Then the bedroom’s leaded window burst outwards in a glittering spray, and the kernclaw was gone into moon-shadow. The night air rushed in, setting the ruined curtains dancing. Beside Rosa, Malachi groaned.

Sidara cried with relief and rushed over. But it was not her father she embraced, nor even her prone mother. Careless of the blood, she threw her arms about Rosa and muttered incoherent thanks through tears of relief.

Suddenly weary, Rosa let the sword drop. She held the child tight and drank in the sweetest air she’d ever tasted.

Maladas, 5th day of Radiance

Maladas, 5th day of Radiance

The irony of order is that it foments indiscipline.

In seeking to control all we survey, we invite anarchy.

from the sermons of Konor Belenzo

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Two

His Imperial Majesty Prince Kai Saran of the Hadari Empire rode into Charren Gorge an hour after dawn. Owl-banners of green silk heralded his coming. A bodyguard of cataphracts cantered at his back. Marching songs melded with the clatter of hooves; barked orders with the groaning of oxen.

Melanna watched from a rocky spire, lost in memories of yesterday. Her father’s long absences on campaign against Thrakkians, Tressians and Ithna’jîm. The embraces of his eventual return. The roughness of scale armour dulled by the bear-pelt cloak. She’d always longed for his arms to enfold her. It meant another day passed without a downcast messenger’s arrival. Without empty homilies and the silver ring that meant her father had fallen in battle.

Suppressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the stiff breeze, Melanna drew her cloak tight, and went down to greet him.

The column halted. In its way, the line of horsemen was no less terrifying than the shield wall of the day before. Melanna drew on that memory, let the echo of victory quicken her courage. Her boots struck purposeful rhythm on the stones. Awe billowed around her as she advanced. The Immortals of her father’s guard regarded her with uncertain – almost fearful – eyes. A backward glance revealed why.

Melanna was no longer alone. Lunassera emerged from among the rocks, ghostlike and silent. Melanna felt a comforting hand brush her shoulder, and knew Sera stood at their forefront.

“Father.”

She offered a warrior’s bow in place of a curtsey. When she straightened, it was into the full force of a disapproving gaze. Eyes glowered beneath a furrowed brow. The laughter lines about his mouth set in stern appraisal.

“You look like my daughter,” he said. “You even sound like her. But my daughter would never shame me as you have.”

Melanna’s cheek twitched in irritation. If her father meant that – if he truly believed those words – then he’d paid little attention these past few years.

“I won this victory for you, my prince,” she said instead. “As is a firstborn’s duty.”

“As is the duty of a firstborn son.”