The Bone Shard War

Book 3: The Drowning Empire

by Andrea Stewart

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

**The Sunday Times bestseller**

'One of the best fantasy novels I've read in a long time...This book is truly special' Sarah J. Maas on The Bone Shard Daughter

The Bone Shard War is the epic finale to the unmissable, action-packed and magic-laced Drowning Empire series.

Lin Sukai has won her first victory as Emperor, but the future of the Phoenix Empire hangs in the balance - and Lin is dangerously short of allies.

As her own governors plot treason, the Shardless Few renew hostilities. Worse still, Lin discovers her old nemesis Nisong has joined forces with the rogue Alanga, Ragan. Both seek her death.

Yet hopes lies in history. Legend tells of seven mythic swords, forged in centuries past. If Lin can find them before her enemies, she may yet be able to turn the tide.

If she fails, the Sukai dynasty - and the entire empire - will fall.

Praise for the series

'A bold, ambitious debut' M. R. Carey

'Epic fantasy at its most human and heartfelt . . . inventive, adventurous and wonderfully written' Alix E. Harrow

'Brilliant world-building, deep intrigue and incredible heart' Megan E. O'Keefe

'Action-packed, must-read epic fantasy . . . One of the best debut fantasy novels of the year' Buzzfeed

'This brilliant fantasy debut has announced Andrea Stewart as quite possibly the best newcomer of the year' Novel Notions

The Drowning Empire series
The Bone Shard Daughter
The Bone Shard Emperor
The Bone Shard War

Release date: April 18, 2023

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 416

Sample

Nisong was used to death. She was even used to having death follow her from place to place, content as a pup on the heels of its master. But she hadn’t counted on it coming for her throat.

“I told you they’d be after me,” Ragan hissed.

She clutched his arm, pulling him close so she could whisper into his ear. “Quiet.” Lozhi crouched on her other side in the ruins, a soft whine in his throat.

Ragan shrugged off her hand. “Take it out. You wanted to wait? Fine. The time is now.”

She wanted to walk away and to keep walking until she had no idea where she was or where he was, no matter how hard she’d worked to find him after the battle at Gaelung. Several months of scraping by, of avoiding discovery, of frenzied searching in the midst of grief. She’d tracked him to a drinking hall, though it had taken her a moment to recognize him. He’d smelled of sour sweat, his once-shorn hair grown over his ears. He hadn’t been wearing the monk’s robes anymore; he’d traded those in for farmer’s clothes – all in brown and faded white, with a straw hat to hide his face. It had taken a long time for them to come to an understanding. He’d fought her every step of the way, convinced he didn’t need to rely on anyone, least of all a construct. But she was the only one other than Lin who could remove the shard from his body and she dangled this knowledge like a fishing lure, teasing and pulling away, waiting for him to finally bite.

Not that she’d removed it yet. There had been a few times she’d considered doing so, but each time she’d stopped. This was the only lever she held over him.

His breath warmed her ear. “You’ve left it in me for two years now. If you don’t take it out, we’ll both die here.”

Nisong clenched her teeth until she felt they might crack. He just needed to stop talking. For a moment, he was blessedly silent and then she heard it again – the soft brush of bodies slithering through underbrush. If it had been raining, she wouldn’t have heard that first cracking twig. They’d have sat in their little campsite in the Alanga ruins, the sky slowly going dark, blissfully unaware of the people sneaking up on them, arguing until their throats were slit. Admittedly, she’d at first dismissed his insistence that someone was hunting down the Alanga. When they’d heard of the tenth Alanga death, he’d begged and pleaded. “They’ll come for me next,” he’d said, drunk, tears in his eyes, his hands held out to her. “Do you want to be responsible? How can I defend myself if I cannot kill those who would kill me?”

By then, she’d had to readjust her viewpoints. Someone was assassinating Alanga. She just wasn’t sure who. Still, she resisted removing the shard that Lin had placed into Ragan’s body. She knew by now how quickly he could turn from kindness to anger if she didn’t give him what he wanted. Nisong could still feel his fingers around her throat as he’d threatened her after that first time, trying to force her to do what he’d asked. She’d only laughed; he couldn’t do anything more than apply light pressure to her neck. His intention was always to kill, never to injure – in this way he was so predictable. The command Lin had placed in him always stopped him.

Lozhi pressed against her side and Nisong stroked the beast’s cheek absentmindedly. Better if the creature could calm down enough to help them. He’d grown to the size of a pony and looked quite intimidating now, but he still cowered around men. He still cowered around Ragan.

She needed to think. Her other hand found the cudgel at her belt. Ragan would be useless in a fight; he’d never learned to temper his emotions. He’d just want to kill these would-be assassins and then he wouldn’t be able to do the least bit of harm. But he could do things other than fight them. She checked the ruins around them, the small fire they’d built flickering with every gust of wind, the water gathered in between broken tiles. Everywhere, the jungle seemed to encroach on crumbling ruins. She could use this terrain to their advantage. They both could.

“We won’t die here if you listen to me. We keep our backs to this corner. Don’t bother trying to use your sword. There, there and there.” She pointed to places where the ruins were broken, where a little pressure would make them crumble. “Lozhi and I will push them toward these areas. Don’t watch the fighting. When I ask you to, shake the earth.” She held out a hand. “Give me Lozhi’s shards.”

He glared at her. She glared back.

For a moment she thought he might refuse. He only let her have them when he knew exactly what she would do with them, when he could supervise her closely. Because if Lin had used a shard from her ossalen’s horns to subdue him, how much more could Nisong do if given the chance? But then he reached for his belt, untied the pouch and handed it to her.

Bones clicked against one another as it settled into her palm. Only a few left. Her engraving tool was in her sash pocket. She tied the pouch to her belt but didn’t have time to say anything else.

The assassins chose that moment to materialize out of the brush, dressed in dark clothing, only their blades glinting by firelight. Nisong pulled her cudgel loose and went to meet them. Lozhi didn’t follow at her side, but she could feel his presence at her back. Distantly, her mind cataloged and assessed. Even when she’d had to acknowledge that Alanga were being killed, she’d thought it the work of disgruntled and angry citizens. No matter what Lin did to try and integrate these new Alanga into society, old prejudices died hard. Her predecessors had spent years painting the Alanga as the enemy and themselves as the saviors. That sort of thing didn’t change overnight. Or even in the span of two years. But now, seeing these assassins, she had to acknowledge they weren’t just townsfolk. These were professionals. Five of them.

Which meant she was in a good deal of trouble.

She feinted as the first one approached, letting herself appear small, weak. When he darted in with his blade to take advantage, she slammed her cudgel into the side of his head. He crumpled. Four left, and none of those would fall for the same trick. They slowed, circling like hungry wolves. Their faces were not covered, but they might as well have been. Each of their expressions was a mask of grim determination, showing neither pity nor fear.

Lozhi whimpered behind her. Three of the remaining assassins were men.

For the first time in a long time, Nisong felt a quaver of fear in her heart. She’d been subsisting with Ragan – unable to fully trust him but also unable to make much progress in her goals. There had been small victories. They’d worked with the Ioph Carn for a couple of jobs, bringing in enough money to live comfortably for nearly a year. And she’d had a few chances to experiment with Lozhi’s shards, building smaller, simpler constructs. Each of his shed horns only allowed for twenty shards – so with forty in total, she couldn’t build an army. But she’d built two little spies – neither of which were currently here.

Taking back the Empire? Making Lin and all those close to her suffer? It seemed a laughable goal now, though she burned for it. She needed it. She would survive because this was the only thing that would make the deaths of her friends worth something.

Nisong’s gaze darted about as she tried to keep track of all four assassins. She didn’t feel the warmth of Lozhi’s presence at her back anymore, and she’d stepped beyond the protection of the partially caved-in roof. The oppressive early-evening air settled over her shoulders, the humidity smothering as a wet cloth at her nose and mouth. Dimly, she registered a mosquito whining past her ear.

All four of the assassins darted in at once.

She swung her cudgel wildly, forcing two of them back. One of them missed as he sliced at her side, but she felt a sting across her calf, a shock, and knew the last one had found her mark. A trickle of warmth, but not a rush, which meant it couldn’t be that deep. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward. If she could just get two of them beneath that wall… She’d still have to hope it fell in their direction, but she’d have hope.

“Now!” she called out.

The ground trembled beneath their feet. Nisong, who had been expecting it, nearly lost her footing. Tiles cracked; stones tumbled. She held her breath as the wall she’d urged the assassins toward crumbled and fell.

It fell away from them, carved stones and plaster tumbling down the slope, disappearing into the long grass. Nisong backed away but then whirled, remembering she’d left two more behind her. They’d closed in, cutting her off from the guttering fire. Beyond them she could see Ragan, obediently facing the wall. Lozhi had stopped as she’d advanced, his belly low to the ground, ears flat against his head, his gray eyes wide.

“Did that do it?” Ragan called to her.

She heard footsteps rushing in behind her. She pivoted again, knowing that it would only open her up to attack by the other assassins. She met the two in front of her with her cudgel raised. At least she’d die fighting. At least she’d die cursing the names of everyone who’d wronged her. For Shell, for Frond, for Leaf and for Coral.

A gray furry shape rushed in front of her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Lozhi snapped at the two assassins, seizing one by the arm and tossing him into the underbrush. He seized the leg of the next one, teeth sinking deep. The man screamed, slashing at Lozhi’s face. The beast ignored the blows. Nisong knew from experience that he’d quickly heal from any cuts. “Leave!” he cried out. “Leave alone!” He stalked toward a third assassin who’d come to help his fellows.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Nisong knew that ossalen could speak, but it was the most she’d ever heard Lozhi say. She’d come to think of him as a silent companion, one who said more with his gaze than with his mouth. The sound of steel being drawn came from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.

The remaining two assassins advanced on Ragan. She cursed her foolishness – of course they were after him. If they killed him, she’d be back where she’d started. No friends, no one to help her. Alone. She hastily pulled the shards from her pouch, carving commands onto them. And then she rushed toward their backs.

One of them turned to face her, but the other one didn’t. Nisong calmed her breathing, forced herself into the concentrated, meditative state and then pushed her hand toward the woman’s torso. Her knuckles cracked against a hard leather breastplate. For a moment, all she could do was curl her hurt hand at her chest, the edges of the shard digging into her palm. It should have worked. Sometimes she’d been too distracted, too hasty, and she hadn’t been able to use the bone shard magic.

She’d only ever tried Lozhi’s shards on Alanga, not on mortals. Did it not work the same way for them? Was this weakness only unique to the Alanga?

There wasn’t time to examine hypotheses. Her cudgel felt heavy in her hand as she swung it, trying to keep the two assassins at bay. The woman sliced back at her while the remaining man lifted his blade over Ragan’s back. Nisong blocked him with her cudgel, barely in time. “Behind you!” she called to Ragan. He whipped about, drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He caught the assassin’s sword and then kicked out, fast and hard. The man tumbled.

The woman Nisong was fighting drew her blade back, circling and then lashing out again. She was used to the thick of battle against semi-skilled opponents. Not assassins, trained to take out opponents one-on-one. She dodged to the side and felt her injured leg give out as she stepped on a fallen stone. The assassin’s blade glinted above her.

Ragan came to her rescue this time, his sword flashing between her and the assassin. Briefly, his gaze met hers. “We have to trust one another or we’ll both die.” And then he stood in front of her, sword lifted to meet the assassin’s. She glanced down the slope and saw Lozhi, bloodied, three more assassins materializing from the bushes to surround him. They’d brought backup.

Part of her raged – how could he ask her to trust him? He’d tried to kill her once, no matter how ineffectually. Another part of her acknowledged that he’d given her the shards, that it had been two years, that unleashing Ragan was a chance she had to take if she wanted to make any progress toward Imperial.

She took a half-step forward and put one hand on his shoulder, another between his shoulder-blades. “Stay as still as possible,” she whispered into his ear. “Focus only on defending yourself and me; don’t think about striking back.”

His muscles tensed as the assassin attacked. It was difficult not to pay attention to what was going on beyond the wall of Ragan’s back, but she knew him well enough by now. He wouldn’t be able to hold his temper for long. As soon as he thought about killing them, he wouldn’t even be able to lift his blade. She needed to be quick.

Nisong breathed in deep, closed her eyes and pushed her hand into Ragan’s body.

This time, the body yielded beneath her fingertips, clothing and bones gone insubstantial. It was like dragging her fingers beneath the surface of a warm pond, with a little more pressure and a little less give. His body jerked around her hand as he blocked the assassins’ blows; she felt the tremor of his bones and flesh as his muscles tensed, as he called on the power that Lozhi’s bond had given him. From somewhere, she heard the sound of rushing water. The humidity she’d felt only a moment before dried up. And then she found it: a sharp-edged brightness within him, a shade warmer than the rest.

He will kill you, Coral’s voice whispered in her mind. In the end, he will kill you.

She ignored it, wrapped her fingers around the shard and pulled it free.

The change was quick, as stark as a room with all the lamps blown out. Even the assassins must have sensed it. They hesitated. The sky grew dark as full night, the guttering fire the only illumination. Ragan stepped forward with a confidence he hadn’t borne only a moment ago. “Don’t go,” he said, his voice soft. “Not yet.”

The woman attacked first. He slid past her swing and gutted her smoothly and calmly as he might have a fish. At the same time, he brought the water down.

He must have been gathering it while he’d still had the shard within him. It looked like an ocean’s worth of water dumping from the skies. Lozhi let out a little cry of delight as he bounded around his disoriented attackers, biting legs, arms and torsos. Most of the water fell to the ground, but some of it hovered in spheres around the heads of the assassins. Nisong watched, dread choking her as the assassins clawed at their faces, as they gurgled uselessly, as they tried to shake the water loose. And Ragan stood there, his hands lifted, black hair wet and sodden about his face, his expression cold and murderous.

No regret, no mercy in that one.

One by one, they fell, until the ruins were silent once more. Ragan turned to face her and she wondered if this was how past mortals felt when they’d displeased an Alanga. She swallowed past the ache in her throat. “You still need me,” she managed.

Lozhi padded back up the slope, winding first around her and then returning to Ragan’s side where he sat, ears flicking back and forth.

Ragan lifted a hand and she waited for the sphere of water she knew was coming. She didn’t have it in her to fight back, not when he was so much stronger than she was. She’d only look foolish and that wasn’t how she wanted to die. She’d face her death head-on, as she’d faced everything since she’d first awoken from the mind-fog.

But he only pointed past her, his stony expression breaking into a grim smile. Relief swelled within her, washing away the tightness in her throat and making her legs weak. It took her a moment to see where he was pointing. Past the treetops, in the distance, the lamps of Gaelung’s palace glittered like fireflies. “There. That is where we’re going next.”

He strode up to her, her heart beating in time with his steps. He held out his hand. “Give me the shards.” There was a hardness in his voice and a glint in his eye she didn’t like. He’d enjoyed killing those assassins. She might have been accustomed to death following in her footsteps, but Ragan treated it like a trusted friend. All he needed was an excuse.

She untied the pouch and let it drop into his palm. “You have a plan?” she said, and was pleased that her voice didn’t tremble. She needed to maintain control.

He hadn’t drawn back his hand. “The other one too.”

Only once he spoke did she feel the point of it digging into her palm. The shard she’d taken from his chest. Nisong opened her fingers over his hand and it joined the pouch. She couldn’t seem to calm her heartbeat, her mind racing through all the implications of what she’d done.

He closed his fingers around all of the shards. And then his face relaxed, as though he hadn’t just drowned all those assassins, as though he hadn’t stood over her, his expression begging her to give him a reason to do the same to her. “Of course I have a plan.” He gazed out over the treetops toward the palace. “We’re going to go on a little tour, you and I. We’re going to remind them all what it’s like to live with Alanga.”

Lin Sukai. 1522–1525. I watched the flames lick up the side of the ripped piece of paper I’d taken with me from the census book, turning the corner from brown to black and then to ash. I should have burned the thing years ago, should have hidden my origins better, but it was a part of my past – a reminder of who I was and where I’d come from.

I was Lin. I was Emperor. I was Alanga. The savior of Gaelung. That could be the whole of my story. My mind could be record enough of where I’d actually come from: grown from parts in the pool beneath the palace, stuffed with the memories of my father’s dead wife and set to wander the palace in search of keys. I needed to have my wits about me for this; I needed to be unshakable in my knowledge of who I was now.

Above me, heavy footfalls creaked, claws scraped against the deck and the ship listed to one side. Thrana had insisted on coming along, and really, there was nothing I could have done to stop her. She was larger than a war horse now, and could swim nearly as quickly as a ship burning witstone. She didn’t fit in my cabin anymore, though not for lack of trying. She’d become used to curling up next to my bed in the palace, her head resting on my mattress. My hand resting on her head.

I dropped the paper to the bottom of the lantern, letting it burn out. Something about the color of it, the way it shriveled, reminded me of the box.

Two years ago, the palace guards had found the box at the gates, labeled with my name, though no one could tell me who’d placed it there or when. One of my maidservants had insisted on being the one to open it in case the box was trapped with blades or poisons. But there hadn’t been either.

Instead, there’d only been a note – So you have something to burn – and beneath that, a leathery piece of skin. I felt it all over again, the jolt to my ribs, the sensation of the world going still around me, the weightlessness of my mind. And then the crushing, crippling pain. Shutting the box hadn’t made its contents any less real. Because inked into that piece of skin had been a rabbit tattoo.

Jovis had promised he’d return to me. In his own small way, he’d kept that promise.

Grief and anger poured over me, sluicing like the storm water outside. I let it drench me, let it fill me to the brim. And then, slowly, it drained away, leaving me exhausted and helpless. It had been two years, and still I woke hoping that it hadn’t been real. I wished I could rid myself of that hope so I could stop realizing all over again that it had indeed happened, that Jovis was gone. That I’d wandered so far now into this branching reality that even the remembered scent of him had become hazy, indistinct. I couldn’t quite recall the exquisite way our bodies had fit together, the feel of his hands in my hair. Had he told me he loved me or had that only been a dream?

And there was the anger. He’d lied to me, only admitting that he’d been spying on me for the Shardless Few once he’d been caught. I’d never had a chance to shout at him again for the lies, to hear him apologize once more, to feel the tightness in my chest easing with each repetition and response until I found my way to healing and forgiveness. I would have forgiven him had I only been given the chance. I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself. I shouldn’t have let him go after Mephi alone, to face Kaphra with only his steel staff and his magic and no one at his side. But I was an Emperor. I had obligations. Numeen, Thrana, Bayan… Jovis. I supposed sometimes death was being rushed from a play mid-scene, and never getting to know the rest of it. Regret was a feeling I had to live with. There was too much still to be done.

A knock sounded at my cabin door. I swallowed my sorrows and checked inside the lantern. There was no trace of the burnt page – only ashes and embers. “Yes?”

“We’re ready to disembark,” one of my guard’s voices said through the wood.

“I’ll be right out.” Quickly, I swung my oilskin cloak over my finery, ensuring my boots were snug and my white-bladed sword fastened tightly at my side. I’d remove it before any formal talks, but I wanted Iloh and his people to remember who they were dealing with. I’d not just brought an army to Gaelung to meet the constructs; I’d fought in that battle. I was not a person sitting on a throne, ruling from afar; I was invested in the safety of my people and I would defend them by whatever means I had at my disposal.

Even if it meant stopping a governor from mining his own island into the bedamned sea.

The downpour had not abated by the time I made my way above-deck. It was a wonder my cabin was dry at all. Thrana appeared at my side. “Good fishing weather!” she said, shaking off the rain. Her spiraling horns branched twice now, the black surfaces slick and gleaming. I couldn’t tell if she’d been back in the water recently, or if it was just the rain that had drenched her.

My guards fell in behind me. One of them gestured to the hold, where several boxes of witstone lay. “Should we bring the witstone up to the palace?” I still remembered, years ago, stealing a handful of witstone from one of my father’s stores. Back then, the supply had seemed limitless – enough to fill entire rooms. But the more we used, the less we had, and at some point everyone would run out – fostering isolation. And the Ioph Carn kept harrying my ships, stealing and smuggling what witstone they could, exacerbating the problem. But “low” was not “empty” and it was still a problem for another day. Iloh was a problem for today.

“No, not yet.” I’d had time to form plans on the way to Riya. The winds had fortunately been favorable, the trip quick. We hadn’t flown the Imperial flag. He wouldn’t know I was coming and I preferred it that way. The man had been a thorn in my side ever since I’d put a moratorium on witstone mining. Now that thorn had turned into a dagger poised to plunge into my heart. “It’s quicker if I go alone. Follow after me with the witstone.”

Before my guards could protest, I mounted Thrana and urged her to the gangplank. It bent beneath her weight so sharply I thought it might crack. But then we were onto the docks, people moving out of our way, exclaiming at Thrana’s appearance. Alanga had been returning to the Empire, but none of their ossalen were quite Thrana’s size yet. She maneuvered through the late-morning crowd with a gracefulness that seemed impossible given her bulk. I felt her shoulders roll beneath me and loosened my hips to maintain my center of balance. The main street of Riya’s capital city rose from the docks in a gentle slope. Some of the stone lanterns lining the street were still lit, their light doing little to cut through the gloom. People stumbled out of the door of a drinking hall near the docks, smoke wisping after them into the rain. A whiff of fresh steamed bread reached me, only to be whisked away in a puff of wind in the next moment. Even the rain couldn’t completely drown out the smell of fish and rotting seaweed.

It faded the farther up the hill we climbed. I felt the way Thrana drew everyone’s gazes, heard the whispers we left in our wake. The palace walls rose before us, the tops lined with blue tiles. The gates were open, guards standing on either side, a few servants moving in and out. I slid from Thrana’s back while she was still moving, water splashing beneath my boots, my momentum carrying me forward and toward the gates. With a quick flick of my hand, I removed the hood of my cloak.

“I am here to see Iloh.”

The guards stared at me. No one said a word.

“Well? Will you let me pass or will you refuse the Emperor an audience with her governor?”

That got them moving. I’d put them in a difficult position – should they send someone to Iloh and make the Emperor wait? – but I couldn’t be sorry for it. One of the guards slipped away to tell Iloh, and another moved to the side to give me larger passage. Yet another put up her hand as if to stop me and then thought better of it. I felt Thrana’s hot breath on the back of my neck and strode confidently into the courtyard.

Men and women rushed out of our way as I followed the guard I’d presumed had gone to tell Iloh. It wasn’t until we reached the entrance hall that he noticed me following him. He blanched, stopped, shifted from foot to foot, opened his mouth, shut it and then turned to resume his path.

“Is he in his study?” I called after him as I dogged his steps. “His bedchambers?”

He was in his dining hall. As soon as I saw where the guard was headed, I overtook him and placed my hand on the doorknob. He drew his hand away before he committed the grave offense of touching me without my permission. My father had been known to execute people for that.

“Eminence,” the guard finally ventured, “if you’d only sent word—”

I stared him down and he backed away, hands raised as though afraid I might attack him. Or maybe he was afraid Thrana would. I felt her looming behind me, a constant presence. From behind the door I heard muffled voices. “And what of everyone else? If we secede and no one else follows? She still has an army.”

“And Alangan magic,” someone else added.

I flung the door open.

Iloh sat at the table, several men and women sitting with him. He hadn’t changed much in the past two years, his straight black hair tied back, his beard neatly trimmed. The lines of his face might have been deeper but it also might have been a trick of the light. Bright and calculating eyes fixed on mine, and though I registered surprise there, he quickly hid it. He sat on his cushion with the upright ease of someone who knew how to appear relaxed in even the most tense of situations. I recognized a couple of those near him – governors of islands near Riya – and the others I did not. But I had the sense from the richness of their clothes and their immaculately groomed hairstyles that they were powerful and important.

So. The rumors were true. He’d not just been hounding me to allow witstone mining again; he’d roped other governors into his schemes. If even Riya seceded, however, the Empire would fracture.

It took them a moment to register who I was and what I was doing there. Everyone else was not quite so stoic as Iloh. Faces paled, gazes darting to both the sword at my side and Thrana’s large head over my shoulder. And then they rose, all of them bowing. I caught several hands trembling and felt some measure of satisfaction. They should be afraid, fomenting rebellion against the Emperor. Thrana sat on her haunches as I walked further into the room. “Eminence,” they all murmured.

I returned their bows with a tilt of my head.

Deliberately, I unstrapped my sword, made my way to the table and sat upon an empty cushion. Everyone else sat as well, the tension lifting only marginally. I wasn’t here to serve as executioner.

“You didn’t tell me you were visiting,” Iloh said, his voice as smooth and deep as the Endless Sea on a windless day.

Then again, I wasn’t here to befriend anyone either. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the rumors, the unrest, the resentment – all wafting from Riya like the stink of a days’ old fish.” I set my sword on the table but did not remove my hands from it. My neighbors on either side of me leaned slightly away. The day was not overly warm, but I caught the bead of sweat on the face of the woman to my left. “And now I find you conspiring against me.”

Iloh waved a dismissive hand. “We were discussing, not conspiring. You happened upon a private conversation, not one that is meant to be taken seriously.”

“And yet all of these governors have traveled here to be in this room. No matter what you may think of me, I am not naive, Iloh.” I wanted to rebuke him more severely; I wanted to draw my sword and make him tremble before me – but I still needed Riya’s support. “Tell me exactly what it is you want.”

We both knew but I wanted him to say it. I wanted to make h