Harbinger

yesterday that she had driven the geists from the city and claimed the title of Harbinger? It felt like a lifetime ago.

She raised her head slightly to glare at Derodak. “Why are you really doing this? You are causing so much pain and misery to everyday folk—”

“My people ruled this world before the coming of the geists.” He stared down at her for a moment, then bent and clasped her chin hard in his hand. “We were mighty and terrifying, because no one else could do the things we could do. When we fled, this place became as a wasteland of insects scrabbling to survive. I will show all of them the way to live. Show them all how to harness the geists and become mighty once more.”

Sorcha realized it was worse than she thought; Derodak was no madman—he genuinely believed in his course. An immortal life span had not taught him anything but the value of control.

When she remained silent, he smiled, a slight lifting of the corner of his lips. “The first Order was my Order, and all that you have tried to build here was but a reflection of what I had already done.” He flicked her chin aside and stepped back. “You may not be the weapon that the Wrayth hoped for, but I think you will suit my purpose very well.”

Something about the way he said it, lingering over the words like each of them was a ripe fruit, sent a shock through Sorcha’s system. She had not fought so damn hard to pull together the new Order just so that he could destroy it. Her mother had fought for her, and now she was going to fight for the rest of it.

“We shall be on our way,” he said, bending and unlatching her bonds. “Vermillion is waiting for her leader.”

Derodak could not be all that good of a Sensitive, because he did not expect his prisoner to throw herself up and on him. She grabbed him around the head and neck, throwing her whole weight against his throat. Her vision was dancing with black spots, but it felt very good to finally have her hands on him. All of the dangers she had faced—the Murashev, Hatipai and the Wrayth—could not compare to this man. He had made it happen. It was an easy thing to let all of that flow through her. She was going to choke this man out and then beat his proud head with a rock until it was pulp. Let him show how immortal he was then.

They struggled together; Sorcha’s one arm wrapped around his throat from behind, while her other hand sought out the knife on his belt. Her addled brain would have been happy to slit his throat. If he had taken the runes, then she would do it the old-fashioned way.

However, apparently Derodak didn’t need the runes as much as she had expected. He jerked, and the back of his head connected with Sorcha’s nose. The sudden explosion of pain disorientated her, but she held on. So he slammed her backward against the rough stone wall. The wind was knocked out of her, and her grip on his neck loosened just enough so that he was able to get a hand under hers. In one smooth move, he dumped her off his back to land on hers in the dirt.

The green flames of Shayst enveloped her, sucking away the strength from her muscles. In the flickering green light, Derodak smiled. “We have enough time yet, so that you may learn a lesson, Sorcha Faris. I am rather afraid it will be a painful one.”

She struggled to rise, but nothing was working.

Derodak took his time, putting on a pair of fine leather Gauntlets. “The Patternmaker is a turncoat.” He tilted his head, reconsidering. “Or rather he is the ultimate survivor. When he was in my possession, he created some new runes for me . . . and now I think I will show them to you.”

He bent and clamped his Gauntlet on her arm. As she spiraled into agony, she knew that as an immortal, Derodak had learned a great deal about the application of pain.

TWENTY-ONE Sibling Reunion

“There he is,” Deacon Petav said, pointing out to port. “Your brother is indeed waiting for you as agreed.”

Zofiya hoped the clenching knot in the pit of her stomach was not reflected on her face.

Captain Revele appeared out of the bridge of the Summer Hawk. She snapped to attention in front of the Grand Duchess and offered up her spyglass in one hand without comment. Zofiya saluted and took the brass instrument from her.

She trained it toward where the sun was progressing toward the horizon, and saw the Winter Kite ahead of them just in front of the mountain known as the Sky Tower. It was not alone either; twenty or so airships floated nearby. They gleamed and fluttered in the light breeze.

The Grand Duchess wouldn’t have minded that so much—since she had brought her own fleet—but they were not tied up together in the usual way for airships suing for peace. They circled behind their flagship the Kite, but looked like at any moment’s notice they might go into a more combative formation. Yet, from the prow hung the white banner of truce, and all of the cannons were rolled back from their positions.

Captain Revele took the spyglass when it was handed back to her. “Are you certain this is the correct course, Imperial Highness? We could communicate with weirstones instead from the safety of the Summer Hawk . . .”

“No,” the Grand Duchess shot back and then immediately realized her rudeness. “I am sorry, Captain. It is just that I must see my brother, face-to-face. Weirstone communication is very limited, and I must make my point very, very clearly to him. A great deal rests on that.”

The captain nodded, but offered up another suggestion. “At least take a platoon of marines with you. I would feel . . .”

She shook her head again. “One platoon would not be enough if things go badly, and it would only give the impression of a threat. I do not know how broken the Emperor is, so I can take no risks upsetting him.”

Zofiya understood that none of those around her were comfortable with what she was doing. They would have preferred she retreat to Vermillion and begin approaching the rebel Princes to join her side. They had said as much in the days after she’d returned to the palace. The pretender who claimed to be the sister of Raed Rossin was losing battles, and many now suspected her for what she actually was.

However, that would do no good; the fighting would rage just as long, and then Zofiya would be waging war on her own brother.

So seeing that her commander’s mind was made up, Captain Revele did as she was bid and instructed the pilot to draw the Summer Hawk up to dock with the Winter Kite. She did not look happy about it though.

As they came within twenty feet of the other ship, Zofiya decided now was the time that she would drop the bomb on her other companions too. “Deacon Petav, I must insist you stay here on the Hawk while I converse with my brother.”

Part of her was amused by the look of shock on his face. He certainly hadn’t seen that one coming—and it must have been quite the sensation for a Sensitive Deacon.

When his mouth opened to let out some pointed argument, she held up her hand. “My brother is trembling on the very edge of sanity, but Derodak has infected him with an utter hatred of any kind of Deacon. If you set foot on his flagship, then there is a very strong likelihood that he will kill us all.”

The hooded heads of the Deacons turned slightly to each other, but after a moment Petav spread his hands. “Very well, Imperial Highness. We will make sure to keep ourselves out of sight, but we will be watching.” He leaned in close to her, his hood almost touching her face. “Just remember, at some point you may have to come to terms with the fact that your brother is a lost cause.”

The audacity of his words caught Zofiya by surprise, yet she could not offer a rebuttal in the open. Instead, she glared at him. He had only spoken her deepest fears, but she wouldn’t acknowledge them.

“I could expect no less,” she replied for all to hear. The Deacons quickly glided below, and then all she had to think about was the approaching meeting.

The Winter Kite was the very first airship that the Imperial Air Fleet had started with. She was impressive, with her scarlet envelope and long lines of cannons running from prow to stern.