sending someone else to the west—say, Rogan Jarvish—even with the majority of the Legion, still might not turn the tide.
Killian’s heart told him the future of the Empire would come down to a battle between Sentar and himself.
He wished Evrin Evenstar wasn’t leaving. Evrin wasn’t aligned to any particular house, and the old man was perhaps the only one Killian could trust for impartial advice. Evrin was wise, and he’d seen and experienced things Killian struggled to imagine.
But Evrin was now leaving for Altura. Like everyone else, Evrin didn’t know if Sentar Scythran would choose to land at Altura, the shortest journey from the new world to the Empire, or travel by ship to Seranthia, his ultimate destination.
Evrin was helping both Tingara and Altura, and Killian wished he could do the same. He had a duty to protect all of the Empire, not just Tingara. If Altura called, what would he do?
Sighing, Killian looked down from the balcony, deciding to watch the people for a while longer. He stood and let the wind buffet him, as if it could scour his mind and bring clarity to his thoughts. He rested his eyes on various folk and wondered where they were going and what their business was. He followed a Halrana merchant sitting atop a drudge-pulled cart and calling out to clear passage through the square. He next settled on a group of revelers, soldiers most likely from the way they walked, though they wore street clothes.
Killian’s gaze settled on a solitary woman standing outside the iron-barred fence that separated the grounds of the palace from the square.
He realized she hadn’t moved the whole time he’d been watching . What was she doing, standing out in the cold? Was she waiting for someone?
He wondered who she was. Her cloak looked to be of decent quality, though unembroidered and without decoration, evidently not expensive. It didn’t have a hood, and though it wasn’t snowing, the wind blew her raven-black hair in a wild tangle about her face. The white skin of her oval face gave way to a sharp nose.
She tilted her head, scanning the upper windows of the palace , and Killian saw that she seemed expectant. Was she waiting for someone from the palace to go out and fetch her? Why didn’t she talk to the guards?
She turned slightly and Killian could now see her more clearly.
His blood ran cold when he saw her face.
Killian gripped the rail tightly. His breath caught as he peered down at her face; she hadn’t seen him, but he could see her clearly.
He felt his heart rate increase to a thundering gallop.
Killian bolted from the chamber, dashing down the steps that would take him on the fastest route to the main palace entrance. He threw himself down the passageways and servants’ corridors, knocking stewards and courtiers out of the way, ignoring their questioning looks and hasty following bows as they realized who he was.
Killian reached the heavy doors at the main entrance and heaved them open with all the rune-enhanced strength in his limbs. The wind poured through the sudden opening with force, sending the palace staff scurrying as papers flew everywhere.
The guards outside—Tingara’s elite—brought their pole-arms crashing down, and Killian went through them as if they weren’t there, the sharp steel barely registering on his forearms.
The guards shouted, uncertain what to do. Was the emperor under attack? They scanned all directions in alarm, but they couldn’t perceive any threat.
Killian ran for the iron fence and gripped the bars with white knuckles. He stared into the face he hadn’t seen in an eternity as the blood throbbed in his veins. His breath came short, and without realizing, the iron bent and twisted in his hands as he examined every aspect of her visage.
“It’s you,” Killian breathed.
Remembrance thrust his consciousness back in time, to a time when he’d been happy, truly happy, for the first time in his life.
The show was over, and tomorrow there would
Killian’s heart told him the future of the Empire would come down to a battle between Sentar and himself.
He wished Evrin Evenstar wasn’t leaving. Evrin wasn’t aligned to any particular house, and the old man was perhaps the only one Killian could trust for impartial advice. Evrin was wise, and he’d seen and experienced things Killian struggled to imagine.
But Evrin was now leaving for Altura. Like everyone else, Evrin didn’t know if Sentar Scythran would choose to land at Altura, the shortest journey from the new world to the Empire, or travel by ship to Seranthia, his ultimate destination.
Evrin was helping both Tingara and Altura, and Killian wished he could do the same. He had a duty to protect all of the Empire, not just Tingara. If Altura called, what would he do?
Sighing, Killian looked down from the balcony, deciding to watch the people for a while longer. He stood and let the wind buffet him, as if it could scour his mind and bring clarity to his thoughts. He rested his eyes on various folk and wondered where they were going and what their business was. He followed a Halrana merchant sitting atop a drudge-pulled cart and calling out to clear passage through the square. He next settled on a group of revelers, soldiers most likely from the way they walked, though they wore street clothes.
Killian’s gaze settled on a solitary woman standing outside the iron-barred fence that separated the grounds of the palace from the square.
He realized she hadn’t moved the whole time he’d been watching . What was she doing, standing out in the cold? Was she waiting for someone?
He wondered who she was. Her cloak looked to be of decent quality, though unembroidered and without decoration, evidently not expensive. It didn’t have a hood, and though it wasn’t snowing, the wind blew her raven-black hair in a wild tangle about her face. The white skin of her oval face gave way to a sharp nose.
She tilted her head, scanning the upper windows of the palace , and Killian saw that she seemed expectant. Was she waiting for someone from the palace to go out and fetch her? Why didn’t she talk to the guards?
She turned slightly and Killian could now see her more clearly.
His blood ran cold when he saw her face.
Killian gripped the rail tightly. His breath caught as he peered down at her face; she hadn’t seen him, but he could see her clearly.
He felt his heart rate increase to a thundering gallop.
Killian bolted from the chamber, dashing down the steps that would take him on the fastest route to the main palace entrance. He threw himself down the passageways and servants’ corridors, knocking stewards and courtiers out of the way, ignoring their questioning looks and hasty following bows as they realized who he was.
Killian reached the heavy doors at the main entrance and heaved them open with all the rune-enhanced strength in his limbs. The wind poured through the sudden opening with force, sending the palace staff scurrying as papers flew everywhere.
The guards outside—Tingara’s elite—brought their pole-arms crashing down, and Killian went through them as if they weren’t there, the sharp steel barely registering on his forearms.
The guards shouted, uncertain what to do. Was the emperor under attack? They scanned all directions in alarm, but they couldn’t perceive any threat.
Killian ran for the iron fence and gripped the bars with white knuckles. He stared into the face he hadn’t seen in an eternity as the blood throbbed in his veins. His breath came short, and without realizing, the iron bent and twisted in his hands as he examined every aspect of her visage.
“It’s you,” Killian breathed.
Remembrance thrust his consciousness back in time, to a time when he’d been happy, truly happy, for the first time in his life.
The show was over, and tomorrow there would
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