royal garb as he had been in his bloodstained armor. In truth, he was far more terrifying now, his roughness subsumed by royal manners, his sword traded for the might of an Empire. He moved and spoke with the confidence of a man who could end lives with the flick of a finger.
“I came upon her and her companions on patrol with the Fifth Army,” he said, his gaze never wavering from my face, as if he thought I might disappear. “But they slipped from my grasp.”
Understanding dawned in River’s gaze. I could see him take in the situation and turn his thoughts to dealing with it.
“We had no idea who you were,” I snapped, which was nonsensical, but I couldn’t help myself. Captain Elin was the emperor.
And then, immediately after that thought, Lusha attacked the emperor.
Emperor Lozong stopped in front of me. Even if he hadn’t been on a dais, I would have had to look up at him—as it was, the distance between us made my neck ache.
“I always travel under an alias when I inspect my armies in the field,” he said. “So as to hide my identity from bandits and assassins. Little did I know I would be concealing myself from a group of witches. And are your companions here as well?”
“I am,” said a voice from the crowd. To my dismay, Lusha stepped forward, all glittering jewels and flashing eyes. The emperor stared. He could have given the command to have Lusha seized too, but he seemed to be momentarily struck dumb. Lusha came forward as calmly as River had, bowing as if she were just another courtier paying her respects. Standing next to her, though, I could see the pulse racing in her throat.
“You called yourself a captain,” she said. “Yet, as it turns out, you were not what you appeared to be. Is it so difficult for you to imagine that the same is true for us?”
The emperor blinked. He seemed to be recovering from his shock, and some of the venom was returning to his expression. “Explain.”
“We are not witches.” Lusha didn’t flinch beneath his gaze, though he could have at any moment chosen to nod to a soldier and have her slain at his feet, which something in his eyes suggested he was considering. “Nor are we in league with them. We are travelers from the village of Azmiri. We accompanied the Royal Explorer to Mount Raksha.”
River was gazing at Lusha as if she were a particularly complex chess board. Seeming to come to a decision, he said, “It’s true, Your Highness. These two are no more witches than I am. In fact, I couldn’t have completed my mission without their help.”
The emperor stared at River. He could not have looked more shocked if River had burst into flames.
“How can this be?” he said after a long, deadly silence, during which I could hear every breath drawn by the silent courtiers. “Someone is playing me false.”
River gave him a calm look. “Do you trust me?”
His expression was composed, his tone even but for the vaguest hint of a reproach. The performance was so note-perfect that I shivered.
“Please.” Lusha stepped forward again, and the emperor’s gaze drifted to hers as if against his will. “Please, Your Highness. I can explain everything, if you’d allow me. Not only that”—her cool gaze shifted to River—“I can tell the story of how the Royal Explorer brought you a fallen star.”
“Lusha,” I said, but my protest was swallowed by the murmuring that swelled through the hall. I hadn’t expected her to do this now.
The emperor’s gaze moved from Lusha to River, who showed no reaction. Yet I could feel him tense as he repressed his surprise.
“Is this true, River?” Emperor Lozong’s expression held a hunger that struck me as eerie. For a brief moment, I saw his age in his eyes.
River was quiet for a moment. “I had planned to share the good news with you in private, Your Highness.”
The emperor let out a low laugh. Something in him seemed to shift as he gazed at Lusha, and it struck me, suddenly, that he wanted to believe River. She returned his gaze, her expression cool except for the faint flush on her cheeks.
“Your word means more to me, River,” the emperor said finally, “than that of any other. And so I consent—I will listen, and then I will judge these two, though they have given me little reason to trust them.”
Lusha said, “If we could speak privately—”
“It seems a shame,” the emperor interrupted, an odd smile tugging at his mouth, “to waste a dress like that, Lusha. And I enjoy conversation while I dance.”
He made a gesture, and one of the musicians started to play. The sound of the bone flute was soon joined by other instruments—drums and cymbals and bells—until the hall was filled with music twisting through that echoing space. The buzz of conversation resumed as the courtiers’ attention was drawn from the dais. Some drifted away, while others paired off and began to dance.
“Keep that one under guard,” the emperor said, stepping off the dais with a gesture in my direction.
I opened my mouth, outraged, but River said, “I’ll stay with her.”
The emperor gave a shrug. As the music soared through the hall, he took Lusha’s hand. A space opened for them among the swirl of couples, and the emperor took her in his arms, holding her perhaps a little more tightly than was customary. Lusha looked supremely unconcerned, returning his grip without flinching. He spoke in her ear, and she drew back to reply, her face still flushed. Then they disappeared into the throng of dancers.
The courtiers in the vicinity were still staring at me, while the guards, not explicitly dismissed, hovered nearby. Before I even had time to think, River was taking my arm and pulling me through the crowd almost as roughly as the guard had. One took a step toward us, but River simply glanced his way, and the man fell back.
“Tem,” I managed to get out, once my brain was working again, “we have to find him—the emperor knows—”
“Yes, the emperor knows a good deal more than I thought,” River said, his voice low. We were on the balcony, the air cold against my flushed skin. River ignored the comments tossed his way and drew me into a sheltered nook against a stone pillar. Then the world went dark.
I gasped. River had drawn the shadows over us like a blanket, through which the flickering lights of the fires and dragons were visible only dimly. The night was just as chilly, the breeze fluttering through the veil unimpeded. It was such a strange sensation that I could only stare at him as he pressed me against the stone, his face inches from mine.
“You met the emperor,” he said. “He held you captive for hours. How could you not have known who he was?”
I shoved at him ineffectually. “Is it my fault that everyone in the Three Cities has a secret identity? I suppose the tailor who attended us is also General of the First Army?”
River scrubbed the side of his head, mussing his hair further. “This isn’t a joke. Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in? The emperor thinks you’re a witch.”
“Yes, we’ve established that the emperor is terrible at spotting witches. I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“Why did Lusha tell him about the star?” River’s voice held a dangerous note now. “She’s up to something, isn’t she? I saw it in her face. What is it?”
All my anger flooded back, everything I had been carrying since Raksha, intensified. “The star is capable of more than you realize. Lozong used
a fallen star to cast the binding spell.”
River blinked. He seemed, for a moment, too shocked to speak. Then his expression darkened.
“Did he?” His voice was eerily calm, and for the first time I saw an echo of his terrifying brother. “And you weren’t thinking of sharing that detail?”
“No. Because this isn’t about you. This is about my village. My family.”
“I believe I said something similar when we stood on the summit of Raksha. I seem to recall you sending me over a cliff afterward.”
His words brought me back to Raksha, and for a moment I felt as if we stood again on that windswept summit, facing each other. “You won’t do anything to me.”
“You’re right. I won’t do anything to you. But I will find Lusha and take the star from her before the emperor can use it.”
My anger boiled. “So you can use it against us?”
“So I can destroy it, if I can. I’ve had enough of this. No one should have the kind of power you speak of. Not the emperor, not Esha. Not you. If you don’t see that, you’re no better than him.”
I reeled. “I—”
“You have to leave.” River seemed to speak half to himself, his attention on some point beyond my shoulder. “The emperor doesn’t trust you. He’ll trust you even less after the star disappears. Your life is in danger.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “My life is in danger? Is that supposed to be news? I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here.”
His gaze returned to mine, sharpening. “You have no idea what—”
“You’re in greater danger than I am.” I glared at him, suddenly furious. The tumult inside me, the fear and anger and shock—the captain’s true identity, the overwhelming majesty of the palace, the looming attack—all were overtaken by a single resolution: River was not going to leave me again, and I was not going to leave him. “Any moment, someone could guess what you are. Every guard carries an obsidian dagger next to their sword. You need someone to watch out for you—why is that so hard to accept? I saved your life. You said it yourself.”
He stared at me. I knew, somehow, that we were both seeing the same thing—him clinging to the ice after falling from the Ngadi face, closer to death than he had come at any point during his career as Royal Explorer. At some point, we had moved even closer together. He was still gripping my arm. I heard courtiers’ voices, very close—people were walking past us, unseeing, as if we were caught in a separate world.
“You’re impossible.” His voice was low, and the statement had a strange resonance, as if he was voicing a long-held belief. “Do you care so little about your own life?”
It was as much a statement as it was a question. River’s expression was a tumult—exasperation warring with anger and concern. I was tired of it, suddenly. Tired of arguments and half-truths. So I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him.
I half expected him to freeze in surprise, but he reacted almost instantly, as if I had anticipated what he had been about to do himself. He placed his hand against my face, pressing me harder into the stone column as he kissed me back. The shadows around us seemed to ripple as I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer.
Twenty-Eight
THE SOUND OF shouting broke us apart.
I would have ignored it—I would have ignored anything, in that moment—but River made a sound of surprise and drew back. That was when I realized that, in addition to the shouting, there was the smell of burning.
The shadows River had summoned dispersed, and he stepped away from the pillar. I followed somewhat unsteadily. River was holding my arm. I could still feel his hand sliding up the back of my neck and into my hair, where it had tangled. My heart hammered and my face was too hot, but slowly, my senses were returning.
I had kissed River.
I felt faint, but not from the kiss. What was wrong with me? River was my enemy. We had spent days fighting for control of the star. He had betrayed me on Raksha, while I had left him to die in the Ash Mountains. Yet I had kissed him. And I wanted to kiss him again.
I forced my attention back to the hall. The courtiers near us on the balcony had frozen, craning their necks—it was clear that something was happening inside the hall, but what? The dragons’ lights darted chaotically.
“Kamzin.” River’s hand tightened on my arm.
I turned, following his gaze. The lights of the Three Cities flickered below us—but some lights burned too brightly under the starry sky. I caught another whiff of smoke, and froze.
“The city is burning,” River murmured.
It was true. As I watched, a temple began to glow, flames licking at the night. At least a dozen buildings were alight in as many quarters.
But that wasn’t what made me freeze. It was the shade of the fire, darker than ordinary flame, as if leeched of heat. And yet it devoured buildings hungrily, burning stone and wood alike.
Witch fire.
Several courtiers joined us at the railing, their faces gray with shock. People small as insects gathered in the streets below, gesturing and shouting. Soldiers, recognizable by the armor that flashed in the firelight, seemed to be herding them away from the burning buildings. The scene was chaotic, especially in contrast to the placid bustle that had filled the streets earlier that day.
“The soldiers are evacuating the city,” River murmured, his sharp eyes distinguishing what I could not.
The shouts inside the hall took on a darker quality. “Lusha,” I breathed. Lusha was still in there, dancing with the man the witches had come to the Three Cities to kill. The realization drove every other thought from my mind. “We have to find her.”
River held out his hand.
I looked at him. There was no anger in his face, or deception. He looked serious and oddly uncertain as he waited for my response, his hair in disarray and his familiar eyes searching mine. The last of my misgivings flickered and died. I took his hand, and we dove into the chaos.
For chaos it was. The musicians had fallen silent, their songs replaced by an alarmed babble that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. Near the balconies, nothing seemed to be happening—some courtiers stood motionless, looking about uncertainly, while others pushed toward the arched doors at either end of the hall. Someone screamed, and more joined the pushing.
My breath faltered as I realized why.
The hall wasn’t on fire, as I had first feared. Strange apparitions had flickered into existence. Pillars of shadow like dark twins of the columns that supported the roof. At first, I thought that was all they were—ordinary shadows thrown by the dancing firelight. But nothing could be casting them; they stood alone, hovering like black fog.
I cried out as shadow-pillar reared up not a yard away, opaque and featureless. A frightened dragon darted past, and the pillar seemed to shatter where the beast’s blue light touched it. It drew together briefly, then dissolved.
Unconsciously, I stepped forward, reaching out to the strands of shadow. I felt nothing but air.
Another scream. I whirled. Against the wall, a towering staircase had appeared, leading to a broken wall—but it too was shadow, darkness without substance. Courtiers were fleeing en masse now, identical looks of horror on their faces. The hall was emptying.
It was all terrifyingly familiar.
“It’s the sky city,” I murmured. River gazed at the apparitions with narrowed eyes. His expression was distant, as if he was sensing something I was not.
I wrenched him around. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.” River’s expression was grim. “But it sounds like Esha’s decided to pay a visit.”
Esha. Terror overwhelmed me. “River, Lusha has the star.”
River took my hand again, and we pressed toward the emperor’s dais, which seemed to be at the heart of the disturbance. Hands grasped at River’s arm, and fleeing courtiers called to him to stop. River ignored them.
Someone plowed into us—one of the guards, empty-handed, covered in blo
od. I recoiled, but River merely shoved the man aside. Ahead of us, through the kaleidoscope of fleeing courtiers in their colorful costumes, I could make out a knot of guards in a semicircle around a hunched figure. Emperor Lozong. And between us and them, battling a dozen guards, was Esha.
It was as if the hall had been upended. Esha was here, tall and skeletal and menacing, a monster from a nightmare. I had last seen him on a snowy mountain crag, and before that—through River’s eyes—in the dark wilds of the Nightwood. Now he was surrounded by the finery of the Three Cities. Two worlds seemed to crash together in a violent swirl.
Esha dodged an obsidian-tipped arrow fired by a guard, then lifted a hand, summoning a wind that lifted the guard off her feet and slammed her into a column. She fell to the floor and was still.
I had thought it a battle, at first glance. But it wasn’t. No guard or shaman could be more than a minor obstacle to a witch as powerful as Esha. They were moments separating him from the emperor. It was a slaughter.
Between Esha and the emperor—wounded, from his posture—were perhaps fifteen guards. Esha had three witches with him—three that I could see. Though the hall was mostly empty now, some people were running toward their emperor, weapons in their hands. A man dressed in shaman’s robes raced past me, brandishing a fistful of glittering talismans. I thought of Norbu and felt a stab of fear. One of the dragons that scampered over the floor transformed into a lean, long-haired witch who dragged the shaman to the ground.
The dragons.
My mind balked, even as I watched another dragon transform into a witch with gleaming eyes. There were dragons at every feast, every gathering throughout the Empire. They were shepherded from place to place by everyone wealthy enough to afford them, as omnipresent as purses or talismans, and as unremarkable.
They were the perfect disguise.
“River,” I breathed, “the witches are—”
“I know.” His voice was dark. “Esha must have gathered all those able to assume the shape of a dragon and snuck them into the palace, disguising them among the royal dragons. It’s . . . well, it’s just the kind of thing he’d come up with.”
All the Wandering Light Page 27