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Instead Luc pulled out a polished jade the same shade as his piercing eyes.

Sorasa did not move or blink, even as her body nearly collapsed,every muscle going weak. Her lips parted, her breath coming in tiny gasps. She stared at the solid jade cylinder, one end set with an unmistakable silver seal.Mercury’s own—a winged snake, its jaws wide and fangs bared.The solid stone was the length of Luc’s fist, a precious object even without the markings on its face.

But the markings made it priceless. She remembered the jade stone on Lord Mercury’s desk, quietly waiting to stamp another contract and steal another life. He would never part with it, not for anyone.Or so I thought.

To Sorasa Sarn, the jade seal was the most valuable thing in all the realm.

Her voice shook.

“Safe passage,” she murmured, her heartbeat racing. The world blurred before her eyes. “All the way home?”

In the center of the clearing, Dom’s pale face went even paler, all color draining away. His lips parted, forming silent words Sorasa refused to recognize. He was miles away now, across the Ward in another life. A rushing noise filled her ears.

Luc extended his hand and the jade, pressing the cold stone into her palm. “Come back to us, Sorasa. Let the rest of the world bother with their great doings.”

The seal was heavy enough to break a skull. Sorasa closed her fist around it until her knuckles went white. Its cool surface was a balm against her suddenly hot skin.

“This contract is not for you,” Luc murmured, his impossible eyes boring into her own. “Do we have a deal?”

She almost couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.

The citadel. Home.

With a will, she tucked the seal into the pouch at her belt, among her powders and poisons. She carried so many weapons, but the seal was the greatest of all. She eyed Luc, then Dom, her gaze burning. The Elder drew himself up, puffing out his broad chest in one last show of bravado.

Her lip curled into a half smile.

“Kill the Elder slowly.”

13

Come and See

Erida

The council tent stank of alcohol and fish. The servants were slow in clearing their dinners, trying not to get in the way of nobles and generals arguing back and forth. Erida sat at the head of the long table, the spine and tail of a trout on her own plate. The bones swam in butter and salt. Neither had improved the taste much. After long days at siege, all the food began to taste the same, no matter what the cooks did. She did not partake in the ale like the others, nor wine, like Lady Harrsing two chairs away. Instead Erida sipped on a bracing cup of mint tea, a rich golden color to match her gown.

She wore no armor, ceremonial or otherwise. They had been two weeks at siege. But many of the nobles still wore mail and steel plate, despite never going near the city walls. They sweated now in the close air of the tent, their pale, pink faces piggish in the candlelight.

At her side, Taristan drank nothing, and his plate was long empty. Even the bones were gone, swept onto the floor for the wolfhounds to chew on. While he openly despised most of the people in the room, the dogs escaped his ire. Taristan let one hand dangle so that the dogs might nuzzle up against his fingers if they pleased. The animals did not fear him as Erida’s councillors did.

Most avoided his gaze, the memory of the bridge and Prince Orleon’s dismembered body fresh in their minds. They clucked about like overdressed chickens, with Taristan a fox in their midst.

“Rouleine was built to weather sieges,” said Lord Thornwall, surveying the long table. Erida knew her commander did his own fair share of balancing, weighing the brainless opinions of self-important nobles against the wisdom of common soldiers. “We’re intercepting everything we can on the river, but the Madrentines are good at slipping supplies into the city. And they’ll never want for fresh water. But rest assured, the city will be worn down. It’s only a matter of time.”

Lord Radolph made a guttural noise barely cousin to a laugh. He was a small man, in stature and character, and he was no soldier. Erida doubted Radolph even knew how to hold a sword. But his lands were vast, encompassing most of the countryside outside Gidastern. His holdings afforded him a title and enough confidence to speak at Erida’s high table.

“Time enough for Robart to gather all his strength,” Radolph scoffed, picking a fish bone from his teeth.

“And do what? Meet us in open battle?” Thornwall answered, smirking beneath his red beard. “He could call every man and boyin his kingdom to war, and it would not be enough. Galland can outlast him, and near every kingdom upon the Ward.”

All but the Temurijon,Erida knew, and so did anyone else with sense. Emperor Bhur and his Countless were the only army capable of matching the Gallish legions.For now.

Radolph shook his head. To Erida’s dismay, more than a few other nobles mirrored his sentiments. “And what of Siscaria? Their alliance?”

The Queen raised her hand only an inch, letting her emerald ring catch the candlelight. The gemstone winked, more than enough to draw every eye in the tent, including Radolph’s. He clamped his mouth shut.

“Thank you, my lord,” Erida said, her manners perfect. She would not give anyone cause for offense, even if it meant bloating the egos of small, stupid men. “The alliance with Siscaria was built on a marriage that no longer exists. Orleon can hardly wed a princess when he is dead.”