That was, assuming they still had their heads attached to their shoulders when Tiberus Solaris ruled.
“Then we shall die fighting.” Her father stood and Fiera’s heart sank. “As is our way.”
“As the head of the Knights of Jadar, I must remind you our forces are tired and weak. If—”
“I was the one who gave you that title. It does not give you the ability to question me,” he cautioned.
Fiera continued despite. “If we fight, the losses will be even greater than they otherwise have to be. Let us at least attempt peaceful negotiations.”
“I tried to negotiate with the monster Solaris ten years ago. He is a power-hungry child who cannot be reasoned with.”
“Father—”
“And if we are to lose,” the King continued, not hearing her. “then I will die killing the bastard.”
Were it not for her years of training, she would have shouted at him. Her hands would ball into fists and she would tremble with rage. But Fiera was a weapon. She’d been hammered, sharpened, and forged from birth.
Her brother would rule. Her older sisters were royal prizes—trophies to be married off as it fit the crown. Thus, her father had not needed her to be genteel. He’d needed her to be a soldier, a tool that could take the shape of whatever the kingdom required.
And that was what she had become.
“You will not kill him. With the size of the Imperial army, you will not even come close to him,” Fiera said, level, as the king started into his quarters. “But perhaps we can—”
“I will take no more of your treasonous talk. The time for negotiations has long since ended. If Norin is to fall, then I shall burn it to the ground myself before I let Solaris sit on my throne.” Fire sparked to life in the air over her father’s shoulders.
Fiera merely stared at him, willing her face to remain passive. Not a single emotion would betray her by floating to the surface. She had weighted them all, burning them deep within the flames of her gut.
“And as the head of the Knights of Jadar, you will heed my orders. Go and ready the soldiers. Prepare them to take one last stand for King and country. Prepare them to die.”
“Yes, sir.” Fiera gave a bow and strode from the room, not one crack in her stony mask.
She strode down the hall and down a flight of stairs. The royal quarters were toward the top of the castle. Down and to one side were the council chambers, comprised of meeting rooms and offices. Down and to the other were the barracks, training grounds, and armory. Two strong pillars of the Ci’Dan family had lifted them centuries ago to royalty: diplomacy and combat.
Fiera strode between racks of swords in one of the oldest armories to the very back right corner, where an unassuming second door, bolted with a heavy lock, waited. At the door’s side was a black-haired woman, eyes shining in the light of the mote of fire hovering over Fiera’s shoulder.
“The criers have been sent. I gave them my horse to do it with,” Zira reported, pushing away from the wall. “Ophain is carrying out the rest of your orders.”
“To the letter?”
“To the letter.”
“Good.” Fiera tugged at a chain around her neck. The lock on the door had only one key—the one she was never without. Through the door was a narrow hallway, illuminated by an inferno at its end.
The wall of fire filled the stone passage, perpetually burning, just in case anyone dared try to break into this most sacred chamber. With a soft sigh, Fiera relaxed her flames. With it, the slow sap on her power vanished.
Maintaining the flame, day and night, was a leech on her. But a worthy one. For behind the wall of flame, a silver scabbard hung on a wall, embellished with rubies as large as a trout’s eyes that picked up the faint blue glow emitted by the pommel.
“Zira, I fear this may be our last battle together,” Fiera began as she reached for the sword. “The Mother told me little of our fates following the end of this war.”
“If it is the Mother’s will that I die this day, I do so with the honor of serving you,” Zira said with ease. The woman was one of the greatest mercenaries ever to come out of the Nameless Company. She knew the face of death as early and as well as her own mother’s. “May I make a request of you, princess?”
“Anything, you know it is yours.”
“I know we spoke of my defending your family. However, if it is possible that this is our last battle together, I would like to stand by your side.”
Fiera’s hand ran lightly along the scabbard of the Sword of Jadar. The room was empty, save for the lone sword and a narrow table below. It made the weapon seem all the more powerful.
Yet the sword’s strength was wavering. When the war started, her father told her where it had been hidden—slumbering, waiting to defend Mhashan—since the age of Jadar. Fiera had been the one to take the sword, learn what she could, and harness the latent powers of the crystal it was crafted from. Doing so had dulled the sword’s energy and nearly killed her.
