Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,40

stubble framed his stern expression. “For safety reasons, we must leave these closed until the caravan is secure inside the city.”

She sighed, sat back, and closed the window. If she could describe Sousuke in three words, they would be: “for safety reasons.” She couldn’t fault him for doing his job, but it got really annoying really fast.

Maybe there actually was reason to be overly cautious in this situation, though. And if anything happened to her out here, the emperor would probably execute all of her guards and their families.

So she could let him be annoying for now.

“Open the gate!” her eldest bodyguard, Hiro, yelled from somewhere in front. “In the name of the emperor!”

Juli snapped her chest of clays shut and inspected Vylia’s face one last time, making her signature perfectionist expression with furrowed brow. She nodded to herself. “Just watch the leviathan teeth when you get out. I’ll help you duck.”

Vylia groaned and gingerly felt the back of her head. Sure enough, Juli had affixed a row of hollowed leviathan fangs behind her tiara. Vylia knew the headpiece well—the fanned spikes painted with crushed pearlescent shells was good for only two things: intimidation and poking the side of her head. No wonder she had a headache. “Is this really necessary?”

“You know it is.” Juli grabbed the wall for balance as the carriage bounced along. She crouched next to the door as they came to a stop. “Ready?” she whispered.

Vylia stood up from her seat, cursing her dress, the tailor who’d made it, and whoever had invented dresses however long ago. What she wouldn’t give to take a vacation in secret for once.

A knock on the door came from one of her bodyguards, signaling that it was safe for her to exit. Juli opened the door.

Sunlight pierced the carriage interior, instantly making Vylia sweat beneath her corset. She held her breath as she ducked and stepped out, taking a guard’s hand for balance. She couldn’t tell which one through the neon glare the sun left in her vision—she guessed Hiro by his height and bulk.

Vylia’s eyes began to clear as she straightened and walked forward with the false confidence that’d been trained into her. Something felt awkward. Missing. She couldn’t place it.

A tall, thin building towered over her. Vylia stepped into its shade, grateful, and read the characters carved into the wood above its wide doors: IMPERIAL ARMY, NAVARRO REGIMENT.

As her guards moved with her, boxing her in and away from the crowd, Vylia realized what was missing: reception from the people. They didn’t cheer or hiss or murmur amongst themselves. The dark faces simply stared. Watched her, expressionless, as she strode by.

Vylia bit the inside of her lip and didn’t falter even as unease squirmed inside her. She couldn’t stop and address commoners. Nor could she look at them. Such a thing was improper for an Imperial princess.

Or so she’d been taught. It’d been drilled into her since she was born. And she couldn’t break all the rules on her first diplomatic mission or her father would never let her out of the palace in Maqua again.

Bleed it all to Zoth.

“Welcome, Your Highness. What a great honor the emperor bestows upon us this day.” A thin man wearing the traditional plate armor and chainmail bearing the white lotus bowed before Vylia as two soldiers behind him opened the screeching door.

“Peace,” Vylia said automatically as she wondered how these men could stand the heavy armor in such a climate. They’d die of heatstroke before they’d die in battle. Perhaps redirecting her kimono tailor would solve everyone’s problems.

“Commander Oda’e awaits you in his office,” the man said as he straightened, and Vylia noted the paint on his helmet resembling the horns of a sea serpent. Three sets of horns—he bore the rank of captain.

“Thank you, Captain,” Vylia said, eager to get inside where they hopefully had some sort of temperature control. Otherwise, she surely would look like a blob of melting clay within minutes.

“Ah, one note, if I may.” The captain bowed again as Vylia and her guards passed.

She paused, and her guards did so as well, as if they were extensions of her elaborate ensemble.

“The commander is not in . . . good spirits.” The captain’s voice constricted, and Vylia noticed a drop of sweat fall from his helmet as he maintained his full bow. “His daughter recently went missing. Please be merciful with him.”

Pity and anger mingled into a sour potion in Vylia’s stomach. Was this man so afraid