PART I

CONVERSATIONS IN A STORM HOUSE

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since Kihrin D’Mon returned to Quur

The men paused at the ramp’s base to shake the rain from their sallí cloaks. Behind them, the black sky flickered, then lit up with blinding brightness. A second later, the crash of thunder rolled over them. The heavens opened to drench the ground.

“Shut that door!”

Before they could respond, Scandal, the gray fireblood mare, shouldered her way past. Her passage knocked the heavy oak barrier backward, and the high winds yanked at the unanchored door, forcing the two men to wrestle it back into position. One man closed the latch, locking it.

Stillness enveloped the men even as they heard the winds howl outside. Kihrin turned to his companion. “Why didn’t we go to Atrine again?”

The other man, a large fellow with a white star-shaped birthmark on his forehead, grunted. “Too many imperial soldiers in Atrine.”

“Right. That was it.” Kihrin eyed the stone building’s interior with suspicion. “Star, I know how much you love horses, but … is this a barn?”

As Kihrin D’Mon walked forward, the barn opened into a broad stone-lined vault nestled into the hillside. A herd of horses clustered at the rear, wide-eyed, ears flicking back at each peal of thunder. His gray fireblood, Scandal, joined them, sidling up to two large black fireblood stallions also present. Unlike Scandal, who resembled an oversized mare, the other firebloods’ not-a-horse natures showed themselves in red eyes and matching tiger stripes running up their legs. The other horses grouped around them like children seeking a parent’s protection.

“If she winds up pregnant, she’d better not come crying to me about it,” Kihrin muttered.

An old woman with piebald skin rushed to the entrance from a passage in the back. “Shut that door good, you hear me? That storm’s a killer, if ever I’ve seen one…” Her voice trailed off as she took in Star’s appearance.

Kihrin couldn’t blame her. Star could stop a stampede with a frown. Kihrin stood taller, but Star was twice as wide and rough as the weather outside. At the brothel where Kihrin grew up, he’d have hired Star as a bouncer on the spot.

The old woman gave Star a wink.

“Aye, Mare.” Star laughed as he pulled on a lock of his salt-and-pepper hair. “And you’re a fine sight to see too. We need pillows and a place of honor for Hamarratus. Sorry to trot in so late. We weren’t expecting the storm.” He touched forefingers to forehead, then bowed from the waist.

Kihrin had never heard Star string more than two sentences together before. He’d also never seen Star bow—not to a high lord, not to anyone.

Wait. Who is Hamarratus?