Page 93 of A Monsoon Rising

“Lachis’ka, you and His Majesty have been particularly tender tonight!” Bairung Matono exclaimed. “I don’t think his hand left the small of your back forhours.”

“Attached, just simply attached,” said Oryal, with a dreamy sigh that seemed to flutter through the rose-colored praying mantis wings that adorned her from neck to toe. Beneath the matching eye-mask, tiny flowers glimmered on her cheeks, painted on with shimmery red pigment. “Like a quill to Rajan Gitab’s spectacles.”

The others laughed, but Talasyn was trying very hard not to go red in the face. “I sincerely hope you ladies have had time to enjoy the party on top of all your gawking,” she snapped, cheeks bulging with pork-stuffed mooncake.

“The gawkingispart of the enjoyment,” said Bairung. “Tell us, did this romance begin when you were marooned in Chal?” Talasyn nearly spat out her mooncake. “I would be so sad if my rescue ship interrupted anything.”

Bairung could never know how close her teasing had hit the mark. Before Talasyn could cobble together a hasty reply, Jie suddenly elbowed Niamha. “The way His Majesty swooped in on Her Grace and Lord Surakwel! Were youveryrelieved, Daya Langsoune?”

“My relief stemmed more from the fact that Surakwel managed not to step on Her Grace’s toes even once,” said Niamha.

Oryal snorted. “Yes, I remember all those dancing lessons from when we were younger. He was the worst of us!”

Through the merriment, Niamha gave Talasyn a strange look; Talasyn didn’t know whether it was because of Niamha’sfeelings for Surakwel or becauseshewasn’t supposed to have feelings for Alaric.

Talasyn caught herself.Idon’t—Ican’t—have feelings for him.

There was an attraction, and that was all it was. All it could ever be.

Especially now that Vela had given her a new mission, one that would bring the secret continuation of the Hurricane Wars closer to an end.

At that moment, there was an almost imperceptible flickering over the noblewomen’s costumes, a rain of tiny shadows, blocking out the moonlight. Talasyn turned to the windows with a puzzled frown.

Prince Elagbi and Rajan Wempuq had wandered over after Talasyn left Alaric’s side. Alaric found that he couldn’t quite look his father-in-law in the eye, given what he’d done to his daughter so recently, but the Dominion prince seemed determined to make Wempuq warm up to Alaric. The copious amounts of wine that the two older men had been imbibing all night served to grease the wheels, and the conversation was not as stilted as it could have been.

In the midst of Elagbi and Wempuq regaling him with a wild tale from their youth, Alaric noticed two masked figures slip into the ballroom.

Figures who shouldn’t have been there at all.

He excused himself from Elagbi and Wempuq and strode over to the new arrivals, who swiftly turned at his approach and led the way to a secluded alcove in the corner.

“What are you doing here?” Alaric demanded without preamble.

“What areyoudoing,” Sevraim countered, “inthat?” He pointed at Alaric’s shimmering gold-and-green getup with an air of utter bewilderment.

“Focus,” Ileis snapped at Sevraim. To Alaric, she said, “We bear urgent news, Your Majesty. Regent Gaheris tasked us to bring you back to the Continent as soon as possible. He insisted wepersonallysee to it that you sail home.”

Gaheris could have summoned Alaric to the In-Between. All the legionnaires knew that. The fact that he had not—the fact that he’d acknowledged, even in this small way, that his son might need a more pressing incentive than his word—spoke volumes about the seriousness of whatever was unfolding.

Alaric’s pulse raced. “What happened?”

“There was a prison breakout during the Moonless Dark,” said Ileis. “The Sardovian guerrillas snuck into the Citadel, slit the guards’ throats, and freed their comrades. All of them.”

In hindsight, Alaric understood that had been no better time for the rebels to attack than on a night when there was only a skeleton force in the Citadel. And no Gaheris.

“What about the legionnaires who stayed behind?” he asked. “Why couldn’t they stop it?”

“The Sardovians caused a diversion that drew the legionnaires further away,” Sevraim said. “All the way to the other end of the Citadel. The rebels were informed of the prison layout, Emperor Alaric. Someone told them that their comrades were being held in the eastern wing. Commodores Darius and Mathire are currently rooting out the informant, while Nisene is leading the hunt for the escapees, but you need to be there. We need to leavenow.”

The one good thing about this directive, Alaric thought numbly, was that he didn’t have to bring Talasyn to his father. He could use this emergency as an excuse for not having had time to convince her to come with him.

“Tell the shallop crew to prepare to set sail,” Alaric ordered his two legionnaires. “And have a message sent to mystormship to expect us. I’ll meet you on the docks. Let me just say goodbye to my—to the Night Empress.”

Sevraim saluted. “Yes, Your Glittering Majesty! At once, my shimmering master!”

“I have one more instruction, Ileis.” Alaric nodded toward Sevraim. “Throw this one into the ocean.”

After Ileis dragged a cackling Sevraim away, Alaric looked around the ballroom until his gaze landed on Talasyn. She and her friends were gathered at the refreshment tables. Behind her were flickers of movement against the ballroom’s moonlit windows that faced out to sea—a scattering of stones falling from the sky.

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