crown.”
“I am no traitor,” Zofiya spat back, “and you know it. You
Gunnine blinked, which was the only sign that she had heard and comprehended what the Grand Duchess said. “Imperial Highness, I fear you go too far . . .”
The time for politeness had long come and gone. Zofiya stepped forward, using her greater height to force the older woman to look up at her. “You have known me as long as my brother, Major Gunnine. I have served him and this Empire with every breath in my body—putting my own life at risk, time after time. You also know that my brother’s attacks on the people of this Empire are completely contrary to the vows he gave when he took the throne.”
The old solider swallowed and shot a look past Zofiya, sizing up her small band with a practiced eye.
The Grand Duchess, sensing a weakening, pressed on. “I have the support of the Imperial Air Fleet, because I am not seeking the throne for myself, but merely to hold it for my brother until he returns to his senses.” She took a step back and spread her arms to take in the damage to the city. “For all your loyalty and goodwill, Major, you have not been able to keep the city safe—nor its people. Let me in, and I can help you do that.”
Gunnine’s jaw flexed, and her hands flexed into fists. This was a terrible choice for a soldier, but the major was more than just a simple soldier; she was trained to keep the safety and goodwill of the city of Vermillion in mind. She tucked her hands behind her back, and stared up at Zofiya. “Do I have your word on that, Imperial Highness? If the Emperor returns to claim his throne once more, you will give it up to him? Do you swear on the blood of your ancestors?”
Zofiya swallowed, and for an instant glanced up at the sky. It was clear blue and not marred by a single cloud. It was the kind of day that she and Kal had shared often in Delmaire. Things had seemed so simple then.
“I swear,” she whispered, “on the blood of my ancestors, if my brother returns fully capable of taking up his throne and rule over Arkaym, then I will turn it over to him.”
Gunnine held out her hand, browned and creased by duty, to Zofiya, and the Imperial sister gave hers in turn. “Then I will place the palace and the city in your care.”
The Grand Duchess knew this was a terrible chance that the major was taking. If Kal returned as mad and dangerous as Derodak had left him, then he could well order the destruction of the entire military outpost and city of Vermillion.
Both of the women, young and old, had obviously decided to put such a possibility out of their minds. Gunnine turned and waved a signal to the sniper and the troops on the battlements. Zofiya did the same to her squadron, and they double-timed it over the square to stand at her side. Revele’s face expressed all of their surprise, but she handed back the Grand Duchess’ weapons without comment.
“Truly,” she whispered to Zofiya, “Your Imperial Highness has the gift of the bard. Gunnine is not known for her flexibility.”
“Captain Revele,” the Grand Duchess snapped back, “you will have to work with the major, and you should know that she has only the best interests of the realm in mind.”
The airship captain looked put in her place but nodded. “As you say, Imperial Majesty.”
They followed Gunnine in through the gates, and Zofiya took note of the number of troops that remained. It was not many. She understood why the cannons had been dragged up to the wall. Gunnine had wanted to portray a facade of might—even if it were as thin as a piece of paper.
“Report, Major,” the Grand Duchess snapped, even as a few Imperial Guard secured the postern gate behind them.
Gunnine drew herself erect. “I have two hundred and thirty-four Imperial Guards remaining at the palace. The Emperor took every other one of them aboard the Imperial Airships.”
“Did he tell you when he would return?” Zofiya strode deeper into the palace, taking note of the general disarray and the lack of regular folk in the hallways.
“Unfortunately no.” Gunnine matched her stride for stride, while Revele took up the rear. “We have done our best to secure the palace against all attacks, but without the Deacons of the Order, the geists have come back in full force. We are not equipped as they are however and we’ve been unable to keep them from infiltrating the palace.” She looked away. “We have suffered many casualties.”
“Major,” Zofiya’s voice was sharp, “I understand you have done the best with what you have. I cannot expect you to fight geists. That is something that we relied on the Deacons for.” She slowed her pace slightly, now thinking of what Merrick had asked her. “How many of the Court are still in residence?”
“A few.” The soldier’s lips twisted. “Most of the Princes left immediately following the fall of the Mother Abbey, but many lesser aristocrats came to the palace for shelter, since they could not get passage on the Imperial Airships and other travel is so dangerous.”
Zofiya nodded and bit her lip. “Tell me, do you know if Japhne del Torne and her son are still here?”
Gunnine’s face darkened. “I was going to bring this to your attention anyway. I think you need to see the situation, Your Imperial Highness.”
Captain Revele’s mouth twitched, but the young woman managed to keep her tongue.
“Very well, Major,” the Grand Duchess said with a slight smile, “but while I do, my captain here will ascertain the state of the palace defenses—a fresh eye on the situation may yield much.”
It was an insult to the old guardian, but she took it with good graces. While Revele snapped off a salute, Zofiya followed Gunnine through the corridors. The Grand Duchess was surprised, but a little cheered that as they went doors popped open and the residents of the palace appeared. All looked worse for wear; eyes with dark circles under them and haunted gray expressions. However, when they saw her striding down the length of the palace, a spark of hope seemed to catch in them. A few times she had to stop and shake a hand or pat a back. Not one of them questioned what she was doing—and none of them mentioned her brother.
“Imperial Highness?” Gunnine had stopped at the stairs leading to one of the round towers. They were in the oldest part of the palace now—the section where in fact she had found the liar Hatipai—the section where she had made her greatest mistake. It made Zofiya very uncomfortable, even though they were on the second floor, and nowhere near the underground caves that had been the prison for the geistlord.
“Is this the place you wanted me to see?”
“He’s been waiting for you.” Gunnine gestured up the staircase. “He said you would come.”
Zofiya raised one eyebrow, and her hand went instinctively to the hilt of her saber. However, the major was not talking about the Emperor, because Revele had confirmed he was with the fleet. She reminded herself of that a few times before she set foot on the first step. If Gunnine wanted her dead, she could have shot her right outside the palace.
So, the Grand Duchess climbed the stairs with determination and knocked on the door that was at the top.
It opened, and she was staring into the face of an old man. For a second she didn’t recognize him, because he was most certainly not whom she had been expecting, but then her mind processed his creased face and piercing gray eyes. He was a Deacon—or had been. Her gaze flickered over the cloak he still wore, the same color as his eyes. A lay Brother then—a retired one. She had seen him at the Mother Abbey, but she could not put a name to his face.
“Empress,” he said, and gestured her inside.
Zofiya’s skin crawled at the title he used, and it felt as though ice-cold water had been poured down her back. Her reaction to that abrupt fear was just as suddenly anger. She shoved the door open and pushed her way past him. “You must be a madman if you think you can call me—”
Her words died in her throat. Japhne del Torne was standing by the window wrapped in a fine purple dress with a sturdy baby wriggling in her arms. Zofiya had never really noticed how much her lover looked like his mother. He had inherited her thick dark hair and the line of her jaw. They were a handsome family.
Japhne made a very proper curtsey, all while balancing her son on her hip. “You Imperial Highness, it is so very good to see you again.”
In truth, Zofiya had imagined that she would have to tell Merrick the sad reality of his mother’s and brother’s deaths. After all, how could a woman and a baby survive in so much chaos, surrounded by geists and tumult? The
