servant of the Empire?”
“No,” the Empress said. “Den is a traitor. He betrayed his homeland to join our invasion as soon as the tide turned. He is a monster who thrives on conflict with no loyalty to anything but his own lust for battle. I know full well that he will never be my soldier, but I do not need another soldier, general.” She looked west. “Soldiers I have in plenty, but the other half of this world is a barbarous, uncivilized, lawless place. If I am to bring such lands into my enlightened peace, soldiers won’t be enough. If my control is to be complete, I must conquer swiftly, completely. We must devour their land before they realize they have lost it, and for that, I need a monster.” She turned and smiled at her general. “Have no fear, this is the last war. When we are done, the whole world will be under my law, and there will be no more need for monsters. If Den is still alive when we reach that glorious end, I will see that he meets a monster’s death.”
The general bowed, his eyes shining. “As you command, Empress. Your soldiers march for Istalirin and the endless glory of your Empire.”
“As they should,” she said. “I will expect you there.”
With that, she waved her hand, and a white line appeared in the air, twisting open to reveal the ornate map room of her war palace. Her officers stopped what they were doing and stood at attention as she stepped through the hole in the world. They murmured praises in her name, but the Empress paid them no mind. She marched straight past the table to the great window and looked out over the bay.
All she saw was ships. Her fleet spread to the horizon, her palace ships filled the great bay of Istalirin until no glimpse of water was visible between the hulls. Pride welled up in her chest. Twenty-six years ago, when she was the favorite and the world was as it should be, she’d sent a handful of ships to test the strength of the other half of the world. They’d returned defeated, but that was to be expected. She’d conquered close to a hundred countries since becoming Empress, and she’d learned early to use a small force to sound out the enemy’s strengths before attacking in earnest. What had surprised her were her generals’ reports of the enemy’s ability to talk across distance. That had caught her for a moment, but the counter proved easy. If they could gossip about her movements and pile all their troops to meet her at full strength wherever she hit, then she would simply build so many ships that such a small advantage wouldn’t matter.
The Empress enjoyed such simple, effective plans, but even for her, it took time to raise that large a force. But again, she was the Immortal Empress; time wasn’t an issue. As soon as she’d heard her defeated generals’ report, she’d put her shipyards to work and sat back to wait. For eleven years, everything went as planned. But then, just as her army was nearing completion, the boy had appeared and ruined everything.
Nara took a deep, shamed breath. When the boy first took Benehime away from her, she’d gone a little mad. She’d abandoned her lands, abandoned her nearly finished fleet, abandoned her people, abandoned her wish to hide in a cave like an animal. Fifteen years she’d lost to worthless misery, and then to be rescued by Den, of all people. It was her greatest shame. One she meant to undo with the fleet that lay before her.
Satisfied, the Empress turned away from the window and took her place at the head of the table as her generals began to arrange the battle maps for her inspection. As the papers were laid in place, she spotted Den himself entering the war room. Her officers stiffened visibly as he stepped up to the table, but Nara motioned for him to stand beside her. Mindless of the great honor, Den walked up and sat on the table by her elbow, his hard face sullen and bored.
“I’m here,” he said. “Can we go?”
“Soon,” Nara promised, nodding for her generals to begin their presentations.
Den sneered and walked over to the window overlooking the bay. As the generals began to speak, Den paid them no attention. His eyes never left the ships, and he stared at them with the ardor of someone witnessing the birth of his heart’s desire. That look alone set Nara’s mind at ease. Confident that her monster would be loyal for now, she turned to hear the greatest military minds of her Empire outline their plans to crush all who stood in her way.
Just beyond the bay at Istalirin, at the outskirts of the Empress’s control, an enormous wind flew over the growing fleet. It blew through every ship, taking note not only of the mountainous hulls and cavernous crew quarters but of the great war spirits that slept deep in the ships’ bellies. The wind looked as long as it dared, skirting the edge of the Empress’s awareness. When it had seen enough, the wind turned west, flying as fast as it could back to its lord who waited on the far western edge of the world.
Far across the Unseen Sea, Tesset sat on the plush window seat in the Merchant Prince of Zarin’s office, watching his employer pace a rut into the fine silk rug.
“Whitefall’s an idiot if he thinks this is going to work,” Sara muttered around the pipe she clenched between her teeth. “Compromises don’t work with men like Banage.”
“It’s my impression that he doesn’t have much choice,” Tesset said. “Council and Court must stand together or face mutual destruction.”
“Which is exactly why it won’t work,” Sara said, walking faster. “Mutual destruction loses its teeth when one party is willing to die for his beliefs.”
Tesset leaned against the window. “If the Merchant Prince is showing any lack of judgment, Sara, it’s not trying to compromise with Banage, but inviting you to attend.”
Sara shot him a look that would have frozen the Whitefall River. Tesset settled his shoulders against the cool glass and stared back.
“There’s no point in leaving me out of things,” she said, resuming her pacing. “Whitefall may fancy himself the shadow king of the world, but this is as much my Council as it is his. He can’t make a decision involving wizard matters without my say-so, and Banage knows it. Etmon won’t agree to anything without me there for him to gloat over.” She puffed on her pipe, adding more smoke to the haze that already filled the room. “This is ridiculous. I got back from the desert not an hour ago. I don’t have time for this farce. Not if Alber wants his miracle, anyway.”
Tesset started to comment, but a soft sound outside the door caught his attention. “Well,” he said, “here’s your chance to tell him so yourself.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened and Alber Whitefall swept into the room. He was dressed in full regalia, with the white suit and golden medals of the Merchant Prince of Zarin as well as the maroon sash of the Council of Thrones, which the prince’s valet was still attempting to tie as he followed his harried master through the doorway.
Tesset smiled approvingly. A clever move, playing to Banage’s pride by greeting him with full honors as an equal. But Whitefall was a subtle, clever man, and Tesset never got tired of watching him maneuver. Pity he was spirit deaf. With the right training, he could have made a dangerous fighter.
“Banage is on his way,” Whitefall said, holding out his arm so the valet could fasten his cufflinks. “Remember, let me do the talking. If you antagonize him, he’ll just leave.”
“It’s what he’s going to do anyway,” Sara said, blowing an enormous puff of smoke at the ceiling.
Whitefall smiled. “We’ll see. Our dear Rector is about to run out of options.”
Sara eyed him curiously, but the Merchant Prince’s face was all politeness as he glanced at the enormous clock on the wall. “Time to take our places.”
He turned and walked out of the room, valet trailing in his wake. Sara followed, handing her pipe to Tesset, who tamped it out and placed it carefully in his pocket.
They walked through the citadel and into the large room at its heart, the Council Hearing Chamber. The chamber was empty this late in the evening, and Tesset got the feeling Whitefall had planned it that way. Another clever move. He was robbing Banage of his audience, hoping that the lack of witnesses would help the Rector compromise his principles. Tesset wasn’t sure if that hope would pan out, but Whitefall was wise to seize whatever advantage he could.
They took their places, Whitefall at the head table, Sara beside him with Tesset standing at her back. Moments after the valet had finished pinning the final length of gold braid to Whitefall’s shoulder, the doors at the opposite end of the chamber opened and Banage swept in. The Rector was in full regalia as well, the red robes of his order smothered beneath the heavy chain of his office. The enormous rings on his fingers glowed brighter than the lamps on the walls as he strode proudly across the polished marble to the table that had been prepared for him, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood, hands crossed at his waist, and waited.
Tesset bit back a smile. Banage had come ready to fight. This might prove more interesting than he’d hoped. For a moment, the two parties simply stared at each other, and then Whitefall made an almost
