Soren tried not to think of everything that had transpired in the Imperial palace before Vanya burned it down to keep Calhames safe. The fight in the star temple would have gone poorly if he’d been without his gear, but even then, he’d still ended up in that coffin in the crypt. Only bowing to his need to survive and casting starfire had enabled him to escape, starting an avalanche of decisions that ended with all his lies laid bare to Vanya, but his princeling and Raiah safe.
“I can’t say I disagree with that,” Blaine said after a moment.
Soren picked up his teacup and plate, turning to carry them both over to the small prep table the kitchen staff typically ate their meals at. Blaine was already pulling one of the low stools out to sit down, dressed in his sleep clothes, the mechanical prosthetic limb Soren rarely saw him without missing. The stump of his left arm was scarred, skin faintly reddened but healed. Blaine absently massaged his left elbow, wincing as he did so.
“Need a potion?” Soren asked.
Blaine blinked at him before glancing down at his arm. “Ah, no. Just phantom pains that interrupted my sleep. Potions don’t do much for that, and I didn’t want to disturb Honovi any more than I already have.”
Delani had told Soren how Blaine had come to lose his arm. To know that a warden had sought monetary gain over their brethren during the attack on the Warden’s Island had been devastating to learn.
Soren sipped his tea, eyeing Blaine across the prep table. It was early yet, the sun just starting to break on the horizon when he’d stuck his head out the window before coming downstairs. The estate was small, with only a limited number of servants, most of whom didn’t live on-site. He expected the kitchen staff to arrive shortly, taking back the prep table.
“Your husband was an ambassador, but he’s here as ajarl,” Soren said.
Blaine nodded, letting go of his left arm to prop his elbows on the table. “He’s here because I am here, but he isn’t speaking for E’ridia.”
“You want to stand witness for Caris. Seems odd E’ridia would be invested in that if they aren’t invested in the country.”
Blaine’s mouth tugged downward at the corner. “Yes, well, the Dusk Star gave me my road, and I must follow it. Honovi is working to convince theComhairle nan Cinnidheanthat supporting Ashion in this fight is a worthwhile decision. We’ll head back to E’ridia soon enough to continue that argument. Eimarille won’t stop her war at the Eastern Spine.”
Soren grimaced and couldn’t even blame his expression on the tea. “She won’t stop until she has the whole of Maricol under her crown.”
“I agree, but I’m not in charge, and Ashion needs more support,” Blaine said tiredly, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his one remaining hand. “Urova is allied with Daijal, so we can’t ask for assistance from that country. Caris’ diplomats have petitioned E’ridia and Solaria for aid, but both countries keep refusing. There’s been talk of trying to reach the Tovan Isles, but any outreach would run through another country, and I don’t think permission would be granted. I fear Ashion as a country won’t survive to winter without finding an alliance somewhere, and no one is offering a lifeline.”
The tea Soren had taken a sip of went sour on his tongue. He was acutely aware of the vow that hung from his throat. “And if E’ridia won’t give it? Will you stay?”
Blaine looked away, expression becoming troubled and resigned. “My road leads to Caris, and it always has.”
Soren knew Blaine’s history with Caris, how he’d taken her out of Amari when she was just an infant, both of them put on an airship captained by the Dusk Star. Nilsine had left Caris in Cosian and given Blaine to the clans in E’ridia, and the price for Blaine’s life was the knowledge he couldn’t leave his birth country behind. Soren found they had that in common, if little else. “Your broadsheets talk about me being her heir, but you can’t stand witness for me. There are plenty of people who don’t believe the story she’s trying to sell.”
“If you could cast starfire?—”
“Even if I could, that proves nothing,” Soren interrupted. He still refused to acknowledge that skill, despite the way everyone in Cosian seemed desperate to know if he could command starfire the same way Caris and Eimarille could.
“Doesn’t it?”
“Starfire is a rarity, but people argue it shouldn’t be a requirement to rule. Look at your clans. Look at the Tovanian ship-cities.” Soren picked up a slice of his toast and took a bite, chewing angrily and swallowing before responding. “There are no records of my past or where I come from. Anyone could be Caris’ brother. Starfire had nothing to do with it. You all just chose me.”
“You told Caris you would be her heir.”
“Yes. That doesn’t make me Alasandair. The moment you get her on the starfire throne, I’m leaving.” Blaine appeared taken aback at that statement, mouth opening to speak, but before he got a word out, the piercing sound of a siren rent the air. Bone-deep instinct yanked Soren to his feet, attention sharpening. “Revenants?”
Blaine winced as he shoved himself to his feet. “Yes, and most likely another aerial attack. The Daijal army has been pairing both together more and more these days. We need to get below.”
Soren shook his head. “I’ll make my way to the wall.”
“Soren—”
But he was already moving, racing out of the home and bypassing the Royal Guards out front who were coordinating with the ones on duty on the street. Captain Maurus Nash was near the gate barking out orders when he caught sight of Soren heading straight for his velocycle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Maurus furiously called out in the trade tongue.
Soren slung himself over the seat of his velocycle, kicking up the stand and starting the engine with a twist of the knob and a wrench on the handlebars. “Heading to the wall.”
He’d left his gear on the velocycle since landing in Cosian, still somehow believing he could attend to his duties as a warden even when Delani was insistent he could no longer be one. The warning sirens echoing through the air was a call no warden could ever ignore, and Soren wasn’t about to stop now. He grabbed an extra pair of brass goggles from the storage container behind his seat and yanked them on. Then he looked at the closed gate and the soldiers guarding it. “Open the gate.”
Maurus’ expression twisted. “Your Royal Highness?—”
