The Spirit War (34 page)

Nara smiled as her palace bobbed and shifted her focus westward. Screaming, the current had no choice but to follow. The blast of water caught the palace ships at once, and her fleet shot out, riding the great wave of water westward toward the unconquered half of the world.

Panting, Nara fell to her knees, clutching the balcony rails to keep herself upright. Even as a star, moving such enormous spirits was exhausting. But it was done. Her fleet and her war palace were racing out of the bay, carried into the sea by the great current that flowed at her command. There was nothing that could stop her now.

Slowly, she stood and drew her sword, raising its gleaming blade to the fading sunlight. “Are you watching, lady?” she cried, holding her sword to the sky. “With this, I begin your war.”

As she spoke, words appeared on the sword’s blade, a single sentence etched in gleaming steel.

Sleepers wake, I am coming.

Nara held her breath. The rushing wind filled her ears, but if she strained, she could hear the Shepherdess’s beautiful laugh at the very edge of her hearing. That was enough. Smiling, Nara sheathed her sword and walked into her palace.

High overhead, those winds who were not yet loyal turned and rushed west to bring word to their master of the star’s coming.

Duke Finley arrived at his town house shortly after sunset. His servants ran out to greet him as the coach pulled to a stop. Finley
stepped down, letting the valets take his overcoat while his footmen ran to close the elegant iron gate that separated the mansion from the street. Henry was waiting for him at the door, a glass of wine ready in his hand.

“Welcome home, father,” he said. “How was your day?”

“What you doing here?” Finley said, snatching the glass with enough force to spill half its contents on the marble entry. “You’re supposed to be heading the palace watch tonight.”

“The captain gave me the night off,” Henry said. “She heard about your meeting with our beloved prince and thought you could use the company.”

“Did she?” Finley downed the wine in one gulp and tossed the glass at his manservant, who caught it expertly. “How thoughtful of our dear princess.”

Henry’s smile wavered as he followed his father into the house. Like all high-ranking Oseran nobility, Duke Finley’s mansion was located in the tangle of fine houses just down the mountain from the palace. But though his house was less than a block from the castle, it was worlds away in style. Where the royal palace was a stalwart relic of a lost era, the duke’s home was impeccably modern. The smooth, austere facade presented a clean face to the street while delicate flourishes of carved waves lapped tastefully at the cornerstones. Inside, wide halls paneled with carved slats of imported wood led to rooms filled with windows. Elegant lamps enhanced with crystals hung from the ceilings, and fine rugs covered the floor with rich colors. The furniture was ornate, painted gold and upholstered in silk in the Zarin style.

But for all this modernity, Finley was still the heir to the throne, and was he guarded accordingly. Because of this, the delicate ambiance of his brightly lit stone foyer was marred by a pair of guards in full armor standing at attention. A second pair of guards, scarred veterans, stood at the top of the grand stair where they perpetually
got in the way of the servants. A third pair of guards watched the door to the duke’s small garden, their great armored shapes ridiculous against the outline of the delicate fruit trees. Each post saluted the duke as he passed, and the duke saluted back, muttering to himself the whole way up to his study.

“Honestly,” he growled as Henry closed the leather padded study door. “You’d think we were still an island of savage barbarians murdering each other in our beds.”

“The queen cares deeply for your safety, father,” Henry said. “As do we all.”

“Nonsense,” the duke said, sinking into his cushioned chair by the fire. “Theresa may set the guard, but I’m the one who has to pay for it. And you can stop trying to butter me up with that ‘as do we all’ rot, Henry. You’re not going to be king.”

The dutiful look fell off Henry’s face. “What?” he cried.

“He didn’t take the bait,” the duke said, shrugging. “Josef Liechten is determined to stay and get his mother her grandchild whether she’s alive to enjoy the brat or not. You’d think after abandoning every other shred of duty, this would be easy, but
no
.”

“What are we going to do?” Henry said, sinking into the chair beside his father’s.

“Nothing,” the duke said and snorted, staring into the fire. “We’re going to sit and we’re going to wait. Even if he got her with child last night, the queen won’t live long enough to confirm the pregnancy. Once the old cow is dead and I’m on the throne, no one will care what’s in the princess’s belly.”

“Father,” Henry said delicately, sitting on the edge of his chair. “Aren’t you dismissing Adela too quickly? She’s very popular with the people. We could use that. I—”

“I am well aware of your shameless infatuation with the princess, Henry,” the duke said dryly. “Now, and I’m not going to tell you this again, forget her. She’s nothing but trash who knows how
to play a crowd, just like her mother. If you speak of her again, I’ll pull you off the guard and put you on a deepwater patrol boat for the rest of the year. Do you understand?”

Henry bit his lip. “Yes, father.”

“Good,” the duke said, sitting back. “Powers, the way my luck’s been going, you’ll be the one to get the princess pregnant and lose your throne to your own son.”

“Father!” Henry cried.

“You can’t hide things from me, boy,” Finley said, glaring. “Not that you’ve tried. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m working so hard to secure your place in the succession when you seem intent on ruining your reputation, cornering the princess in hallways in sight of anyone who walks by.”

Henry looked away, cheeks scarlet. “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he grumbled. “Everyone’s saying we’re done for now that the clingfire’s up in flames.”

Finley sat up. “Who’s saying that?”

“All the guards, for one,” Henry said. “It’s common talk on the docks, and why not? You could see the smoke from the mainland. Everyone knows that we can’t down the palace ships without clingfire, and if the palace ships don’t go down, the Empress wins.”

“A minor setback,” the duke said dismissively. “I’ll have the crown make a statement tomorrow that we have a backup clingfire stock hidden.”

“But we
don’t
,” Henry said.

“Well, no one needs to know that, do they?” Finley said. “The last thing we need is a panic. If we are to stand before the Empress, we must be united, and we can’t do that if people are scared.”

“You can’t just lie about things like that,” Henry said.

“I can and I have,” Finley said. “How do you think this island’s been functioning for the last month? We’ve been plagued by setbacks since we heard the Empress was on the move. First there was
the queen’s dramatic turn for the worse that put everything in uproar and brought back the idiot prince, and then we had that horrid mess with the tar eating through the wood in the new ships. We had to scrap half a fleet of runners thanks to that one. And there was the dry rot in the corn vault.” The duke shook his head. “Trust me, Henry, this fire was nothing. Just another headache in a long line of bad, bad luck.”

Henry stared at his father. “I didn’t hear about any of that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Finley said. “That’s what it means to keep things
secret
. Fortunately, we’ve still got time to make up the shortfalls before the Empress arrives. Assuming, of course, nothing else goes wrong.”

Henry paled. “What else
can
go wrong?”

“Never ask, my boy,” Finley said quietly. “Never ask.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, both lost in their own dark thoughts as they watched the fire burn lower and lower. And then suddenly and without warning, Henry sat bolt upright.

“What was that?” he said. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” the duke grumbled, sinking lower in his chair. “Probably our idiot porter getting into the—”

The sound cut him off before he could finish. It was a soft, rolling thump, followed by a clatter. Finley looked at his son, all tiredness gone, and they stood up together. The duke’s hand dropped down to the old sword at his side as he crept toward the library door.

Just before his hand touched the handle, the door flew open, and a white-faced servant burst into the room.

“My lord!” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “You have to get out!”

“Why?” the duke said. “What’s happened?”

The servant looked over his shoulder at the dark hall. “An intruder, sir.”

“Intruder?” the duke said. “Nonsense, let the guards have him. That’s what I pay them for.”

The servant shook his head, grabbing the duke’s arms. “The back, quick—”

The word ended in a tight gasp. The servant’s mouth was still moving, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide as he crumpled, the back of his neck cut wide open. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The duke jumped back before he realized what was happening, drawing his sword on instinct alone. Now that the servant was out of the way, he could see the guards at the end of the hall. Both men were down, lying in dark pools with the back of their necks cut, spines severed cleanly, just like the servant’s.

Finley grew very still, eyes searching the shadows while his fingers tightened on his sword. But the house was still, silent except for his own ragged breaths and those of his son behind him.

Without taking his eyes from the door, he motioned Henry back to the fireplace. Other than the windows, the room had only one entrance. Finley kept his sword up, watching the shadows for any trace of movement. On the floor, the servant’s blood was seeping into the thick carpet. It was so quiet the duke could hear the liquid spreading through the fibers. Panic began to rise in his stomach, but Finley fought it down. He took a deep breath, ignoring the taste of blood in the air and forcing himself to be calm, to look.

That was when he saw the killer.

The man stood at the corner where the stairs met the hall, less than five steps from the fallen guards. He was so still that the duke’s eyes had a hard time picking his dark clothes out of the shadows. Finley blinked several times, still not sure if his eyes were telling the truth. If the man was standing at the other end of house, there was no way he could have killed the servant, not from that distance. Perhaps there were two intruders? As Finley’s mind scrambled to
reconcile the facts, the man began to move. He rushed forward, racing down the hall in a handful of seconds, his padded feet completely silent on the hardwood floor.

Finley gritted his teeth and cursed himself for a fool. He’d just wasted his only chance to escape. Now the man stood in the study door, blocking the only exit with his body.

“What do you want?” Finley said, surprised at how stern and clear his voice was.

The man didn’t answer. Now that he was standing in the well-lit library, the duke could see the intruder was slender and tall. He was wrapped head to toe in dark cloth, and even his eyes were hidden beneath black netting. He had a sword at his hip, the sheath wrapped in black as well, but Finley could tell it was a short blade. The duke hefted his own sword. There was still a chance. He had reach on the assassin, so did Henry. The killer had lost his chance at surprise by running forward, and it was two on one now.

At once, Finley felt his confidence returning. He inched his feet forward, stepping into position. Behind him, he heard Henry follow his lead. Finley licked his lips, getting ready to shout for Henry to begin the attack. But the words died on his lips, for at that moment, the assassin drew his sword.

The sword appeared with a flash of silver. Its blade was heavy, short, and gleaming with its own silver light. Finley sucked in a breath. A man in Osera didn’t go through a lifetime of sword training without learning to recognize an awakened blade. The duke was no wizard, but even he could see the sword’s surface trembling in anticipation as the assassin stepped over the servant’s body.

The blow came before the duke could think to raise his sword. One moment the assassin was facing them, short sword in hand, the next the sword was
through
him. Finley gasped more in surprise than pain, looking down at the blade through his chest, and then up again at the man still standing in the doorway holding a sword
that was no longer short, but long as a spear with its point jutting out Finley’s back.

On the other side of the room, the assassin flicked his hand. The sword flashed like a wave, the steel sliding out of Finley’s body, and Henry began to scream. The duke jerked in surprise and turned to help his son, but his body wasn’t moving anymore. He toppled, falling to the carpet. He turned as he fell, looking back just in time to see the glowing blade snap like a whip as it finished slitting his son’s throat.

The duke could only stare as Henry fell, hitting the carpet with that now-familiar soft thump. Behind him, he heard the hiss of steel on steel, and he rolled his eyes to see the swordsman’s blade shrinking back to its original size, the glowing metal folding into itself until the assassin held a short sword once again. The killer lifted his gleaming weapon and walked to the window, using the duke’s velvet curtains to wipe Henry’s blood from the blade. Finley’s breath was growing scarce now, but he hardly noticed. Rage filled his body in a way life no longer could, and he lunged across the carpet, grabbing the man by the ankle.

“You dare!” he hissed. “Who are you?”

The swordsman turned to face him and slowly raised his hand to the cloth over his face. He unhooked something behind his ear, and the covering fell away. The duke’s hand went limp with surprise, and he collapsed back to the carpet.

“You,” he whispered in disbelief. And then, with his last breath: “Why?”

The question was barely past his lips when the sword swept down, giving Duke Finley the last and only answer he would ever receive.

CHAPTER