A thousand or more Varitai and Free Swords lie dead in a canyon, somewhere in the hill country east of New Kethia to judge by the landscape. People in mismatched armour wander among the dead finishing the wounded and gathering weapons. She finds herself smiling in amusement. You win a victory, beloved, she tells him. How delightful. I’ve been searching for some excuse to execute the governor of Eskethia.
The enmity deepens, the thoughts coalescing into words, her heart leaping at the sound of his voice. Come and face me. We will finish this.
She sighs, pushing a hand through her hair and letting her gaze wander over the grey ocean stretching away from the cliff. It is starting to rain, the north-western coastline is ever damp in winter, though the seas are calmer than expected. Her slaves scurry forward bearing an awning, keen to shield the Empress from the elements. She dismisses them with an irritated wave. They are expert slaves, attentive in the extreme, but for a woman accustomed to privation and danger, their devotion to her comfort is an annoyance, leaving scant regret at their imminent fate.
I’m sorry, beloved, she tells him, eyes now fixed on the horizon and her heart beating faster with the joy of anticipation. But I have business here. You’ll have to amuse yourself with my slaves for a while longer.
The enmity subsides, transforming into a reluctant curiosity. She laughs, exulting as the first masts appear on the horizon, raising her gaze to the sky and finding it rich in clouds. She beckons the captain of her escort to her side, an Arisai like the others, promoted due to his slightly more controlled viciousness. “Kill the slaves,” she tells him. “Also, we passed a village a mile back. There can be no witnesses to my presence here. See to it.”
“Empress.” He bows, his expression one of near adoration, though, like the others, cruelty is rarely absent from his eyes. He turns away, moving towards the slaves and drawing his sword.
Her limbs tremble as she turns back to the sea, deaf to the screams as she summons the gift. She is slightly regretful at the necessity, having grown fond of this shell. But another awaits her in Volar, this one a little taller though not quite so athletic.
Formalities must be observed, my love, she tells him, raising her arms and focusing on the clouds, watching them dance in response to the gift. It is time for an empress to greet a queen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vaelin
