She bit down on the terrible things she longed to say to them, turned to face the oncoming wave, and shouted for Atheria to fly.

4

Eliana

“Vintervok, the capital of Astavar, is a city well-guarded, its borders difficult to penetrate. It sits in a high valley between thickly forested mountains scattered through with glacial lakes. Nearby is Karajak Bay, its waters littered with rocks and ice for much of the year. In fact, this is the element that has made Astavar impossible to conquer. For years we have battered its doors, and yet they stand tall.”

—A report from Admiral Ravikant, commander of the imperial fleet, to His Majesty the Emperor of the Undying

The next morning, in the kings’ council chambers, Eliana shifted uncomfortably in her chair and graced the polished table with a scowl.

“I hate this dress,” she muttered.

Remy, in the chair beside her, watching the kings and the queen consort and the commander of the Astavari army file in with their advisers, trembled with excitement. Eliana wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d actually started bouncing in his chair.

“You like dresses,” he argued.

“I like other dresses. I hate this dress.”

Hob, on Remy’s other side, glanced over. “Why? It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s too fine for me.” She gestured at the intricate embroidery on the bodice, the soft velvet folds of the satin-trimmed indigo skirt. “It’s too fussy.”

“It’s fit for a queen,” Hob pointed out.

“I’m no queen.”

“Of course you are,” Remy said, now perched on the edge of his chair. “You’re the Sun Queen.”

Eliana barely refrained from snapping at him to never call her that again. The memory of Navi’s deranged screams from the previous night lingered alongside the echoes of her nightmare. And the strength of Remy’s faith in the destiny Simon had prescribed for her—the ancient, fervent heft of that destiny; the centuries of murmured prayers, including her own—left her feeling breathless, nauseated.

Cornered.

Not to mention starkly aware of how her skull still throbbed from Navi’s attack. She had styled her hair to hide the scabbing cut, which would ensure that intrusive rebel captains didn’t pester her with questions about it. But hiding the wound did nothing to assuage her own relentless, burrowing worry that this—this fragility, this low, humming presence of pain—was the beginning of a horrible new reality.

The royal secretary rapped his gavel against the table, making Eliana jump.

“This council meeting is now in session,” he announced, and then put his pen to paper to begin recording.

King Tavik, tall and thin, with golden-brown skin and graying black hair, smiled warmly at those gathered—though the shadows beneath his eyes and the tired lines around his mouth belied his true state of mind. He glanced at Eliana’s neck, where the bruises from Navi’s hands marked her skin.

She did not drop her gaze, but she regretted not wearing a scarf. Everyone present knew what had transpired the night before; it would have been kind to spare them the reminder.

A gentler person, perhaps, would have remembered that.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, keeping her expression neutral.

“Good morning, everyone,” King Tavik began. “I hope you don’t mind if I get straight to the point. As you’ll recall, the intelligence brought to us by Princess Navana warned of a second, smaller Empire fleet, which planned to launch from the northwestern coast of Ventera and strike us on our southern border, near the mouth of the Ulioqua River. You’ll be pleased to learn that our defenses have easily dispatched said fleet, sinking seven warships and sending the remaining four retreating back to Ventera.”

Murmurs of celebration drifted around the table. One of the queen consort’s advisers clapped Commander Lianti Haakorat on the back. He smiled tightly, his gaze cutting to Remy.

Eliana bristled at the annoyed expression on the commander’s face. She fisted her hands in her lap.

Simon sat back in his chair and propped one long leg atop the other. “That was lucky.”

King Eri frowned. He sat to the left of his husband, shorter and more muscular, with pale skin and dark-brown hair. “Did you wish to add something, Simon?”

“How fortunate,” Simon said, “that you were able to dispatch an entire armada of Empire ships in the span of, what, two days?”

“Navi’s intelligence was accurate and thorough,” King Eri replied, a flicker of sadness in his voice. “We were fortunate, yes, but also well prepared.”

Simon shook his head. “It was far too brief and bloodless a conflict. They are testing you, lulling you into a false sense of security.”

Lady Ama, the queen consort, folded her hands atop the table. “To what end, Captain?”

Eliana could hardly look at Lady Ama. Her face was too similar to Navi’s—elegant and finely boned, with wide hazel eyes, warm brown skin, and a full, expressive mouth. Instead Eliana glanced around the table, reading the expressions of the gathered officials as Simon spoke. The secretary scribbled furiously, his pen flying. Several other advisers took notes; others stood at the room’s perimeter, sifting through papers.

Commander Haakorat was rigid in his chair. His gaze flitted irritably to Remy, to Hob, to Remy again. When he looked at Eliana, she held his gaze, defiant, until Hob cleared his throat and broke her attention.

“To keep you distracted,” Simon answered Lady Ama. “To keep your forces spread thin. To catch you off guard.” He shrugged. “It could be any number of things, but to assume that this latest victory was anything but a calculated loss on the part of the Empire is a mistake.”

The queen consort’s mouth quirked. “Yes, and God forbid we take a moment to celebrate even that.”

Eliana glanced once more at Commander Haakorat. The man seemed increasingly agitated—shifting in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table.

One of his advisers hurried over. “Shall I bring you a glass of water, my lord?”

“No,” he muttered, glaring at Remy. “I need no water.”

“Even if you’re right,” King Tavik was saying, “autumn is coming, with winter fast on its heels. The ice should protect us from further onslaught, at least until the spring thaws. We’ll spend the next few months drilling our troops, replenishing our stores—”

Simon scoffed.

King Eri said sharply, “Right hand of the Prophet you may be, Captain, but in this palace, you are a guest. You will demonstrate the proper respect, or you will no longer be welcome at these meetings.” it down on the terrible things she longed to say to them, turned to face the oncoming wave, and shouted for Atheria to fly.

4

Eliana

“Vintervok, the capital of Astavar, is a city well-guarded, its borders difficult to penetrate. It sits in a high valley between thickly forested mountains scattered through with glacial lakes. Nearby is Karajak Bay, its waters littered with rocks and ice for much of the year. In fact, this is the element that has made Astavar impossible to conquer. For years we have battered its doors, and yet they stand tall.”

—A report from Admiral Ravikant, commander of the imperial fleet, to His Majesty the Emperor of the Undying

The next morning, in the kings’ council chambers, Eliana shifted uncomfortably in her chair and graced the polished table with a scowl.

“I hate this dress,” she muttered.

Remy, in the chair beside her, watching the kings and the queen consort and the commander of the Astavari army file in with their advisers, trembled with excitement. Eliana wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d actually started bouncing in his chair.

“You like dresses,” he argued.

“I like other dresses. I hate this dress.”

Hob, on Remy’s other side, glanced over. “Why? It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s too fine for me.” She gestured at the intricate embroidery on the bodice, the soft velvet folds of the satin-trimmed indigo skirt. “It’s too fussy.”

“It’s fit for a queen,” Hob pointed out.

“I’m no queen.”

“Of course you are,” Remy said, now perched on the edge of his chair. “You’re the Sun Queen.”

Eliana barely refrained from snapping at him to never call her that again. The memory of Navi’s deranged screams from the previous night lingered alongside the echoes of her nightmare. And the strength of Remy’s faith in the destiny Simon had prescribed for her—the ancient, fervent heft of that destiny; the centuries of murmured prayers, including her own—left her feeling breathless, nauseated.

Cornered.

Not to mention starkly aware of how her skull still throbbed from Navi’s attack. She had styled her hair to hide the scabbing cut, which would ensure that intrusive rebel captains didn’t pester her with questions about it. But hiding the wound did nothing to assuage her own relentless, burrowing worry that this—this fragility, this low, humming presence of pain—was the beginning of a horrible new reality.

The royal secretary rapped his gavel against the table, making Eliana jump.

“This council meeting is now in session,” he announced, and then put his pen to paper to begin recording.

King Tavik, tall and thin, with golden-brown skin and graying black hair, smiled warmly at those gathered—though the shadows beneath his eyes and the tired lines around his mouth belied his true state of mind. He glanced at Eliana’s neck, where the bruises from Navi’s hands marked her skin.

She did not drop her gaze, but she regretted not wearing a scarf. Everyone present knew what had transpired the night before; it would have been kind to spare them the reminder.

A gentler person, perhaps, would have remembered that.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, keeping her expression neutral.

“Good morning, everyone,” King Tavik began. “I hope you don’t mind if I get straight to the point. As you’ll recall, the intelligence brought to us by Princess Navana warned of a second, smaller Empire fleet, which planned to launch from the northwestern coast of Ventera and strike us on our southern border, near the mouth of the Ulioqua River. You’ll be pleased to learn that our defenses have easily dispatched said fleet, sinking seven warships and sending the remaining four retreating back to Ventera.”

Murmurs of celebration drifted around the table. One of the queen consort’s advisers clapped Commander Lianti Haakorat on the back. He smiled tightly, his gaze cutting to Remy.

Eliana bristled at the annoyed expression on the commander’s face. She fisted her hands in her lap.

Simon sat back in his chair and propped one long leg atop the other. “That was lucky.”

King Eri frowned. He sat to the left of his husband, shorter and more muscular, with pale skin and dark-brown hair. “Did you wish to add something, Simon?”

“How fortunate,” Simon said, “that you were able to dispatch an entire armada of Empire ships in the span of, what, two days?”

“Navi’s intelligence was accurate and thorough,” King Eri replied, a flicker of sadness in his voice. “We were fortunate, yes, but also well prepared.”

Simon shook his head. “It was far too brief and bloodless a conflict. They are testing you, lulling you into a false sense of security.”

Lady Ama, the queen consort, folded her hands atop the table. “To what end, Captain?”

Eliana could hardly look at Lady Ama. Her face was too similar to Navi’s—elegant and finely boned, with wide hazel eyes, warm brown skin, and a full, expressive mouth. Instead Eliana glanced around the table, reading the expressions of the gathered officials as Simon spoke. The secretary scribbled furiously, his pen flying. Several other advisers took notes; others stood at the room’s perimeter, sifting through papers.

Commander Haakorat was rigid in his chair. His gaze flitted irritably to Remy, to Hob, to Remy again. When he looked at Eliana, she held his gaze, defiant, until Hob cleared his throat and broke her attention.

“To keep you distracted,” Simon answered Lady Ama. “To keep your forces spread thin. To catch you off guard.” He shrugged. “It could be any number of things, but to assume that this latest victory was anything but a calculated loss on the part of the Empire is a mistake.”

The queen consort’s mouth quirked. “Yes, and God forbid we take a moment to celebrate even that.”

Eliana glanced once more at Commander Haakorat. The man seemed increasingly agitated—shifting in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table.

One of his advisers hurried over. “Shall I bring you a glass of water, my lord?”

“No,” he muttered, glaring at Remy. “I need no water.”

“Even if you’re right,” King Tavik was saying, “autumn is coming, with winter fast on its heels. The ice should protect us from further onslaught, at least until the spring thaws. We’ll spend the next few months drilling our troops, replenishing our stores—”

Simon scoffed.

King Eri said sharply, “Right hand of the Prophet you may be, Captain, but in this palace, you are a guest. You will demonstrate the proper respect, or you will no longer be welcome at these meetings.”

Tags: Claire Legrand Empirium Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net