“My lord,” the girl murmured, gaze downcast out of respect, not fear.
Innes touched her chin with two fingers, tilting her head up. He studied her, much how he had studied Eimarille, and in the end, he nodded a sharp approval.
“She’ll do.” He looked over at Eimarille, smiling slightly. “All good queens need a confidant when they make history.”
Less a confidant and more a spy, Eimarille knew, as she watched the Urovan girl take a seat at the table. Her mother had always taught her to be wary of the friendship coveted by others. Very few wanted nothing in return for proximity to the throne. As her mother’s heir, she had always been a target for two-faced children pushed into her orbit by power-seeking adults.
“Where do you go from here?” Xaxis asked.
Innes drew the pocket watch from his waistcoat, checking the time. “New Haven. King Bernard is expecting us.”
“Aaralyn will never allow the girl to take the Ashion throne if you hand her over to Daijalans.”
“A Rourke has always ruled our country, and one shall rule again, even if it takes a decade or two. Those in Ashion will want a queen to fill the absence that comes in the wake of a cleansing. I will give them and the rest of the world one of my own making.”
Xaxis crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves riding up a little, enough that Eimarille could see the lines of his tattoos crawling up his forearms. “I take it your assassins were thorough?”
Innes approached the table and reached for Eimarille, smoothing back her hair in a mockery of the way her own father used to comfort her in private. “Do you question my decisions?”
“I question your madness, brother. But we are all a little mad these days.”
Xaxis turned and exited the train. Innes went to have a long conversation with the Daijalan ambassador. Left to themselves, the two girls kept quiet company together.
“What is your name?” Eimarille finally asked.
“Terilyn, my lady,” the girl said, blinking dark eyes at her. “I am at your service.”
Eimarille repeated the name softly, knowing that whatever waited for her at the end of the line, she wouldn’t be alone. The Twilight Star had decreed it so, and despite the ache in her chest for the family he had destroyed, she was her mother’s child. She would play this game of politics. She would become whatever she needed to be to survive.
Five
HONOVI
Glencoe was the thriving capital of E’ridia, nestled in the Sunrise Valley between the coastal hills and the jagged teeth of the Eastern Spine mountain range. Smaller towns were scattered throughout the range to support the mining operations, accessible only by airship and guarded by magicians year-round.
No one climbed the mountains on foot unless they were desperate. The Sunrise Valley was hard-fought for cleansed lands, and the native beasts who called the higher elevations home all had poisonous teeth. For all that the wardens had cleansed much of the continent for habitability purposes over the centuries, they’d left most of the mountains alone.
The airfield surrounding Glencoe was close to half the size of the city. Sectioned off by clan and commerce needs, the dry docks used for construction of new builds were separate from the ones inside hangars used to anchor active airships. The wooden piers stretching across the valley floor outside the city walls were lit by carefully tended gas lamps whose light only reached so far in the dark.
Honovi,jarlto Clan Storm, lengthened his stride to match his father’s, his latest growth spurt at fifteen making it easier to keep up. He ducked his head against the cold night wind and shifted the shroud in his arms to a better position so the edges didn’t drag. The linen was rough against his callused hands. Honovi wondered why his father had requested such an item from the clan’s crematorium.
The moon above was half-hidden by the remnants of a storm that had petered out before sunset, the clouds drifting west. Fourth Month meant the Wolf constellation was rising in the sky, bringing with it the green of spring, and his eyes easily found the shape of it.
Like all E’ridians, Honovi learned to navigate by the stars from a young age. Trade was important, and the only safe way over the Eastern Spine was by airship. Night flying was a skill he’d only been learning for the last two years, but he knew enough that the airship landing tonight was captained by a skilled pilot.
He’d been curious about their identity ever since his father received the telegram during dinner. It wasn’t every day someone was secretly greeted by the entirety of theComhairle nan Cinnidhean, the ruling body that consisted of everyceann-cinnidhof E’ridia. The near dozen men and women who made up the apex of the country’s government walked in silence behind Honovi. Everyceann-cinnidhand theirjarlshad arranged themselves in order of clan seniority, with Clan Storm at the front.
“Who lands tonight?” Honovi asked quietly, glancing at his father.
Alrickson,ceann-cinnidhof Clan Storm, never broke stride. “You’ll see.”
Honovi glanced over his shoulder to share a look with Frey,jarlto Clan Sun, who wrinkled her nose at him in silent aggravation. One hand curled around the end of her waist-length braid, a self-soothing gesture she’d yet to break as she learned the needs of her clan while standing in her father’s shadow.
Frey had just turned fourteen and successfully completed her first solo captaincy. The twin braids all E’ridian children wore their hair in had been ritually braided into a single plait threaded through with beaded ribbons when she’d reached that milestone. It was the same ranking style Honovi wore, though he’d shaved the sides of his head, leaving the top untouched, as was tradition for the ruling bloodline of his clan.
The hulking shapes of airships inside their hangars on either side of the pier caused the air to smell of metal. The refineries at the outskirts of the city were idle and would not fire up until dawn. Repairs happened year-round, though new builds of airships of any size typically happened after the snow melted.
The pier they walked down led to a section of the airfield used to anchor foreign airships. Whoever was landing tonight wasn’t E’ridian, or so Honovi thought. When he saw the dark-hulled airship of E’ridian make anchored in the dry dock, its keel hovering above the ground, he reassessed the situation at hand, as any good aeronaut would.
