Page 9 of A Monsoon Rising

She was going to betray him. That had always been the plan. Now she just had to be wary that he had something up his sleeve as well, but the bigger picture remained unchanged. Itshouldbe unchanged. And yet—

What’s going on with me? Why do I feel hurt?

Maybe it reallywasfood poisoning.

“What should I do?” Talasyn asked.

Urduja patted her arm. “Keep your head down, and keep it clear. At your coronation tomorrow, I shall be at my most charming and sociable and will find out what I can—or, at the very least, get a handle on the general feel of things.”

“If your intuition is right, then the Kesathese aren’t going to be all that talkative,” Talasyn said.

The Zahiya-lachis smirked. “I do love a challenge.”

Don’t you ever grow tired,Talasyn wished she could ask her grandmother,of always being two steps ahead of everyone else?She couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to live that way. But it was time to start learning.

Night in Kesath was a rolling darkness under a blanket of starspeckled clouds and a bitter wind. Talasyn peered out from the lone panel of metalglass in her chambers, taking in the lightless Citadel that stretched below her in swaths of never-ending, nearly solid black. Hers was the only window burning at thislate hour, when not even the bright glow of the fire lamp on her bedside table could dispel the oppressive shadows.

In her mind’s eye she was flying in a wasp coracle, its striped sails emblazoned with the Allfold phoenix. She steered it over the Citadel, over all the other settlements on the vast Kesathese plains, eventually clearing the cliffs until she glided down into what had formerly been the Sardovian Hinterland. On and on she went, over the Great Steppe, where she’d grown up, and above the spine of the Highlands, where Khaede and Sol had gotten married and he had fallen in battle only hours later. And after the mountains came the Heartland, that place of last stands, its cities now splintered into pieces by the Night Empire’s stormships. The same empire that had now spread to cover the whole Continent.

Talasyn pressed her palm to the window. The chill of metalglass against her bare skin brought her back from the ruins of Sardovia, back into this room.

Guilt, her constant companion lately, clawed at her soul like an animal. After all this time, she had returned to the Continent—married to the man who had been instrumental in destroying most of it.

I had to,she told her reflection as it stared back at her accusingly in the dark glass.This way, everyone gets to live.

Except for Gaheris.

She couldn’t actually do anything to him for now. Nenavar needed to stay in Kesath’s good graces to stop the Voidfell. But afterwards she could look forward to finding a way to get to the Regent, to kill him, and in doing so help the Sardovian remnant reclaim their lost homelands.

After—she could believe in an after.

CHAPTERFOUR

Though Urduja was well versed in the art of keeping her own counsel, the way her right eyebrow threatened to prematurely join the ancestors in the Sky Above the Sky made it easy for Talasyn to discern that the Zahiya-lachis found it more than passing strange that drinks were servedbeforethe coronation.

It was the anticipation of refreshment that kept the Nenavarene court moderately well behaved during important ceremonies; Talasyn believed that as firmly as she also believed that the Kesathese needed copious amounts of liquor to get throughthisone.

None of the black-and-silver-clad officers in this cavernous hall wanted her to be the Night Empress. To be fair, neither did the Night Emperor himself. But at least Alaric had so far refrained from huddling in corners with his cohorts, muttering into his wineglass and darting occasional glances at her that ran the gamut from suspicious to resentful.

It took all of Talasyn’s self-control to stop from returning the officers’ dark looks in kind. The Hurricane Wars were as fresh in her memory as it was in theirs. She was surroundedby former enemies, stuffed into an impractical dress that was a swirl of black and red, layered skirts and ribboned train flowing from a structured bodice with an asymmetric neckline and wrist-length sleeves. It was a dress that made her feel ridiculous, that was not at all conducive to fighting or running away. She would have happily done either.

Black and red. The colors of Alaric’s battle regalia. She wasn’t sure if the color choice was mere coincidence or if Urduja and the dressmaker were in cahoots to stage some elaborate joke. She wondered how Alaric felt about it, but his granite-carved features were as unreadable as always as the two of them stood around nursing lychee wine and accepting clipped congratulations and insincere plaudits from various guests.

It wasn’t as big a gathering as one might have expected for such a landmark ceremony. Only some commodores and generals, and even fewer regional governors, were in attendance, lending credence to Urduja’s theory that Alaric wanted to limit interaction between his people and the Nenavarene.

“Your father has not seen fit to grace us with his presence?” Talasyn asked Alaric after their latest well-wisher had walked away. Not that she particularly cared what Gaheris chose to do, but the fact that he was not present for his daughter-in-law’s coronation was suspicious. And if she were being truly honest, she had to admit that she was impatient to lay eyes on the man at last, to see what he looked like in the flesh, this shadowy specter of every Sardovian child’s nightmare, this architect of all the destruction that had plagued the land for years.

“He has retired from the public eye,” Alaric replied. “Your grandmother, on the other hand, appears to be enjoying herself quite thoroughly.”

Talasyn followed his line of sight to where the Zahiya-lachis was holding court amidst the regional governors, but she said nothing.

“They’re building diplomatic relations,” he explained, “in order to facilitate the lucrative flow of commerce.”

“You mean that each one of them is sucking up to her in the hopes that she’ll prioritize importing his region’s products.”

“Not only that. Each region is also vying for that much-coveted first direct trading route to Nenavar.”

“The capital would claim that, surely?”

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