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“Ambassador—” the Queen said.

But Salbhai held up his hand, silencing her. It felt like a slap across the face. And Erida wasn’t the only one to notice. She felt his brazen display of disrespect travel across the room, like ripples across a pond.

Salbhai’s black eyes gleamed and Erida saw the warrior in him, buried beneath the decades.

“I want the Temur woman in your dungeons.”

The demand was a thunderbolt down Erida’s spine. A thousand things ran through her mind all at once, even as she schooled her face to careful disinterest. She hoped Taristan would follow her lead just this once, and keep his seat.

Too many questions weighed in her head, and too few solutions.

She brought a hand to her chin and leaned, elbow against the tabletop, putting herself between Salbhai and her husband.

I am subject to nothing and no one, she thought again.

Scowling, Salbhai held her gaze, unblinking.

Erida scowled back.

“She is my prisoner—”

Salbhai’s chair crashed to the ground as he stood, both hands clenched into fists. Taristan was already standing, his own chair on its side, with only Erida between them.

“She is a subject of the Temur Emperor,” the ambassador spat, unafraid, bolstered by his Born Shield.

“And a wanted fugitive, who attempted to kill the prince consort,” Erida said, raising her voice for all the chamber to hear.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Temur delegation jump to their feet, abandoning their cups. Her own Lionguard drew their swords with a ring of singing steel, moving to flank their queen.

Salbhai glared down on her, livid.

Sneering, Erida settled back in her chair, as if it were her throne. She basked in his fury. It tasted like victory.

“And she will face justice,” she said. “Mine.”

Graceful to a fault, she pushed back from her seat. Her knights were already around her, their golden armor flashing.

“Now if you excuse me, Ambassador, I’ve lost my appetite.”

14

Fates Written

Sorasa

Dom and Sigil followed close on her heels.Too close, Sorasa thought. She could feel them hovering like nursemaids. Both thought her half-dead, weakened by hunger and torture. Their naked concern made her skin crawl.

Put the pain away, she told herself, repeating the old Amhara saying.You don’t need it.

She did what she could, ignoring the howl of her empty stomach and the dull ache of her shoulder. Not to mention the dozen other little bruises, cuts, burns, and fractures. She faced far worse in the citadel, during the first years of her training. A dark, cool cell in the bowels of the New Palace was easy compared to weeks of abandonment in the Ibalet deserts, dying of thirst beneath an inescapable sun.

If anything, the days of silence, withdrawn into her own head, had given her all the time she needed to think.

And plan.

She navigated the dungeons quietly, turning each corner, steadily moving up the spiraling levels. Sorasa had never been imprisoned here before, but other Amhara had. Their experiences were detailed in thecitadel, carefully recorded and stored among their archives. She pieced together what she remembered over the long, silent days. Until the dungeon map laid out in her mind, perfectly drawn from memory.

“How did you escape Gidastern?” Sigil blurted out as she bounded along beside the assassin.