and the black glass fell pattering to the water, disappearing into the dark sea below with a soft cry. Even before it hit, the Empress was walking forward. For anyone else, this would have been suicide. The raging glass had consumed the prow, leaving a sheer, hundred-foot drop to the sea below. But Nara was the Immortal Empress, a star of the Shepherdess, and the ship knew its place. Boards flew from the lower decks as she walked. They came from the outer hull, the railings, anywhere that was still stable. They piled on top of each other, forming a solid, if makeshift, ramp beneath her feet. When she reached the place where the end of the prow had been, Nara stopped. The boards creaked below her, stretched to the very edge of their ability to hold. Nara ignored the sound and leaned forward, toward the island.
She paused, listening, watching, seething. The feel of the Shepherdess was stronger than ever. Nara followed it as a dog follows a scent, reaching past her ships, across the bloody bay, and up the steep, rocky wall to the lone figure sitting with his back pressed against the cliff. She could see him in her mind as her will touched him—a young man, thin and gangly with shaggy, dark hair. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees, but she could feel the burning trace of the Shepherdess’s touch all across his body, and the realization stabbed her like a sword in her gut.
“You,” Nara whispered, her voice shaking with hatred.
What’s wrong, Nara? The Lady’s voice seemed to float on the wind. Are you so surprised? You knew there was another star here, and I only have two among the humans.
“Why is he here?” Nara roared, forgetting herself in her rage.
He’s here because you’re here, the Shepherdess whispered. You said you would do anything to be first in my heart, Nara. Now’s your chance. Fight for my favor. The boy has set himself up as defender of this island. Crush his forces and take it from him, and I will know once and for all who loves me best.
“If you want a fight, I will give you one!” Nara shouted into the wind. “Watch me, Benehime! I will show you the difference between that boy and an Empress.”
Her voice echoed across the water, but the only reply was the Lady’s laughter, chiming like glass bells in the night.
“Captain!” the Empress shouted, looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, the captain was there, kneeling at the end of the makeshift plank. “Tell the wizards to prepare another volley and signal the fleet to ready the assault boats. We conquer this island within the hour.”
“But, Empress.” The man’s voice was shaking. “The wizards on the shore—”
“Will mean nothing in a moment,” the Empress finished for him, turning back to the front. “I am about to teach this land what it means to defy the Immortal Empress.”
She heard the soft thunk of the captain’s head on the deck as he bowed deeper still and assured her that her orders would be followed. Nara barely listened. Instead, she closed her eyes, reaching down into the well of her soul and giving her spirit a hard, sudden twist.
A ripple of power flew out of her, soaring silently over the dark sea, over the new-grown trees blocking the bay, over the bloody water and the forgotten bodies of her soldiers. Her will struck the island like a tidal wave, suffusing the land. All at once, the air was thick with the proof of who she was, what she was.
On the shore, the effect was immediate.
In the minutes before the Empress struck, the storm wall was still in chaos.
Miranda crouched panting against Durn’s solid wall, Mellinor coiled around her in a rope of glowing water. Banage had his own stone spirit out and was holding the war spirit down with three granite shackles. The war spirit strained against his hold, its sharp claws rending enormous gouges in the road, but Banage’s spirit held it firm. Now, it was Miranda’s turn.
“Hit it high and hard!” Banage shouted, his voice straining. “We may not get another shot!”
Miranda closed her eyes, focusing on what she was about to do next. “Durn?” she whispered, accompanying the whisper with a surge of power. “Mellinor?”
“Ready,” Durn said behind her.
Mellinor just tightened the spinning of his water, forcing it to race faster and faster.
That was all Miranda needed. She shot up, pushing off the dirt as she threw out her arm, throwing all her power along with it. At the same time, Durn surged forward, joining her power and riding with it. Mellinor joined a moment later, sharpening his water to a swirling point at the end of Durn’s sharpened fist.
The power from the three of them, Durn, Mellinor, and Miranda, hit the trapped war spirit at the same time, and it screamed as Durn’s fist, sluiced with Mellinor’s water, dug into the tangle of metal and stone at its center. The spirit’s body flashed red hot, boiling Mellinor’s water away, but this just made the attack worse. Water, stone, and steam now forced their way into the Empress’s war spirit like a drill, tearing everything in their path until, with a deafening shriek, the war spirit’s head and front left leg fell to the ground, ripped from its body by the sheer force of her blow.
Miranda flopped to the ground, gasping with relief. Durn and Mellinor fled back to her, and she welcomed them with open arms. She was beaming with pride, but as she opened her mouth to shout her joy, the ground shook.
She scrambled back, raising her hands against the blast of heat as the war spirit tore itself to its feet, breaking through the granite rings of Banage’s stone spirit. She heard Banage cry out somewhere in the dark, but she didn’t have time to look for him. Her eyes were on the war spirit as it teetered on its three remaining legs, its headless torso listing sideways as its metal began to glow red hot yet again.
“These things are impossible to kill.”
Miranda glanced to see Gin beside her with Banage on his back. The Rector Spiritualis hopped down and moved to Miranda’s side, clutching the cloudy-gray gem that had been his stone spirit’s black ring.
“He’ll be fine with time,” he said before Miranda could ask. “Dunerik is nothing if not resilient.”
“None of us will be fine if we don’t find a way to make these things stay down,” Gin growled. “Even that pigheaded idiot’s still fighting.”
Miranda could only guess the dog was referring to Josef. She didn’t have a look to spare for the swordsman, but the constant clang of metal on stone from the walk in front of the tower told her everything she needed to know. If the Heart of War couldn’t carve these monsters… She clenched her teeth, forcing the thought from her head before it could finish. No point in going down that path. She’d do better to stay focused on the spirit in front of her.
The war spirit was burning full tilt now, and the heat pouring off it was enough to make Miranda’s hair crackle. It moved slowly backward, its three feet taking small, careful steps toward the pulverized remains of its head and fourth leg.
“It’s trying to put itself back together,” Miranda said, sending a pulse of power to Durn. “I want a pillar underneath it. Shoot it up, we’re going to knock the head and the leg into the bay.”
But as she gave the order, she realized something was wrong. The surge of power she’d sent down the thread that connected her stone’s spirit to her own had reached its destination, but Durn had not answered. A cold cringe of fear curled in her stomach, and Miranda looked to see Durn standing behind her, still as the ground under their feet.
“Durn,” she said again, adding a little force to her voice.
“I can’t,” the stone whispered, his voice full of fear. “We’re too late.”
“Too late?” Miranda asked, but even as the question left her lips, the wall of power crashed into her. Miranda gasped as the enormous weight forced her to her knees, and she wasn’t alone. Every one of her spirits had gone perfectly still. Even Gin was on the ground, facing the bay with his head on his paws, almost like he was bowing.
“Durn’s right,” her hound whined, pressing his nose into the dirt. “We took too long. She’s here.”
Miranda didn’t have to ask whom they meant. Straining against the power, she lifted her head just enough to see the palace ships. She didn’t know what she was looking for, what to expect, but she knew the Empress the moment she saw her.
She was smaller than Miranda would have thought, narrow boned and pale, her black hair piled in an elaborate knot on top of her head. Her golden armor shone brighter than her war spirits, but it was not the brightness that drew Miranda’s gaze, nor was it the fact that the woman was standing on a seemingly impossible line of wooden boards stretching out from the palace ship’s destroyed prow. What drew Miranda’s attention was the same thing that drew the attention of everything in the bay, large and small, awakened or asleep. It was
