Adiv shook his head. “I am ignorant of its contents. It is for your eyes alone.”

Frowning, Adare flicked open the wax seal with her nail, then scanned the contents, blood ablaze in her veins.

Adare,

You fled the palace believing I killed your father, and I can’t blame you. I did.

The blunt admission was like a cold claw gripping her heart, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even see. Her father’s note was one thing, but this, the brutal, ineluctable truth of it . . . Breath burning in her lungs, she forced herself to read on.

Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t want to do it. In almost every way, Sanlitun was an ideal emperor: pragmatic, honest, clever. His only real flaw was his relationship with the Urghul. For reasons I still cannot fathom, he trusted Long Fist, believed there could be an accord with the man. I fought the Urghul chief for years. I know him far better than your father ever did, and I assure you, Long Fist intends to see Annur destroyed.

Again and again I tried to explain this to Sanlitun, but something blinded him to the urgency. In the end, my choice was between your family and the empire itself. Believe me when I say it was not a choice I wanted.

You will distrust this note, as you should, but I ask only one thing. March north, in the tracks of my own army. When you catch us on the frontier, you can judge for yourself whether I have lied to you about the Urghul threat. If I have, better to have our battle there, where no citizens will die. If you decide that I have told the truth, however, you can join your army to mine. I promise you, when the contest comes, every spear will matter, every sword, every ’Kent-kissing fist.

I am sorry for your father’s death. I liked the Emperor and I respected him, but he was only one man. Annur is millions.

If, as my people tell me, you have Intarra’s favor, pray for us all. The darkness rides.

Your Kenarang,

Ran il Tornja

When she’d finished reading, it was all she could do to keep her feet. She stared at the vellum, the lines and angles of the words shifting before her eyes. Only when the first tear hit the ink, blurring it, did she realize she was crying.

“My lady?” Fulton asked, taking a step from his post by the door. “What does it say?”

Adare took a deep, shuddering breath. “It says we march north.”

Nira stared. “For what?”

“To fight,” Adare replied.

“Fight who?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Adare said grimly.