“All hail Emperor Lin Sukai!” a voice called out from the crowd. “She came to our aid when we needed it the most. She put her own life on the line to save us, like Arrimus defending the city from the sea serpent Mephisolou.” I knew that voice. Jovis. The tale of Arrimus was one of the few positive stories of an Alanga, and he’d chosen the perfect comparison.

“All hail Emperor Lin Sukai!” he called out again.

Ever so gradually, the mood in the crowd shifted. Someone else took up the cry. And then others did. And then I was surrounded by people shouting my name, approving of me, of my actions. All the praise I’d never gotten from my father. All the acceptance I hadn’t known I still wanted. Still needed.

Even though they knew who I was.

I was Lin. I was Alanga. I’d defeated the construct army and I was the Emperor.

Jovis broke through the crowd. For a moment we just stared at one another, and then he jerked his head toward the palace. Can we talk?

I found the last reserves of my strength, picking my way across the courtyard, bowing my head to the people who bowed to me as I passed, Thrana at my side. I followed Jovis through the entrance hall and into a small, empty side room.

“Watch the door?” I said to Thrana. She nodded, planting her feet.

I closed the door and we were alone, misty light streaming in from the half-shuttered window, the sounds from outside muted.

“Well,” Jovis said, “I think that earns me a pardon from execution, don’t you?” He was covered in mud, bloody from battle, his curly hair wet with rain and sweat – and somehow he still managed a cocksure grin. It was a bit wobbly at the corners, but there it was.

“A stay of execution,” I said, tentatively returning his smile. There was a part of my heart that still felt tender from his betrayal. It would take time.

He sobered. “Did you see what Gio did?”

Was this why he’d wanted to speak to me? “Everyone did.” My mind was already hurtling ahead, considering the implications. “He’s Alanga too. I don’t know where his ossalen is, but he has the same powers we do. Has he been hiding it this whole time?”

“I think he has been,” Jovis said, his expression grim. “It would explain Khalute.”

“The leader of the Shardless Few – an Alanga? It will mean trouble later.” I winced at a sharp pain in my ribs. All my injuries began to throb at once, reminding me of their presence.

Jovis reached out a hand. “Are you hurt?” He brushed a clod of dirt from my shoulder with soft hands, noting the torn cloth beneath, the dried blood.

“Are you?” I reached hesitant fingers to the side of his head.