She stepped forward, speaking fluent Etari. “Forgive my brother. He is ignorant of Etari ways, but he means well. He only wishes to protect me. Is there any way he may earn your welcome?”
As a trader, Ligt had good reasons to withhold his welcome into the land. For all Alena knew, he didn’t even have the ability. But anyone who could sense the threads, as at least one among the riders must, should.
The commander considered the question. “A test. Single combat, unarmed. I wish to see an imperial fighting style for myself. If he can last sixty heartbeats, I will permit his escort.”
Thank you. Alena used the most formal and polite form of the sign. She turned to her brother. “They want to fight. One on one, unarmed. If you can last sixty heartbeats, you’ll gain formal entry into their land.”
Jace glanced at the commander of the riders, who stared at him impassively.
He smiled and sheathed his sword. Alena wondered if the commander had already measured and understood her brother. Such a test was perfect for him. If the commander had guessed as much, Alena wouldn’t be surprised. She’d often found the Etari, with their focus on physicality, to be deeply intuitive.
It didn’t take long for the riders to dismount and select their champion. They chose the largest of them, a man who stood at least a head taller than Jace.
Jace grinned at the challenge. He offered the rider a short bow, which was returned awkwardly by the Etari.
The commander gave the signal to begin, clapping her hands once.
Jace wasted no time. Alena knew her brother wouldn’t fight to survive the count of sixty, but to win. His aggression could easily become his greatest enemy. But it also might be just what was needed to impress the Etari.
Alena watched the duel with undisguised interest. Not just because it determined her brother’s fate, but because she’d never seen her brother actually fight in the past few years.
The Etari rider was fast and strong, a warrior shaped by a life of strenuous living.
But Jace was faster and just as strong, a fact the Etari warrior quickly learned.
Jace threw a quick series of punches, none of them particularly damaging, but enough to get in the rider’s head. The Etari responded, but his strikes never quite connected. Jace dipped and ducked. His movements didn’t appear any faster than the rider’s, but the rider couldn’t land a single significant hit.
In return, Jace drove fists and knees into the rider’s torso.
The rider, frustrated, attempted to tackle Jace and bring the fight to the ground.
Alena missed Jace’s manipulation, but he threw the warrior away from him with a casual toss.
Even the other Etari appeared impressed.
He might be her younger brother, but he was also as much a warrior as any rider here.
The Etari warrior came smoothly to his feet, but the commander clapped her hands again. She looked satisfied with the display. “Welcome to Etar, imperial.”
Alena quickly soulwalked, just in time to see the threads drift off Jace. She watched them flutter into the sky and vanish.
Her brother had earned his welcome.
7
Brandt stood and stretched, then rolled his head in a large, slow circle. He blinked quickly, trying to clear the dryness from his eyes. How much time had passed? He emerged from between two shelves of books to look at the window outside. The sun already dipped below the horizon.
Far too much, then.
He contained his sigh of frustration and returned to the table where Ana combed through books that had been old when her grandparents were born. She glanced up at him. “Done for the day?”
“Not quite. I’ll look through one more set of books, then report to the emperor.”
She raised an eyebrow. “We could retire to our chambers for a bit.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Tempting, though.”
The emperor filled their days with studies of different flavors. Sometimes Regar trained them. The prince presented an enigma to Brandt. Regar’s affinities surpassed even Brandt’s, making him one of the strongest warriors in the empire. Yet Brandt had never heard so much as a whisper about the prince’s skill.
Their sparring revealed hidden depths to the prince’s character. In the halls and chambers of power, Regar was polite, if distant. Had Brandt never fought the prince, he would have called him cold and calculating, studying people like pieces on a board.
In the training hall he revealed his true nature. Regar fought with passion, wrestling against positions a wiser warrior would have disengaged from. He never surrendered.
Unarmed, or with a blade, Brandt was the stronger warrior. But if affinities came into play, Brandt couldn’t win. Their differing skills made for the only excitement in Brandt’s day, and it was where he began to respect Regar.
Regar was skilled and strong, but he would probably never be emperor. That title would pass to his older brother, rarely seen in the palace. When Brandt asked after Olen, all he was told was that the prince was on a mission for the empire.
Other times, Brandt trained with Hanns. Unfortunately, their time together rarely taught Brandt anything useful. Hanns knew a handful of techniques Brandt didn’t, but none of them were the key to greater power. Most of Hanns’ skill came from his connection to the gate underneath the palace. The only other techniques he knew that Brandt didn’t were mental, and he refused to teach Brandt those, claiming they were too dangerous.
When he wasn’t with royalty, Brandt practically lived in the library, which housed the greatest collection of books in the empire. None of which taught him that which he most desired to learn.
Secretly, Brandt became more convinced every day that his questions could only be answered by Anders I. The first emperor had been pivotal in more ways than anyone seemed to understand, but little was known about the man outside of the legends that had grown after his death. And almost nothing at all was known of the
