Chapter 23

Yandumar jerked awake as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Wasn’t sleeping,” he said, rubbing his fists into his eye sockets as he leaned forward in his chair.

“Your slurred words suggest otherwise.”

Twisting his neck, which set off a brief struggle with coughing, Yandumar cast a baleful eye on Gilshamed. “Just the cold, old friend, I swear. My lips are half-frozen.”

“I could do something about that, you know.”

Yandumar shrugged. “The soldiers fighting below don’t have that luxury. Until this is over, neither will I.”

“It looks unlikely to end anytime soon.” Gilshamed smiled. “But if it does—”

“Then I’ll be cold until I die.”

“As will we all.”

Yandumar stood, stretching as far as he was able before joints started popping with pain, then pulled his coats closer about him. He glanced briefly out past the rim of his skyship. It was night, which meant the sites of active battle, with their steady if slim exchanges of sorcery and power-infused weapons, were visible to the naked eye. A quick count revealed roughly two score such places. No big surprise either way.

“Have you heard any news?” Yandumar asked.

Gilshamed shook his head. “I was about to ask the same of you.”

Sighing, Yandumar nodded, then raised an eyebrow. “To the table?”

The valynkar lifted a hand behind them, gesturing towards the center of the vessel’s main deck, which was covered in a loose patchwork of canvas faintly resembling a tent. “After you.”

“How kind,” Yandumar replied, coughing again as he lurched into motion. “I look an abyss-taken fool trying to keep up with your pace. I ain’t as young as I used to be.”

“Trust me, old friend,” Gilshamed said, falling into step beside and slightly behind him, “with all that has happened, even I am starting to feel my years.”

“Bah! What are you now? Three thousand? Four? Why, you’re barely middle-aged for a valynkar. You don’t get to start grumbling until those absurdly golden strands on your head start looking like a slightly less precious metal.”

“If we make it through this alive, something tells me I’ll get the opportunity to complain.”

That, old friend, is one very big “if.”

They pushed through what constituted an entrance together, and Yandumar was immediately blinded by the light blazing from every possible angle. It took a good mark of blinking until he could see clearly again. Half a dozen figures stood around a low, broad table, which glowed with pulsing, sorcerous light.

It had taken all of two days until his messenger corps—all casters too young to take part in the fighting directly—had tired of his constant questions. Clever things that they were, they had devised a system that would constantly feed him and his subordinate commanders with all the information they could ever require, all without need for a word to pass between them. Thus, the table danced with conjured images of light and shadow, depicting up-to-the-beat details about troop placement and combat status, casualties, supplies, enemy activity, and a dozen other things. He’d even set a young boy to keeping a scrolling list of all the dead, but that lasted less than half a week; the list quickly became too unfathomably long for a single soul to manage, and he couldn’t spare any more to help.

So many fallen, and we can’t even be bothered to remember their names.

Yandumar wasn’t sure why that bothered him so deeply. After all, there would soon be no one left to do the remembering.

No one human, anyway.

He and Gilshamed stepped up to the table and set to examining the situation. The thin, jagged line of human defenders—represented by spectral blue lights—had been pushed several hundred leagues northward, onto the border between the tundra plains and the mountains that spanned the breadth of the empire’s southern territory. The two fronts had become one as individual units dug in, fought, retreated, or simply licked their wounds.

The angry, red blob that stood for the enemy occupied all the rest of the displayed space.

As if numbers alone and the salvaged human skyships weren’t enough of an advantage, the ruvak had even more surprises in store. Wrath-bows and shock-lances by the thousands, and nearly a hundred war engines, had shown up on the front lines on the third day of fighting, turning the tide in several key engagements. They’d been running for their lives ever since.

“So,” Yandumar said after his all-too-brief study of the strategic situation, “it’s going about as well as can be expected.”

“Yes,” Gilshamed said, shaking his head. “How soon until they begin threatening your population?”

“All the towns and villages along the mountains have been evacuated, and it’s another two-day march beyond the passes to the nearest city. I’d empty them too, but . . .” Yandumar shrugged.

“If the ruvak break through,” Gilshamed said, unnecessarily completing the thought, “there will be no place left to find refuge.”

Yandumar closed his eyes. “Aye.”

Every breath in the room stopped as one. After a moment, he heard the first sorrowful whimper.

He leaned close to his companion, lowering his voice. “Hope is a funny thing. It can lift souls to greatness not otherwise possible, but it’s so damned fragile. No need to be swinging hammers at it.”

Gilshamed dropped his head. “My apologies, old friend.”

“Forget it. No, seriously, put it out of your mind completely. We’ve enough things to worry about to get hung up on little mistakes.”

“I know. Still I—”

“Still nothing. We do the best we can, but perfection is impossible even in ideal circumstances. With the pressure we’re under? Ha! I’m surprised I haven’t mistaken you for Slick Ren yet!”

“Is my touch so gentle to be perceived as a woman’s?”

Yandumar grunted. “Not in the least. Of course, that’s exactly where the confusion comes from!”

Gilshamed smirked. “Well, the next time I see your wife, I will be sure to tell her how little you think of her femininity.”

“Much obliged, old friend. Much obliged.” He clapped Gilshamed on the shoulder, almost forgetting for the moment all that was at stake.

Almost.

“Speaking of family,” he said after a moment, “have you heard anything from our secondary front?”

“I was in contact with Tassariel this morning. All she told me was that she thought they were getting close.”

“Nothing else?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gilshamed said, shaking his head. “They could be arriving as we speak, or still days away. By necessity, I allow her to initiate contact. I wish I could tell you more.”

“It’s all right. They ain’t dead yet. Until they are—” he swept an arm over the table “—it looks like we still have work to do.”

 

Draevenus saw it first. He’d been expecting it.

There’d been something wrong about his time in Yusan. Something so subtle only a thorough examination of his memories had revealed it. It was a good thing so many moments had been worth storing.

The attacks upon Tassariel’s father had always come from the east, but where they were located, the only thing east of them was open ocean. And it wasn’t called Endless for nothing. Arivana had confirmed it, a fact every Panisian child knew as a matter of course: eastward of the continent were waves and little else. But the attacks had to come from somewhere, and the ruvaki skyships he’d seen, even the command vessels, were all too small to launch the squads that had come against them.

Something was out there, he’d insisted. And whatever it was, it was big.

None of them had been prepared for just how right he was.

He’d first spotted it about a toll past noon. Just a dark blot on the horizon at first, but it soon resolved into a sharp-peaked dome. Jasside had immediately cloaked their own skyship in darkness, sure their destination was imminent. But as the tolls dragged on, and night fell, and still the monolith’s lowest part had yet to be revealed, the scale of it dawned on them all. Even Sem Aira had been left speechless, for though she knew what it was, she’d never in all her years been so close.

She’d whispered a word none of them understood. A blessing or a curse, he couldn’t tell. When Arivana had asked, the ruvak woman had told them all what lay before them.

The Cloister, where the heads of every avenging clan gathered to conduct their war.

He didn’t bother telling her that “war” was the wrong word. That “genocide” was far more fitting. Though he still wasn’t quite sure why she was with them, he left all such matters to the queen. He’d done his part leading them here. He was sure Arivana was somehow doing hers.

As the sun began rising, and the mountain-dwarfing vessel came fully into view, he took hold of Tassariel’s hand. She didn’t resist.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked her.

Her fingers curled tightly around his. “As long as I’m with you, I’m ready for anything.”

Mevon announced soon after that he’d spotted an entrance. Draevenus released Tassariel, and the two of them began checking their weapons.

 

Vashodia strolled through the streets of Mecrithos, sickened by how happy everyone seemed. Though words of war were whispered with every other breath, replete with concern for loved ones sent to battle, the people of the city went about their daily affairs with an obvious sense of pride, an attitude far removed from the dull pallor of drudgery that infected every downcast or snarling visage the last time she’d been here.

Yandumar was a good ruler, apparently.

How wonderful.

She did her best to ignore everyone as she picked up her pace, drawing her hood even farther over her face to prevent another mother from approaching with worry over a small child wandering the streets alone. The gambit failed. Two women tried to stop her between the gateposts of the city’s highest district and the palace, bringing the total to nine since she’d first entered Mecrithos. On principle, she didn’t kill anyone she didn’t think deserved it, but such annoyances always tested the bounds of her self-imposed rules.

As her steps finally came to a halt outside the palace gates, two guards crossed their halberds in front of her.

“You would dare try to stop me?” she said, more amused than anything.

“Course not,” one of them said. “Just thought we’d give ya fair warning.”

“Against what?”

“The empress,” the other guard said, “she don’t want you here. Told us to kill you on sight.”

Vashodia raised her head. “Is that so?”

“Aye,” the first guard said. “But us and the boys got to talking and figured that’d be a bad plan for everyone involved.”

“Don’t get us wrong,” the second guard added. “We love and respect ole Slick Ren, but there ain’t no use dying in a fight that could only have one outcome.”

“Still,” the first guard said, “if you wanna avoid trouble, best do your business quietly. Keep hidden and our boys won’t bother you, but if’n you start making a scene . . . ?” He shrugged. “Won’t have much choice at that point.”

Vashodia smiled. “I think we understand each other perfectly, then. Now, will you kindly open the gates for me? Or will I have to . . .”

The guards both gestured behind them. A beat later, the ornate metal bars began creaking apart.

For the first time in years—and perhaps the last time in her life—Vashodia entered the Imperial palace grounds of Mecrithos.

Taking the guards’ excellent advice, she glided behind the library, avoiding the main thoroughfare to the palace proper. Though she didn’t fear confrontation, the inconvenience of sneaking to her destination was only a fraction of that were she to force her way there. Simple math kept to her to the narrow, vine-strewn paths that eventually led her to a servants’ entrance halfway around the back side of the ghastly structure. She slipped in behind a maid bearing a bucketful of freshly extracted milk.

Gliding through the once-familiar hallways, ducking into alcoves and side passages to avoid what few servants she came upon as they bustled between errands, Vashodia couldn’t help but notice the changes. Though the palace had been rebuilt with an essentially identical layout, the atmosphere felt wholly different. Gone were the grotesque statues, paintings, and sculptures that depicted images of mierothi dominance, and the lightglobes—dark blue or purple at their brightest—placed far apart to accentuate the shadows. Though the current decor fell short of cheerful, Slick Ren had at least livened the place up.

Vashodia hated it.

Her path eventually led her near the royal chambers, where she exited from the servants’ passage to another, even more hidden one, risking a brief use of energy to rearrange the molecules in the wall to allow her transversal of a seemingly solid mass. In complete darkness now, she smiled. This was the escape tunnel. To her left was the entrance to the royal bedchamber, while the path right would lead her out of the palace entirely to a narrow trail that led down the back side of the mountain upon which the city lay.

Vashodia turned left, marched half a dozen paces down the stone passageway, and without hesitation pressed the button hidden in the mortar between two bricks.

No one had bothered to change its location during the rebuild. Vashodia giggled as a section of the wall swung open in a blaze of firelight.

She marched into the private quarters shared by her once-servant Yandumar and no-one’s-servant Slick Ren, feeling confident that it would be empty. It was the middle of the day, after all. With the emperor away, the empress surely had too many things on her plate to be caught sleeping in.

Her assertion was confirmed after a cursory inspection of the bedchamber. Though she had a sudden urge to pry, she ignored the closets and dressers, reluctantly making her way to a spot on the wall near cupboards full of wineglasses. She found another hidden button near the floor, and marched through the swinging wall before it had even finished opening.

A square platform awaited her. A pedestal held a single lever, pointed up, while dark, drafty emptiness surrounded her. She flipped the lever down and held on while the sorcerous construct began its long, quiet descent.

Vashodia checked her pockets twice in the mark and a half it took to complete her downward journey. She was far below the palace now, below the city even, at an equal elevation to the base of the mountain. She stepped off the platform and began down the only path available, her footsteps echoing off the distant borders of the cavern. Two hundred paces.

Then she stopped and looked up towards the pinnacle of the voltensus.

“Hello, old friend. It has been a while.”

A memory gripped her then, exposing her to a vulnerability she hadn’t thought to guard against. She remembered the face of the soul trapped within the obelisk. A face not that dissimilar from her own: young, girlish . . .

Mierothi.

This was the master voltensus, after all, capable of controlling the others. It needed to be stronger, more loyal. Who better to inhabit it than a childhood friend of the one who oversaw their construction?

The conquest of this empire had seen all of her people change. But that moment had been the one where she realized they’d gone too far. That she could no longer support a regime bent on cannibalizing its weakest members to strengthen those already in power. She’d hidden away what little was left of her soul, and began laying plans to undo the very evil she’d helped to ascend into dominance. Though her exact goals had changed along the way, somehow that purpose had always remained steadfast.

Confronted by more than she had been prepared for, Vashodia fell to her knees. She’d come here to harness the voltensi. With the proper instructions, the boundaries of their effect could be temporarily altered.

In a single stroke, she could disable every ruvaki skyship on the planet.

None of her supposed allies had known of this capability, and she hadn’t felt like telling them. Their gamble for peace had preoccupied them to the point of blindness. Even as frustrating as their stance was, Vashodia couldn’t help but wish them well. She’d done her best to keep Draevenus alive through the centuries, and Jasside had managed to remind her that she still had a soul. And that, broken as it was, it could still be mended.

Sighing, Vashodia reached into her pockets. She withdrew the two soulstones she’d crafted and set them before her. One each for the only two people in this world who meant anything to her. They both still glowed, indicating that her brother and former apprentice yet lived.

“I’ll give you a chance. I can do that, at least.”

She waited, kneeling, watching the two rocks for tolls, unblinking eyes expecting any moment for the stones to lose their glow and crumble into dust as the connected lives met their end.

But they never did.

What she witnessed instead defied all expectation.

In an instant, the glow from both soulstones faded to the barest whisper of a spark, but the matter itself remain whole.

Jasside and Draevenus weren’t dead. They had simply gone beyond her reach. Out of bounds. Invisible.

For the first time in her life, Vashodia didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

 

Tassariel, considering herself the lone representative of light, was first to step off their skyship after it docked inside a relatively isolated opening near the midpoint of the monolithic Cloister. A single, unarmed ruvak was witness to their arrival. Tassariel sprang towards him, wrapping the inhuman male in a chokehold before he’d even begun to flee. The body in her arms soon fell limp and unconscious.

The rest of her companions disembarked right after her. Together, they began treading the interior passages of the impossibly massive vessel.

Draevenus joined her beside the first portal as the others crowded in close behind. “You remember the plan, right?” he asked.

She tried not to roll her eyes. “Avoid detection but don’t draw our blades. Spilling blood will undermine our whole purpose in coming.”

The mierothi sighed, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to patronize. It’s just—”

“No more apologizing,” she said, flexing her fingers. “All that’s left for us . . . is action.”

The only response Draevenus gave her was a smile.

She glanced back over her shoulder as the others moved up to join them. Daye was first among them, with Arivana close behind, one guiding hand on the elbow of Sem Aira, who was bound at her wrists by ropes. Jasside kept several paces behind those three, and though she hadn’t energized yet, Tassariel knew the woman could activate a spell in the span of half a breath. Mevon brought up the rear, head and eyes on a constant swivel.

“Ready?” Draevenus asked her.

Tassariel nodded.

They dashed through to the next hallway, splitting to either side. Draevenus leapt forward from shadow to shadow until almost out of sight, then gestured towards her. She repeated his motions, surging past him with care to keep herself exposed for as little time as possible. Once far enough, she turned to wave him on. The others followed, keeping close enough for hand signs to pass from her or Draevenus, but far enough to retreat without detection should the need arise.

It was a game of patience played as hastily as they dared. There was a lot of ship to search, and none of them knew exactly what they were looking for.

The skyship seemed strange in so many ways. She’d been aboard other ruvaki vessels, and while each had different flavors, they all seemed similar in purpose: tight interiors, built for economy of space and function. The Cloister felt nothing like that. Soaring archways lined every hall, full of color and light, if each a little faded, and footsteps echoed down endless, tiled corridors. Whereas on other skyships she’d never been able to escape the feeling of being on a moving construct, here it felt like being on a mountain.

And undeniably, the Cloister felt old. Ancient. A piece of living history stronger than the pillars of the Valynkar High Council. The dust that filled her lungs with every breath held a stale quality reminiscent of a tomb, if not half so cheerful. Something—perhaps a lingering memory from the time of her possession—told her that Elos himself had seen this very vessel long ago, before humankind had ever stepped foot upon this world.

Every beat spent inside the infernal thing scraped away at the hope that they would ever make it out again alive.

From ahead, Draevenus flashed her a hand sign. It was different than she’d expected. Tassariel turned around and motioned for the others to gather close, then trotted towards the mierothi.

“What is it?” Jasside asked after everyone had arrived.

Draevenus motioned over his shoulder. “There’s a staircase, just around the corner. I was thinking we should take it.”

“Maybe,” Mevon said. “But which way? Up . . . or down?”

Arivana patted Sem Air on the arm. “Any thoughts?”

The ruvak shook her head. “I do not know this place. It is as alien to me as I must seem to you.”

Tassariel caught herself staring at the woman, and nearly flinched when those inhuman eyes grazed past her own. She’d been trying to tell if Sem Aira were lying, she realized. But even watching as closely as she could, nothing about the woman seemed the least bit deceitful.

“Let’s go up,” Tassariel said.

“Why up?” Draevenus asked.

“I don’t know. It seems logical for the ruvaki rulers to take the highest vantage point, doesn’t it? Besides, it’s better than going nowhere.”

Nods greeted her last words—even from Sem Aira—and they began marching up the wide, spiraling staircase.

They took on a similar posture as before, but due to the constrained space the gap between them all shortened to a single revolution of the steps. Every footfall resonated with far too much noise in her ears, but after a while she took a small measure of comfort from that. No ruvak had reason to be as quiet as she was being. They wouldn’t even try. If anyone else was actually on this accursed skyship, she was confident her friends would have ample warning of their approach.

For almost a toll, they trudged onwards and upwards. Though they passed countless landings leading into each level of the Cloister, no one suggested that they exit the staircase—the air from the landings was sour. Stale. Even more lifeless than the one they’d entered on. What they sought would not be found on any such floor.

Not that we’ve any clue where it will be found. I only hope that we’ll know it when we see it. If not, the ruvak won’t even have to kill us. We’ll wander these endless halls until we die of old age.

After pausing to catch her breath and rub loose a cramp in her leg, Tassariel looked up to find Draevenus at her side.

“Are we giving up tactical movements?” she asked.

“I’m not sure it matters,” Draevenus replied.

“What do you mean?”

He planted one foot on the next stair and tilted his head. She followed, keeping pace. Their elbows brushed together every other step, but she didn’t move away from him. Neither did he move away from her.

“Tell me what you sense,” he said. “What do your instincts say is waiting for us?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, without thinking. “I’m too tired to try feeling anything beyond this stairwell.”

“As they intend, no doubt. I can’t exactly blame you for not seeing it yourself.”

“Seeing what?”

Draevenus sighed. “We’re being watched.”

Cold flowed to the base of her spine, making her shiver despite the sweat drenching her skin. “Are you sure?”

“Instincts,” he said, patting his chest but in no boastful manner. “I’ve had more time to hone them. Especially for situations like this.”

Tassariel didn’t feel inclined to argue that point. “What do you think it means, though? If they know we’re here, yet haven’t tried to stop us . . . ?”

“They either don’t consider us enough of a threat to warrant to bother rousing a defense, or—”

“They’re leading us into a trap.”

“Aye.” He leaned close. “We must continue to be wary, but I don’t see any more need for stealth.”

“Agreed. What about the others?”

“I’ll drop back and talk to Mevon. I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t already come to the same conclusion.”

“Instincts?”

He nodded. “Instincts.”

Draevenus slowed his steps, leaving her once more in the lead. As he fell from sight behind her, she couldn’t help but think they were missing something. That there was perhaps a third option to explain the enemy’s reticence.

That no matter what we do, it won’t make the slightest difference in the end.

She tried to shake the thought away, but it refused to dislodge from her mind. And before she could announce victory, or concede defeat, something more pressing stole the rest of her attention.

The stairwell had at last come to an end.

 

Mevon stepped out alone into what proved to be a wide-open concourse, sniffing deeply. It smelled different from the other levels. Whereas the emptiness of them seemed the kind born of long neglect, the kind here seemed only temporary. The maze of suspended walkways, terraces, and sheltered alcoves before him was as still as a ruin, but held only a fraction of the dust. Whatever for, it had seen recent use.

If something is going to happen, it will happen here.

He advanced another dozen steps, fully isolated and exposed to every corner of the concourse.

Nothing moved.

Mevon knew why.

With a sigh, he gestured behind him, urging his companions to emerge from the stairwell. No use delaying the inevitable. When there was no way to avoid a trap, the best thing to do was force it to spring when you were at your most ready. And if he was being honest with himself, Mevon was itching for some action.

Justice was in his hands, yet turned perpendicular to his normal grip. Striking with the flat of his blades went against all his training, all his instinct, but that was what they’d all agreed upon. He would need to maintain absolute control.

Seeing his beloved approach, and knowing what was in store should he fail, he had no trouble summoning the storm. No trouble at all.

A beat after his companions all joined him, the ruvak did the first predictable thing he’d ever seen them do.

“Here they come,” he said.

From every shadowed corner, they emerged. Hundreds in the first breath. Thousands by the time he’d made a full sweep around with his eyes, with more pouring in every beat. He twirled his Andun once, conscious to retain his altered grip, but remained otherwise motionless.

He felt the three casters behind him energize at last.

Though they were too slow to raise barriers against the first attacks, Mevon wasn’t. Projectiles of some kind pierced the air in front of him. He flicked out Justice to meet them, sending the metal shards spinning towards the cavernous roof far overhead. Sparks of dark and light snapped on either side as Tassariel and Draevenus began batting more of them from the air with pinpoint applications of sorcerous power.

Ruvaki troops closed in from all sides, silent but for the stamping of untold feet on the floor. They displayed none of the squawking savagery of those he’d faced before. They were disciplined, focused; two things he considered far more deadly than rage.

The missiles stopped two beats before they drew within striking range. With less than twenty paces now separating them, Mevon tensed, preparing to lunge forward to meet them.

But they drew no closer.

The front ranks slammed to a halt on all sides with unnatural swiftness. Those behind continued forward, crashing into the backs of their compatriots with bone-crunching effect. Their silence was broken in a wave of cries laced with surprise and pain.

Mevon looked over his shoulder at Jasside. Torrents of power reached out from her raised hands to the shield she’d erected, which let nothing through. Though the ruvak continued crowding around, testing the barrier at every point, they were, at the moment, in a stalemate.

“They’ve played their hand,” Mevon said. “What now?”

“Now?” Jasside said. “Well, I suppose we could always ask for directions. Anyone know how to say ‘take me to your leader’ in ruvakish?”

“It’s not called that,” Sem Aira said, surprising Mevon with the very sound of her voice. “But they’re speaking an odd dialect. Very old-fashioned. I’m having a difficult time understanding them.”

Mevon grunted. He had a difficult time taking anything the woman said at her word. “If you can’t translate, then why did we even bring you?”

“She said difficult, not impossible,” Arivana snapped at him. The queen turned up an eyebrow toward her charge. “Isn’t that right?”

Sem Aira hesitated, then nodded.

Mevon wasn’t the least bit reassured.

He swung back to survey the enemy and was just in time to observe a ripple pass through them, stifling all movement and sound within those thousands in a mere heartbeat. He couldn’t even hear them breathe.

From a wide, dark doorway directly opposite the one his party had entered from, Mevon witnessed the emergence of six . . . things.

He couldn’t properly call them figures, for the very air around them was warped, spilling chaotic energy like blood from crossed wounds. Mevon’s whole body ached in a way he’d not felt in years, not since Voren had begun laying waste to the Imperial palace with twisted power not his own. He took a step towards them without even making the decision to do so.

“Jasside,” he called out in warning.

“I see them,” she replied.

“Is it a problem?”

Jasside paused before answering, and Mevon felt the first twinge of what might be real fear. “I . . . don’t know. These aren’t mere conduits. If they were, I’d put the odds in our favor, but I don’t have the slightest idea what they’re capable of. But I can tell that those we’ve faced before were only borrowers of ruvaki sorcery. These are its true masters.

“If we weren’t currently averse to shedding blood, it would make for an interesting day.”

“What do we do?” Tassariel asked.

“Prep a shield, just beneath mine, then we’ll both add another layer just to be safe. Daye, join Mevon in the front. If the opportunity arises, I may lower a section of the shield to see if I can bait them into striking one of you. Draevenus—”

“I’ll stay on guard for any deceptions,” the assassin said. “And keep an eye on all our backs.”

“What about us?” Arivana whispered, huddled close beside Sem Aira.

“Stay low, but be ready to move if we call for it,” Mevon advised.

The queen twisted her lips, obviously frustrated by her relative weakness, but she merely nodded and tugged her charge down into a crouch behind him. The king squeezed her shoulder, then bent down and kissed her forehead before joining at Mevon’s side.

“Ever been used as bait before?” Mevon asked him.

“Plenty of times,” Daye replied. “In Sceptre, princes are chosen by their merit, and I was the youngest one so named in a century. I didn’t earn that honor by sending other men into danger in my place.”

“Though nothing quite like this, I imagine.”

Daye barked out a single burst of laughter. “No. Nothing like this at all. I may be a void, but there are few enough casters in Sceptre that I didn’t often have to face them.”

As he and his companions arranged themselves to meet the coming adversary, Mevon felt a newfound appreciation for their courage. Though Draevenus he knew and welcomed, the others were mysteries to him, and he hadn’t trusted that they would be worth bringing along. Step after step, they’d proven his doubts misplaced.

Though he had kept them within his peripheral, Mevon now turned his full attention to the six beings as they drew nearer. The crowd of mundane ruvaki warriors had backed away twenty paces, and those directly before him had parted, clearing the way for the eye-twisting entities, whose exact movements even he had trouble tracking. Every time he looked toward one, it seemed to have already moved somewhere else. No—like it had never even been where he’d first thought them.

They’re doing more than just playing with our eyes—they’re playing with our minds.

The six spread out, surrounding them, working chaotic energy in ways he could not discern. That they had drawn within spitting distance without testing the shields set off every instinct, but he was constrained by their mission.

Jasside’s muttered curse was all the warning he had before the floor fell away beneath his feet.

 

“I don’t care how many times you’ve done it already,” Yandumar said. “Check. Them. Again!” He slammed a fist on the table once each to punctuate the last three words.

He remembered a time when such an action would instill a dose of healthy fear into his subordinates, but the six young casters about the table only rolled their eyes in exasperation before closing them and slipping into commune. He even heard one of them mutter something about a crazy old man, but couldn’t pin down which it had been. Not that he could blame them, exactly; most people didn’t fly into a rage when given supposedly good news.

“What seems to be the problem?” Gilshamed asked. He’d been in commune himself until a moment ago and had missed what had prompted Yandumar’s fury.

“Idiots,” Yandumar spat. “It’s always the idiots who make a mess of everything.”

The valynkar waved towards the currently unpresent messengers. “Are you speaking of them?”

“Them, or the people giving them their reports. There’s no abyss-taken way they could all be this wrong.”

“How so?”

Yandumar pointed at the glowing figures along the table. “Look for yourself. I’ll burn my empire’s coffers to the ground if you don’t see it in the next three beats.”

He watched as his friend’s eyes narrowed in study of the presented information . . . then widened. Two beats later. “Can this be true?”

“No. It can’t. Which is why I’m making these idiots check their sources again.”

“But if it is—”

“It’s not.”

“If it is,” Gilshamed repeated, ignoring him, “then it can only mean one of two things.”

“I know, I know. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But there’s no use jumping to conclusions before we know anything for sure.”

“Not even for the sake of hope?”

“Especially not for that. I might accept my fate should the worst happen, but there’re plenty down there in the mud and snow that ain’t as old and bitter as me. Most are too young to have ever known pain. I’m talking real stuff. Agony and loss that leaves you curled up and making puddles on your pillow. If word gets out before we confirmed anything, and those soldiers get their hopes up only to see them smashed to pieces before their eyes?” Yandumar shrugged. “I don’t think I have to tell you why that’s a bad thing.”

“True. But look at what we were facing just before this happened. You and I have twisted our brains into knots moving our forces around to reinforce weak points, and we’ve only just managed to prevent this tenuous line from breaking. I think our troops could use a bit of good news for a change.”

Before he could refute Gilshamed’s words, the half dozen messengers returned to the waking world. Yandumar fixed them all with a hard stare.

“Well?”

“It’s as we said,” replied their spokeperson, a pimple-faced boy whose name Yandumar kept forgetting. “No units are currently engaged. There hasn’t been an active battle for the last half a toll.”

Yandumar closed his eyes, sighing. He knew exactly which two options Gilshamed had hinted at, the only two reasons the ruvak would pull back after having nearly broken them already: the strike team had either won through and bargained for peace . . . or the enemy had something even worse in store.

“Relay to every commander,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “Tell them to give their troops what rest they can, but keep an eye out.”

“Keep an eye out for what?” the boy asked.

Yandumar grunted. “Anything.”

He flinched as distant peals of thunder rumbled through the air. More joined them, some closer, some farther away, and he moved towards the open doorway without even thinking.

“Just what we need today. A storm, on top of everything else.”

Gilshamed joined him, his gaze cast towards the evening’s earliest stars. “This is no storm, old friend. How can it be when there isn’t a cloud in the sky?”

Yandumar squinted. The bright spots above him grew larger, closer, and he could now make out smoky streaks trailing behind each one in the sky. “Those aren’t stars . . . are they?”

Gilshamed had already returned to commune.

But Yandumar knew his message would arrive too late.

The air continued rumbling as thousands of meteorites fell among his scattered troop formations, crashing into the ground with fiery effect. He spun back into the room, but didn’t need to wait for the information on the table to update.

“Call the retreat! All units pull back through the passes. We’ll hold there, if we can.”

It took a while for all his messengers to acknowledge, struck to their core by the bombardment of reports they were each receiving. The order was probably unnecessary. He could see the ranks breaking and falling back even as he watched more meteors dive down from the sky. Still, when chaos struck, that was when it was most important to maintain order.

Or, at least the illusion of it.

I’ve bought you all the time I can, son. If you’re still alive, and you still have a chance, please . . . hurry.

 

Arivana felt as if she’d plunged into a sea of darkness, floating freely but for the current of stale air from below, which grew faster and louder with each beat until the loose flaps of her dress started whipping about her so hard it stung. When she heard her companions shouting invisibly somewhere around her, her only thought was how absurd that was.

Fear had gripped her so tightly, she didn’t even have breath enough to scream.

A body collided with her, an elbow or heel painfully impacting her rib cage and sending her into an uncontrollable spin. Her ability to orient herself, or even tell up from down, fled as she twisted again and again.

They’d been almost to the pinnacle of the Cloister, higher above the sea than most mountain peaks, but their fall couldn’t last forever. Mathematics hadn’t been her strongest subject, but she was skilled enough with numbers to know that their time was running out.

At least it will be quick. A fall from this height . . . I’m sure we won’t even feel it.

It seemed silly, but she felt thankful for even that small relief. She knew of people who had experienced more pain or sorrow in their lives than she had, but as for trouble? She’d had quite enough of that in her sixteen years. A death free of complication was almost welcome.

The bright, lavender-hued light that blazed to life a moment later, however, made her forget all thoughts of dying.

Tassariel’s wings illuminated what she now saw was a wide, roughly circular shaft, and some of her companions as they fell through it with ever-quickening speed. Arivana tried in vain to keep the valynkar in sight as she spun, and at last filled her lungs with enough air to do more than gasp.

“Tass! Help!”

Every rotation, Arivana craned her neck to keep her winged friend in view as long as possible, but doing so only made it clear that Tassariel was not moving any closer. In fact, she’d grown noticeably farther away.

Arivana shouted again, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Tassariel was reaching for, then grasping, another figure by the shoulders. She spun him around to get a better grip, allowing Arivana to see who it was.

Mevon Daere. Of course she’d rescue him. He’s more valuable to our mission than me. More useful.

She searched through the shadows and found Draevenus flying towards her husband, his black wings spread like something out of a nightmare. Where Jasside and Sem Aira were, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t know how much weight two sets of wings could carry safely to the ground, but she didn’t think it would be enough to save them all.

We’d always known success would likely require sacrifice. I only hope the others can finish this without me.

What brief hope she’d felt at the flare of Tassariel’s wings faded once more as she fell. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. Every source of stress expelled, every worry waned, every muscle loosened into numbness.

She did not brace for impact but instead embraced her end.

It was . . . colder than she expected.

Arivana felt herself jerked suddenly to one side, the ice tightening across her chest.

She opened her eyes.

Something blacker than the shaft wrapped like a tentacle around her torso. She traced it out toward two sets of eyes, dimly reflecting the glow from Tassariel’s wings. Feeling herself being pulled again, she saw the eyes grow bright.

Arivana stumbled onto a flat surface as two sets of arms curled tight around her.

“I’ve got her,” Jasside shouted.

“Can we set down yet?” called Draevenus from above.

“Almost. I just need a little more time.”

“Well, hurry it up, will you? These louts are getting heavy.”

“I don’t . . . want to hear you . . . complain,” Tassariel said, pausing for breath every few syllables. “You have . . . the easy one.”

“Are you calling my husband fat?” Jasside asked.

“No. Just . . . cumbersome.”

“Well, you’ll just have to deal with him a few moments longer. He can’t touch down while I’m still shaping the platform.”

Arivana felt her weight begin to settle in and looked down to see a smooth, featureless surface below her feet, spreading outward even as she watched. Though she’d seen Jasside perform near-miracles on countless occasions, she had somehow forgotten the woman’s ability to fashion things out of thin air.

Sheer panic had a funny way of destroying all semblance of faith.

“Are you all right, my queen?” Sem Aira asked, alone in embracing her now that Jasside had turned her attention elsewhere. “Your heart is beating faster than a galloping horse.”

“I am now,” Arivana said. “I just thought—for a moment, anyway—that I was going to die.”

“How could you? Didn’t you hear them shouting?”

“Shouting was all I heard. I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

Sem Aira shook her head, a smile painting her face. “They were coordinating from the very moment we began falling, making a plan to ensure no one fell for long. Did you truly believe they’d give up so easily?”

“I did, I’m ashamed to admit. Thank you for helping see my faith restored.”

The ruvak tensed slightly at this, pulling away. Now that the tension had passed its peak, she once again became distant and quiet, her face plagued by consternation. It was a look Arivana had grown quite used to in the past few weeks.

The platform slowed further, jostled momentarily as the flying figures above them—following Jasside’s permissive gesture—let down their burdens, Draevenus groaning in relief while Tassariel collapsed onto her back, gasping for breath. Daye lunged towards Arivana, scooping her up into a tight embrace.

“I’m okay,” she assured him between kisses.

“I know,” he said. “I just heard you shouting. You sounded so scared.”

“Of course I was! But I should have known better. Our friends would have never let something so trivial as a disappearing floor get in the way of completing our mission.”

He chuckled, then kissed her again.

Jasside guided the platform towards the shaft’s outer wall, slowing them until they were hovering in place. The sorceress swept her hand across the surface in front of them, and it vanished in an instant, emitting a dull, green light from the chamber beyond. The platform slid through the hole, and Arivana followed her companions, sure she wasn’t the only one relieved to be back on solid ground.

“Sweep the room and find us an exit,” Jasside ordered.

Tassariel and Mevon were already moving away in opposite directions. Draevenus, however, didn’t budge.

“What then?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of running around without a plan.”

Jasside nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

In answer, he faded into shadow. The voice that spoke next seemed to come out of nothing. “You had the right idea when you suggested we ask for directions. We just need to find someone who’s a little more willing to provide them.”

 

Draevenus remained still as the enemy circled in, growing closer with each of his shallow, silent breaths. The use of sorcery had drawn them, as he knew it would. But with their trap already sprung, the ruvak that came against them were disorganized, their nature made manifest in the chaotic pattern of their attacks.

Jasside and Tassariel lured them, with Mevon guarding their backs. They ran along preordained, circular routes, filled with as much dark and light energy they could sustain as bands of Cloister guards pursued. The more that joined in on the chase, the more manic it became.

And all the while, Draevenus waited in the shadows.

Your opportunity will come soon enough. All it takes is a good plan—which we have—and a few drops of patience.

His own, he was glad to see, was about to be rewarded.

A squad of ruvaki soldiers slowed as they came abreast of the hallway in which he was hiding. One pointed down it, and they turned as a flock of birds in his direction. The fastest among them raced by first, obviously eager to close with their enemy, yet in their haste they left some stragglers. One in particular, a smallish ruvak sporting a limp, shuffled behind the rest of them by a full dozen paces.

He’d passed up other opportunities because they hadn’t quite been ideal. This one, however, was like a gift from the gods.

Draevenus kicked off the wall behind him, surging towards the straggler. Both arms reached for his target, one covering the mouth while the other curled tightly about the neck. He wrapped his legs around the ruvak’s body, clenching his thighs and hooking his feet together to pinch both of the guard’s arms to his sides.

The creature struggled, writhing in a vain effort to throw Draevenus off for almost ten beats—longer than he’d anticipated. Eventually, though, the limping leg gave way and they both toppled to the cold, tiled floor. Another score beats with the air cut off, and the figure fell limp in his grasp.

Draevenus released him and jumped to his feet immediately. In nineteen centuries of this kind of work, he’d never known anyone who could fake a loss of consciousness convincingly. Grabbing his prize beneath the shoulders, he began dragging him to the designated meeting point, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure the way was still clear. The guard’s squad had already turned the corner, none having so much as glanced back. No new faces had shown themselves.

He paused only once, drawing a dagger to carve a symbol into a post. To most, it was nothing: a random set of scratches or a crack in the paint. To those with keen enough eyesight, and who knew what they were looking for, it would deliver the intended message. On their next pass of the adjoining corridors, he had faith that Mevon would see the sign and advance to the next phase of their plan.

A mark later, he kicked open the door to the chamber where the rest of his companions waited.

He heard the familiar ring of drawn steel, and twin feminine gasps of surprise.

Daye sighed a beat later, returning his sword to its scabbard. “You could have knocked, you know.”

“No time,” Draevenus said, dumping the guard at the feet of the two women. “Another squad was about to turn this way.”

“Is he even alive?” Arivana asked, squatting beside the prisoner. “He looks so . . . stiff.”

“He gave me a bit more of a fight than expected. But yes, he’s still breathing.”

Arivana sighed. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Catching his eye, Daye said, “Take the top half? I’ll get the bottom.”

“What about her?” Draevenus asked, tilting his head toward Sem Aira.

Daye shrugged. “She’ll be fine.”

Draevenus leaned in close to man, lowering his voice so the two women couldn’t hear. “Are you sure?”

“I trust her enough. She won’t try anything. And if she does, Arivana can handle it.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable letting—”

“Look, we all had our part to play in this. Sem Aira was my wife’s responsibility. If she has faith enough in the woman, then so do I. So should we all.”

Draevenus tapped his fingers along his dagger hilts, musing the man’s word for several beats. “So be it.”

He stepped around the unconscious ruvak until standing over his head, then knelt, pressing his knees into the arms as Daye lowered his weight onto the legs and waist. Draevenus peered up at Arivana. “Ready?”

The queen tugged Sem Aira closer gently, sharing a quick glance with her before nodding.

Draevenus pulled a stone from his pocket. Jasside had conjured it just before she’d taken off with the others. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it smelled strongly of salt, and she’d assured him it would do the trick.

He placed it directly beneath their prisoner’s nose.

The figure jerked beneath him, alternating between coughing, sneezing, wheezing, and squawking out what could only be curses. Draevenus wasn’t worried about the noise; the walls in this place were thick.

Once the tirade had passed, for the most part, Arivana and Sem Aira knelt at the ruvak’s side.

“Go on,” Arivana said.

Sem Aira took a deep breath, then began speaking to the prisoner in their own language.

The exchange went on for some time. Sem Aira did most of the talking at first, but eventually the guard began adding to the conversation. Based on her facial expressions, however, he wasn’t giving the answers she was hoping for.

More than once, Draevenus caught the prisoner’s gaze fall to the bindings on her wrists. The words that came out of his mouth after carried a vitriol that needed no translation.

Knowing the others couldn’t keep the ruvak running in circles forever, he waited until a lull in the conversation, then interjected. “Well? Has he said anything useful yet?”

Sem Aira hesitated a moment, eyes filling with fear, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. He’s being very reticent. All he keeps saying is that it’s too well-guarded and that we’ll never find it.”

“He said both those things?”

“Well, yes. As a single thought, but that is the best translation I can come up with.”

A single thought? Too well-guarded . . . we’ll never find it. Something about that seems contradictory. But knowing the ruvak, it might not be.

“Ask him where it is again,” he said. “But slowly this time. And do it over and over until he either gives you the right answer, or I tell you to stop.”

Sem Aira nodded, turning her gaze towards the guard again.

Draevenus stopped listening. The answer that he spoke didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that did were his eyes. And though they flicked around in seemingly random patterns, each time the question was asked, they inevitably paused for the briefest of moments while staring at the same exact spot on the ceiling.

“That’s enough,” Draevenus said. “Tie him up.”

“But he didn’t answer,” Sem Aira insisted.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling. “He pointed us in just the right direction. That’s good enough to start, and I know the person who can lead us to the finish.”

 

Jasside concentrated, furious with herself for not thinking of this earlier. She’d known the power the ruvak commanded was peerless when it came to deceiving the senses. The best way they could guard their most precious assets was to ensure intruders had their instincts tied in knots. Logic then dictated that the place they would be found would be the place they never thought to look. A place surrounded in a powerful layer of chaos magic, yet one so subtle that it rebuked all sense directed towards it without letting anyone realize they’d been turned away.

Now, she hovered once more in the very same shaft they’d fallen down earlier, sending out hair-thin tendrils of darkness throughout the shadows inhabiting the Cloister around her. With the information Draevenus had given her, and a remembered lesson from Vashodia about seeing past the bounds set by chaos to reveal the true nature of that which it tried to hide, it was only a matter of time before she found what they were looking for.

As long as they don’t find us first.

Her companions sat on the platform around her, doing their best to keep quiet. She had debated sending them out as a distraction, but decided against it. The ambient darkness in the vessel was weak before the unrelenting torrents of chaos, but she was confident it was enough to mask her actions. Besides, once she found the place, there was a good chance an alarm of some kind would be set off, and she wasn’t even sure she would know about it. When the time came, they would have to move quickly.

A hundred tiny tentacles reached out from each fingertip, probing aimlessly. She didn’t try to guide, leaving them to wander and turn as they willed. She focused not on where they were going, but rather on where they’d been. Try as they might to obfuscate, the ruvak still occupied physical space. If she was right, those subtle flows of chaos that surrounded their destination would unerringly turn away her little, black tendrils without giving them a second thought.

All she had to do was look for the one place none of them ever went.

After almost half a toll of sweat-filled search and careful analysis, she finally found what she was looking for.

Without a word, the others began getting to their feet. Maybe it was the slight acceleration of the platform; maybe it was the determined smile on her face. Whatever it was, the feeling of readiness overtook the air around her as solid, controlled breaths left seven sets of lungs. It was the moment before they all headed into danger unknown, with no hope of ever walking out again, yet none of them faltered in their resolve, or made the slightest mention of retreat. Despite all the battles she’d faced before, this was the first time in her life when she felt she knew what it meant to be amongst heroes.

It was a shame that the moment was ruined by another bout of nausea.

Again? I thought I was over this.

Jasside reached a hand down to try to soothe her writhing stomach, a feeling that had come on out of nowhere, and fought down the acidic bile rising up her throat. All while keeping the platform moving towards their destination.

She turned her attention towards her tasks—what few she had left in this world—as a means of distracting herself from the discomfort. Whether it worked or not, she was glad to feel the nausea fade by the time she’d flown them all as far as the shaft could take them.

“This is it,” she said. “Once I open the way, there’s no holding back. We go in fast, keep close, and don’t let anything stop us until we’re in position. None of us know what to expect, but as long as we continue to trust that we have each other’s backs, I know we can survive anything they might throw at us.”

As far as rousing speeches went, hers certainly lacked the polish and fire of great leaders such as Gilshamed, but it seemed to impart the confidence she hoped to share with her companions. Mevon stepped in front of her, every muscle rippling with readiness as he nodded tightly and gave her a small, secret smile. She saw reflected on his face the depth of the conviction she’d been trying to convey.

She lifted a hand to rearrange the molecules of the wall before them with a brushstroke of dark energy, then guided the platform through.

 

Yandumar watched the command ship disappear behind white-clad mountains fifty leagues to the north, on its way to Fyrdra, the capital city of the nearest district, to begin emptying it of civilians. When it had gone, he turned back to the palisades. Metal spikes lined the wall before him, pointing outward, a set of steel teeth to ward off threats from the frozen plains. This was the largest and most centrally located fortress along the southern frontier of his empire, guarding the only major pass between the empty lands before him and the inhabited regions behind.

It was where he had chosen to make his stand.

“Are you sure about this?” Gilshamed asked from his side.

Yandumar grunted. “Are you?”

Gilshamed leaned forward, exhaling deeply as he wrapped gloved hands around a pair of spikes, displaying a depth of exhaustion Yandumar had never seen before in the man.

“I am weary, Yan,” Gilshamed began. “All the ships have been wrenched from the sky, half our troops are slain, and hundreds of my kin will never spread their wings again. The other passes are narrow, and the soldiers you sent to each of them will be able to hold for days, if not longer. The fastest way through is here . . . and the ruvak know it.”

Yandumar clapped the valynkar on the shoulder. “I hear ya, Gil. Now tell me your reasons not to stay.”

Tired as he knew him to be—almost as tired as Yandumar felt himself—it took Gilshamed a moment before he appeared to get the joke. A ghost of a smile painted his friend’s lips. “Even here, at the end of all things, you never change.”

Yandumar shrugged. “Too late now, for better or worse.”

“Worse, I am sure.”

“Ha!”

He turned to survey what troops remained with him. A hundred thousand were still in reserve, but could only travel by foot and were weeks away, while half that many were spread out along the mountain range, backed up by flying patrols of mierothi and valynkar to ensure no ruvaki troops sneaked through. Here, he had the rest. He’d known it might come to this, so he’d held Ilyem and her Hardohl, along with the Imperial Guard—what little remained of both—out of the fighting, to stay fresh and prepare this fortress for siege.

Three thousand men and women.

To guard three thousand paces of ground.

Against three million unrelenting enemy soldiers.

That was the closest estimate, anyway. But at least it was only ground assault they had to deal with. All the sorcerous weapons, on both sides, had long since run out of destructive energy, and there were no casters with strength or time enough to recharge them. The battle here would be one of swords and arrows, of steel and blood and grit. The kind of fight in which he used to excel.

And perhaps I can again . . . one last time.

“Do you remember when we fought to capture my son?”

“I do.”

“Well, old friend, as far as I see it, there are no emperors or councilors here. Only soldiers. Do me one last favor and help me feel like one again.”

Gilshamed nodded.

Yandumar drew his swords, tightening his grip as power flowed into his limbs, just as the foremost ranks of ruvaki troops marched into view below.

 

Mevon had been ready for opposition of some kind, but not like this. Elite guards, such as those three he’d fought in on the foothills of Sceptre, or sorcerous wards, or even mundane traps and obstacles and mazes to keep them ensnared.

This fog that surrounded them had not been what he’d expected.

Sometimes filled with bright colors, sometimes absent of anything but grey; sometimes slow and wet and cold, sometimes swirling with dryness and heat; sometimes echoing his footsteps for what seemed like leagues, sometimes smothering his very breath.

But always . . . always blinding.

Had he not insisted they travel in a line while holding on to each other, he was sure they would have all drifted apart by now, left to wander the mists alone until their bodies gave way to hunger and thirst. Though he led, he had no idea where they were going. Already, his sense of time had twisted, forestalling any guess as to how long they’d been inside. None of his companions so much as whispered. They must have felt as he did: a certain kind of fear that came when facing the unknown and unknowable, which left you bereft of all but the most basic instincts.

And when even those fail to provide direction, all you have left is stubborn perseverance.

So he marched on, feeling foolish for finding comfort in the grip of his Andun. Something told him it would be of no use.

“There’s . . . something up ahead.”

Mevon jolted to a halt and pivoted until facing behind him. The words had sounded as if they’d come from the other side of a thick, glass window, and he was having trouble locating their source.

“Who said that?” he demanded.

“I did,” Sem Aira said, lifting a hand and pointing. “Look there.”

He turned again and squinted in the indicated direction. After a moment he saw what she must have meant. Something solid, in a place where nothing seemed to stay the same, not even the ground beneath his feet. Something real.

“I see it, too,” Jasside said. She caught his gaze, offering an expression that said, without words, I love you, and lead on, and be careful, all at once. That her face also held that same formless fear wasn’t worth considering.

Mevon glanced quickly over his companions, to make sure they hadn’t lost anybody, then began treading towards what he hoped would be the final stop on their trek.

The fog continued to billow. Judging distance was impossible, and more than once he lost his way entirely. But the place showed up again each time. It was almost as if it wanted to be found, but only by those willing to devote themselves to the journey.

Or maybe I’m just going insane, which isn’t an impossibility. If my father is any indication, I’m headed there eventually.

Just when it seemed like the trip was never going to end, Mevon stumbled forward into a roughly circular area completely free of fog. Looking up and around, he saw that they were surrounded by scores of strange, ephemeral shapes, hanging suspended by nothing he could see.

Each of them reverberated with oceans of chaotic energy. Combined, it felt enough to drown him.

Before he could so much as open his mouth, something closed in around them. He thought it was the fog again at first, but it was stronger, more malevolent, singeing the very air around him until he felt as if he were about to choke. All without coming into contact.

If it can do this without even touching . . .

“Collapse!” he called.

His companions, if they hadn’t been expecting the command, still knew exactly what to do. Mevon stayed still, while Draevenus and the women came to huddle together at his back, reaching hands to him or Daye, who closed in the tight formation from behind.

The assault—for he was now sure that’s exactly what it was—continued, but grew no more potent. After almost a mark of withstanding it, Mevon knew the faceless enemy dared not press their power any closer.

“ENOUGH!”

The chaos withdrew, but only but a hair.

“If you could kill us, you’d have succeeded by now. And if we’d wished you dead, we would not have come aboard this vessel so quietly. We came to talk. So cut the theatrics and show yourselves!”

For a moment, he almost thought they would. But the assault did not diminish. In fact, it couldn’t seem to make up its mind, waxing strong one moment, from one direction, only to wane weak again the next. It was either an attempt to throw them off-balance . . .

. . . or these ruvak aren’t as unified as we thought.

Before he could follow up that thought with any sort of logical response, he heard them: voices, crackling and chittering like a flock of mad birds, echoing from everywhere in the chaotic soup surrounding them.

The rush of sound struck him like a cleaver, cutting through all reason, all sanity. He fell to his knees and held hands over his ears. To no avail. The voices continued pecking away at his mind, his soul, devouring all sense. Justice crashed to the floor without only a muffled thud to mark its fall.

But then . . . something changed. One voice screeched out a note disparate from the others—loudly—bringing many to immediate silence. Within a few beats, another joined this opposing chorus. Then another. And another. And though it didn’t seem to defy the ongoing assaults, it did seem to draw some of their focus away.

It wasn’t long until both discordant melodies sang in equal strength. A moment later, the assaults on body and mind abated, at least temporarily, followed by the most surprising thing yet.

Someone spoke in his own tongue.

“Speak then, human,” the scratchy ruvaki voice said, echoing in strange harmony with itself. “Speak, and tell us why you have come.”

Mevon looked over his companions, his friends. He met each gaze, and found in all of them the encouragement he needed to go on. It didn’t feel right to go first—talking had never been his strongest skill—but if they knew one thing about the ruvak, it was that they respected strength. There was no doubt in his mind, then, that they respected him.

“We are here,” he said, “to ask you for peace.”

From what seemed a million separate throats, cackling laughter followed his words.

“We are winning this war, in case you could not tell,” said another voice, just as odd as the first. “What need have we of peace?”

“You call this a war? It hasn’t felt like that. Not from my side. It felt like extermination. Like genocide. And with how many of your own soldiers’ lives you threw away for the slightest advantage, it most certainly felt like madness.”

There was a momentary silence, the kind that always preceded an enraged outburst. He was sure they hadn’t expected to be insulted.

He pressed on, not giving them the chance to voice their anger. “I’m sure you consider your cause, and everything done in its name, just. Among my people, there are few who could claim to understand justice as I do. I was born into a life that preached it above all else. All else, that is, but loyalty. But when those two seemingly wholesome things are wrapped in unquestioning and unconscionable violence, then what you end up with isn’t wholesome at all. It is vile. A poison unto all it touches. A rancid stain upon everything it claims to stand for.

“It is everything I used to be.”

He paused again, for breath, ostensibly, but also to gauge his audience. Silent they remained, but it had changed, no longer one waiting in anger, but one steeped in contemplation. He hadn’t been confident when his companions had elected him to engage first, but at least they seemed to be listening.

“I killed a man, once,” he continued. “It didn’t mean much to me at the time. Just another criminal delivered his sentence. Just another countless victim to my supposed justice. But I didn’t really know anything about him. I didn’t know . . . didn’t know . . .”

Mevon felt an arm slip gently around his, and didn’t need to turn his head to know that Jasside now stood at his side, whispering without a word to go on.

“I didn’t know that he stood for something. Something I couldn’t understand at the time. He stood for hope. He stood so that his actions could help create a better life for those he cared about. A better world. And somehow, his sister, who stands here beside me, not only found a way to forgive me for his death, which I caused in my ignorance, but also . . . to love me.

“It’s not the kind of love I will ever think I deserve, but it is the kind of love that has made me want to be a better man. A man at least partially worthy of the gift she has given me.”

 

As Mevon and Jasside pressed their foreheads together, Draevenus rose to his feet. Though this hadn’t been part of the plan, he knew that his normally recalcitrant friend had run far past his quota of words for the day, and that he had something valuable to add to the conversation.

“My tribe, the mierothi, once declared war on the valynkar. Darkness and light . . . it seemed appropriate that our peoples should stand in opposition. It seemed . . . inevitable. And for almost two thousand years of separation, our mutual animosity grew, festering like an open wound dragged around in the mud. When we finally crashed together again, it was no surprise that it came accompanied by bloodshed.

“Yet a moment came when we either could have renewed our hate, or put it behind us. I chose the latter, and one among them, thankfully, agreed. Since then, we’ve learned to look past our differences, all those insignificant things that divide us, and focused instead on the things we had in common. Once we put old, pointless animosities to rest, we found that those things were much more numerous than we could have guessed.”

Something gripped him: a feeling he’d grown familiar with, yet hadn’t experienced in so long he thought he’d never feel it again.

Ruul.

The vision came clearer than it ever had before. Not just a memory of the time he’d spent in that cave, but something deeper. Older. A shared memory from Ruul himself.

He felt his mouth move, depicting all that he could see.

“He called himself Ruulan, and he wandered the void for thousands upon thousands of years, carrying with him innumerable sleeping hosts. This world was the first he found that might serve as a home for them. A place they could finally find new life, and for himself, at last find some rest.

“But it wasn’t as empty as he had first assumed.

“This world’s creatures struck out at him, threatening his very existence, and that of all he carried within him.

“Ruulan called out for help.

“Only by a miracle was the entity known as Durelos close by at the time, and came to the aid of Ruulan, striking down those who assailed him and sending the rest fleeing deep into the void. Even so, such actions were not enough to save Ruulan, who fell to the world in ruin and flames, burning the very sky in his descent.

“In their ignorance, they had both caused so much death and had no way to repair the damage. Ruulan released his hosts, damaged as they were, and Durelos, compelled by compassion to remain, did the same. In time, the world came to be theirs, these humans, and all memory of how they had come to be here faded into myth and legend, only to be forgotten entirely.

“But those we came to know as gods did not forget. Only they were powerless to stop us from shutting them out from our council, and we came to war among ourselves, time and time again, ignoring all that bound us together in search of blind, greedy advantage. They knew that a time would come when this world’s original inhabitants would return, and that the only way to prevent another catastrophe was to . . .”

Draevenus slumped to his knees, panting, drained of all energy by the insistent force of the vision. Even so, the last word of it managed to force its way past his quivering lips.

“. . . sacrifice.”

For a dozen labored breaths, the space around him remained empty of all sound, and that strange, chaotic energy did not resume its assault.

But what he felt a moment later let him know it wouldn’t last.

A wave of dark washed across the face of the entire planet, as if dredged from the very depths of the abyss.

The ruvak erupted into screams.

 

Yandumar shouted in triumph, lifting twin blades dripping orange blood as the latest assault upon the fortress turned back. Nine attempts, and the wall had yet to be breached. His three thousand stood strong, proving their value far above their meagre number, having suffered fewer than fifty losses so far.

He was honored to fight at their side, a feat only made possible by the energy coursing through him courtesy of his oldest living friend.

“You’ve gotta do better than that!” he shouted at the backs of his enemy, as they retreated across the two-hundred-pace-wide killing field. “This is my Imperial Guard you’re dealing with. So long as even one of them remained standing, this fortress will hold forever!”

A shout went up from along the palisades, and thousands of blades rose to join his own. His words were a lie, and every one of them knew it. It didn’t matter that the enemy had finally run out of tricks. His men might last a few more days until exhaustion and countless small wounds caught up to them, while the ruvak could field fresh troops with every surge. Still, that wasn’t going to stop them from going down swinging.

Yandumar turned from the wall as the Guard began making use of the break in combat: binding cuts, fixing or replacing damaged gear, throwing food down their throats, and hunkering down to snatch what little shut-eye they could afford. Despite fighting for most of a day already, he felt little need for rest.

“Gil, ole friend, I haven’t felt like this in ages,” he proclaimed as he marched over towards the valynkar. “You put something special in that mystical concoction of yours this time?”

Gilshamed smiled but shook his head. “Not at all, Yan. But you’ve been too long gone from the fight. This first renewed taste of it must make the effects seem stronger.”

“That so? Next you’ll be telling me you’re only giving me half the usual dose.”

“Well, I have had to conserve my energy, while dividing it between healing the wounded and pushing back the most vicious of ruvak assaults. I cannot say for certain—”

Yandumar raised an eyebrow, watching as Gilshamed clamped his jaws shut, then spun to look northward, his golden eyes wider than he’d ever seen before.

“What . . . has she . . . done?” Gilshamed whispered.

It took Yandumar three whole beats to put together what he was talking about—what she Gilshamed meant—which was probably about two beats too long.

“Vashodia,” he said, trying not to make the name sound like a curse. “What’d she do this time?”

Gilshamed shook his head once. “I do not know. I suspect, however, that the whole world is about to find out.”

The words soon proved prophetic.

It began with a jolt, which sent him crashing to his knees. He lifted his head to see Gilshamed in a similar posture, and looking beyond him, most of the Guard were also struggling to keep their balance.

He had just enough time to right himself and catch his breath before the rumbling began.

Half helping and half helped by Gilshamed, Yandumar stumbled to the palisades. The shaking intensified. Within a mark, he heard a deep snap and watched as the ground along the center of the killing field began cracking open.

From that gap poured no natural kind of darkness.

In a blink, the split lengthened to either side, flowing across the hills as far to each horizon as he could see.

Then, it began to widen.

 

Jasside knew why the ruvaki masters were in an uproar. No caster on the planet could ignore the raw oceans of power being unleashed half a world away. Although, perhaps raw wasn’t the right word to describe it. For all its wide-reaching effects, the energy felt controlled, shaped for a specific purpose. And while there was no doubt in her mind about who was responsible, without access to her power, there was no way to determine exactly what was going on.

Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned as close to Mevon’s ear as she could. “I need to let you go.”

He turned his mouth towards her ear, whispering in return. “Are you sure?”

“It will only be for a moment. Stay close, will you?”

Mevon smiled. “Always.”

Jasside released his arm. The presence of her power returned in an instant, like a sudden plunge into icy waters. She didn’t hesitate to grasp it.

After that, it was a simple matter of following the energy from its source out to where it was being expended, and tracing the boundaries of its effect. The task was made difficult by the distance, yet she had it finished in five beats.

What she found was . . . unexpected.

As she released her power and took hold of Mevon’s arm once more, Jasside couldn’t help but laugh.

“What do you find so funny?” screeched a voice.

The cacophony around her dimmed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of her response. “Vashodia,” she said. “My old mentor, and the one responsible for your current outrage. I didn’t think she could surprise me anymore. She isn’t exactly known for her mercy.”

“Mercy?” another unseen ruvak said. “The snake has sundered the very surface of our world!”

“It isn’t the first time. Nor the last, I imagine.”

“Is that your plan, then? If you can’t have this planet, then you’ll destroy it beyond hope of repair?”

“Not at all. But the quantity of power she’s wielding right now has the capability to do all kinds of things, many of a far more devastating nature. Namely, to destroy every last vessel of yours in an instant.”

“Lies!”

Jasside shrugged. “Considering the source she’s drawing on—the very source keeping your skyships out of my empire—I’d say it took her quite a bit of effort to make it do anything else.”

And though I might never know what caused her change of heart, perhaps my influence played some small part. Either way, I can rest assured knowing I did everything I could to reach her.

Whatever had happened, and why, didn’t really matter at the moment, though. Vashodia had handed them the perfect opportunity, and Jasside knew better than to question her good fortune.

She cast her gaze upon the young queen. “It’s time.”

 

Arivana nodded at Jasside, then glanced up at Daye. “Keep a hand on me, please. We’re going.”

A flash of distress crossed his features, the hesitation of both a soldier and a husband to send her into more danger than himself. As much as she loved him for that, she loved him all the more for his ability to push past it, knowing what needed to be done.

“I’ll be right here the whole time.” He reached to her shoulder and squeezed once, gently.

“You’re not going to tell me to be careful?”

“I think we’re too far gone for careful. Just be . . . queenly.”

She smiled. “That, I can do.”

Settling her nerves with a deep breath, she took a long step out from the group, positioning herself so as to be visible by those strange pods, half seen through swirling mist, which supposedly held the ruvaki masters. Once set, Arivana reached behind her, lifting the rope that bound Sem Aira’s hands, and tugged the woman forward to join her.

“My queen?” Sem Aira said, her face a maze of confusion. “What are you doing?”

She kept her voice a whisper, so that only her companions could hear her.

“Sem Aira . . .” she began, then stopped and shook her head. “Flumere . . .”

Her mind emptied. All their plans had come down to this moment, all their hopes resting on the next few beats in time, and how the ruvak would react . . . and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. It seemed appropriate, somehow. Any words that might sway the ruvak had already been said.

All that mattered now . . . was action.

Arivana drew the small, ceremonial knife from her belt and sliced through Flumere’s binding.

Before the woman could do much more than blink, Arivana reversed the blade and thrust the hilt into her old handmaiden’s newly freed hands.

Arivana closed her eyes, and waited.

For five beats, there was no sound. Not even a breath. But at last the silence was broken by a deep ruvaki voice, the kind used to being obeyed without question. The kind that took pleasure in it.

“Kill her.”

Five more beats. Then ten. Arivana kept her eyes closed, knowing there was nothing more she could do to influence events. From the moment they had flown free of the Veiled Empire, they had each considered their lives forfeit. And not only their own, but that of all humankind. What they hoped to achieve was a gamble only the truly desperate would even attempt.

All they had to keep them going was faith.

The second silence shattered with a muted metallic ring, as the knife fell faintly to the floor.

Tender, inhuman arms wrapped around Arivana, embracing her with fierce affection. She gasped in surprise, feeling a ready well burst forth from behind her eyelids, and hugged the woman back as strongly as she dared.

“Oh, Arivana,” Flumere said between sobs. “How did you ever think I could hurt you?”

“I didn’t,” Arivana replied in kind. “Not even for a heartbeat. We just needed them to know that.”

Arivana punctuated her words by sweeping an arm through the air above her.

As if the gesture was a signal of some kind, the ruvaki masters began screeching in incoherent rantings once more. This time, however, it had the feeling of a pointed debate, with wave after wave of shouts in opposing pitch thrown back and forth across the foggy, bitter air overhead.

Soon, the sound was joined by magic.

Chaos billowed and snapped and rolled, collapsing around Arivana and her companions like an avalanche. Just as it seemed like it would crash upon them, it drew back, yet not far. The argument in unintelligible words had crossed over to become an argument of energies, surging closer and farther away as those opposed fought back against those in favor of their annihilation, turning the air acrid all the while.

Yet within moments it became clear that the virulent strands were growing ever closer.

 

Tassariel watched Jasside mouth the words that, even shouted, could not be heard over the maelstrom now surrounding them.

You know what to do, they said.

This was the moment they’d planned for, practiced for, but now that it was here, she began shaking and felt her throat go dry. Before this tempest of chaotic power . . . she was nothing.

Remotely, she saw Daye pull on Arivana and Sem Aira, bundling them at his feet before spreading both legs and arms wide. Mevon took up a similar stance on the opposite side, and the two men leaned in until their fingertips were nearly touching. Draevenus and Jasside huddled close beside her. The three of them, by design, were in the center of the protective circle, such as the two men could provide, yet not in contact with either of them.

They had a job to do, and it could not be done while voided.

She sensed the two dark casters energize. They put their energy to work instantly, threading through gaps in the circle to deflect metal shards that came shrieking out of the gloom.

Now, Jasside’s lips pleaded. I need you to go first.

Trembling, Tassariel fumbled for her own power, yet came up short of grasping it, again and again. What had once been an act as routine as breathing had suddenly become like trying to swim up a waterfall.

But when Draevenus grabbed her face and pressed his lips against her own, she remembered that she didn’t need to swim at all. Though she’d lost them once, she still had her wings.

Time for me to fly.

Light filled her.

She looked towards Arivana. So young, yet she’d been wise enough to find a way through hatred, to put animosity to rest and put love in its place. She could see it in the way the queen gazed upon Daye’s face and clutched at Sem Aira: two who had once been her enemy, but now counted among those she called friend. The love that swirled around them seemed almost palpable, as if Tassariel could reach out and grab it.

And from the man before her, there was no as if about it. She could feel it, a warmth and passion flowing from him to her like heat from a hearth in winter. It was the greatest gift she had ever received, greater than she had ever expected or even hoped for. Returning it felt the most natural thing in the world.

Her fear forgotten in the face of such overwhelming beauty, Tassariel lifted her hand, spilling forth purest light from her fingertips. Though she held only a fraction of the power her father had when he’d first planted the idea in her head, it was enough to spread fully throughout the maelstrom beyond. The light didn’t do anything—it didn’t need to—but its very presence forced the smallest measure of order on the chaos.

Order saturated not with guilt, but with love.

 

Jasside squinted against the sudden brightness above her, and patted Draevenus on the shoulder. He tore his ebony gaze from Tassariel’s glowing face, his own features filled with something she’d never seen in him before. Something very much like happiness.

It’s up to you now, she mouthed to him, as the torrent of chaos and squabbling ruvaki voices were still drowning them in noise.

Draevenus nodded his understanding. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the valynkar and thrust his hands to either side, sending out tendrils of darkness to replace her own in blocking the incoming projectiles.

The ruvaki masters were at last attuned to light, and nothing else stood in her way.

Time to end this.

Jasside gathered her power. Though she didn’t think she would need all of it, she wanted to make sure she had more than enough to accomplish the job. The amount that filled her would have made a younger version of herself drool with envy. Like so many things, this had been Vashodia’s doing. That woman trapped in a girl’s malformed body was always planning ahead, thinking in terms of centuries when the next best had trouble thinking in years. Yet for all her forethought, Vashodia hadn’t steered events towards this moment.

This was all my doing. It’s up to me to get it right.

She looked up, able to sense, if not see, the ruvaki masters floating in their pods, which she now knew were meant to prolong their relatively clipped life spans. Yet, despite the importance of her task, which required she place herself firmly in a certain frame of mind, she couldn’t help but find herself drifting in the opposite direction.

All the battles and bloodshed, the countless enemy soldiers eradicated by her hand, and even more innocent people trampled beneath the weight of ruvaki hatred. So much pain spawned by these very figures, suspended helpless—though they knew it not—above her. All of it could be made right with the barest thought or flick of her wrist.

Justice could at last be served.

Her upward gaze drifted over to Mevon’s downturned face. She knew that this was his influence talking, but also knew that he’d berate her, gently of course, for letting such thoughts linger as long as they had. What was easy wasn’t always right—abyss, it almost never was—and too often, what people passed off as natural, as normal, even, were the worst things anyone could possibly do.

She’d seen what walking of the path of vengeance and hatred did. She’d been walking it her whole life. Now, it was time to try forgiveness.

Mevon’s eyes locked with her own. The love evident in that gaze filled her soul, but not, as she had hoped, to brimming. Jasside focused, looking inward, surrendering all thoughts of pain as she searched for the part in her that needed nothing else but love.

It was then that she discovered her second surprise of the day.

Delving within her own body, Jasside found not a single heartbeat . . . but two.

My child . . .

She raised one hand next to Tassariel’s while the other landed gently over her abdomen, smiling as she released a deluge of dark energy into the maelstrom above.

 

Vashodia knew she had made two mistakes.

The first was obvious, as her brain kept endlessly reminding her: She’d listened to her heart.

Abyss take that accursed thing. I thought I’d rid myself of its influence millennia ago.

She had wasted her only opportunity to deal a crippling blow to the ruvak, one from which they’d never recover. And not only that, but using the power of the voltensi to divide the continent and cut off the invading army had suspended their latent function.

Ruvaki skyships had begun pouring into the empire almost instantly.

And try as she might to coax them back to life, she’d drained too much of their power for a swift recovery. It would take them days at least to return to normal. Based on their flight trajectories, the ruvaki fleets would be at each outer voltensus in tolls. That this central one might last a month wouldn’t matter much when every human soul on the planet—besides herself, of course—lay beyond abyss’s gate.

Vengeance would come in time—of that she had no doubt—but it would pale before the outright victory she had planned.

If, of course, her second mistake didn’t lead to a very swift end.

Accessing the voltensi had drained her, as well. So much so that she’d been left unconscious on the floor for abyss knew how long. And when she’d awoken, just moments ago, there’d been a dagger held sharp and cold across her throat.

“Hello, Vashodia,” Slick Ren whispered into her ear from behind. “I’ve been waiting a long, long time for you to slip up. It looks like today is my lucky day.”

Vashodia groaned. Even if she had strength left to access her power, she could never get over her own weakness. A weakness that, despite her unmatched skill and foresight, had thrown a spike into the wheel of her plans, time and time again. Which had made her wait far too long to eliminate Rekaj from the equation, among other things. Which made her—she shuddered to even think the word—reliant upon others to fulfill her bidding.

Vashodia was . . . slow.

“Don’t make a move,” the empress demanded. “I want to enjoy this.”

“How did you find me?”

“I rebuilt this palace using the original plans, even if I did change most of the decorations. Did you really think a secret hallway leading from the royal bedchamber would escape my notice?”

“I was careful.”

Slick Ren snorted. “My guards are loyal. Though, in fairness, I don’t suppose you’d know what that was like. All you ever inspired was fear.”

“It’s the easiest way to control people.”

“One tool among many. I never understood why you limited yourself to the tactic, but now I see—you were too arrogant to think you’d need anything else.”

“I was—I am without equal, in almost every respect. Arrogance is justified.”

“Confidence can be justified, even if it’s rarely earned. Arrogance? Never.”

Vashodia grunted in contempt. “What do you know? You’re nothing but a trumped-up thief who weaseled her way into the bed of the man everyone knew would become emperor. Do you really think I wouldn’t take steps to protect myself? Steps you wouldn’t see before you woke up in the abyss?”

The words, she hated to admit, were a bluff. That accursed heart of hers had filled her thoughts, preventing her from taking any such insulating measures. She really needed to look into ways of eliminating its influence for good.

If I survive this, that is.

Though she couldn’t see it, Vashodia practically felt the woman sneer behind her. “If you had anything in place, you’d have activated it by now.”

“Would I? I happen to have a fairly benign association with your husband. Killing you would put a damper on our relationship.”

“Cheeky bitch.”

“Whore.”

Just as Vashodia felt the steel press down a little tighter on her throat, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching from behind.

Both of them grew still. After a moment, Vashodia felt Slick Ren draw in a breath as she turned her head.

“Why did you come?” the empress asked. “I told you I would handle this alone.”

When no answer came that she could hear, Vashodia knew who stood behind them.

“No,” Slick Ren said, in response to an unseen query. “We were just having a friendly chat. Weren’t we, little miss cancer-on-two-legs?”

“As friendly as they come,” Vashodia mockingly agreed. “Why don’t you join us, Derthon? Though, I’m afraid I haven’t prepared any tea.”

The footsteps sounded again, closer this time, and soon the man himself strode slowly into view. He looked strange, wrapped head-to-toe as he was in bandaging cloth. It was no surprise, really. The last time she’d seen him, Vashodia had been removing the last strip of skin from his body. It wasn’t something people exactly recovered from.

His hands flicked in a pattern Vashodia couldn’t recognize. Though she’d learned many of the sign languages that had cropped up over the centuries, this one was foreign to her; a private speech built between brother and sister alone.

“I will not release her,” Slick Ren said. “Have you gone insane?”

Bandaged hands flowed together again.

Behind her, Vashodia felt the empress shake her head. “She doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Despite her best efforts to keep it at bay—especially after its recent outburst—Vashodia felt her heart stirring once more.

Derthon knelt in front of her, placing his forehead a few finger-widths away. He raised both hands toward her face. One dipped under her chin, grasping his sister’s wrist and pulling it—and the blade held tightly in her grip—away from Vashodia’s throat.

The other traced down the side of her face, in what could almost be called a caress.

The man coughed, then bored his gaze into her skull.

“I . . . pity . . . you,” he said in a raspy, throaty voice.

Released at last by Slick Ren, Vashodia fell limp to the floor.

Long after the two siblings had left her, she dredged up the will to rouse herself. When she took a look around her, she discovered something unexpected. Something—dare she even think it—good.

Both soulstones were glowing like they had from the moment she’d first created them.

Jasside and Draevenus were both still alive.

Vashodia closed her eyes. Over the span of several marks, she recovered enough to energize to the barest degree, then tapped into the energy circuits of the voltensus, reaching out to sense what was going on in the farthest corners of the empire.

The ruvaki skyships that had entered from the western, eastern, and northern territories had all turned around. Those that had entered from the south were settling down near the stranded ruvaki army.

It took her a moment to realize that they were loading up with soldiers, one by one, before flying away once more.