Soren made a face. “She’d order me back if I spoke with her.”
Vanya shifted Raiah on his hip, adjusting to her wriggling from lots of practice. “Telegraph it is.”
Vanya lifted his free hand and curled it around Soren’s neck. Soren let himself be reeled in close for a bruising kiss that reminded him of everything he’d missed while in the Wastelands.
Three
SOREN
On the morning of the funeral for Vanya’s parents, Soren kept a promise Vanya had asked into his skin the night before.
“Raiah will need to be present for the funeral rites after the prayers are done at the star temple, but I don’t want her walking the procession route,” Vanya had said.
There were so many risks involved with a crowd of that size that Soren could only say, “Do you want me to stay behind with her?”
“No. I want you to walk with me. You can carry her afterward.”
The request had stilled his hands on warm skin, but Soren hadn’t said no.
Perhaps he should have. In the light of day, senses not clouded by lust, Soren could see how badly he’d miscalculated in agreeing to Vanya’s request. As a warden, he shouldn’t be anywhere near such political upheaval. Except a vow hung from his neck that Soren had yet to ask payment for, and the second he did, he knew Vanya would not keep him close.
The funeral rites at the star temple had taken hours. The procession back to the Imperial palace looked to take just as long. Legionnaires lined the route as protection against the crush of people come to say goodbye or good riddance, depending on quietly held allegiances.
The air was thick with incense from the star priests’ funerary devices. The smoke blew over those walking behind the twin caissons that trundled down the cobblestone streets, each pulled by a pair of goldenAkhal-Tekehorses.
The bodies of the empress and emperor had been transported from Oeiras by airship days ago, and the length of time the royal mourning period and funeral took left Soren uneasy. Whenever he came upon the dead in the poison fields, he burned the bodies immediately. No sense risking the dead rising into revenants, but apparently the past rulers of Solaria didn’t feel the same way. Mourning royalty in Solaria was a grand pageantry that happened more often than in other countries.
Despite it being winter and the plains having withered from the cooler temperatures, people had still found flowers to throw at the caissons. Soren’s boots crushed petals and leaves with every step he took, the floral scent mingling with the incense.
He felt out of place, walking at the front of the column which held thevezirsor equivalent representative from nearly every major and minor House in Solaria. The senators marched behind them, followed by Legion officers and various civil leaders. The organization of the procession came down to rank and authority. Soren knew he had disrupted every sense of social propriety when Vanya had ordered him to walk with the Houses.
His skin prickled with the weight of unwanted attention, acutely aware of how easy it would be to take a bullet in the back.
“Calm yourself,” thevezirto Soren’s left said quietly in the trade tongue after the dozenth time Soren sneaked a look over his shoulder. “Those of the Houses will not harm you.”
“Is that so?” Soren asked just as quietly, his lips barely moving.
The man ducked his head in a pretense of watching where he set his elaborately carved cane on the cobblestone. The action hid the faint smile that twitched his lips beneath the thick mustache framing his mouth. “You are a warden. I have always heard it said your kind is difficult to kill.”
Vanya had dressed Soren in Solarian robes that morning in the colors of his House but hadn’t been able to convince him to leave all of his weapons behind. The robe was loose enough that Soren could still reach the only pistol he had on him. Thevezirseemed to understand what the aborted jerk of his hand meant.
“Peace. I and the House of Vikandir mean you nor His Imperial Highness no harm.”
Soren blinked at the name, recognizing the House as one whose loyalty to Vanya’s was over a century old. “VezirAmir.”
“I see you’ve heard of me.”
Soren looked straight ahead, gaze riveted on Vanya’s back, watching the way the golden fur lining his crimson mourning cape fluttered in the breeze. “Every warden knows the names of the major Houses and who leads them.”
Because it was their duty to report any discrepancies to the people in charge of granting wardens passage to do their jobs. The House of Vikandir held thevasilyetin the northeast of Solaria, their seat of power embedded in Karnak. The wardens rarely had issues with that House.
“Your name is becoming known as well.”
Soren grimaced. “It doesn’t need to be.”
“If you hadn’t wanted notoriety, then perhaps you shouldn’t have saved Vanya’s life four years ago. But if that was the case, you would not be here, and someone else would sit upon the Imperial throne.”
“You?” Soren couldn’t help but ask in a low, biting tone.
