“You are to be my Empress, the sword protecting my back, and will rule at my side. I wish for you to know always that your voice is heard.” Tiberus cupped Fiera’s cheek and Vi gave a glance to Zira, who was barely refraining from rolling her eyes.
“Zira, will you see that Yullia is settled in a room?” Fiera asked, turning away from Tiberus’s affections. “There are more than enough open. You can place her wherever you think is appropriate.”
“Yes, your highness.”
“Zerian, please escort us back into the party. They’ll wonder if we’re gone for too long,” Tiberus said.
“And leaving nobles to wonder only leads them to gossip.” Fiera sighed. “You’re right, we should be along.” Tiberus offered Fiera his elbow and she took it, starting away. But not before Fiera paused once more to say, “I look forward to working with you, Yullia.”
Vi stared at the familiar dark eyes. Fiera’s spell-like quality of speech made Vi feel as if she were the only person in the world. Perhaps it was this quality that made others eager to bend over backward for the princess.
“And you as well, princess.” Vi gave a small bow of her head. Zira and Zerian exchanged a nod and the man escorted the two royals back into the library. Vi glanced over at Zira, whose whole body now seemed racked with tension. “Is everything all right?”
“My eyes tell me I’m seeing the men who are responsible for King Rocham’s death and the fall of Mhashan, while my mind reminds me they are no longer my enemies.” Zira shrugged, shoved her hands in her pockets, and began strolling forward. “It takes some getting used to.”
“I can imagine,” Vi said thoughtfully and fell into step at Zira’s side. “Does she love him?” As though Fiera’s love would make the circumstances easier to bear for Zira.
“I can’t tell,” Zira answered candidly. Vi was grateful they’d already had the opportunity to build a rapport; talking came easily, and there was no need to dance around topics when they’d spent days imprisoned together. Then again, Zira didn’t seem like the type to dance in any context that didn’t involve holding a blade. “I know she loves her people. She loves this land. And if loving him saves those things, she will love him to the sun and back.”
Her grandfather and grandmother’s love had been the stuff of legend, and Vi had believed it. Though now, she wondered… A begrudging political arrangement wouldn’t have done nearly as much to keep the West loyal and begin the slow process of endearing the South to their future Empress and Emperor. It made sense the story would be spun in brighter light. Vi’s chest tightened and her breathing grew short, but not from the stairs she and Zira climbed.
Despite having been taught all her life that marriage was a political transaction for someone born to her status, Vi had looked to Fiera and Tiberus as a model for how a political union could straddle both love and politics. The thought suddenly seemed so naive now.
“Here, these quarters belonged to one of Fiera’s other generals who’s… Well, let’s not linger on the details.”
Vi walked into the room. It reminded her of a smaller version of the hotel in the Crossroads: a carefully carved sliding screen separated the bed from a sitting area, and two doors at her left likely led to a closet and bathing room.
The memory briefly misted her eyes. That hotel had been the last place she’d seen her brother. Those few weeks they’d spent together on the road were all she’d ever have now, and they weren’t nearly enough.
“Make yourself as comfortable as possible,” Zira continued, oblivious. “Do you have personal effects anywhere in the city I should collect?”
“No, I travel light.”
“As a former mercenary of the Nameless Company, I respect that.” Zira smiled. “I’m sure I can find more than enough spare clothes for you before morning. We’ll need you dressed properly as one of her guards because tomorrow, you’ll face something far scarier than an Imperial army.”
“What?”
Zira turned from the doorway, a wry grin on her face. “The Royal Council.”
Chapter Eight
Zira wasgood to her word and brought Vi two trunks of various clothing to choose from. As usual, the slim-cut styles of the West were nearly impossible to fit into if they weren’t perfectly tailored to the wearer. But Vi found something that didn’t look comically large or small.
She braided her hair in large parts, knotting the ropes together up and away from her face at the back of her head. There were already enough similarities between her and Fiera; Vi didn’t want to encourage them further. Keeping her hair up rather than wearing it loose as Fiera did would be a good point of differentiation.
The council met just outside the royal quarters, which made it right down the hall and around the corner from Vi’s room.
When she entered the chamber, she was greeted by only four familiar faces—Fiera, Zira, Ophain, and Zerian. Tiberus was surprisingly absent and everyone else was a wary stranger. Vi would tread lightly while she determined if she needed to earn their favor.
“We should discuss the matter of the soldiers first,” Lord Twintle, councilor for maritime matters, pressed as soon as Fiera opened the meeting to concerns at large. “They are the men and women of the West, men and women who put their lives on the line for their kingdom.”
“Their kingdom is no more,” Zerian interjected. “In the eyes of the Empire they are war crimi—”
“They are equal citizens with a chance of serving the Empire,” Fiera said, cutting him off quickly with a look before he could say something that would likely raise tempers. “Lord Twintle, I know your son is in one of the containment shelters.”
“Containment shelter? You mean prison.”
Fiera ignored the remark and continued, “We’re doing all we can at the moment for our soldiers. But returning the city at large to a point of comfort and normalcy is our first priority. That way the soldiers see there is nothing more to defend and will integrate back with society more smoothly as citizens of Solaris.”
