If only she were free to share all her accomplishments with him, if only he’d listen, she was certain he would be proud of her. Perhaps she hadn’t found all four of the Kindred, but given that they’d been lost for a millennium, it was an incredible victory to acquire even one.
“Sister,” Elan said, the tone of his greeting thin and flat.
“Brother,” she replied with a nod.
The emperor regarded her, his arms folded in front of his dark green robes, intricately embroidered with flecks of gold and violet dragons and phoenixes—the symbols of Kraeshia and the Cortas family. “Tell me, daughter, how was your trip to little Mytica?”
“Eventful.”
“I see you’ve come alone. Does Ashur ever plan to return home? Or will he continue to roam the world, chasing after his magical butterflies?”
In Limeros, Amara had threatened to return to her father and accuse Magnus of slaying Ashur. In that moment of passion, it had seemed a logical choice, but now that she’d had many days to consider her options, she’d decided to hold back—for now.
She forced a smile. “Yes, my brother has a wanderer’s soul. But it was lovely to be able to spend a bit of time with him. I’m sure he’ll return soon, but he didn’t say when.”
Perhaps in his next life, Amara thought. Kraeshians believed in reincarnation; just like the phoenix that represented the empire, they too would rise again after death and begin a new life.
“I’m sure you had the chance to meet King Gaius during your stay.”
She nodded. “The king was very kind to me and Ashur. He even gave us our own villa.”
She didn’t mention that the villa was as far away from the palace as possible. Or that the king nearly imprisoned her and Ashur to try to use them against the emperor. Or that it only took her one meeting with him to make her sure that he would have cut both of their throats without remorse if he’d felt it would serve him.
All of the rumors about Gaius Damora were true. He was a snake: cold-blooded and venomous. Of course she hadn’t tolerated his attempts to make her his prey while she was in Mytica, but now, with some distance between them, she found she could actually appreciate his ruthlessness.
“And what kinds of discussions did you have with the king?” the emperor asked, absently picking up a small model ship from the shore of the map.
“Nothing of particular interest; it was all very polite.” She tried to recall a single memorable conversation she’d had with the king. “He made introductions to his palace advisors, spoke a bit about the attractions in Auranos—nothing useful or enlightening. Of course that wasn’t surprising. Myticans don’t speak bluntly from their hearts and minds like us. It’s all empty courtesy and passive-aggressive innuendo.”
“No, not like us at all.” The emperor cupped her face in his large hands and smiled at her.
“Definitely not like us.”
“Then let me be blunt, daughter.” He tightened his grip on her, the pleasant expression fading from his weathered face. “What secrets did you share with the King of Blood that might be used against me?”
Her eyes widened. “What? I told him nothing, of course.”
“Really,” he said, his gaze steady and unmoving. “Because I have to wonder why it is, exactly, that I’ve received a message from Auranos, informing me that the king is on his way here to see me. What a coincidence, don’t you think, that the king has chosen to take this little trip now, so soon after your departure from Mytica?”
Deep, aching pain spread across her temples where he kept pressing harder. “Father, I assure you, I said nothing.”
“Perhaps you talk in your sleep, then?” He raised an eyebrow in response to her stunned expression. “I know you don’t think I pay attention to you, Amara. But I do to what they say about you. That you take to your bed any man who smiles at you. That my daughter, the princess of Kraeshia, is no better than a common whore.”
“Father!” Her cheeks flared with heat and she grabbed at his hands, digging her fingernails in. “I am not a whore! And I didn’t sleep with the king. Nor did I tell him anything about you or our empire. I don’t even know any secrets about you. Remember, I’m not one of your sons. I’m your daughter, just a girl. I’m well aware I’m little more than window decoration to you.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gray-blue eyes an exact match for her own, only his were watery and surrounded by the wrinkles consuming his leathery face. Finally, he released her. “You disappoint me at every turn, you worthless girl. If only I’d succeeded in ridding myself of you years ago.”
Pain tore through Amara’s chest. “Yes, well, unfortunately the ancient laws only allowed you one chance to murder an unwanted daughter, didn’t they?”
She was trying to provoke him, but he didn’t even flinch. “Remove yourself from my sight so I can prepare for our unwelcome guest.”
“Perhaps King Gaius means to conquer you,” she said under her breath.
A heavy moment of silence lingered before the emperor’s booming laugh filled the large room. “I’d like to see him try.”
“A pathetic little king conquer you, Father?” Elan joined the emperor in his boisterous amusement. “What a ludicrous thought!”
Amara turned, fists clenched, her fingernails biting into her palms, and left the map room.
Yes, how deeply ludicrous it was for anyone to think they had a chance against such a great and powerful conqueror.
• • •
“Something troubles you, princess,” Mikah said as Amara hurried toward her chambers in the east wing of the Spear.
That she’d thought for even a moment that her father would be pleased to see her after her journey embarrassed her. Of course he hadn’t been pleased. Why would she think that anything would have changed over the course of a few weeks when it had been like this for her entire life?
“My troubles are none of your concern,” she replied curtly. Perhaps too curtly. She stopped for a moment and turned to him. “I’m fine, Mikah,” she said, softer now. “Really.”
“I hope so. I don’t like to see you so sad.”
She spared him another glance and found him studying her intently with dark eyes, curious and searching. Other servants typically kept their gazes lowered in her family’s presence and didn’t speak unless first spoken to.
“Why are you always so kind to me?” she asked. “No other servant cares how I feel.”
His expression grew thoughtful. “I suppose when I see someone in pain, I want to help them.”
“Some injured animals will bite the hand that tries to help.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not an animal, isn’t it?” He allowed himself a small smile. “One day, perhaps we’ll become close enough that you’ll feel free to confide in me all manner of feelings and secrets.”
“And allow myself to trust a Kraeshian man?” she said, half to herself. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Perhaps I’m different than other Kraeshian men.”
“A phrase many Kraeshian men might say,” she countered.
They reached her chambers and stopped in front of the entrance. She stood at the door for a moment, regarding Mikah’s handsome face.
It was difficult for her to see him as more than an indentured servant, still working to pay off the fee for which his parents traded their strong, healthy son to the Empire. And even though he’d always been kind and considerate to her, Mikah was Kraeshian. In Kraeshia, all boys—and girls, too—were brought up believing that only men were worthy of respect and honor, while women existed as mere ornaments and playthings, with no influence on others or the world at large.
She refused to let herself fall for a Kraeshian man, only to be deceived by him.
“I need to rest after my long journey,” she said. “But first, send for my grandmother. I wish to speak with her.”
He bowed. “As you wish, princess.”
Amara went inside, closed the door, and leaned
against it. All of the roiling emotions that Amara had pushed so deep down inside herself during the journey home now came rushing to the surface. She ran to the mirror and clutched the sides.
“I’m alive,” she reminded her wild-eyed reflection. “Nineteen years later and I’m still here. I can do anything I want. I can have anything I want.”
“Yes, my sweet. You certainly can.”
She spun around to see her grandmother Neela sitting by the window that overlooked the sea.
“Grandmother!” The joy of seeing her chased all of her doubts and sadness away. She loved this wrinkled, gray-haired woman, her only confidante, who still took the time to dress impeccably in her finest silks and jewels. “You were waiting for me?”
Neela nodded and rose to her feet, extending her arms. Amara rushed into a tight embrace, knowing that, despite her seemingly frail appearance, her grandmother was the strongest woman she knew.
“Is it done?” Neela whispered, patting Amara’s shining hair.
“Yes.”
There was a moment of silence. “Did he suffer?”
Amara swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped back from the old woman. “It was quick. Just as you suspected, he betrayed me at the first opportunity, choosing to give his trust and loyalty to a boy he barely knew rather than to his own sister. Grandmother, I know it had to be done, but I have so many doubts.”
Neela nodded, her lips thin and expression plaintive. “Your brother had a good heart. But that was his fatal flaw. He trusted strangers too easily; he saw good in those who only had bad within them. He could have been a valuable ally to you, to us, but when it came down to the crucial moment, he didn’t prove himself.”
She knew Neela was right, but it didn’t make any of it easier. “He spent his last moments hating me.”
Neela pressed her cool, dry palm against Amara’s burning cheek. “Then let that hatred make you stronger, Dhosha. Hatred and fear are the most powerful emotions there are. Love and compassion make you weak. Men have known this since the beginning of time, and they use this knowledge for their own gain.”
Her grandmother spoke without a trace of anger or pain in her voice. Rather, she made her statement simply, as a truth handed down from a woman who’d lived her whole life under the thumbs of oppressive, controlling men.
A question Amara had locked away inside her heart her whole life burned on her tongue, brought back to the surface after having been insulted and dismissed by her father. She needed to ask it now—needed an answer that could help her make sense of so much.
“Madhosha . . .” It was the Kraeshian word for grandmother, just as dhosha was for granddaughter. As he continued to add new kingdoms to his empire over the last three decades, Emperor Cortas had allowed their language to fade away in favor of the universal dialects spoken by most of the world. Neela had always mourned the loss of her native language, and had privately taught Ashur and Amara several Kraeshian words to ensure that they would retain some of their heritage. Amara had a large Kraeshian vocabulary, but the language was complex and she wasn’t nearly fluent.
“Yes?” Neela replied gently.
“I . . . I know we’re not supposed to speak about the ancient laws, but . . . please, I’m nineteen and I need to know. How did I survive the ritual drowning? How is that even possible?”
“My sweet, it pains me greatly that you even know about that horrible day.”
The memory was foggy now, as Amara was not much more than five years old, when she’d overheard her grandmother and father talking about her—her grandmother speaking softly, her father’s voice booming.
“Special, you say,” he snarled. “I see nothing special in her.”
“She is still a child,” her grandmother replied, her voice small but calm—a tiny ship in the middle of the sea confronted by a looming hurricane. “One day, you’ll see why the gods spared her.”
“Bah. I have three fine sons. What use do I have for a daughter?”
“A daughter means a marriage to the son of a worthy king, to help political negotiations.”
“I’ve no need for negotiations when all I need is to send my armada to that worthy king’s shores and take his land in the name of Kraeshia. But blood . . . I could certainly use a fitting blood sacrifice as an offering to the gods to keep my empire strong.”
“You already had your chance with Amara,” Neela hissed. “One chance and one alone. But she survived, because she is special and meant for greatness. Make any further attempt on her life and it will be a black mark against your soul. You know this to be true. Even you would not be so bold as to risk so much.”
Neela spoke with a quiet strength that not even the emperor could ignore.
When Amara had tentatively approached Neela about what she’d heard, her grandmother had bristled, sent her away at once, told her she had nothing to worry about.
“Please tell me, Madhosha,” Amara insisted now. “Why didn’t I drown? Even if I was, somehow, special . . . I was still just a baby. A baby is not a fish; they’re not born magically knowing how to swim.”
“Magically,” Neela repeated slowly, nodding. “That is an important word, isn’t it?”
Amara studied her grandmother’s wise gray eyes, her heart skipping a beat. “Did magic have something to do with my survival?”
“It is time you knew the truth.” Neela went to the window and gazed out at the sparkling Silver Sea. “Your mother loved you so much. She barely survived the beating she received for birthing a girl.” Neela’s cheek twitched, as if it pained her to recall the memory. “My daughter hated her husband, your father, from the moment she learned they were to marry. He was well-known to be especially vicious toward women who knew their own minds and argued with him. He enjoyed breaking them of this tendency until they agreed with every word he spoke. For years she tolerated his abusive ways. After you were born, she knew that he would invoke the ritual to rid himself of a female child, a symbol of his own perceived weakness. She had stopped trying to protect herself by then, but she swore to protect you at any cost. She found an apothecary from a recently conquered kingdom, who was rumored to be able to brew a very rare—and dangerous—potion, which she poured in your ear just before the ritual took place.”
Amara knew next to nothing about her mother, who’d died shortly after she was born. Her father—who had yet to remarry, but kept many mistresses—refused to talk about her, and thus so did everyone else in the Spear. “The potion—that’s what kept me alive?”
“Not exactly. It was a resurrection potion.”
Amara regarded Neela with widening eyes.
“The potion did not keep you alive,” Neela said gravely. “The potion brought you back from death.”
Amara clasped her hand to her mouth to cover her shocked gasp. She always believed there had to be a simple answer to why she didn’t drown—perhaps the water hadn’t been deep enough. Perhaps she’d managed to float or a nursemaid had done something secretly to help her stay alive.
There were many potions that could be acquired for a variety of illnesses and uses, but Amara had never heard of anything so powerful. “What is the price of such magic?” she asked, her voice raspy.
Neela curled her gnarled fingers around the locket at her throat. “It is the most costly magic of all. A life for a life.”
An icy wave of dizziness stole her breath and nearly knocked Amara to her knees. She absently grabbed for a chair behind her and sat down with a thud. “My mother gave her life for mine.”
Neela turned to her granddaughter, her eyes glossy but tearless. Amara had never seen her cry, not once. “Like I said, your mother loved you, very much. She knew you would grow up to be strong and brave, like her. And you have. I can see it in your eyes, my sweet dhosha. This is why, from the moment you were able to speak and learn, I’ve taught you all the specific skills and knowledge I have. And I swear on my life, this one and the next, that I will continue to guide you to your destiny.”
Neela
reached for her, and Amara pushed herself up from the chair and grasped her grandmother’s hand.
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
This chilling revelation only made Amara more committed to her ultimate goal. Killing her traitorous brother and stealing the water Kindred had only been the first step. It didn’t matter how long it took her to achieve it. No matter the cost. No matter how many lies she had to tell or how much blood she had to spill.
One day, Amara Cortas would be the first Empress of Kraeshia. And she would rule the world.
CHAPTER 7
JONAS
AURANOS
The docks of King’s Harbor were swarming with activity by the time Jonas and Lysandra arrived at mid-morning. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men milled about, loading and unloading ships at port. Perched there on the edge of the sea was a lively village, its taverns, inns, and shops ready and waiting for the workers to finish their day.
The plan had been to get there by dawn, but Jonas was moving slower than usual, burdened by his injury.
Lysandra pressed a mug of spiced peach cider into his hand outside of a meeting house. “How are you doing?” she asked with concern.
“Fine.” He forced a smile. “Just fine. For a poor half-blind guy, that is.” He indicated his borrowed eye patch. “By the way, have I mentioned how lovely you look in that gown? Rose is definitely your color.”
She scowled and looked down at her outfit. “Don’t remind me of the fact that I’m wearing this monstrosity. I hate this dress. Who would ever want to wear such a fancy thing?”
“It’s essentially just a cotton frock. It’s not exactly all satin and frills fit for a palace ball.”
“I wish I’d have just cut my hair instead,” Lys said, then grimaced and nodded her chin at Jonas. “Or let you or Galyn cut it.”
She was referencing Jonas’s new hairstyle, which was courtesy of Lysandra and a sharp blade. His scalp was a tapestry of shaved swatches, scraped skin, and small tufts of dark hair. Thankfully he’d managed to disarm her before she’d drained him of too much blood. The girl was an excellent fighter, but a terrible hair-cutter.