Page 7 of A Monsoon Rising

“Emperor,” Talasyn replied as calmly as she could manage.

Alaric tilted his head up for a brief moment, idly perusing the heavens. “You brought your warships,” he remarked, acting for all the world as if he could see the outriggers and moth coracles hovering over the Eversea that she’d left behind at the Kesathese port, instead of doubtless having been briefed on their presence by the harbor guards. “Perhaps I should take offense.”

“You’re the one meeting me in full armor,” Talasyn pointed out.

“We were training. You arrived earlier than expected.” He glanced at her companions over the top of her head. “Queen Urduja. Prince Elagbi. Welcome.”

“What am I, sour goat-liver soup?” Jie asked in a whisper that carried, and Talasyn had to hastily fight back a snort.

Alaric turned on his heel and led the way to the control tower, the Nenavarene delegation following him—rather like a gaggle of finely dressed ducklings, Talasyn observed with some amusement.

But it was an amusement that was quick to fade when the two identical legionnaires wedged themselves on either side of her while they walked.

Unlike the helms of most of the Shadowforged, including Sevraim, the winged design of the twins’ helms exposed wide patches of their faces. They were light skinned like Alaric, with long raven-black hair bound high on their heads and fawncolored eyes that were narrowed at Talasyn in dislike. The last time she had encountered them was at the battle of Lasthaven,where they’d been heartily trying to kill her and she them. Without the adrenaline of combat blotting out all the little details, Talasyn finally noticed the subtle difference between the twins: the one on her right—whom she decided was the Thing today—had a small beauty mark on her cheek.

“Hello, little Lightweaver,” the Thing said with a sneer. “Or should I start calling youPrincess?”

“She cleans up so well, doesn’t she?” the Other Thing opined from Talasyn’s left. “I almost didn’t recognize her.”

“Oh, I’d know that smell anywhere,” the Thing said airily. “Smells like Sardovian scum.”

There were squawks of outrage from Jie and Elagbi, as well as a noticeable stirring among the Lachis-dalo. Before any of them could exacerbate the situation by coming to her defense, as the twins clearly wanted, Talasyn spoke, her head held high.

“I am the Nenavarene Lachis’ka, not a princess.” She stared straight ahead, at Alaric’s back. He had tensed somewhat. “You will address me as ‘Your Grace,’ and after my coronation as the Night Empress, you will call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

A stunned silence fell over the group, punctuated only by the sound of footsteps slowing on the metal walkway. Talasyn braced herself for retribution, the magic in her veins simmering to life at this great height. Gods, if her attackers tried to push her off—

Sevraim guffawed, as loud as a crack of thunder. “Oh, welldone, Lachis’ka!” He looked over his shoulder, waving a gauntleted hand at the twin on Talasyn’s right, the one with the beauty mark. “This is Ileis.” He then indicated the twin on Talasyn’s left. “That’s Nisene. And I haveneverseen anyone shut them up that fast.” He playfully elbowed Alaric. “Isn’t it amazing, Your Majesty?”

The Night Emperor ignored him. “Talasyn,” he said without turning around. “Come here.”

He was giving her a convenient excuse to get away from the twins. Still, she bristled at his high-handedness and opened her mouth to take him to task for it—

“Walk with your husband, Lachis’ka,” Queen Urduja said from behind her. The warning was implicit in her regal tone: Talasyn couldn’t afford to make any more of a scene than she had already gotten swept up in.

Talasyn pushed past Ileis and Nisene, the weight of their resentful gazes boring into her nape. Perhaps there wassomebenefit to be had in reigning over her former enemies after all. She wouldn’t deny that she felt a surge of satisfaction at having gotten the last word with the reminder that the Shadowforged Legion would soon be her subjects. It made marrying Alaric almost worthwhile.

She hurried over to his side and tucked her hand into the crook of the elbow that he held out to her. Her fingers closed around a scaled leather armguard stretched over solid muscle, and it rose up to engulf her—the memory of how his bare arms had felt beneath her wandering hands. She was going to burst out of her skin at any moment, and she couldn’t help but sneak glances at his inscrutable profile as they entered the dimly lit corridors of the Citadel. How in the name of all the gods and the ancestors was he socalm?

Then again, they had agreed that the kiss in the Belian amphitheater and all else that happened in her bed had meant nothing. Alaric was merely staying true to his word. It meant nothing because itwasnothing, and so he was treating it as though it were nothing, which it was. And she should, too.

“Are you attempting to cut off my circulation, Your Grace?” His low rumble broke through her reverie.

“Sorry.” She loosened her constricting grip on his arm.

Alaric fell silent. His gray eyes flickered to her and lingered a beat too long before darting away again. Was he thinkingabout their wedding night as well? For him, was it also the ghost that walked between them, the invisible current that trembled with their respective awareness of each other?

Clear your mind,Talasyn scolded herself. She hadn’t sailed all the way to Kesath just to be crowned the Night Empress. Once they had a moment alone, she needed to ask Alaric if he’d found Khaede. He had promised to look for her friend in the Citadel’s prisons—and if Khaedewashere, then Talasyn wasn’t leaving without her.

She needed all her wits in order to pull that off.

In the end, the Nenavarene contingent was shown to a suite of interconnected rooms, where they were expected to stay until Talasyn’s coronation the next afternoon. Aside from the bedchambers, there was a dining room and a lounge, all sporting black stone, large mantelpieces, and polished but simple furniture, with the odd ancient tapestry here and there. Queen Urduja’s brows had already nearly disappeared into her hairline by the time Alaric stated, as they stood in the circular lounge at the conclusion of the short-lived tour, that all meals would be brought to them by the servants.

“You will not be dining with us, Your Majesty?” the Zahiya-lachis inquired.

“My schedule does not permit, Harlikaan,” he replied, dryly polite. “However, there will be a gala tomorrow, after the coronation. We will take our meal together then.”

Urduja nodded, slightly mollified that notallsemblance of hospitality was lost in this strange new world.

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