Samara bowed to the empress. “Here is Captain Gray, as you commanded, Empress.”
Celestine looked her up and down approvingly. “You look like a capable soldier, Captain,” she said. “I trust the fit is good?”
“Yes,” Lyss said cautiously. “I wondered whether—”
That was when Lyss noticed the chaise parked beside the wall, where its occupant could look out to sea. A familiar mop of hair peeked over the top of it.
“Breon!” Lyss knelt beside him, looking anxiously into his face. He was wrapped in furs, eyes half open but unfocused. He returned a vague smile and absently patted her hand.
“What are you doing out here?”
“He likes to watch the ships,” Celestine said, though the only ships in view were moored at the dock.
Lyss stayed focused on Breon’s face. “Is that true? I was worried about you. I didn’t know what—”
Breon tapped his fingers against his throat and shook his head.
Lyss swung around to face the empress. “What’s the matter with him?”
“I’ve taken his voice for now,” Celestine said.
“What do you mean, you’ve taken his voice?” Lyss’s own voice trembled.
“There is a desert plant we call ‘secret keeper.’ It stills the vocal cords. Unlike cutting out a person’s tongue, the effect is temporary.”
“Why would you do that to your own brother?”
The empress’s eyes narrowed. She looked from Lyss to Samara. “Ah,” she said, and sighed. “Captain Samara has been gossiping again.”
Samara stood frozen, one hand on the hilt of his curved blade, his face a thundercloud.
“Perhaps he’s the one you should be dosing,” Lyss said.
The empress nodded. “Perhaps he is. You are dismissed, Captain Samara. The rest of you as well. Go, and take my brother with you.”
“But . . . your grace . . . you mustn’t risk—”
“Captain Gray is not a mage,” Celestine said. “I hardly think it’s a risk to speak with her in private, as I intend to do.” When he still didn’t move, she waved him away impatiently.
Cheeks flaming, Samara bowed. “As you wish, Empress.” Motioning to the others, he stalked off toward the palace, his back stiff with rage. His men followed behind, herding Breon along like an errant sheep.
“Captain Samara forgets himself sometimes,” Celestine said, when they were out of earshot.
I’ll bet he forgets himself a lot of times, Lyss thought. As often as you’ll let him.
Celestine gestured at the other chair. “Now. Sit.”
Up close, Lyss was surprised at how young Celestine was. If she had to guess, she’d estimate that the empress was not yet twenty. Her coloring was striking, with her purple eyes and tawny skin and silver hair. She was not particularly tall, but she was plush, as Lyss’s father would say.
Celestine was studying Lyss in turn. “You are quite the legend, Captain Gray,” she said. “Are any of the stories I’m hearing true?”
“That depends on what stories you’re hearing,” Lyss said, wishing that Breon hadn’t shared her military name with the empress. “If you’re talking about the incident in the taproom of the Thistle and Crown, that was blown way out of proportion.”
The empress stared at her, then burst out laughing. “You see?” she said to no one in particular. “That’s exactly why I didn’t kill you on the beach. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone around with a modicum of wit. The bloodsworn are so tiresome.”
If you’re looking for some kind of a court jester or pet, keep looking, Lyss thought.
“I can see that there is magic in you. Is it true that you turn into a wolf in the heat of battle? Are you a . . . shape-shifter?”
Clearly the empress had been doing her homework.
Lyss shook her head. “When I go into battle, I’m in it to win. Maybe that’s how that story got started.”
“Ah,” Celestine said, looking disappointed. “I was so looking forward to seeing that. Most stories have a kernel of truth.” She paused, and when Lyss said nothing, continued. “How long have you been fighting for the wetlanders?”
“I took the field when I was twelve,” Lyss said, “after my father was killed.”
“Your mother allowed that?” Celestine raised an eyebrow.
“She wasn’t happy, but she allowed it.”
“My mother was very protective of me,” Celestine said. “She loved me very much.”
What’s that about? Lyss thought crossly. My mother loved me more than yours?
“It’s hard to send a child to war,” Lyss said, thinking of Cam, who’d died defending her in the streets of Southbridge.
“How old are you now?”
“Nearly sixteen.” Lyss realized with a start that her birthday—her name day—must be close, if it wasn’t already over. Not the way she’d intended to spend it.
“You’ve moved up quickly, then, if you’re already a captain.” There was a question hidden in that.
“Unfortunately, every marching season, the war demands a blood price. We often have vacancies that need filling.” Lyss paused. “How old are you?”
“I am twenty,” the empress said.
“You’ve moved up quickly, then, too.”
“I am my mother’s firstborn daughter,” Celestine said. “So, I rise when my mother falls.”
A shiver went through Lyss and the flesh pebbled on her arms as a cloud passed over the sun. Her nurse, Magret, used to say that this meant the wolves were walking over the graves of the queens.
“Are you well, Captain?” The empress was studying her, frowning.
“I am well,” Lyss said, fanning herself. “This climate takes some getting used to.” More than anything, she wanted to escape this awkward conversation. So she changed the subject.
“Captain Samara said that Breon is your brother,” Lyss said. “But—if he’s your brother, why didn’t he know about it?”
“He once knew, but he doesn’t remember,” Celestine said vaguely. “I am the eldest of nine children. When I was only thirteen, my brothers and sisters were stolen away by enemies of the empire.”
“Enemies?” Lyss hoped the empress would clarify, but that didn’t happen.
“My mother would not allow
