Chapter
One
The mist layheavy and unmoving, dimming the glow of the lanterns. It smelled faintly of salt and the distant tang of seaweed… and something more subtle. Something hotter and darker.
The beast in Luka’s belly stirred, as it always did, this close to the mountain. He ignored the temptation to give himself to scales and claws and follow the heat. He was good at ignoring that call. Instead, he swiped the droplets of mist from his face with a rough sweep and blinked at the scene in front of him. It was still a nightmare.
The soldier at his shoulder—cloaked in the green wool tunic of the city guard, his mist-damp hair caught back with a leather tie—held himself still and vigilant. His face was carefully blank, and his posture was loose and battle ready, but tension radiated from him. He was probably wondering if he’d done the right thing by running to the tavern to summon help.
Luka shot him a grim look, wanting to reassure him, hoping to convey that he knew just how tough the decision to do the honorable thing must have been. But they both knew the truth: this was bad. Even worse than he’d first expected when the soldier dashed into the tavern.
Luka crouched down beside the body. She was face down, her hair loose and damp. She was still wearing her court clothes. The impractically long, layered silk skirts spread along the mud-and-gravel path. The damp had darkened the gold thread of her embroidered bodice, but he could still clearly make out the glow of pearls sewn into the spiraling pattern on the fabric, a gleaming representation of the great radiating arms of the massive star-shaped sand dunes of her home country. She wore the formal dress of the Kwanam High Court.
Lady Kaliska—the daughter of the archthane—had worn clothes just like these as she sat beside Prince Shanrick all evening. But so had others in her retinue. Her cousin and lady-in-waiting, Narya, was just as elegantly dressed. Both were beautiful. Both had long, auburn hair. Both sat at the top table with the royal family. Indeed, it was Narya who’d laughed the loudest and flirted the most outrageously with Shane.
And now one of them was dead. Lying here with her hand stretched out toward the holy mountain, as if she’d flung it there in supplication. If it was the archthane’s daughter, they were all completely fucked.
And if it’s the archthane’s niece…?His beast muttered inside his mind.
Then they were all still fucked, but maybe, just maybe, something could be saved. Luka twisted to drop a brief bow toward the ridges of Mount Nabas. Its peaks and crags were great, looming shadows blocking the misty starlight—immense and majestic, even in the dark. He had history with this mountain path—other, older nightmares—and there was no point in angering the gods any more than they already were.
I don’t think the gods are part of this. His beast flicked its tail. It didn’t have the superstitious wariness of the mountain that Luka had. It basked in the call of the mountain, loving the heat and the power and the sense that the gods were close there.It thought that ignoring the pull of the mountain was ridiculous. But then, that wasn’t the only thing they disagreed on.
Luka looked up at the soldier. “What’s your name?”
“Sergeant Dashiell, sir.” The soldier shifted his weight fractionally forward, his hands loosely open at his sides, chin up, as if readying for a fight.
Luka’s beast twisted, sending a ripple of iridescent green-and-black flecked scales glittering over his wrists and up his neck. It didn’t take well to threats, even unintentional ones. And yet, he could hardly blame the man for his tension. This was a disaster.
He turned back to the dead woman, assessing. Her skirts were too clean. She hadn’t walked here through the mud, that was certain. “Did you move her, Sergeant?”
“No, sir. I saw her clothes, and I knew….” Dashiell let the rest go unsaid. The clothes were instantly recognizable as Kwanam. As a city guard, he would have seen, perhaps even protected, Lady Kaliska and her retinue on parades and excursions through the city. Even if he hadn’t been involved in their guard, it was impossible not to know the Kwanam delegation. The entire city was awash with the pomp and ceremony of their visit. Most of the population was already celebrating the successful end to months of negotiating.
The treaty was due to be signed tomorrow. The trade deals would begin immediately. Favorable terms for Hugaeb steel—especially fold-forged, shadow-wave steel with its beautiful swirls and unrivaled strength and durability—in exchange for crystal clear Kwanam glass. Both nations would benefit. And most importantly, this new friendship would mark the formal end of the decades of hostility between them.
And they’re expecting a royal wedding,his beast rumbled gloomily.
Luka grunted. Marriage between Prince Shanrick—Shane to Luka and their friends—and Lady Kaliska had been whispered about for weeks now. It would cement their new partnership. It would endorse the treaty and create ties of blood and loyalty. And it would be the ultimate triumph for Archthane Batlok: to return to Kwanam with his daughter in line for the throne of Hugaeb.
His daughter on our throne, and his sons eyeing the emperor’s throne in Kwanam, Luka’s beast added cynically.
Luka didn’t disagree. He’d lain awake in his narrow bed, watching the firelight on his ceiling, worrying about it for months. The archthane was clearly grabbing power. He was famous for his stone-cold political maneuvering and ruthless machinations. And Shane… who in the fires knew what Shane was doing? But Luka understood the benefits too. They were a small nation, despite their wealth of natural resources. Larger, more menacing kingdoms surrounded them. The threat of war with Kwanam had rumbled on for far too long. If a marriage ended the threat and brought them some protection from their ally by marriage, that would help them all.
God of Chaos. And now, this might be the prince’s soon-to-be betrothed lying cold and lifeless on the path to Mount Nabas. What in the Abyss had happened?
And how are we going to prevent a war?
The archthane had held the threat of war over their heads throughout the negotiations, dragging them on for over a year—constantly making new demands, rescinding concessions he’d previously made, changing his mind and changing it back again. And now, if this was his daughter…. Fuck.
Luka took a moment to prepare himself. Hiding from the truth wouldn’t change it. He had to know. He reached out reluctantly and turned her over.
The woman was—had been—young and beautiful. Now, her auburn hair was damp from the heavy mist, and lank curls fell messily over her face, while her sightless eyes stared out toward the cliff edge. She was immediately recognizable. And she was not the archthane’s daughter.
A flood of relief, then guilt, followed by remorse, and finally a skittering of unease sent another wave of scales sliding and hardening over his shoulders and up his neck. It was Lady Narya, first of the Ladies in Waiting, niece of the archthane. It wasn’t Kaliska, thank Chaos, but the situation was still fraught.
He lifted her delicate wrist to examine her more thoroughly. There was no blood or any damage to her clothes. No bruising on her face. No signs of struggle. The expensive pearls on her corset remained untouched.
Luka looked up and down the surrounding path. The muddy gravel showed no footprints. There was no weapon or any kind of explanation for what she could possibly have been doing there.
