IMANI

"Why?" Her brother grabbed her arm. "Why do you follow him? This is madness."

Imani stood in the pyramid armory, facing a rack of blades. She lifted a khopesh, its hilt shaped as an ibis's head, and gave the sword a swing. It sliced the air with a hiss. She balanced it on two fingers, frowned, and placed it back.

"Bit too hilt-heavy." She lifted another sword.

"Sister." Adai held her wrist and gently pulled down the sword. "Look at me. Speak to me."

She turned toward him. It hurt her to look at him. Her younger brother was not the man she remembered. Only a few years ago, he had been a happy youth, always smiling, chasing girls, telling jokes—even with Nur under the Empire's rule, even with the weight of princedom on his shoulders. Adai had enjoyed traveling to the markets, shopping for treasures, keeping some and bringing others to Imani. Somehow, even under Cicero's tyranny, he had found joy in Nur, had found some light, light he shared with his sister.

Mother's death had shattered him. The uprisings, the crucifixions, the bloodshed that had engulfed Nur until finally Imani gored Cicero with a tusk—those had taken all that had remained from Adai. Now no more laughter filled his eyes. She hadn't seen his beautiful smile—it had always been so radiant, so full of joy—in years. He no longer bothered to sport jewels or fineries but stood in a simple white skirt that fell down to his knees, and scars covered his arms and chest. His skin was dark for a prince's, a deep rich brown, for he had never been a prince to remain hidden in his palace. He had always walked under the sun among his people.

"Why do I follow Seneca?" she said. "I don't follow him, Adai. I fight at his side. His wife. His queen. I do not follow any man."

A flicker of rage filled Adai's eyes, eyes that had never known rage until this war. "Then why do you arm yourself for a journey to Aelar—his homeland? Why not stay here, in your kingdom, in your capital, in your pyramid—with your brother, your people?"

She turned toward a shelf and lifted a helmet. She hefted it. It was smooth and silvery, covering the nose and cheeks but leaving the eyes and mouth bared. "This one is good iron."

"Imani." He took the helmet from her. "Speak to me."

She sighed. "We've discussed this, Adai. You know that Tirus Valerius is a butcher, a man whose own daughter is ravaging Zohar. You know that Tirus would not rest until we're under Aelar's dominion again. But Seneca . . . if we can place him on the throne, he would be kind to us. To me." She touched her brother's arm. "He would be a good emperor to us, Adai."

He snorted. "A good emperor to us? Do you hear yourself? I don't want any emperor. I don't want any Aelarian in this land. Let the boy sail off to his war. Let him and Tirus kill each other. You want to join him, to take thousands of Nurian soldiers with you to fight his war? Enough Nurian blood has spilled for Aelar. This is not our war. Our war ended when you gored Cicero with an elephant tusk."

Imani turned away from the weapons and armor. She looked into her brother's dark eyes. "Our war will never end, Adai. One tyrant falls, another rises to replace him. Marcus Octavius murdered our mother and ravaged our land. His daughter sent hundreds of ships into Tereen and burned our port; if not for Seneca's aid, she would have brought us under her dominion. Now Tirus reigns, and he calls himself emperor of the entire Encircled Sea and all lands around it, and he will seek—with steel, fire, with our blood—to bring Nur back into his dominion. But Seneca is different. Seneca is my husband. Seneca is . . ." She considered. "Not kind, no. Not good nor just. But he is perhaps a lesser evil, and for that, Adai, for that I will fight. Because there are no ways of light and darkness, no wars of goodness and evil, only wars of gray."

"We are good and they are evil," said Adai. "That is what I believe."

"Am I good then?" She narrowed her eyes. "I skewered Taeer with a spear. I skewered her because she fought for her homeland, for her people, and I took her life. Is Seneca evil? He did evil things, yes. But I see goodness in him too. I see . . ." She looked away. "I see love."

"Love?" Adai barked a laugh. "He married you because you lead armies. Because he wanted you to give him Nur's warriors, so that they will fight his sister. Because he wanted you to do what you're doing now—to help him claim his empire. And once he has his empire, and once Nur's blood has spilled for him, do you think he would still adore you? You are Nurian, sister. The Aelarians spit on us. They call us animals, savages, and look down upon our dark skin, our southern realm, our very essence. You would be an embarrassment to him in the courts of Aelar. Here you are exotic to him, wise, powerful, a treasure. But in Aelar, surrounded by senators and ingratiating fools and marble columns of their so-called civilization? They would see you as nothing but a beast, a trophy, a pretty bird to gawk at. You would become his pet, and Nur's blood would water the foundations of his empire."

Imani wanted to argue back, to prove him wrong, but there was truth to his words. "Yes," she said softly. "You are right. He married me for my army. He married me because he finds me beautiful, exotic, indeed a pretty bird in a cage. I was caged when he first saw me. He married me not for love." Her eyes stung. "But that is the burden of a queen, that we should marry for alliances rather than the heart. But one thing comforts me. When I gaze into his eyes now, I see love there, not just desire, not just greed, not just calculating gain, but actual love. Love that grew in him, that is real."

Adai stared at her, silent for a moment. "And do you love him?"

She turned away again. She walked toward a window and gazed outside the armory. The Majina River flowed below between acacia and baobab trees, lined with rushes. Other pyramids soared alongside the river, tipped with precious metals. Obelisks, their limestone engraved with hieroglyphs, rose in city squares, even taller than the columned temples to the ancient gods. Thousands of warriors, both Aelarians and Nurians, were mustering in the city's main boulevards. Their ships had burned, but they carried their supplies in wagons and carts and across their backs. In northern Tereen, the gateway of their kingdom, they would find ships to rebuild—a flotilla to take them across the Encircled Sea. To leave home.

"Love?" Imani spoke softly, gazing at the view. "I love Nur. I love the smell of cinnamon in the wind. I love the giraffe calves I raise in the gardens. I love our ancient gods and their tales. More than anything, I love the people of this land—ancient, wise, still proud. Do I love Seneca?" She lowered her head. "Suffice it to say that I no longer hate him. He's a good husband even if he's not a good man. As emperor, he would be good to Nur, and for Nur, I would gladly marry even Xashuta, the demon of the fiery lands beneath the earth. And . . ." She lowered her head and placed a hand on her belly. "He would be a good father to the child I carry."

Adai froze. His eyes widened. He stared at her, his mouth opened, but it was a moment before he could speak. "His child?" he whispered, and she saw the horror in his eyes.

She nodded, and now horror coiled through her too. She was not ready for this. Not ready to bring a babe into a world that was burning. But she had lain with Seneca on the night of his victory against Porcia's fleet, and it had been there—on a tower above the world, the wreckage of ships burning below them—that life had kindled within her, life she would protect. A father she would protect.

"His child grows within me," she said, voice cracking.

The horror faded from Adai's eyes, replaced with compassion. He approached, reached out gingerly, and sought approval in her eyes. When she nodded, he placed a hand on her belly. For a moment he was silent, then looked back into her eyes.

"Does he know?" Adai asked.

Imani nodded.

"And does he know," Adai said, "that while his heart beats for you, you do not return his affection? That you love your kingdom, love your child, but do not love him?"

"He knows," Imani said. "I haven't told him, but he knows. I don't think any woman has ever loved him, Adai. His lumer betrayed him. Both his sisters fought against him. His paramour, Ofeer Sela, loathes him. I don't think he believes he deserves love, and I don't think he expects it. He is as I am. He loves his kingdom more than anything. Aelar will always be his true love, as Nur is mine. It's the burden of leaders. Kings and queens are doomed to love but soil and sand."

"You love me, sister," Adai said, eyes softening. "And will love your child. Our parents died in this war, but we still have each other, and we have the life inside you. Always. So I'll go north with you. I don't trust Seneca. I don't believe in this war. I will weep to see Nur's blood spill for Aelar. But I will go with you on whatever journey you take. For my sister."

Under the searing southern sun, they headed out. Imani rode at the lead of the hosts, sharing a chariot with Seneca. Rather than a kalasiri, she wore armor: a breastplate emblazoned with an ibis formed of sapphires and emeralds, its wings spread; studded leather straps that hung halfway down her thighs, trimmed with silver; and a helmet that sprouted an iron serpent with ruby eyes. Her sword hung from her side, a curved khopesh with an ibis pommel, while sandals held her feet, their straps rising to her knees. At her side, Seneca wore the armor of an Aelarian commander: a breastplate molded to mimic a muscular torso, pteruges that hung across his thighs, caligae sandals, and a crested galea helmet. A gladius hung from his belt, and his shield displayed a black eagle on a crimson field. Behind them spread their hosts: ten thousand legionaries, marching and riding together, bearing two Aquilae, eagle idols forged of gold, brought to every battle. With them too marched the hosts of Nur, scale armor protecting their torsos, spears in hand and swords at hips, headdresses of blue and white stripes flowing down to their shoulders.

They marched through the gates of Shenutep, passing between towering idols shaped as men with hippopotamus heads. They headed across the savanna, leaving their city behind, heading north to delta, to sea, and to distant Aelar.