eastward, toward Valka.
The burning city dwindled away below, great and magnificent and reduced. I would have to tell Delia about Dayra, about Ros the Claw. I did not think she knew. One thing piled on another, and the importance of each became distorted with viewpoint and time and emotions. The fate of one wayward daughter set against the death of an empire. . Did they balance out?
I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, held my Delia close, close. Did anything else matter in two worlds?
“Empress-” gasped a soft, breathy voice. For a space no one took any notice. Then we understood. The understanding forced a small but significant change in my intentions. For her, I would dare anything.
. “Empress,” said Queen Lushfymi, pale, weeping, speaking through her sobs. “You will not cast me off?”
“Rest easy, queen,” said Delia, Empress of Vallia.
The flier hurtled out of the smoke into the east, and at our backs the Suns of Scorpio threw a last sheeting refulgence of jade and crimson into the nighted sky of Kregen.
