Page 69 of A Monsoon Rising

Now what?he could almost imagine it asking.

“I have no idea,” he said out loud.

He turned to his desk to pen a response to Talasyn’s letter, which had arrived the previous day.

Preparations were well underway throughout the Dominion archipelago for the sevenfold eclipse. As Aktamasok boiled over with increasing regularity, death magic shot into the air from its crater and spilled down its rugged slopes. Beneath the beating of its amethyst pulses illuminating the sky for miles around, the Nenavarene packed up their houses and loaded their vessels with as many supplies as they could find room for on board. Fields and orchards were stripped of seeds and grain, to be planted in case the ships returned to barren earth. Farmers picked out their best animals to acclimatize them to life on deck and in the holds; the rest would be left behind.

Talasyn helped whenever she could—readying Iantas alone was a slow process that would take sennights—but sometimes she slipped away.

To Belian, to commune with the Lightweave, making surethat her magic was as strong as it could be on the night of reckoning.

To Eskaya, to visit her family, savoring every moment like it was her last with them—just in case it was.

To the privacy of her chambers, where she wrote letters to Alaric.

And on this night, to the Storm God’s Eye. With Surakwel Mantes.

He’d insisted on accompanying her to the Sardovian encampment this time. “So,” he said as they squeezed through the dark mangroves, “where are we on stabbing your husband while he sleeps, Lachis’ka?”

“Keep your voice down,” Talasyn hissed. “The Lachis’ka isn’t supposed to be here, remember?”

“It’s not as though there are any patrols,” Surakwel pointed out. “All the soldiers are busy with evacuation procedures.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the mudskippers themselves reported to Her Starlit Majesty.”

He laughed, a flash of white teeth and merry walnut-brown eyes in the moonlight. Then he pushed his shaggy hair back from his wide forehead, a gesture that called attention to the ring on his finger, a large silver one embossed with the same serpent that adorned his yacht’s sails. While it was the seal of House Mantes of Viyayin, the intricate metalwork was a signature of Lidagat. Niamha’s domain.

“But Her Grace didn’t answer my question,” Surakwel pressed. “Will you stab him immediately after the Moonless Dark? He might be expecting that, though—”

“Maybe you should worry about your own relationships first,” Talasyn sniped. “How you’re naming yachts after Daya Langsoune and she’s giving you rings yet the two of youstillhaven’t declared for each other is beyond me.”

Surakwel opened his mouth and then shut it again, asthough Talasyn’s bluntness had demolished his repertoire of languidly caustic comebacks. Silence festered between them there in the swamp.

“Niamha is marrying someone else,” he said at last. “A pact between her mother and his, kept secret all these years, as the possibility of marrying into House Langsoune is a powerful political tool. But they should be announcing it any day now.”

“Oh.” Talasyn swallowed. “I didn’t—”

Surakwel cut her off with a brusque shrug. “It is what it is. The motherland cradles the family and family is where duty is born. That’s the old Nenavarene saying, is it not? And who is Daya Langsoune to go against her late mother’s wishes?”

Resentment laced his every word. Talasyn couldn’t muster anything in the form of response, and fortunately she didn’t have to; they soon broke into the clearing, and she locked eyes with the waiting Vela.

In the distance, the stormshipNautilusrippled with aether sparks on its grid. Its translucent metalglass panels were aglow as shipwrights worked on its inner modifications, their silhouettes hammering away and installing aether cores and circuitry long into the night. Another airship, a smaller frigate, was nearby and also being serviced. Its cannons were loaded with hearts that shimmered amethyst with the energy of the Voidfell.

“Nenavar’s reserves of death magic are dwindling,” the Amirante said. “We won’t receive any more void hearts until after the Moonless Dark, when it’s safe to harvest from Aktamasok again.”

“And a very pleasant evening to you, too,” Surakwel piped up.

Vela ignored him. “I havesomegood news,” she told Talasyn. “General Bieshimma has secured an alliance with the Emberlords of Midzul. They’re willing to send fifty warships. And twice that number of aethermancers.”

Talasyn bit back a gasp. Midzul, the Land of Fire. Their help would be invaluable. But she had spent too many months under Urduja’s tutelage to refrain from asking, “What’s in it for them?”

“Aether hearts,” Surakwel replied. “I’ve been there. Their soil runs too hot for crystals to properly form. Their nearest neighbor exports to them at a premium.”

“And let me guess,” Talasyn said slowly. “Bieshimma neglected to mention to the Emberlords that we blew up the mines on the Sardovian half of the Continent during the retreat and the Kesathese half has hardly any left to spare.”

“It’sallKesath now,” Vela countered. “That is the problem that we need to fix first.”

“Nenavar has aether hearts aplenty, Lachis’ka,” Surakwel reminded Talasyn. “I’m sure some kind of deal can be cut after we win.”

---