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“But I will walk it with you. To death or victory.”

6

A Wolf at the Door

Erida

Erida knew how important the love of the common people was to her own survival. As well as the respect of her nobles. It was a difficult thing to balance, the line between love and fear. She played the same game at her first coronation. Then, Erida was barely fourteen, still a child, ascending the throne of the realm’s greatest kingdom. She wore green silk and gold jewelry, a flag all her own. It was the best she could do, hoping to look older, unafraid, fit to rule as Galland’s first queen.

Now she was godlike, worthy of an empress’s throne.

Gone was the green silk, replaced with a golden gown and golden armor, an equal balance of queen and conqueror. The armored breastplate was more like jewelry, with metal molded to her torso, set with fiery gems that flashed every time she took a breath. A belt of gemstones ringed her waist, a rainbow of color to match the kingdoms now beneath her rule. Emerald for Galland, rubies for Madrence, dark purple garnets for Siscaria, then Tyriot’s sea-blue aquamarine. Her cape was cloth-of-gold edged in velvet, the fabric flashing like the sun itself.

On her finger, the emerald of Galland burned in the red sunlight. It glowed brightest of all.

Erida took even breaths, steadying herself as her ship sailed forward, and the roars of the city around them grew. It sounded like a distant waterfall, a crashing hum, constant and unending. She raised her chin and shut her eyes, letting it wash over her.

Devotion, reverence, worship.

Is this what gods feel like?she wondered.

Her eyes opened and the world blurred, a riot of color and sound. She thought nothing of the other courtiers joining up behind her, great lords and military commanders among them. Erida could only focus on the steps in front of her, careful never to falter, move too quickly or too slow. She barely even noticed the horrific smell of Ascal.

Her galley was too big for Wayfarer’s Port and docked in Fleethaven, alongside other ships of the Gallish navy. The circular docks were deep and wide enough to dock twenty great warships like horses in a stable. Sailors looked on from every deck, craning for a glimpse of their great queen.

Erida made her way down from the deck with care, her attendants holding up the edges of her skirts and long cape. She kept her head up and her eyes forward, her face a perfect mask.

There had been much debate over how she would traverse the city. A carriage would be safest, but hide her from view. A litter would be too slow. A single horse might spook among the crowds, throwing the Queen to the cobblestones.

A chariot waited instead. Gold as her gown, a lion-faced shield roaring at the front of the basket. One of her Lionguard waited patiently, holding the reins of six white chargers harnessed to the yoke.

She climbed up beside him, letting her attendants manage her skirts, as she raised a single hand to the people crowding the streets, alleys, windows, and canal edges. The rest of her full Lionguard took formationaround the chariot, astride their own horses. Then reins snapped and the chariot moved. Erida lost her balance, only for a second, as they lurched forward.

She felt like a bride again, come to wed her destiny.

They took the Godswalk, the widest avenue in the city, paved with smooth limestone. Soldiers of the city garrison lined the way, holding back commoners and nobles alike. It was too deep in winter for most to throw flowers, but the wealthy tossed roses into her path, sending up petals like bursts of fresh blood. Erida’s own retinue tossed coins back, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. They chanted Erida’s name until her head spun.

The Lioness, some called her.Empressshouted others. And Erida felt drunk on their love, drunk on her power.

Statues of her forefathers watched as she drove past, staring from various squares and pedestals. She knew each one by name, her own father among them.

Konrad III’s statue was a perfect likeness, sculpted from white marble. Erida herself had commissioned it upon his death, employing the most skilled sculptors in all the realm. It felt like the least she could do then, as he lay cold and dead.

As her chariot drove past, Erida could only stare, tracing her father’s unmoving face and unseeing eyes. Even victorious, it made her heart ache.

I am what you wished for, Erida wanted to tell him.A conqueror.

Empty marble eyes stared back, his stern mouth closed forever.

No matter how hard she yearned, how fervently she reached, how powerful she had become, her father was beyond her grasp. Death separated all things, from empress to insect. All the same, she wished and reached, hoping to feel some brush of his love and pride.

There was only emptiness.

They continued onto the Bridge of Faith before circling around the magnificent cathedral tower of the Konrada. Built by Erida’s great-grandfather, the Konrada honored every god in the Ward, all twenty.

In her heart, Erida knew the falseness of such gods.

And the truth of one, his face carved from shadow, and not stone.