Night Angel Complete Trilogy Part 115

24

The sight of the Alabaster Seraph growing larger as the punt approached did nothing to calm Elene. If Elene had read Vi's letter correctly-it seemed like so long ago now-Vi had ringed Kylar without his permission, with the very wedding earrings Kylar had intended for Elene and himself. Elene had never been so furious for so long.

She knew it was destructive. She knew it would eat her alive. Only weeks ago, she'd killed a man, and she hadn't felt the wash of hatred she felt now.

Elene knew she was being disobedient, holding onto her resentment, her righteous wrath. But it made her feel powerful to hate the woman who'd done her wrong. Vi deserved hatred.

The punt docked in a small slip magically s.h.i.+elded from the rain and the boatman pointed her to a line. Elene joined two dozen other people, mostly women, who had come to pet.i.tion the Chantry. An hour later, when she gave her name and asked to see Vi, the Sister found a note about her and sent a tyro running.

Several minutes later, an older maja with the loose skin and ill-fitting clothes of a woman who's lost too much weight too fast came out. "h.e.l.lo, Elene. My name is Sister Ariel. Come with me."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To see Uly and Vi. That's what you want, isn't it?" Sister Ariel turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

Many steps later, they stopped at a hospital floor with hundreds of beds, lining the circ.u.mference of the Seraph. Most of the beds were empty, but Sisters with green sashes moved among those that were occupied, sometimes touching the walls, which immediately turned transparent, letting in the diffuse morning sun. lining the circ.u.mference of the Seraph. Most of the beds were empty, but Sisters with green sashes moved among those that were occupied, sometimes touching the walls, which immediately turned transparent, letting in the diffuse morning sun.

"Is Uly ill?" Elene asked.

Sister Ariel said nothing. She led Elene past dozens of beds. Some of the girls on them had arms or legs wrapped in gauze, and here and there, ancient-looking magae slept, but most of the injured had no obvious wounds. Magical wounds, Elene supposed, didn't always leave evidence on the body.

Finally, they stopped at a bed, but the woman on it wasn't Uly, it was Vi. It took Elene's breath away. She had thought from the glimpse of the redhead on the trail that she'd never seen Vi before, but she had. Vi had been at the fateful last party at the Jadwin estate. That night, Vi had come as a blonde, wearing a dress that was a scandal in red. Elene remembered the swirl of emotions she'd felt that night clearly: shock that someone would wear such revealing attire, judgment, fascination. Elene-and every other man and woman-hadn't been able to take her eyes off the woman. Immediately after those first emotions, without ever losing her outrage, she'd felt jealousy, longing, the sick-stomach sensation of not measuring up to such beauty, wis.h.i.+ng that she could attract such stares, and knowing she never would-and would never wear such clothes even if she could-but wis.h.i.+ng all the same that she might, just for a few moments. Vi was that woman, and if anything, with her glossy flaming red hair rather than what must have been a blonde wig, Vi was even more striking.

Then, as Elene stepped closer to the bed, she saw Vi's other ear. She wore a single earring, mistarille and gold, sparkling in the morning light coming through the walls. It was half of the exact pair of beautiful wedding earrings Elene had pointed out to Kylar. The wash of emotions Elene had already been feeling suddenly had a boulder dropped in it. This was her compet.i.tion? This... creature had ringed Kylar? No wonder he'd chosen her. What man wouldn't?

Unnoticed, Sister Ariel had come to stand beside Elene, and now she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "When she's asleep, I see what a beautiful woman Viridiana would have been."

Elene shot a look at the Sister. Like she could be Like she could be more more beautiful? beautiful?

"She is brittle and sick and hard and abused. Her character is as base as her body is beautiful. You'll see, when she wakes. She is a walking tragedy. The trade she was taught would wreck anyone with a soul. You know that from Kylar's experience. But Vi didn't just learn a sick trade, she learned under Hu Gibbet-all too often literally under him, from the time she was a child. Whenever I-old and fat as I am-see her asleep, I still get jealous. I still forget that Vi's beauty has been no friend to her." Sister Ariel paused, as if captured by a thought. "In fact, the only friend she ever had-male or female-was Jarl, and the G.o.dking compelled her to kill him." under Hu Gibbet-all too often literally under him, from the time she was a child. Whenever I-old and fat as I am-see her asleep, I still get jealous. I still forget that Vi's beauty has been no friend to her." Sister Ariel paused, as if captured by a thought. "In fact, the only friend she ever had-male or female-was Jarl, and the G.o.dking compelled her to kill him."

Elene didn't want to hear it. "What's wrong with her? I mean, why is she here?"

Sister Ariel sighed. "Our initiation doesn't only require apt.i.tude, it requires focus. Vi has apt.i.tude to an almost appalling degree. She is as Talented as she is beautiful. I was and am worried that learning that may spoil her. Learning our art properly takes patience and humility, and women with enormous Talent tend to lack both. So I pushed her into the initiation immediately. With what she's done and been through in the last weeks, she had no focus at all, almost no will even to live. It was nearly a death sentence." She shrugged. "Elene, I know Vi has done you great wrong. These marriage rings are ancient. I'm studying the rings now to see if it's even possible to break the bond. I don't have high hopes. And I know-she confessed-that she ringed Kylar when he was unconscious. The other Sisters don't know that. It is considered one of the greatest crimes among us. Even if she did do it to save a country, and to save Kylar himself, Vi surely deserves whatever vengeance you would give her. If you choose, you should be able to wake her. If you wish to stay here at the Chantry, rooms will be provided for you. If you wish to speak with Uly, she should be finis.h.i.+ng her morning cla.s.ses in two hours. I will be in my room if you need me. Ask any tyro-any of the young women dressed in white-and they will take you wherever you wish to go."

With that, Sister Ariel left Elene alone with Vi.

Elene looked around as the Sister disappeared. There was suddenly no one else in sight. She touched the knife at her belt. She could kill Vi and simply leave. She'd killed now. She knew how.

She squeezed her eyes tight shut. G.o.d, I can't do this. G.o.d, I can't do this.

After a long moment, she breathed, unclenched her jaw, willed herself to relax, opened her eyes.

Vi lay as before, beautiful, peaceful, graceful. But instead of imagining her again at the Jadwin estate, attracting l.u.s.t and jealousy like a lodestone, Elene imagined her as a child. Vi had been a beautiful child in the Warrens as Elene had been a beautiful child in the Warrens. Neither had emerged unscathed. Elene looked at Vi and chose to fix that child-Vi in her mind's eye, the beautiful, carefree little girl with flame-red hair before the Warrens had sullied her.

She's never had a friend. Elene didn't know if it was her own thought or the One G.o.d's voice, but she knew instantly what He was calling her to do. Elene didn't know if it was her own thought or the One G.o.d's voice, but she knew instantly what He was calling her to do.

Elene breathed deeply, frozen to the spot. It's too hard, G.o.d. There's no way. Not after what she's done. I want to hate her. I want to be strong. I want to make her pay. It's too hard, G.o.d. There's no way. Not after what she's done. I want to hate her. I want to be strong. I want to make her pay. She spoke, and raged, and complained about the justice of making Vi suffer, and through it all, the G.o.d said nothing. Yet through it, she felt His presence. And when she was finished, He was still there, and Elene knew her choice was simple: obey or disobey. She spoke, and raged, and complained about the justice of making Vi suffer, and through it all, the G.o.d said nothing. Yet through it, she felt His presence. And when she was finished, He was still there, and Elene knew her choice was simple: obey or disobey.

She breathed deeply one more time, then sat in the chair beside Vi's bed and waited for her to wake.

From the stairs, staring through a crack in the door, Sister Ariel breathed for the first time in what seemed like many minutes. She released her Talent and eased the door shut. Another gamble, another win. She hoped her luck didn't run out any time soon.

25

After a two-hour wait with the nervous master of the docks, the Mikaidon came to collect Solon. The Mikaidon was the keeper of civil order in Hokkai, an office that not only put him in charge of law enforcement but also gave him considerable political clout, as he was the only person who could investigate and search n.o.ble persons and properties. Solon recognized him. "Oshobi," he said. "You've risen in the world."

Oshobi Takeda grunted. "So it is you." He wore the regalia of his office like a man who used it as armor, not ornamentation. Oshobi was perhaps thirty, muscular, and imposing. He wore his plumed helm open, of course, showing the electrum rings of Clan Takeda framing his right eye, with six steel chains connecting behind his head to his left ear. The fishes on his helm were gilded, as was his galerus, the leather and plate armor covering his left arm. His trident was as tall as he was. The type of net that dangled over his back, draping cloak-like from spikes on his shoulders, was usually edged with lead weights to help it spread out when thrown. Oshobi's net was weighted with small daggers. It could be used not only as a net, but as a s.h.i.+eld or even a flail by a skilled warrior. Given the numerous scars and rippling muscles on Oshobi's bare chest, Solon guessed that a skilled warrior was exactly what Oshobi Takeda had become. He had grown into his name. Oshobi meant the great cat, or tiger, but Solon remembered the older boys calling him Os.h.i.+bi: little p.u.s.s.y. Solon couldn't imagine anyone calling him that anymore. rippling muscles on Oshobi's bare chest, Solon guessed that a skilled warrior was exactly what Oshobi Takeda had become. He had grown into his name. Oshobi meant the great cat, or tiger, but Solon remembered the older boys calling him Os.h.i.+bi: little p.u.s.s.y. Solon couldn't imagine anyone calling him that anymore.

"I request the honor of an audience with Empress Wariyamo," Solon said. It was a calculated statement, not a.s.serting his own status, and recognizing hers.

"You're under arrest," Oshobi told him. In a blink, he lifted the net from the spikes on his shoulders. He looked like he wanted an excuse to use it.

The man was a cretin. Solon was a mage and Oshobi should remember it. Of course, Solon didn't look like one. After his decade serving Duke Regnus Gyre, he looked as hard and scarred as a warrior himself, albeit one with unnaturally white hair growing in. "On what charge? I do have certain rights, Mikaidon. If not as a prince," he brushed his unpierced cheek, "then certainly as a n.o.bleman." His heart fell. So Kaede was furious. Should he be surprised?

"Your brother gave up all the Tofusins' rights. You can walk, or I can drag you."

What did my brother do? Solon had been at various schools learning magic for his brother's entire reign and Dorian's prophecies had sent Solon to Cenaria at the time of Sijuron Tofusin's death. They hadn't been close; Sij was a decade older than he was, but Solon's memories of him were pleasant. Apparently, Oshobi's weren't. Solon had been at various schools learning magic for his brother's entire reign and Dorian's prophecies had sent Solon to Cenaria at the time of Sijuron Tofusin's death. They hadn't been close; Sij was a decade older than he was, but Solon's memories of him were pleasant. Apparently, Oshobi's weren't.

Solon said, "That's a tough one, Os.h.i.+bi."

Oshobi flicked the b.u.t.t of his trident at Solon's head. Solon caught the haft squarely in his hand and looked at the Mikaidon contemptuously.

"I'll walk," Solon said. His heart was turning to lead. During Sijuron's reign, Solon had been crisscrossing Midcyru with Dorian and Feir, searching for Curoch, so he hadn't been surprised that he hadn't heard much from home. And then, when he'd concealed his own ident.i.ty and headed to Cenaria to serve one of Dorian's prophecies, he hadn't told anyone back home where he was going. But now, the silence seemed ominous. And in the years since, he hadn't been able to dispel his ignorance. From the necessity of keeping his ident.i.ty secret, Solon had avoided all Sethi he saw, and those who saw him spotted the lack of clan rings and avoided him as an exile. But even the usual news one might hear from foreigners had mostly been lacking, as though the Sethi people hadn't wanted to share anything with outsiders.

But as they made their way to the castle, Solon soaked in the scents and sights of his old home and some of his tension eased. This land was balm to him. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed the red hills of Agrigolay. As the Mikaidon's stout, four-wheeled chariot rolled up the cobblestone road to the imperial palace, Solon's eyes were drawn to the west. As in most cities, the approach to the palace was jammed with buildings, homes, and shops as densely as possible. But in Seth, only the eastern side of the Imperial Way had buildings. The west side was centuries-old vineyards, rolling over the hills in perfect rows as far as the eye could see. The grapes hung heavy on the vine, and there were men checking their ripeness. The harvest would be any day. sights of his old home and some of his tension eased. This land was balm to him. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed the red hills of Agrigolay. As the Mikaidon's stout, four-wheeled chariot rolled up the cobblestone road to the imperial palace, Solon's eyes were drawn to the west. As in most cities, the approach to the palace was jammed with buildings, homes, and shops as densely as possible. But in Seth, only the eastern side of the Imperial Way had buildings. The west side was centuries-old vineyards, rolling over the hills in perfect rows as far as the eye could see. The grapes hung heavy on the vine, and there were men checking their ripeness. The harvest would be any day.

Most kingdoms required their lords to offer a certain number of men for war every summer. In Seth, the levies were needed in fall, for the grapes. Already, Solon saw, enormous broad baskets had been stacked at the ends of the rows. There was no need for walls to protect the vineyards. The wines of Seth were its pride and its life's blood. No Sethi citizen would harm the vines, nor suffer a stranger to do so, and the theft of cuttings from these vines had precipitated war between Seth and Ladesh. The loss of half a dozen s.h.i.+ps had been counted a small price when they successfully sank the Lades.h.i.+an merchantman that was carrying the cuttings back to Ladesh to begin rival vineyards, along with its escort. Ladesh had its silk monopoly, but anyone who wanted great wine bought it from Seth.

To Solon, like most Sethi, the vineyards were rich not only with beauty but also with meaning. The cycle of planting and grafting and pruning and nurturing and waiting-all resonated with meaning for every citizen.

They came over the last rise and Solon saw Whitecliff Castle for the first time in twelve years. It was white marble, a testament to the vast wealth the empire had enjoyed at its height: no white marble was quarried on the islands, and s.h.i.+pping it across an ocean was so expensive that every time Solon saw the castle he was awed and almost ashamed of his ancestors' wastefulness. Outbuildings, smithies, barracks, servants' housing, barns, kennels, granaries, and storehouses ringed the hill cheek by jowl within the granite walls, but the crown of the hill was all castle. Steps broad enough for horses led up the first tier into the outer hall. The outer hall had a roof but no walls, leaving it oddly open to the elements. Enormous grooved marble pillars held a majestic roof of marble, onyx, and stained gla.s.s.

At the base of the steps, Oshobi drew his team to a halt. "Are you going to make this easy or hard?" he asked.

"I'm here to solve problems, not cause them," Solon said.

"Too late for that," Oshobi said. "There's a room for you on the first floor."

Solon nodded. A visiting n.o.ble would be put on the second floor, and he should have rated the third floor, but it was better than the dungeon, and it would give Kaede time to decide what to do about him.

They climbed the steps together, drawing only a few looks. Oshobi was obviously a familiar sight, and Solon's clothing was Cenarian, not Sethi, so from a distance, he supposed the lack of rings wasn't remarkable. Besides, it was almost harvest time, and everyone had too many things to do.

Sky watchers had aided the construction of the outer hall, so the stained gla.s.s panels provided art appropriate to the season. Currently, the sun lit the whole outer hall purple with scenes of harvest and grape crus.h.i.+ng, women dancing in vats with their skirts held up higher above their ankles than absolutely necessary and men clapping and cheering them on. Elsewhere there were scenes of war, of sailing, of fis.h.i.+ng, of grand b.a.l.l.s, of festivals to Nysos. Some of the panels were brighter than others, reminding Solon of when he was a boy and a rare hailstorm had broken dozens of the panels. He remembered his father cursing their ancestors. Who would use gla.s.s for a ceiling? Of course there was no choice but to replace the broken panes, though the price was ruinous. One couldn't let one's entryway fall into a shambles.

Oshobi and Solon walked through the great black oak doors into the inner entry. Here, white staircases framed each side of the room, a great imperial purple carpet led further into the palace, and gold and marble statuary lined the hall. As they headed past the stairs to a side door, however, one of the smallest, oldest men Solon had ever seen came to Oshobi. The man stopped before he said anything, however, and gaped at Solon. He was the old Wariyamo chamberlain, a slave who had chosen to stay with the family permanently rather than take his freedom on the seventh year, and he obviously recognized Solon. After a moment, he recovered and whispered to Oshobi, who promptly reversed direction and gestured for Solon to follow him into the great hall.

They walked through the great hall, past decorative geometric patterns and starbursts-all designed with swords and spears. It was another wasteful display meant to send a message to visiting emissaries: we have so many armaments, we decorate with them. It was, Solon thought, a more reasonable waste than the stained gla.s.s. The great hall was empty except for the guards at the far door, and both of them were too young to recognize Solon. They opened the doors to the inner court promptly, so Oshobi wouldn't even have to slow. Oshobi led Solon past the great throne from which Solon's father and brother had ruled, and headed into the inner court.

The doors opened at the base of stairs, braced by lions. They ascended twenty-one steps, and Solon felt his throat tightening. Then he saw her.

Kaede Wariyamo had black hair and perfect olive skin. Her eyes were deep brown, nose stately, mouth wide and full, neck slender. In keeping with the impending harvest, her hair was bound in a single tail and her nagika was simple cotton. A nagika was a dress that looped over one shoulder, the cloth gathered to the opposite hip and falling long to the floor, fully covering the ankles, leaving one breast bare. It wasn't, as Solon had explained to Midcyri on numerous occasions, that Sethi men didn't find b.r.e.a.s.t.s pleasing or innately feminine. They simply weren't erotic in the same way. In Seth, a man would comment on a woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s as a Midcyran commented on a woman's eyes. But after ten years in Midcyru, Solon's pulse quickened to see the woman he loved and who'd once loved him so exposed. Kaede was twenty-eight years old now, and most of the innocent girl he had known had receded from her face. The intelligence had come more to the fore, and a steel that had once been buried deep now lay close to the surface. The holes of the clan piercings on her right cheek had long closed, but the dimples remained, showing the world she had not been born an empress.

Solon thought she was more beautiful than ever. He remembered the day he had left to train with the magi. He had kissed that slender neck, caressed those b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He could still remember the smell of her hair. It had been in this very room, where they'd thought no one would find them. He had wondered often when she would have made him stop, or if. But they'd never found out. Her mother, Daune Wariyamo, had found them and berated them both, calling him such foul names that had he been a little older he would have thrown her from the palace. Nor had she spared her daughter the vitriol. Solon had failed Kaede there. He had allowed his own shame to keep him from protecting Kaede, who was even younger and more vulnerable. It was only the first of his regrets with her.

"Oh, Kaede," he said, "your beauty would shame the very stars. Why did you never write?"

The sudden softness in her eyes steeled. She slapped him, hard.

"Guards! Take this b.a.s.t.a.r.d to the dungeon."

26

Men were gathering in the great yard before the city's south gate when Kylar arrived. The queen's messengers canceling the attack wouldn't arrive for a few more minutes. Kylar was almost certain that they would. However, Durzo had taught him that when you deal with human beings, never count on logic or consistency. Either way, Kylar's work wasn't finished.

The sa'ceurai were still sleeping. Kylar didn't make the mistake of thinking that this meant the morning's attack would take them off guard. They simply could sleep in and still slaughter Cenarians without missing breakfast.

The sleet had stopped, so Kylar was able to make good time to Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+'s tent. The war leader was asleep on a simple mat on one side of the room.

Kylar stopped at a table full of maps. He'd never seen such detailed maps. There were maps of the city with three different colors of blocks put on different objectives. Kylar wasn't even sure what the colors signified. There were maps of the city's surroundings, with elevation marked, the conditions of roads labeled, and a remarkably accurate chart of the Smugglers' Archipelago. Blocks with regimental flags stuck in them represented the various forces arrayed within and without the city, even the new Rabbit regiments, which meant they already had spies in the city who were managing to pa.s.s messages out. There were broader national maps, with both knowns and unknowns marked. They didn't know who held Screaming Winds in the north. They weren't sure of the Lae'knaught's strength in the southeast. But on the last map were blocks representing Cenaria's death.

Blocks on that national map represented Logan's force, guessed to be slightly larger than it was, and behind them, Ceuran reinforcements.

I'm not a general, I'm only a killer. And a fool. Kylar had glanced at what was in front of his eyes and thought he had a more accurate view of the situation than the city's generals. Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ had rushed to the city without horses or baggage, but that didn't mean he hadn't told them to follow. Kylar had glanced at what was in front of his eyes and thought he had a more accurate view of the situation than the city's generals. Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ had rushed to the city without horses or baggage, but that didn't mean he hadn't told them to follow.

He had. They were just a few days out, behind Logan's army, and Logan had never seen them. In the meantime, Garuwas.h.i.+ had already dispatched a contingent of sa'ceurai to skirt Logan's force and go back to guard the supply train. a contingent of sa'ceurai to skirt Logan's force and go back to guard the supply train.

Among the papers were plans to hire pirates to cut off smugglers' routes into the city and others to encourage insurrection in the Warrens. They were already in negotiations with the Sa'kage, which the generals knew had smuggling routes into the city. Currently, the Sa'kage wasn't offering good terms, but the generals were confident that the Sa'kage's offers would get sweeter as soon as the supply train arrived and the hungry Cenarians watched them feast.

Kylar felt sicker the more he read. Of course the Sa'kage would treat with the Ceurans. It was one thing to refuse to collaborate with Khalidorans who wanted to wipe out all of Cenaria, quite another to betray a disliked queen to a reasonable man who wouldn't interfere with the Sa'kage's business. As soon as that supply train arrived, Momma K would see the end. She would try to minimize the bloodshed, but which was better: For thousands to starve in the Warrens, or for a hundred n.o.ble heads to roll? The smuggling tunnels would soon fill with sa'ceurai.

"Night Angel," Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ said in greeting, rising from his mat.

Checking, Kylar was sure he was still invisible. He looked at the papers in his hand, apparently hanging in midair. He dropped the invisibility. "Good morning, warleader."

Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ was one of the rare men who looked more daunting half-naked than he did in full armor. There was no fat on his body, and where most quick swordsmen were built with lean muscles like Kylar, Garuwas.h.i.+ had the upper body of a blacksmith, each muscle sharply defined-and big. He had a smattering of scars on arms and chest and stomach, but not one of them was deep enough to have cut muscle and thereby impede his motion. They were the wounds of a man whose mistakes had been infrequent and small.

He shook his head as if to shake off sleep, but Kylar thought it was more calculated to rattle the bound ends of those sixty-odd locks in his own hair like a bowl full of marbles. Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ grinned joylessly at Kylar. "I've been expecting you," he said.

Kylar couldn't believe it, but how else would he sleep so lightly that he woke at the sound of papers being turned fifty feet away? "If you expected me, there'd be fifty sa'ceurai ringing this tent."

"I knew you were coming as soon as my sentry reported that someone tied his leggings together."

Kylar's jaw dropped. "He reported himself?"

Garuwas.h.i.+ smiled, self-satisfied. Kylar wanted to think of him as smug, but it was an infectious kind of smile. "I punished him lightly and rewarded him well-as he expected." but it was an infectious kind of smile. "I punished him lightly and rewarded him well-as he expected."

"Son of a-" Every time Kylar took something for granted, he got hit in the face with it.

~Is there a lesson here?~ Kylar ignored the ka'kari. "So, if you expected me.... All this is gutters.h.i.+te." He dropped the papers on the table. "There's no supply train."

Garuwas.h.i.+'s grin faded. "It's coming," he said. "If you don't believe me, wait two days. You tell me, do you think all those reports could have been written between the time you were playing with my sentry and now? That would be a ma.s.sive effort, wouldn't it? And it would be stupid of me to throw it away by telling you I expected you."

Kylar blinked. "So what's the game?"

Garuwas.h.i.+ began pulling on his clothes. "Oh, are we being honest with each other?"

"Might be quicker than lying."

Garuwas.h.i.+ hesitated. "Fair enough. I'm preparing to be a king, Night Angel."

"A High King?" Kylar asked.

Garuwas.h.i.+ looked puzzled. "You say this like it means something to you."

Kylar cursed his inept.i.tude. "A rumor I heard."

"Why would I wish to be a high king? Cenaria and Ceura are neither large nor distant from each other. Naming under-kings would simply give me rivals." He waved it away and tied the thin silk robe around his waist. "In a year, I will be king of Ceura. I have a reputation now and most of it serves my purposes. But in our capital Aenu, the effete n.o.bles call me a barbarian. 'Skilled at war, yes, but can a butcher be king?' This is how they attack a man who is too excellent. So I have a small interest in capturing this city without killing. We both know that I can take Cenaria. I let you read long enough to see that, yes?"

"So what do you want?" Kylar asked.

"Surrender. Unconditionally. I will give you my word to be merciful. We will leave in the spring to claim my throne, and once I take it, I will grant this realm once more to your queen."

Kylar couldn't stop a twitch of annoyance.