Phalue took it, turning it so that Ranami could also see what was written on the envelope. It was from Gaelung. Why would Gaelung be sending her an urgent missive? She broke the seal and opened the letter.

Ranami hovered nearby as she skimmed through the contents, her heartbeat kicking faster with each new line.

“It’s not good,” Phalue said. “The construct army is pressing toward Gaelung. The Emperor has promised aid, but I think we all know the state of the Empire’s army. The new recruits will be only minimally trained. They won’t know how to handle themselves in a fight. And there just won’t be enough of them – not enough to make up for the lack of constructs. Another island has sunk.”

“Another one? What?” Ranami leaned over the letter to read for herself.

“The good news – if we can count it such – is that this island had a mine as well. So if the Emperor was telling at least a version of a truth, Nephilanu may be safe. But this isn’t a purely informational letter. The governor of Gaelung is asking us to send aid. It’s separate from the Emperor’s plea.”

Ranami took the letter when she proffered it. “‘If you do not send aid, Gaelung will fall, and the construct army will sweep across the Empire. She sounds desperate.”

“If the construct army has grown as large as she says it has, and it’s taken all the islands before Gaelung, I can understand her desperation.” The rogue constructs had felt a distant thing to Phalue – clear on the other side of the Empire – made up of creatures who’d been cast aside at the change of a regime. She’d had so many other, closer things to worry about: Gio, the Shardless Few, the caro nuts, the sinking islands, the Emperor herself. Even dismantling the Alanga fountain had seemed more urgent. Phalue frowned. “Do we have any treaties or agreements with Gaelung?”

Her wife frowned. “I can’t be sure. Your father didn’t take any care to organize his documents, and neither did anyone who worked for him. It could have been informal, and he might not have written it down. You know how your father was.”

“Him and his parties,” Phalue said. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the dampness of sweat at her forehead and at the nape of her neck. “Can you let the people who have stayed know there will still be food? Offer some comfort and apologize? I should go ask my father.”

“You don’t have to.”