this way, he’d been barely tall enough to see over the side of the barge, afraid to hold the hand of the man who had become his father and ashamed of his yearning for the mother he’d left behind.
Thirteen years, and he still felt like that boy, lost as a brig in a storm. If Ramson could turn back to tell him the truth of what would become of him—
He wouldn’t even know where to begin.
The waterway ended at a set of wide marble steps the length of four or five of their barges. Royal Guards lined the steps, dressed in the same navy-blue, bronze-buttoned uniforms; upon seeing Sorsha’s flag, they saluted. This, Ramson recognized. It was the waterway for kings and admirals; one that he’d never been allowed to use.
The water magen held out a hand and the barge drew neatly to the steps, rocking gently.
Ramson’s heart thudded heavily against his chest as they disembarked and followed Sorsha and her procession of guards up the high marble steps. He was suddenly aware of how he appeared: dirty and disheveled, his clothes the same tunic and breeches he’d worn since Cyrilia. Of all the times he’d thought of returning to the place that had both made him and broken him, this wasn’t what he’d imagined.
By his side, Ana’s dark eyes were steady, her chin set in that stubborn look he’d grown to know. Her hair was drawn in a tight bun, her tunic muddied and torn in places—but Ramson thought that despite it all, he’d never seen anyone more regal.
Yet the Bregonian Courts, Ramson thought darkly, were a different matter altogether. The age-old Bregonian stories told that women bore ill omens. The highest positions in the kingdom were held by men, and a combination of superstition and tradition kept it so.
Judging by Sorsha’s reactions to his taunts, nothing had changed in the last seven years.
Ahead, the sound of boots stopped. Sorsha stood at the top of the steps, her petite outline framed against a set of searock doors. Her easy demeanor and wicked smile had vanished, leaving cold-cut cruelty on her face.
She smirked at them. “I would welcome you to Godhallem,” she said, “but I don’t wish to give off the wrong impression. Guards!” She gestured with a hand, clipped her heels together, and grew stone-still.
The doors swung open, and Ramson entered the place that had once made up his most desperate of dreams and his worst nightmares. With each step, he felt as though he were traveling back to his past, the blur of cold faces and cruel smiles and whispers behind his back accompanying his every move.
But his gaze roved through the gathered crowd, the knowledge of that person standing in the same room as him pulling at every fiber in his body.
And…there.
Ramson went cold as he found himself looking into the merciless black eyes of Admiral Roran Farrald.
Ana had never seen paintings of the inside of the Blue Fort, but the sight that met her eyes was even more regal than she could have imagined. Whereas the Salskoff Palace was all white marble and curved domes and gilded statues, the governing hall of the Bregonian Naval Headquarters was a collection of sharply cut pillars and polished searock walls, stone furnished with brass and bronze. The hall they stood in was square, with only two walls on either side of them. Directly ahead, the turquoise searock tapered off into sharp cliffs and open air. A breeze blew in, blue gossamer curtains billowing gently and open to the ocean hundreds of feet below.
Godhallem. It meant “hall of gods.”
Overhead hung a line of giant bronze bells. The wind brushed gently against the insides of their domes—large enough to fit an entire person within—and they seemed to tremble with an invisible force, filling the hall with their low, steady hum. Ramson had told her of these famous bells—the War Bells, which the Earth Court presided over. The lever hung below the carving of a stallion on the far left wall, as a tribute to the Bregonian ground soldier who had once single-handedly saved the kingdom and established this tradition.
On the other end of the hall was the Sky Court, its wall bearing the symbol of an eagle. And beneath both symbols were rows of seats. Officials—men, Ana noticed—lounged beneath.
Yet it was the center of Godhallem that drew her attention as they approached. Water flowed in from the open-air balcony, cutting a square around the center of the court before