leave or if you’re ever in desperate need to reach me, this is how it’s done.…”
* * *
Teriana left at dawn, leaving Lydia standing alone at the gates to the property, one hand resting against the stone wall to keep her balance. Necessary, because it felt as though the whole world had been tipped on its side.
The existence of the Dark Shores. Immortal guardians of ships. Gods, which the Maarin—and apparently whole other nations of people on the far side of the world—worshipped. All things that would cause serious trouble for the Maarin if they were ever to be discovered by the Empire, but that concerned Lydia far less than the sense that she didn’t know her best friend as well as she’d thought.
Walking slowly down the path past the pool full of koi, Lydia entered the house, accepting a glass of iced lemon water from the waiting servant before climbing the stairs to the library. Her fingers trailed along the spines of the carefully organized volumes as she made her way through the room to her desk.
Sitting down, she worked for a time, but her mind kept drifting. Eyes kept going to the globe of Reath sitting on the corner of her desk. Setting down her pen, Lydia pulled the globe in front of her, watching it rotate.
One half depicted the Empire in blues, greens, golds, and whites, but the other half was lacquered black. The Dark Shores. What would it be like, she wondered, to pull back the shadow and see what lay beneath?
What would it be like to escape?
Then a hand pressed down on the rotating globe, stopping it so that Lydia’s gaze was centered on Celendor itself.
“Lydia, some decisions have been made that you need to be aware of.”
A chill ran down her spine at the tone of her father’s voice, and she couldn’t find the courage to lift her face to meet his gaze. Because she knew.
She knew.
“Who will it be?” Her voice quivered, and she clenched her teeth, furious that she was losing her composure already.
“You know that this is a matter of blood. Of breeding. If you were my child in truth, Domitius himself would have been banging on our door begging for your hand for his son.”
But she wasn’t patrician. Wasn’t Cel at all. “Who?” she repeated.
“I know it’s no love match and never will be, but you’ll have status and wealth and he’ll treat you well. He has children from a prior marriage, so you need not worry yourself with those particular concerns. He’s already said that he’s happy for you to carry on with your studies, which is no small thing. And he’s running for consul; if he is victorious, you’ll be the most influential woman in—”
“Who?” Lydia shrieked, cutting him off. Because she knew.
Silence filled the room. Thick and sticky and choking.
“Lucius Cassius has offered to marry you,” her father finally answered, taking hold of her wrist and sliding a heavy bracelet over her hand. “And I’ve accepted on your behalf. You’ll be wed after the elections.”
7
KILLIAN
Killian galloped through the night and into the morning, switching his stallion for a fresh mount at a farm he passed, a few gold coins and a promise ensuring he’d get his animal back.
It was there he left Bercola behind. To rest. And to deliver warnings.
As such, he was alone when he encountered the first of the Royal Army scouts.
“My lord!” The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of Killian’s injuries. “What’s happened?”
“Derin has invaded.” His borrowed horse bucked, sensing Killian’s agitation at the delay. “Have a pigeon sent to Mudaire warning them. I can’t delay—I need to reach my father.”
“But High Lord Calorian is here.” The scout gestured back in the direction he’d come from. “Resting the men at High Lord Damashere’s castle. He’d intended to travel to the wall to visit you, my lord.”
Killian’s stomach flipped, for while his father being close was a stroke of good fortune that might save the kingdom, Killian had thought he’d have another two days to figure out how he was going to break the news.
But apparently the gods had other plans.
Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Killian dug in his heels, and galloped toward High Lord Damashere’s castle.
* * *
He found his father already in the process of organizing the Royal Army to march.
“We received a bird from Blackbriar less than an hour past,” High Lord Calorian said, not looking up from his map. “But I’d like to hear an explanation from