Page 3 of A Monsoon Rising

Perhaps Rapat could finally provide the connection she sought. Still, she was confused. “Were you often at court then, Kaptan?”

The question had barely left her lips before she recalled something that Prince Elagbi had told her the night they met in the garrison’s interrogation chamber.Yanme Rapat is a good man. A fine soldier, if still smarting a bit from his demotion nineteen years ago.

Rapat flashed a thin smile and rubbed a hand over hisclosely shorn head. “I am now a kaptan in the border regiments. Iwasthe Huktera general in command of Eskaya’s defenses. It was my task to prevent Sintan Silim’s rebels from gaining a foothold in the capital, and I failed.”

Talasyn’s brow creased. “But the rebels were eventually defeated, weren’t they?”

“Through your father’s doing, not mine,” said Rapat. “I made many tactical mistakes that necessitated the Zahiya-lachis’s evacuation—and yours. It was because of my inadequacies that you were lost to us for so long. I can only be grateful that Queen Urduja deigned to show mercy.”

There was something hollow in the way he said that last part, something not quite sincere behind his eyes. Not treacherous, butbitter. Talasyn couldn’t fault him for it, and not just because her own relationship with her grandmother had been strained since their confrontation the morning after Talasyn’s wedding.

It’s a bad thing to rule through fear,she found herself thinking.It’s a bad thing to punish those who are loyal to you.

“But I am intruding,” Rapat said. “I shall take my leave.”

“No, wait—”

There was so much else that Talasyn wanted to ask him. About Hanan, about how Hanan had been manipulated by her brother-in-law, Sintan, to send warships to the Northwest Continent. But Rapat now appeared deeply conscious that he had divulged too much information.

“I insist, Your Grace,” he said. “You are Lady Hanan’s daughter. You have more right to this place than I do.” He saluted again, and Talasyn watched him walk away, a lump in her throat. The grandfather trees swayed in the wet breeze.

However, just before he disappeared into the cavernous mouth of one of the many crumbling hallways that bordered the courtyard, Rapat stopped in his tracks, his armored framerife with tension. He looked back at Talasyn, his expression solemn, almost poignant.

“Lachis’ka.” Rapat spoke quietly, but the words echoed in this place of stone and leaves and lurking magic, a grave undercurrent beneath the raindrops, punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. “I have sworn my life, service, and fealty to the Dragon Throne, but I would be no friend of Lady Hanan’s if I didn’t tell you that there was no love lost between her and Queen Urduja. The Zahiya-lachis was most displeased by Lady Hanan’s refusal to be named her heir, and Lady Hanan in turn did not wish for you to be declared as such before you were old enough to choose for yourself. So—take that as you will.”

Talasyn’s nape prickled. Rapat’s words sounded like a warning, and more questions came rushing to the tip of her tongue. Before she could give voice to any of them, however, he was gone.

As she turned to pack up her campsite, the world suddenly swam before her eyes. The Belian ruins melted away into—

—deep blue waters, gliding below as though seen from the air in the midst of ?ight—

—a hand, knotted and gnarled with age, clinging to a jagged, snowy ridge—

Thunder burst through the heavens anew, and Talasyn gave a start. The images fell away, the stone courtyard brought back in all its clarity.

Whatwasthat?

It wasn’t the first time she’d had visions. Back when she was a helmsman in the Sardovian regiments, she’d seen the Nenavarene dragons and Urduja’s crown long before laying eyes on them in the flesh as an adult. Long before she learned who she really was, she’d dreamed of Eskaya, and Indusa, and her mother saying goodbye.

She hadn’t known what those glimpses meant when she had them. Nor did she know what these new visions meant now.

Talasyn looked at the empty fountain. She felt helpless and bewildered. She longed to stay here until the Light Sever activated again and she could find more answers.

But if she didn’t leavenow, she was going to be late for her meeting.

CHAPTERTWO

The training hall rang with the guttural shriek of the Shadowgate, summoned from aetherspace in the form of talons—the small curved knives resembling raptor claws that were often a Kesathese soldier’s last resort in close quarters, when crossbow bolts had been depleted and swords and spears had been knocked aside. With a talon in each hand, Alaric and Sevraim met in the middle of the hall, slashing and parrying, ever on the alert for a weak spot in the other’s defenses.

Alaric found sparring with Sevraim rather predictable for the most part, as they’d been at it since they were children. Today, however, the lanky, mahogany-skinned legionnaire had adopted a new tactic to throw him off balance: running his mouth about Alaric’s wife.

“You’ve slowed down, Your Majesty,” Sevraim panted as he slid beneath the arc of Alaric’s strike. “Has marriage dulled the Night Emperor’s lethal edge?”

Alaric rolled his eyes. The sole of his boot connected with Sevraim’s midriff, sending the other man flying across the floor. Sevraim landed on his back with a grunt and hurled oneof his knives at Alaric, who sidestepped the inky projectile with ease.

Alaric stalked toward his fallen opponent, idly flicking his own talons from one gauntleted knuckle to the next. Sevraim lay sprawled on the floor, seemingly oblivious to the harm looming in his immediate future, an irreverent grin spread across his face.

“Are you missing your pretty bride?” he suggested. “Counting the minutes until you see her again? Not that I blame you. A most fascinating girl, Talasyn. Or should I say, Alunsina Ivralis. I can see why you—”

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