The room was filled with people. Some were sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space, others taking books down from the bookshelf and flipping through them. A group was gathered around Tychon’s crib, looking down with fascination. A few were having conversations. A child patted Aron’s head as the donkey swished his tail, irritated.
It wasn’t a large room, but by some trick, it seemed like there were scores of people in here.
“What is all this!” shouted Arienne. A few turned to her and approached her, smiling. One of them took off his hat and bowed.
“Tanges, freu.”
“Tange sau.”
“Tanges.”
The people around her kept saying the same thing. She didn’t know what it meant but she could feel the sentiment of gratitude. It only made her angrier.
“Who do you think you are, coming into a stranger’s room without permission?” she seethed.
A few of them looked at each other. None of the dozens, apparently, spoke Imperial.
Arienne bit her lip and focused. This room was sacrosanct to her. There were only two people, other than her, who had ever been inside, and there had been no new people allowed in since she had reconstructed the room. Aside from the donkey Aron, of course.
These people had to be the ghosts. Formless beings that had violated her headspace when she hadn’t been watchful, regaining their old shapes by siphoning off Arienne’s imagination magic. But no matter how grateful they professed to be, she couldn’t let just any spirit floating around to enter her mind.
“All of you, get out!”
Her voice was so loud it shook the room.
The air inside the room distorted, and Tychon began to cry. Aron’s ears perked up. The ghosts in the room turned to blue smoke and then vanished. Arienne, half enraged and half afraid, took deep breaths.
She turned to Tychon in his crib to comfort him, but there was already someone there doing the comforting. One of the ghosts had not disappeared and had picked up Tychon from his crib. This ghost, once a man, wore Imperial clothing. Not just anyImperial clothing but the robe uniform of a sorcerer. The insignia of the sorcerer-engineers on his shoulder caught her eye.
Arienne stormed toward him, intent on seizing him by the collar if that’s what it took to throw him out—but stopped when she heard what the ghost was mumbling, a lost look in his eyes.
“Tychon, good boy… Don’t cry, Tychon…”
12
YUMA
As the four-legged silver giant dangled Trudie by the ankle, Yuma thought of the iridescent nullstones in her pocket. But the Grim King had given them to her to serve his own purpose, believing he could hold Danras hostage and manipulate her against her will. Which was why no matter how frightening the iron monster was and how desperate a situation the herders found themselves in, her hand would not reach for the stones and stayed firmly on her crossbow.
Unwavering in her aim, Yuma shouted, “Stop! Or I will shoot the man hanging from your stomach!”
She hoped the giant understood her. That it valued the man under its stomach, that it read the threat in her movements if not her words. But she had no way of knowing whether that hunk of metal would understand, or if the man was important to it—or even alive for that matter.
But it apparently understood, or was at least surprised at her shout, for the metal giant stopped in its tracks. Trudie also stopped screaming. Yuma took this as a good sign.
“Let go of Trudie. Comply, and I will not kill him right away.” Her voice was calmer than it had been a moment ago, placating even. But she could only imagine what the Grim King would do to the spy once she handed him over.
The metal giant did not let go of Trudie, but its movements were more cautious. It did not, at least, attack.
The heat of the burning steppe was licking her back. Trudie no longer struggled or screamed, but her eyes were wide with fear. The other two herders stood silent, looking at Yuma and the giant and back again.
What kind of a country must this Empire be to possess such a weapon? The metal hide would be impervious to arrows, and the largest sword would at most dent or nick it. The corpse armies of the Grim King might know no fear, but she didn’t think even scores of the undead attacking that thing at once would slow its pace. And if the Empire had tens, hundreds of these…
Yuma imagined the silver giants swimming through an ocean of moving corpses. Of the Grim King being dangled by the ankle instead of Trudie.
For the first time since the night Jed and Rizona were killed, Yuma smiled without pretense. The giant slowly started to move the arm holding up Trudie as if to put her down. But Yuma had to stop her sigh of relief in the middle—Trudie was now flying toward her.
She had a split second to fire at the metal giant, but Trudiewas in the way. The bolt went flying from her crossbow only after Trudie had crashed into her.
