“The war is only beginning.” A smile spread across his mouth. “Kill me, like you did the other Knights of Jadar. Those who made the mistake of being loyal to you until the end.”
“You are not my knight,” Fiera whispered.
Vi continued to scan the buildings. Denja, for her part, remained incredibly calm—far calmer than Vi would have expected from a commerce minister. Vi’s attention landed on her and they locked eyes for a long moment.
Denja had been the one to suggest going to the storerooms, hadn’t she? It wouldn’t have been hard to find dissenters and organize an attack with a few hours’ notice.
“No, I am notyourknight. I am Mhashan’s Knight, one of the true Knights of Jadar,” the man insisted. “We have broken free of you. We do not need your orders.”
“You speak treason like it delights you.”
“Truth is what delights me.”
“I will not give you another chance to—”
“No, you won’t,” the man interrupted. “Just like you did not give your once-loyal Knights another chance on the docks that night.”
Vi frowned. Of course word would spread of what had happened at the docks. Most likely, Luke or Kahrin had started the rumors—Zira wouldn’t. Luke was Twintle’s son and Twintle could connect back to Denja. Lines of betrayal unfolded like a deadly map before her, one where a single misstep would lead one to death.
“What will it be, princess?” the man continued. The commoners watched from a wide distance. “Will you—”
Fiera clamped her hand over the man’s mouth. Fire poured from between her fingers and down his throat. Vi did not grimace or turn away; this was how Jax had described her father’s method for killing people.
Vi wondered if Aldrik was even aware of the similarity with his late mother. That the action was a dark, unlikely, perhaps even unintentional connection between them.
The man collapsed to the ground, his skin red and bubbling as Fiera straightened away. She smoothed out her clothes and tossed her hair over her shoulder, starting for the castle without a backward glance.
“No one touch them,” Fiera declared as they passed the ring of wide-eyed onlookers. “Do not burn them this evening for a Rite of Sunset. I want them to be strung up and branded as traitors. Let there be no doubt that my Empire has no room for those who stand against me. The only true knights are those at my side.”
Every man and woman seemed to hold their breath while Fiera’s eyes were on them. They were utterly captive to their fear. And while Vi could see a certain amount of shock in their stares, she was keenly aware that none of them seemed surprised.
Fiera was a double-edged sword. One side of her could slice through a man’s most iron-clad defenses with startling sweetness. The other side of her could cut a man down beginning with his ankles and working up from there.
The most fearsome thing was that Fiera clearly knew what she was, and had learned to wield her skills with deadly precision.
* * *
“Knights of Jadar,” Fiera muttered, pacing her personal quarters and worrying the heavy silver ring on her finger. Immediately after returning to the castle, Fiera had made her will known regarding the bodies of the traitors, sent Denja away, and summoned Vi and Zira to her rooms. “They called themselves ‘true Knights of Jadar.’”
“They wouldn’t be able to pass even the initial tests to become a Knight,” Zira muttered. She lounged in a large wingback chair by one of the windows of Fiera’s room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. “They are cutthroats turned opportunists.”
“They make a mockery of my family.” Fiera clenched her hands into fists so tightly they trembled. Tiny tendrils of flame snaked through the air around them. “Being a Knight of Jadar was the greatest honor in all the West.”
Vi watched Fiera’s rage from where she leaned against the wall by the doorway, arms folded and holding her elbows. She tried to keep herself detached from the princess’s plight by reminding herself that this Fiera was not her family. Vi was merely here as a traveler, doing what she needed to do before leaving without a trace.
Yet the raw hurt that swirled almost visibly in the air around Fiera brought up emotions from the void that was always threatening to swallow Vi whole. Fiera’s eyes were glassy, as though she was nearly at the point of frustrated tears. Still the fire within them burned.
“What do you think?” Fiera asked Vi.
“Pardon?”
“I asked your thoughts, Yullia.” Fiera motioned toward her with an open hand, flames still writhing around her fingers. “Do you agree with Zira that these are opportunists and I do myself more of a disservice by giving them a platform with my anger?”
Vi only had to make a show of thinking about the answer. “I don’t think this was an isolated attack, unfortunately.”
“You don’t.” Fiera’s hand dropped to her side.
“I think there are those who cling to old Mhashan like a security blanket. Those who would’ve rather fought with every last breath for every last brick, regardless of the cost.”
