by Rachel Aaron
A great smile broke over Den’s scarred face, and he began to walk faster, jumping into the jungle at the clearing’s edge. This time the trees parted for him, whispering apologies. Now that he was in the Empress’s favor again, the world was bending over to make his life easy. His walk became a run as the forest opened for him, and Den began to laugh. A war at last. Finally, after so long, he would reclaim his paradise.
Still laughing, Den fell into a mile-eating jog, running through the now-genteel forest. He didn’t know where he was still, but it didn’t matter. The spirits had their mistress again, and they would make sure he got where she wanted him to be. Grinning at the thought, Den picked up his pace, running full out along the path the trees made him, following the setting sun west toward the war palace of the Immortal Empress.
Two Months Later
“Are you sure?” Queen Theresa of Osera leaned forward, frail fingers tightening to white-knuckled claws on the velvet arms of her chair. “Absolutely sure?”
The fisherman looked almost insulted. “I can tell you only what I saw with my own eyes, your queenship,” he said, lifting his head to look at her for the first time. “For years now, my crew has sailed the roughest ocean in the world to be your eyes on the Unseen Coast, and I’m telling you the shipyards are active again.”
“But why now?” The queen shook, though with fear or rage even she could not tell. “She built like mad for twelve years after the war, and then fifteen years ago, everything stopped. Now you’re telling me she’s building again? Why? Why ships? Why now?”
The fisherman flinched and gave no answer.
None was expected. The queen had already hauled herself to her feet and was now pacing the length of the small stage at the end of her private-audience chamber, muttering under her breath.
“What changed?” Her whisper was tight and raspy. “Did we show some weakness? Or perhaps I was the fool to think she had given up.” Her jeweled heels clicked faster on the glossy wood floor. “How many ships?”
The fisherman jumped. “Too many to count. I took the time to spy on only one of the yards before coming to you. Was I wrong?”
“No,” the queen said, shaking her head so sharply that she knocked loose one of the carefully pinned curls of her once famous golden hair, now mostly white. “Without your information we wouldn’t have a candle’s chance in a storm. Tell me, though, in your hurry, did you see what kind of ships was she building?”
“I did,” the fisherman said, licking his chapped lips. “They was palace ships, lady. Every single one.”
The queen stopped walking and pressed a bony hand to her forehead. “Lenette?”
A strikingly beautiful woman in an elegant dress of stiff black silk appeared from a side door. “Yes, my queen?”
“Pay him. Double.”
Lenette nodded and walked across the room to the strongbox. She took a fist-sized bag from the bound chest and walked to the fisherman, holding it out for him with both hands. He took it with a blush and opened the bag at once, eyes bulging when he saw the pile of gold it contained. But the smile slipped from his face when the queen looked at him with a glare that could have cut iron.
“Spend it quickly.”
The captain swallowed loudly, but the queen’s attention was already back on her pacing. Lenette took the man’s arm and led him back to the doors, gently pushing him into the hall. Thus dismissed, the fisherman bowed several times before the guards shut the doors in his face. The moment they closed, the queen collapsed into her chair with a pained sigh.
“And there’s the other shoe,” she muttered. “Twenty-six years after her first invasion, the immortal sow finally rousts herself to finish the job.”
“The man was a fisherman, my lady,” Lenette said gently, walking over to kneel beside the queen’s chair. “Not a trained spy. He could have been mistaken.”
The queen gave an unladylike snort. “I’m not sending the fleet into the Unseen Sea to check his story. The deep trawlers are the only ones who dare that crossing. Fortunately for us, the same reckless greed that sends them chasing leviathan spawn in the deep current spurs them to take my money to spy for their country. Anyway, without that ‘fisherman,’ the old harpy would have caught us naked as a cheating lover.” She nodded at the closed door. “The captain is Oseran born and old enough to remember the war. If he says they’re palace ships, they’re palace ships. It’s not something you forget.”
“But we only know that she’s started building again,” Lenette countered. “Those ships might not even be for us. She could have a new target.”
“Where?” the queen said with an exasperated huff. “The woman rules half the world. There’s nowhere left for her to conquer save the Council Kingdoms, and our little island is dead in her way. Her army will roll over us without even a pause. When I think of all—”
A racking cough stopped her midsentence. The queen doubled over, pressing a lace handkerchief to her mouth as her body convulsed. Lenette was with her in an instant, rubbing the queen’s back with her small, delicate hands until the attack subsided.
“You shouldn’t think about such things, lady,” Lenette whispered. “You’ll only worsen your condition. Remember, Osera and the Council have pushed the Empress back before.”
“Yes,” the queen wheezed. “Two and a half decades ago, when I was young.” She looked at her blood-streaked handkerchief with disgust. “When I wasn’t sick. When I could stand to look at myself in the mirror. Back when I was truly queen.”
She raised her gaunt face and gazed across the chamber at the portrait that took up most of the wall. It was enormous, large as life and set in a gilt frame that touched both floor and ceiling. On it, a steel-gray sea pounded the rocky eastern shore of Osera. The stony beach below the cliffs was filled with soldiers raising their swords in salute, or perhaps taunting, for the choppy sea was scattered with the Immortal Empress’s warships, some crashing on the reefs, some ablaze, all fleeing defeated back across the Unseen Sea. In the painting’s foreground, a young woman dressed in the heavy black armor of the Eisenlowe stood with her feet in the sea. She faced the fleeing ships with her head held high, hair flying behind her like a pale gold banner. Her hand was stretched out toward the ocean, the gloved fingers tangled in the long, black hair of the enemy general’s severed head.
Queen Theresa smiled. That was not how it had ended, but it was the way she wanted the war to be remembered—bloody, glorious, an absolute victory. The way it should have been and, she closed her eyes, the way it could never be again.
“Osera has always been ruled by the strong, Lenette,” the queen said quietly. “We’ve grown wealthy and civilized thanks to the Council, but it will take more than these few generations to tear us away from our bloody past. Were we a softer kingdom, more deeply rooted in law and nobility, perhaps I could re-create the miracle I stumbled onto all those years ago. But we are not. The Empress is coming, and an old, sick woman cannot lead Osera to war.”
Lenette stiffened, her face, still so lovely despite her advancing years, falling. “Will you abdicate, then? Give the country to your cousin?”
“Finley?” The queen made a disgusted sound. “He’ll get his soon enough, much as I hate to think of it. But he’s no Eisenlowe. Much as he hated to, father entrusted our line to me after my brothers died. I’ve spent the last thirty years fighting to stay on my throne. I do not intend to meekly hand it over now.”
Lenette shook her head. “But what will you do, lady?”
“Crisis demands stability, Lenette,” the queen said grimly. “I’d thought I could give him a little more time, but circumstance has left us little choice. The Throne of Iron Lions must follow the proper succession, whatever the cost.” She settled back into her chair with a pained sigh. “Wake up the Council wizard and have him bring me the Relay point. We must warn the Council tonight. I’ll need to speak with Whitefall personally, and then I’ll need that cousin of his, the one who runs the bounties.”
“
Phillipe Whitefall?” Lenette said.
The queen waved her hand dismissively. “Whoever. I never could keep all the Whitefalls straight. Just get me the head of the bounty office. Also, get Adela in here. Your daughter is a sensible girl, and she has a larger stake in this business than most.”
Lenette pursed her lips. “It’s time then, is it?”
“Long past,” the queen said, patting her friend’s hand. “If the Immortal Empress is on her way, then we have no time left for patience. That boy is out there somewhere, and I don’t care if I have to hand over every scrap of gold in Osera, he will come home and do his duty.”
Lenette nodded and bent to kiss the queen’s hand. “I will bring Adela to you, lady,” she said, rising to her feet. “And send someone to fetch the Relay keeper. Meanwhile, I’ll have the maid bring up your medicine.”
The queen smiled. “Thank you, Lenette. What would I do without you?”
Lenette smiled and stepped off the little stage. She walked to the door, her heels clicking delicately across the polished floor, and vanished into the hall with a curtsy.
When she was gone, Queen Theresa lay back in her padded chair, staring at the picture of what she had been. As her eyes struggled to focus on the familiar brushstrokes, she remembered not the gory glory of the artist’s rendition, but the real morning, twenty-six years ago, standing on the windy beach, too large for her armor at nine months’ pregnant, weeping in relief at the retreating ships while her guard made a square around her so that no one could say they’d seen the Lioness of Osera cry.
When the maid arrived a few minutes later with the medicine tray, the queen dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and took the cup that the girl offered, drinking the bitter concoction without so much as a grimace.
CHAPTER
2
The Perod bounty office was packed with the usual riffraff. Dozens of men and a few scowling women lounged on long benches stolen from the tavern across the street, boredly polishing a startling variety of weaponry and trying to look like they weren’t waiting. It was a farce, of course. It was criminally early on a Monday morning, and the only reason bounty hunters ever came into a regional office before noon was to get their hands on the weekly bounty update from Zarin.
The only person who didn’t try to hide his anticipation was a young man toward the back of the crowd. He stood on his bench, hopping from foot to foot and ignoring his dour-faced companion’s constant attempts to pull him back down, an anxious scowl marring the boyish face that everyone should have recognized, but no one did.
“Honestly,” Eli huffed when Josef finally managed to drag him down. “Are they walking from Zarin?”
“It’s not even eight,” Josef said, his voice low and annoyed as he nudged the wrapped Heart of War farther under the bench with his foot. “The post isn’t due until eight fifteen. And can you at least pretend to be discreet? I love a good fight, but we walked all night to get here. I’d like some breakfast and a few hours of shut-eye before I have to put down an entire room of bounty hunters, if it’s all the same to you.”
Eli made a disgusted sound. “Go ahead. I could wear a name tag on my forehead and these idiots still wouldn’t notice. No bounty hunter worth his sword goes to a regional office for leads. There’s not a soul here who’s good enough to see what they don’t expect.” He slouched on the bench. “Sometimes I think there’s no pride in the profession anymore. You were the last of the bounty hunters worth the name, and even you got so bored you took up with the enemy.”
“Not bored,” Josef said. “I just learned that working with you got me better fights than trying to catch you. Anyway, Coriano was perfectly decent, and what about that man who attacked you at the hotel? Gave you quite a scramble for a dying profession, didn’t he?”
Beside him, Nico did her best to stifle a laugh, but her coat gave her away, moving in long, midnight waves as her shoulders shook. Eli rolled his eyes at both of them.
“Well, too bad you killed them, then,” he said with a sniff. “Knocking over the best of a dying breed without even leaving a calling card—it’s such a waste. No wonder your bounty’s only ten thousand.”
Josef shrugged. “Unlike some people, I see no need to define myself by an arbitrary number.”
Eli bristled. “Arbitrary? I earned every bit of that bounty! You should know; you were there for most of it. My bounty is a reflection of our immense skill. You should take some pride in it. After all,” he said, grinning painfully wide, “I’m now the most wanted man in the Council Kingdoms. Two hundred and forty-eight thousand gold standards! That even beats Nico’s number. My head is worth more than a kingdom—no, two kingdoms! And to think, just last year I was struggling to break thirty thousand. This is an achievement no one else in the world can touch, my friends. You are sitting beside a national power. Tell you what. When they hand out my new posters, I’ll sign them for you. How’s that?”
Josef looked decidedly unimpressed and made no comment.
“It is a large number,” Nico said when the uncomfortable silence had gone on long enough. “But you’re not the highest. There’s still Den the Warlord with five hundred thousand.”
“Den doesn’t count,” Eli snapped. “He was the first bounty, made right after the war. The Council hadn’t even decided on a valuation for its currency yet. If they’d made the bounty properly with pledges from offended kingdoms rather than just letting old Council Daddy Whitefall pull some grossly large number out of his feathered helmet, Den would never have gotten that high. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be passing him soon enough, just you watch. This time next year I’ll be at a million, and see if I offer to autograph your poster then.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Josef grumbled, eyeing the crowd. “Look lively. I think the post is here.”
Eli was on his feet in an instant, elbowing his way through the crowd that was no longer even pretending to look bored. The hunters thronged around the door as a sleepy-eyed bounty officer and two harried men in Council uniforms with piles of paper under their arms attempted to push their way in.
“No shoving!” the officer shouted. “Stand back! Individual posters can be purchased after the official notices are hung!”
The crowd took a grudging step back as the Council postmen began tacking up the latest posters under the bounty officer’s direction. First they hung up the small-fry, lists of names with tiny descriptions and even tinier numbers beside them. Next came the ranking bounties, criminals with a thousand or more on their heads whose notoriety had earned them a sketch and a small poster of their own. These were all pinned between the floor and waist level. The top of the wall was reserved for the big money. Here, the Council men hung up the famous names.
Izo was gone. The men stripped his old poster down with minimal fanfare, moving those bounties below him up a notch. The old, yellowed poster offering two hundred thousand for the Daughter of the Dead Mountain was left untouched, as was Den’s large poster at the top of the board. Between these, however, the men tacked up a fresh, large sheet featuring a familiar face grinning above a rather astonishingly large number.
Eli stopped shoving the men in front of him and gazed up at his poster, his eyes glowing with pride. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered. “Two hundred and forty-eight thousand gold standards.”
Josef pressed his palm to his forehead as Eli resumed shoving his way forward. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have heard the thief’s remark. The bounty hunters were all loudly clamoring for copies, shouting over each other while the bounty officer tried to shout over everyone that no one was getting posters until the official copies were up.
Eli vanished into the fray only to reappear moments later with a scroll tucked under his arm. Josef raised his eyebrows and began easing the knives out of his sleeves, just in case, but the bounty officer was too busy screaming at the bounty hunters to get in line to notice that one of his carefully protected posters was already missing.
&nbs
p; “They get better with every likeness,” Eli said, proudly unrolling his poster. “If it wasn’t black and white, I’d say I was looking in a mirror.”
Nico nodded appreciatively, but Josef wasn’t even looking. Eli turned to berate his swordsman for his shocking lack of attentiveness, but Josef was just standing there, staring at the bounty board like he’d seen a ghost. Eli followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder at the bounty wall where the Council men were hanging one last poster, just below Den’s and just ahead of Eli’s. As the Council men tacked the poster’s corners up, a familiar, stern face glared down at the room, and below it, in tall block letters, was the following:
JOSEF LIECHTEN THERESON ESINLOWE.
WANTED ALIVE, 250,000 GOLD STANDARDS.
“Josef,” Eli said, very quietly. “Why is your bounty larger than mine?”
Josef didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring. Then, without a word, he turned, pushed his way through the crowd to their bench, grabbed his bag and his wrapped sword, and stomped out the back door.
Eli and Nico exchanged a look and ran after him.
“Josef,” Eli said, running to keep up with the swordsman’s ground-eating strides. “Josef! Stop! What’s this about? Where are you going?”
Josef kept walking.
“Look,” Eli said, jogging beside him. “If you’re worried I’m upset that you have a higher bounty than I do, you shouldn’t be. I mean, I am upset, but you shouldn’t be worried. I’m sure it’s just a mistake. If you’ll stop walking for a second, I can go nick your poster and we’ll take a closer look. Maybe they added an extra zero by accident or—”
“I don’t need a closer look.”
Eli stumbled a little. Josef’s voice was quivering with rage. Quick as he’d taken off, Josef stopped and turned to face them. Eli shrank back at the cold, white anger on his face, nearly falling into Nico.
“It’s no mistake,” Josef said. “That bounty is her last card. I can’t let her do this.”