Terilyn stepped up beside her, carrying Lisandro in her arms, a steady presence that soothed her in the face of Wesley’s horror. Eimarille glanced over at them. “It’s all right, my love. Terilyn will take you to your rooms.”
“High General Kote,” Terilyn said in that low, quiet voice of hers. “Do not let the queen leave your sight.”
“Never, my lady,” Kote promised with a crisp salute.
Terilyn stepped close enough that she could brush her lips over Eimarille’s cheek before leaving, Lisandro safe in her arms. Eimarille didn’t watch her go, more interested in the storm of emotions twisting across her husband’s face.
“Why?” Wesley asked, voice breaking on the word.
“The Iverson bloodline was never meant to rule. I’ll tell my son he has your eyes, and that you loved him, but not as much as you loved what you hoped to become, and which you will never attain,” Eimarille said.
She would have killed him—for her son, for her country, for the world she wanted to shape.
The high general did it for her.
Kote’s gun went off in quick succession, two neat bullet holes appearing in the center of Wesley’s forehead and right over his heart. Eimarille didn’t flinch at the splatter of blood that erupted on the wall behind him. Nor did she flinch at the volley of bullets that tore into the prime minister and the handful of other politicians whose loyalty could never be trusted if she let them live.
The air in the meeting rooms smelled of fire and charred flesh, tickling at the memories she had of the Inferno from so long ago. Eimarille drew in a deep breath and let the starfire she held in her hand fade to nothing. It left behind a warmth that spread through her body, centering in her chest as a feeling of rightness after all these years.
Kote holstered his pistol and turned to face her, then went to one knee. “Your Majesty.”
The other officers followed his lead, some vicious sort of pride shining in their eyes as they looked at her. Eimarille dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment of their loyalty. “We have our work cut out for us, High General.”
Kote got to his feet, his officers half a second behind him. “We’ll follow wherever you lead.”
Eimarille smiled and turned on her heels, leaving the bodies behind. She had a government to take control of and a border to cross.
But first, there was the matter of a crown.
Twelve
SOREN
Raiah tugged on Soren’s shirtsleeve, peering up at him with big eyes from where she sat next to him on the train bench. “I’m hungry.”
“Did you finish your fruit and nut paste bar?” Soren asked.
She wrinkled her nose at him, pouting. “It had a yucky taste.”
Soren was used to travel food, but apparently the little princess’ taste buds were more refined than his. He’d thought the treat he’d bought for her at the train station they’d left behind in some small trade town that morning would be enough to satisfy her. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Soren reached for the rucksack between his feet and rifled through one of the pockets there. He wasn’t used to feeding children and hadn’t thought much about supplies other than buying what she could easily and safely eat. Taste had been secondary, but perhaps he should’ve thought about it.
They were a day’s ride from Karnak, and Soren hadn’t slept much since leaving Oeiras. He’d resorted to taking a stimulant to stay awake and aware of their surroundings. Soren hadn’t wanted to risk riding through the back roads with Raiah for very long and had made the decision to travel the last leg of their journey by steam train.
It put them in the public eye, but it was a risk Soren had weighed and reluctantly found acceptable. It let Raiah sleep, let her stretch her little body rather than be strapped in the ride-along seat behind him for hours on end.
Raiah wasn’t as recognizable beneath the little helmet and her child-sized goggles, but he knew it was odd for a warden to be traveling with anyone, much less a child. Despite Alida picking out the plainest set of clothes in Raiah’s closet, they were of a make and style that clearly marked her as well-off.
Raiah’s accent—refined, even for a four-year-old—stood out amidst the working-class folks they traveled with. Soren had noticed more than one odd glance thrown his way in the train carriage, but Raiah’s happy demeanor was enough so far to keep anyone from enquiring about why she was with him.
Except now she was pouting because he didn’t have the right snacks, and she turned her nose up at the misshapen bits of wrapped toffee he found at the bottom of his rucksack’s pocket.
“I want fruit,” she said.
Soren sighed and tipped the toffee back into his rucksack. “The dining carriage might have some.”
Raiah perked up at that, nearly bouncing in her seat. “Let’s go.”
