Page 39 of The Hurricane Wars

This appeared to be the signal for the other nobles to sink, as one, into the briefest and most perfunctory of curtsies and stiff bows.

Alaric nodded, surmising the man’s identity from his dragon-shaped circlet. “Prince Elagbi. Well met.”

“It is good of you to think so,” Elagbi replied with dripping sarcasm, and Alaric bit his tongue to avoid snapping,I don’t want to marry your daughter, either.Fine diplomacy it would be if he and the Dominion prince came to blows.

As Elagbi led the way, his guards immediately closed in, covering all avenues of escape with martial precision—all women, whose imposing frames and alarmingly heavy-looking armor made Alaric wish that he’d brought more soldiers of his own. He had his legionnaire Sevraim and the shallop’s crew for protection, and the latter group wouldn’t even be accompanying him inside. Kesathese High Command had clamored for a display of strength, but Alaric had pointed out that an overabundance of warriors at what was ostensibly a peacemaking overture would have made the other side more defensive than they already were. Besides, Nenavar was well aware that the wolf at the door had fangs—or dragonslaying magic, to be more accurate.

Alaric had brought Mathire with him, too. She wasn’t the most politically adept of his officers, but he’d banked on a woman in a position of authority making the matriarchal Dominion more well disposed toward them. Of course, that wasbeforeMathire had given the order for her ship to fire on the dragon. Gods, he hoped the thing wasn’t dead.

Nevertheless, the small retinue was a show of good faith, as was Alaric’s agreeing to the negotiations being held on Nenavarene soil and the lack of the mask that he normally donned in situations wherein there was a high chance of a battle breaking out before he’d even stepped foot in the palace.

And it was a magnificent palace. Of that, there could be no doubt. Shining in the morning light, its facade of pristine white marble gave the illusion that the limestone cliffs on which it rested were laden with fresh snow in the heart of a verdant rainforest. It possessed an array of stained-glass windows, slender towers, and golden domes. The ornate arch over the main entrance was gold as well, and as they passed beneath it, Alaric heard Sevraim curse under his breath, a sound that was in sync with the disquieting sensation of the Shadowgate being cut off. The cages that Alaric now knew contained living creatures within were hung up along the hallway at regular intervals, the bulky, opaque cylinders incongruous with the paintings, carvings, and tapestries that adorned the shimmering white walls.

“Kindly excuse us for taking such precautions, Your Majesty,” Elagbi said in much the same tone as the one with which he’d greeted Alaric while nodding to the cages. “Our people do not trust the Shadowgate, especially when it is wielded in the proximity of the Zahiya-lachis.”

“I don’t mind at all, Prince Elagbi,” said Alaric, affecting nonchalance. “I am only sorry that these cages clash with your lovely decor.”

“I pray that you won’t attempt to rectify the situation by smashing any of them and letting the sariman loose.”

Alaric was probably not going to hear the end ofthatfor a while, but at least he’d now learned that the jewel-toned birds that possessed the ability to nullify magic were called sarimans. “As long as your hospitality is not revoked, there will be no need for me to cause any trouble,” he told Elagbi curtly.

Walking quietly beside him, Commodore Mathire shot Alaric a look of thinly veiled amusement. She had known him ever since he was young, and he’d always gotten the impression that she found him entertaining. That annoyed him a little. He was the Night Emperor, not some silly child.

The Dragon Queen’s throne hall wasdeeplyostentatious. Alaric was used to Kesath’s streamlined architecture and the practical interiors of the stormships, which emphasized functionality over aesthetic. He nearly stopped in his tracks upon crossing the threshold into a vast chamber, its walls paneled with gold leaf and draperies of crimson silk, its polished marble floors strewn with cream-and-burgundy carpets that sported intricate constellations of seed pearls and sapphires. The high-vaulted ceiling was adorned with bas-relief carvings of birds and lilies and dragons chasing one another through rollicking ocean waves. It would have emptied out the Night Empire’s treasury to decorate and maintain this space. And the people—

The people fell deathly silent when Alaric’s group entered. He’d never seen such a gathering in all his life, every single individual bedecked in luxurious fabrics and riotously colorful feathers, dripping with glittering gems from head to toe.

Neither had he ever been the recipient of such a concentrated mass of wary glares.

“We’re not welcome here, Your Majesty,” Sevraim murmured from behind his helm. “They still see us as invaders. I would advise you to tread with caution.”

“Don’t I always?” Alaric retorted out of the corner of his mouth. “Despiteyourattempts to influence me to the contrary?”

Sevraim chuckled. He wasstrolling, utterly relaxed, the dark eyes behind his obsidian visor alighting on the Nenavarene ladies on the sidelines with interest. If he hadn’t been wearing his helm, he would have been winking at them and raking a hand through his hair, Alaric was fairly certain of that.

He should have brought the twins instead.

At the end of the hall was an enormous platform consisting of bands of white, red, and gray marble that loomed over the courtiers in the same manner that the limestone cliffs of the Roof of Heaven loomed over the capital. There were three thrones perched atop the steps; the one on the left was empty, obviously Elagbi’s, while the one on the right was occupied by a feminine figure draped in blue and gold but otherwise obscured by a translucent wood-framed screen held by two attendants. Alaric wasn’t ready to scrutinize his future bride too closely just yet, so he focused all of his attention on the woman seated in the middle.

Urduja Silim. The Zahiya-lachis of the Nenavar Dominion, with a twisted crown and white-powdered face and jet-black gaze like winter steel. Her throne eclipsed the two others in both opulence and breadth, a construct of pure gold with clawed feet and stylized wings sprouting from the backrest that spread halfway up to the ceiling, unfurled like a dragon’s in midflight and sprinkled all over with jade, opals, rubies, diamonds, and gems that Alaric couldn’t even name.

“That chair alone could commission a fleet of ironclads,” he heard Sevraim remark to Mathire as they approached the platform, which also had a sariman cage mounted at each end.

Elagbi ascended the steps and took his place at his mother’s side while the rest of the welcoming committee melted into the watchful crowd. Alaric straightened his spine, taking care not to let his shoulders droop into their instinctive slight hunch,and Mathire clicked her heels and saluted Queen Urduja. Alaric felt Sevraim come to a sharp halt beside him as Urduja’s royal guards fanned out to both circle the Kesathese delegation and barricade the platform.

“Emperor Alaric.” Urduja’s imperious tones rang throughout the hall. “I bid you welcome to my court. Before we commence with the negotiations, allow me to state for the record that I would like for us to listen to each other with open minds and strive to work together in ensuring a prosperous future for our two realms. It is my sincerest wish that your journey here will not be in vain, whether by your own doing or others.”

The pretty speech ended on a firm note, as if it had been a warning all along. A warning that seemed to very pointedly include their audience of nobles, who were watching the scene as if they had collectively stepped on something malodorous. Alaric could only imagine the uproar that must have taken place when Urduja announced her granddaughter’s betrothal to him.

There was movement at the corner of his eye, a flash of white-streaked reddish-brown hair—Mathire had broken her rigid stance to dart him an urgent look. Right. It washisturn to say something.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Queen Urduja, as well as for your wisdom in facilitating a mutually beneficial solution to this territorial dispute,” said Alaric. The Nenavarene needed to be reminded that this arrangement wastheirsovereign’s idea. “My people are tired of war and yours would rather not start one. We are therefore united by a common purpose, and I have every faith that we will manage to broker an enduring, fruitful peace.”

These weren’t empty words. Not for him. He had been on the front lines ever since he was sixteen years old. This alliance was his chance, too, to know what it was like to live without the hurricanes.

Urduja graciously inclined her head. “Then, if it pleases His Majesty, you may approach the throne and meet our Lachis’ka.”

Alaric felt as though his legs were made of lead as he ascended the marble steps that seemed to go on forever, an entire hall fixated on his every movement. When he reached the top of the platform, he noticed that there was a cunning gleam in the Dragon Queen’s eyes that he didn’t like, a gleam that made his gut curl with foreboding. Before he could dwell on it, however, the figure on the rightmost throne stood up and emerged from behind the screen and swept toward him. His train of thought screeched to a halt.

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