Prologue
Fiera easedherself away from the smoldering remnants of the fire she’d been using to peer along the Mother’s red lines of fate to catch glimpses of the future. She sat back on her heels, hands on her thighs, and stared out the wide, open window that overlooked her dying city. She had been charged with the sole duty of protecting them… and she had failed.
“At least it will finally be over,” she said thoughtfully. The words made her vision real.
For nearly ten long years, the Solaris Empire, led by Tiberus Solaris, had laid siege to Norin. Mhashan would not fall easily. Fiera had used the sword to see to that. And her father would never surrender; the blood of the greatest king to ever live, King Jadar, flowed through his veins and hers. They had a family name to honor, though their ideas about how exactly to do so couldn’t have been more different.
She pushed herself away from the small fire pit, standing. Her scrying room was attached to one of her sitting rooms, accessible through a curtain. Fiera made her way across her chambers and into her closet. She’d need her finest to deliver this message. If they were to fall, they would fall with the same dignity they’d lived and fought with.
Dressed in deep crimson splashed with accents of bright silver, a decorative pauldron over one shoulder with chain mail draping off, Fiera stepped into the halls of the castle.
Things were quiet. But they usually were these days. Hunger was beginning to scrape the very bottom of every citizen’s stomach. Most of the castle staff had been dismissed long ago with the command to conserve their energy. Fiera knew at least half of them were dead now.
Only an extremely loyal few remained at their posts.
Heading down a wide staircase, Fiera stepped into a side hallway accessible through a narrow door on the side of the stairs. When she was a girl, this hall had been filled with the sweet scents of perfume and fine soaps, imported from the Crossroads. Now, it was merely damp. Humidity beaded on the walls from the heated washing tubs. Sweet-smelling soaps had run out long ago; now, the best they could do to clean their clothes was boil them.
A middle-aged man tended the steaming tubs. Magic radiated off of him, sparking throughout the room as he kept each of the large, wooden basins bubbling hot. He went from tub to tub, stirring the contents.
“Hanc.”
“Your highness.” The man released the over-sized spoon he’d been holding and dipped low into a bow. When Fiera was young, an elderly woman would threaten to crack her knuckles with the too-large spoons if she was caught snatching soap shavings for her personal use. Fiera didn’t know where the woman was now; she’d vanished like all of Hanc’s other helpers. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to collect all the bedsheets in the castle and begin stitching them together.” Luckily, the tubs were filled with colored garments. That meant he should have plenty of white sheets at his disposal. “It doesn’t matter if they’re clean and the stitches do not need to be tidy—merely sturdy.” He stared at her, clearly working to process the odd request. “I need you to do this with haste, as many as you can. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your highness,” Hanc said slowly. Then, timidly, “Any particular way they should be stitched together?”
“Not really. So long as they are white—or close enough to white—and the banner you make is large, it should be enough.”
“I shall do so when I finish this wash and—”
“You shall do so now,” Fiera interrupted firmly. “There is precious little time. Remember, you need to do as many as your hands can bear in the coming hours and only stop when the time comes to use what you have produced.” Hanc gave a small nod. Fiera wished she could tell him more, but it was better not to. They all needed to keep their faith in these final hours. Ignorance while doing so was the best she could give them. Fiera went to leave, but paused in the doorway. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Tell no one of this task save my brother. But wait to go to him until the time is right. Perform your duty as discretely as possible. Start with the sheets not on beds to avoid suspicion, then those in vacant rooms. Use my quarters if you need a place to work.” Fiera doubted she would spend much time in them in the hours to come.
“How will I know the time is right?”
“Trust me when I say that you will.” It would be obvious what he was making when the time came for it—if it wasn’t obvious already. “Work with speed, Hanc.”
“Yes, your highness.”
Fiera left him and started back up the stairs. Her hands worried the familiar stone banisters as she wound up to the royal council rooms. A war council was convened at all times of the day, it seemed, though the discussions had dulled the longer the siege dragged on.
When she stepped into the stately room, the men and women who had been lounging in velvet tufted chairs stood instantly.
“Your highness.” They bowed rigidly, hands at their sides.
“Captain.” Zira, Fiera’s head knight and right hand, saluted.
“Report on the city’s status,” Fiera commanded.
“Grain stores have been entirely depleted outside the castle,” Denja reported, adjusting the scarf around her head. She had once been a councilor of commerce, and a good one at that. But the war had robbed her of much purpose other than rationing. Perhaps, in the days to come, her skills with negotiation could be put to use again. “We’re relying entirely on the sea now.” Her eyes were now on Twintle.
“In the waters we dare to sail, fishing has been scarce… Though, the fishermen claim that with the season’s shift, new fish should come to the area. There’s still the reserve of dried fish at my warehouse at the docks,” Twintle, councilor for maritime, picked up Denja’s report.
“No breaches reported by the guard along the outer wall. No movements of the Imperial army since half their forces retreated two weeks ago,” Zira added.
