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A ALIA IGNORED THE ornate seat, tall-backed and carved with scenes of ancient battles. It towered over a massive ironwood table. The storm inside of her wanted to break out of this confined space.

The walls of the strategy room spread in a circle, built to mimic the shield carried by the war god, Kragyn. The design was to reflect the importance of this room in protecting the realm. Around its walls, hundreds of maps hung in a ring, forming the entire circlet of the Crown’s lands.

She swept her gaze across the full range of it. Her efforts were meant to protect all these lands—including Hálendii and those regions aligned to it.

For moonfall threatened everyone.

She railed against the shortsightedness of those who had failed to recognize the doom to come, whether out of spite, ambition, or simple denial. It wasn’t just Highking Mikaen and his Iflelen dog, Wryth. It was every sovereign, potentate, lapdog, who cast their lot with Hálendii.

She wiped a palm across her brow, as if she could erase her frustration. In fact, it wasn’t only those who swore allegiance to Mikaen that drew her ire. She knew many of her own supporters did so out of greed or to abide by century-old pacts—not to thwart the threat of moonfall.

How could they not acknowledge the worsening storms, the tidal surges, the fiercer quakes? The signs are all around.

She wished she could rip the scales from their eyes. Or bludgeon them into submission.

But not even I have that strength.

With a sigh, she returned her attention to the table. Its ironwood surface had been inscribed with a map of the Southern Klashe—the only bastion to stand against moonfall.

She knew it was a fortress she must hold. It was all she could do. The others had their own tasks: to stir the second turubya, to secure the location of a key to those ancient devices, and to set the world to turning.

She struck a fist atop the table.

Until then, this is my duty.

She stared around the table to the men and women gathered here. Leaders of her imperial forces—the commanders of the Sail, Wing, and Shield—flanked her seat, joined by their most trusted subordinates. The Eye of the Hidden was also in rare attendance, bringing word from his spies in Azantiia.

In this room, when it came to strategy, no one was above another. She heeded all counsel, though ultimately any final decisions were her own. It was a responsibility as heavy as the cloak she had tossed over the back of her chair.

One pair of eyes recognized this burden and its strain on her.

Tazar hy Maar sat at the far end of the table, opposite her seat. Though he attended as the representative of the Shayn’ra rebels, the man had also won her heart long ago. He stared at her, but he did not rise to comfort her, to console her. He only offered her the barest nod, trusting her to make these decisions and to support her how he could.

She drew strength from the firmness of his resolve. That was all she needed from him—at least until later, when they were alone together. For now, she took in his strong features: his hard jaw, wide cheekbones, his bright violet eyes. The curls of his ebony hair matched the sheen of his dark skin. The only blemish was a scar that ran from brow to cheek, crossing through the white paint over his left eye, that marked him as Shayn’ra.

While Tazar had not been born imri, due to his elevated status here, he could have worn the gerygoud habiliment of the ruling caste, which consisted of a short tunic and a white robe with splayed sleeves. Same as Aalia wore now. Instead, he came dressed in the byor-ga garb of a baseborn. It was a robe of drab gray brown, belted at the waist. Only he shunned the usual leather cap and veil that hid a baseborn’s features—as did all the Shayn’ra who rebelled against the caste system, boldly showing their white-striped faces.

Aalia supported the Shayn’ra philosophy. Even now, with war brewing and doom threatening, she strove to break down those barriers and create a more open society. But she dared not pull too hard on that thread, lest all order come apart. Chaos would not serve the realm during this time of strife.

It was yet another burden placed upon her shoulders.

She searched the room. She had just finished lambasting everyone due to the lack of progress across multiple fronts. She knew much of her scolding had been ungenerous. Still, sometimes her frustration grew too much.

Is there not someone willing to share a fraction of this weight?

The doors into the chamber swung open.

Rami led the way inside. Behind him, Prince Kanthe—now king consort of the realm—hauled himself in, dragging the heavy cape of his station.

She called over, needing some good tidings. “How did you fare with the Qaaren envoy? Did you get them to increase their draft-iron shipments?”

Their dejected looks answered her query.

Kanthe elaborated. “It seems they will not settle the matter until they have an audience with the empress herself.” He tugged at his cloak. “Apparently this was not impressive enough.”

She frowned.

Or was it the man beneath?

Again, she found this fleeting thought to be ungenerous. The Qaarens were a people of meticulous decorum. They would take her absence as a slight and respond accordingly.

“I did tell the envoy that there might be a chance you’d meet him,” Kanthe said. “That hope has kept him rooted for now. I wager even some acknowledgment by your presence will sway them.”

She nodded, appreciating this compromise. “I’ve already scheduled an Eventoll audience in the throne room. The Qaarens aren’t the only ones who need similar assurances. I will add them to the list. We need that draft-iron, especially for Tykhan’s secret project.”

Rami crossed and swept into an empty seat, while Kanthe remained standing. “How is that faring?” her brother asked.

Wing Perash cleared his throat. He seemed hesitant to answer, maybe unsure how much to say aloud. The young commander of the imperial air forces was the son of the former Wing, who had died during last winter’s battle. Newly positioned, he plainly struggled to find his footing, though he had already shown himself to be brilliant. Even Tykhan had expressed as much while working with both Perash and Sail Garryn, the commander of their sea forces.

Tykhan’s project required both men’s involvement.

Aalia nodded for Perash to respond to Rami.

“All is going well,” the commander reported. “We’re still working through some difficulties. But without a generous supply of draft-iron, we will be challenged in our efforts.”

Shield Jojan frowned. He was also new to his command, replacing the bravery of Angelon, who fell defending the throne with his knights. “When will we learn the extent of this project? My men guard its edges, but all are kept in the dark.”

It was a fair question. Tykhan’s work had been kept hidden behind a walled series of canals trenched from the Bay of the Blessed. The area had since been sealed off and kept heavily guarded.

Aalia weighed whether to reveal more, but motion drew her attention to the weathered form of Eye Hessen, spymaster of the realm. He touched a crooked finger to a corner of his lip, warning her this was not the time. Hessen had crossed his eightieth year. His frail form and rheumy eyes hid a mind sharper and more calculating than any scholar, sometimes frightfully so.

Aalia heeded this silent counsel and addressed Shield Jojan. “Any explanation must also wait for a renewed supply of draft-iron. Otherwise, there will be nothing to reveal.”

Hessen lowered his finger to his chin, acknowledging the wisdom of her words.

Shield Jojan looked ready to press the matter, then settled back into his seat. Even he must know that caution had to be taken. Not just in fear of the wrong word flying to Hálendii. The empire had its own enemies within.

Aalia’s only other surviving brother—Prince Mareesh—had attempted to use the winter attack on the city to wage a coup against her. In the end, he had been thwarted and driven off, burned and half-blinded, but he was still out there. According to Hessen, many still remained loyal to Mareesh, deeming a woman unfit for the throne.

Wing Perash spoke up again, apparently finding his footing in these procedures. “Beyond the issue with a draft-iron supply, we must consider how much narrower our time has become to complete this task.”

Hessen responded, his voice raspy and dry but easily reaching all. “Every skrycrow carries the worsening stakes in Hálendii. The queen’s poisoning is blamed upon us, which is no surprise.”

Rami stirred. “Did we actually do that? Was it a failed attempt by our spies to assassinate their king?”

Hessen frowned harshly, which was expressed by the tiniest tick of his lips. But his irritation was directed not at such a dastardly scheme, but at its result. “We would not have failed.”

Aalia interjected, “How far has this accusation spread? How deeply has it been seeded?”

“With both princes—Kanthe and Rami—spotted in the Shrivenkeep, it has taken little effort to convince the populace of our guilt. Especially with the queen just poisoned. The timing was… well, not opportune.”

Kanthe, who still stood behind Rami, cast his gaze down.

Hessen continued, “And Wing Perash is right to be concerned. Any hope of stoking those early rumblings of dissension among the Hálendiian people has now been dashed. The kingdom rallies anew to their grieving king, which only pushes the advent of war closer.”

Kanthe raised his eyes to Aalia. “Which means Tykhan’s plan to unite kingdom and empire is now ruined. Remember, Tykhan served for centuries as the prophetic Augury of Qazen. It was his millennia-long evaluations of the tides of history that made him believe such a union was a necessary step to stop moonfall. If Tykhan is right about this, we may have already lost.”

Aalia’s frustration spiked. With her gaze fixed on Kanthe, her voice grew heated. “Going to Hálendii was a foolhardy risk. I stated as much. More caution should have been taken.”

She expected Kanthe, already guilt-ridden, to wilt under her tirade.

Instead, he rode it out, not breaking her gaze. “Aalia, I’m sorry we’ve reached this impasse, but I’m not sorry we attempted what we did.” He waved a hand to encompass the encircling map of the Crown. “All will come to ruin if we don’t stop moonfall, which requires securing the key. If anything, in retrospect, we should have attempted this gambit long before now, before Eligor gained enough strength to thwart us. It was caution as much as foolhardiness that brought us to this brink.”

Kanthe glowered across the table. Rami lifted an arm to try to calm him, but he pushed it away.

Aalia recognized that Kanthe was not entirely wrong. Perhaps they had been too judicious, too prudent, in their efforts and plans. When it came to facing the threats ahead, perhaps a measure of recklessness would serve them better.

Still, a stubbornness kept her from acknowledging his words. Instead, she challenged him. “Then what do you propose we do next?”

Kanthe sighed, letting some of his anger go. “Anything we can. First, we must hope Frell, Pratik, and Tykhan can discover something in the Abyssal Codex about Eligor that might offer a direction forward.” His gaze hardened to flint. “And then we must strike immediately. Whether we’re ready or not. And bring this fight to Hálendii.”

Aalia stared at the former prince, now her consort, gaining a new measure of respect for him. Still, she kept her features stoic. “If so, we’ll need more than knowledge. ”

Kanthe frowned—then smiled with understanding. “We’ll need more draft-iron.”

Aalia swept her cloak from her chair and headed for the door. “Come. Let’s get that done.” As she passed him, she tossed him the smallest compliment. “Maybe it’s wise that I did marry you.”

Rami followed. “If you ever took him into your bed, you might discover another reason.”

She ignored her brother.

Behind her, Kanthe groused to Rami, “Don’t get me killed.”

Rami sighed with exasperation. “By all the gods, I’m only trying to slide you into someone’s bed.”