Harbinger

Zofiya frowned, suddenly wishing she had not already dismissed the Deacons, because there was an odd square, squat machine sitting right next the gunwales of the Kite. It looked ugly and out of place on the deck, and what’s more, she had no idea what it was.

As head of the Imperial Guard she had been in charge of armaments. She racked her brain to try and shake out any memory of the experimental weapons they had worked on, but still there was nothing to be had. She had not seen her brother for many, many weeks—he could have been up to anything.

The two airships gracefully slid together, and a boarding ramp was lowered between the two. The Winter Kite’s deck was full of people, mostly Imperial Guards in scarlet uniforms and a scattering of councilors, but there were a few others out of uniform that she did not recognize. One of the Guards whistled her announcement on a tin pipe, and Zofiya stepped forward until she was poised suspended between the two ships. “Permission to come aboard, Imperial Majesty,” she called out.

That was when her brother emerged from among his soldiers for the first time. Kal looked better than when she had seen him last, fleeing from the Rossin with the Mother Abbey falling down about their ears. He wore a golden helm and breastplate as if he were off to war, though neither looked much more than decorative. He could have been the brother that she had thrown to the ground to protect from a sniper only a season before—except for the look in his eyes. No warmth gleamed in them, and he did not hold out his arms to her.

“Permission granted,” he said, his voice ringing between the two airships.

It seemed as though everyone was holding their breath, as Zofiya took her fateful step forward onto the Winter Kite. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a couple of the Imperial Guards shifting fractionally. Among their ranks were faces she recognized, and each one she filed away into memory.

While part of her noted such things, another sectioned-away part wailed that she had to do such a thing. However, she had built walls around that vulnerable portion and would not let it out—especially not here.

Kal was watching her approach, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Previously, she had always been able to read her brother’s moods. He had been a kind child and a ridiculously kind Emperor. Zofiya’s jaw clenched as she thought of a hundred painful things to do to the one who had brought this all to pass, Derodak.

Finally, she stood six feet away from him, and after a breath to steady herself, sunk into a low curtsey. Perhaps much of the spectacle of doing it was marred by wearing a uniform and not a Court dress, but that was not its purpose.

A low bow meant her head was exposed to whatever the Emperor wanted to deal out. She stayed down for a long time—or at least it felt like a long time—and the back of her neck itched. At any moment she expected to feel the kiss of steel, or maybe a pistol barrel placed against her head.

“Welcome . . . Sister.” Kal’s voice broke the tension of the moment, and she straightened back up to her full height. This meant that they were looking eye to eye. The Grand Duchess’ gaze flickered to the right. She spotted Ezefia among those standing behind her brother, and had to stop herself from making comment. Her brother’s wife had a large swollen belly and eyes hollow with horror and misery.

Zofiya had never had cause to spend time with the Empress, because they really shared only Kal in common. Ezefia liked to dance and gossip and make merry. Her sister-in-law liked more serious pursuits. Now however, Zofiya wished that they had spent more hours together, because it looked like both of them could use some support in this moment.

“You have not offered your congratulations.” Kal’s tone was light, and yet strung through with a hint of menace. “Look,” he said, grabbing Ezefia by the arm and yanking her forward. The woman—or rather the Empress—stumbled and nearly fell. Zofiya instinctively stepped forward to catch her, but Kal pulled her upright and away from his sister. “Can you not see we are blessed? What do you think it will be . . . a boy or a girl?”

It was worse than she had imagined. The crack in her brother’s voice went all the way into his soul. She knew that within just a few moments—she’d been with him every day of his life.

Yet, she couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong. She’d heard nothing about the Empress’ pregnancy and felt ill prepared when confronted with it. So much for all the Sensitivity of Deacons! “I . . . I am just—”

He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway—whatever it is, it shall be a bastard!”

Silent tears were now rolling down Ezefia’s face from her peerless green eyes. Her sister-in-law knew how she felt. She’d been in a situation where she had been afraid to make noise, to draw attention. Every part of the Grand Duchess wanted to grab her and hustle her off this cursed airship and onto the Summer Hawk. Yet, she could not. More was at stake than the Empress’ fears. So she remained still and tried to merely distract her brother from Ezefia as best she could.

“Then take another to wife, dear Brother,” she said as calmly as she could. “Denounce her before the Court and choose again. There are plenty of Princesses still aching to be your Empress.” It remained unspoken that the field had undoubtedly narrowed since last time they had searched, but there would be some Princes that would willingly fling their daughters at Kal even at this juncture.

Her brother gave his wife a sharp shake and then threw her down. She landed on the deck with a thump and kept her eyes riveted to the deck of the airship.

Just who exactly had bedded the Empress—or even if it was a crazy delusion of the Emperor—Zofiya could not tell. She did not want to ask and risk inflaming the situation.

Kaleva began pacing back and forth between his wife and the lines of Imperial Guard at his back. He was like some mad puppet darting around, with the rest of the people present merely the backdrop to his performance. Zofiya had her answer confirmed. Her brother was indeed mad, and not just angry.

Derodak had broken him, and if he could be fixed remained a mystery. The fate of an Empire with a mad Emperor was well documented, and though Zofiya might not like it, she would have to do what others in history had done: take the throne for the benefit of its people. She decided in her head in that moment she would indeed be regent.

The fact settled in her mind like a stone. Yes, she would be regent, and she would have the best lay Brothers of Sorcha’s Order examine her brother. Perhaps they knew a way to heal him of his grave mental injury. After all, they had been dealing with hurt Deacons for centuries and—

Her thoughts were jerked back to the here and now when she abruptly realized that Kal had stopped right in front of her and was examining her with the intensity of an eagle looking at an injured lamb.

“It was Derodak,” he hissed to her, “in case you were wondering. Derodak and my Empress conspired together. She fell into his bed and spread her legs for him like the whore she is.”

Never in her whole life had Zofiya heard her brother use such words; he had always been a gentle and soft-spoken man. It made her want to weep to see him like this.

She cleared her throat and picked out every word carefully. “If that is true, then she must indeed be put away . . .”

Behind him, Ezefia raised her head finally, looked directly at the Grand Duchess and shook her head vehemently. She only mouthed her denial. He forced me to.

Zofiya’s heart sank. She knew intimately that the Arch Abbot of the Circle of Stars could indeed make people do and say things. In fact, Derodak had done that to Kal, so why couldn’t he see that? His cruel indifference now only showed how deep he had fallen into insanity.

“And the Princes?” her brother asked her, tilting his head, and raking her with an appraising gaze. “What shall we do with the traitorous Princes?”

She was aware that in front of her, some of the Imperial Guards were making direct eye contact with her. Flickers of tension and fear ran across numerous faces. Zofiya felt their silent urgings for her to do something . . . anything. It was time to be daring, because now she knew any way she jumped would be the wrong way with Kal in his current state.

Zofiya took his elbow and tried to guide him away from the press of people, toward the gunwales. To the port, there was a clear break of sky; endless white clouds drifted across that beautiful blue expanse. Zofiya couldn’t be sure about Kal, but it certainly made her feel a little calmer. Perhaps, being out of the direct gaze of so many would soothe him a little.

She hoped so, as she began. “Remember our father, Kal?” He nodded, but the thunderclouds were still gathering in his eyes. It was now or never, so Zofiya proceeded. “Do you remember how he used to beat the dogs?”