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A FTER MEETING WITH Symon, Aalia waited for the last bell of Eventoll to echo away. Dressed in a crisp white robe, she sat sullenly in the judgement chamber atop the Bless’d Tower of Hyka.

I can put this off no longer.

With a defeated sigh, she lifted a gloved hand.

Across the marble floor, Paladin Regar nodded and opened a tall black door that led into the room. Behind her, a nervous clinking of silver marked the attendance of her thirty-three Chaaen. She had summoned the entire contingent to the tower, to bear witness. The group had spread across the three tiers behind her high seat. Their silver chains cascaded down in a bright torrent and gathered around the foot of her seat.

To either side, rising to the height of three stories, more tiers stood empty. Normally those seats bore members of the imperial court or those who had an interest in a judgmental case.

Not this night.

This private gathering required only two more attendants. The pair entered through the black door, escorted forward by Rega. The first was a bare-armed dungeoneer, who carried a scimitar over one shoulder. The other came in chains of iron, shackled at ankle and wrist. One hand had been heavily bandaged.

Even now, Mareesh showed no shame. Her brother carried himself as if he wore gold and silver rather than a shift of roughspun belted at the waist. He came barefoot, as was custom for a supplicant to Hyka, to show humility before the ten-eyed god of justice. Not that there was anything but haughtiness in her brother’s dark eyes.

Aalia had allowed him to keep his headscarf, to hide the fire-scarred ruins of his scalp.

Maybe I should not have.

The dungeoneer walked Mareesh to the white marble of the penitent circle. Regar followed and stepped atop a disk of black onyx, marking the executioner’s spot. The Paladin then took the large scimitar from the dungeoneer, who backed three steps, leaving what was to come to the judgement of Hyka.

“My brother,” Aalia stated coldly, “you’ve been deemed a traitor to the imperium. Your life is forfeit.”

Mareesh showed no fear, not that she expected he would. She knew her older brother’s temperament. He had always been hard of manner. The rule of order and adherence to tradition formed his core. He was much his father’s son. Mareesh’s protest of Aalia’s rise to the throne had come as no particular shock. It was only the depth of his vehemence that had disappointed her.

Symon had asked her to make this appeal, as much as it galled her to do so. Mareesh’s insurrection last winter, which killed their eldest brother, ended with the deaths of Shield Angelon and Wing Draer, along with thousands of others. Then there was the ambush by the Brotherhood, in collusion with their enemy.

Aalia rested a fist on her knee.

Mareesh appeared unperturbed. He gazed across the tiers, noting someone missing from these procedures. “Where is our dear brother? Should not Rami be in attendance?”

“He is called elsewhere.”

Mareesh lifted a brow. “A duty of such import that he can’t bear witness to his brother’s fate?”

Aalia sighed. She saw no reason to keep the truth from Mareesh, not even from the thirty-three seated behind her. By now, it was a secret that no longer needed to be kept. “He leaves with the next bell. With full Sail and Wing. Along with a large legion of the Shield.”

“For where?”

“To make for Hálendii, to strike against Azantiia.”

Mareesh staggered forward but was brought up short by the chain held by the dungeoneer. Shock and dismay etched through his hardness. “What madness is this, sister? Our forces will shatter themselves against the city’s Stormwall. Then the imperium will fall in turn. You’ve doomed us.”

Aalia let him rage on, keeping her features placid. She did not bother to explain herself further. Once Mareesh’s anger died enough, she spoke again.

“It is due to Rami’s benevolence that I’ve brought you to this tower, Mareesh.”

Actually, it had been Rami’s benevolence and Symon’s insistence.

The Razen Rose had wanted her to try to shore up Kysalimri’s weaknesses—less in concern about the upcoming battle and more in hopes of a victory. If the others proved successful, a strong imperium would be needed going forward.

“We do indeed face a great challenge in the days ahead,” Aalia admitted. “But it is not madness. When confronted by an insurmountable challenge, sometimes a reckless course is better than an overly cautious one.”

She silently thanked Kanthe for such insight.

Mareesh, though, found this advice to be far less sage. “Is it victory you seek, sister? Or do you simply wish to rid the world of your last brother?”

“To my eyes, two still remain. And I would prefer not to lose either of them.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “Mareesh, our family has already lost too much. It is why I summoned you here. To offer you a path to redemption.”

Mareesh coughed with umbrage. “Redemption? I need no such blessing. In the eyes of the gods, I’ve done no wrong.”

“You slew Jubayr, our eldest brother, who loved you dearly.”

Mareesh shook his head, as if to cast aside her words. Still, he had the decency to turn his gaze downward, to show some shame. Or maybe it was simply to deny his culpability.

He tried with his words. “You forced my hand,” he muttered.

Aalia’s fist clenched harder. She refused to engage him on this. She had more important matters to address.

“Mareesh, hard days lie ahead for the imperium. I cannot predict the outcome of the battle to come, but either way, we need to show a united front. It is the only way to secure our empire.”

Mareesh lifted his face again, his eyes shining darkly. “I can suggest a far easier path. Hand the throne to its rightful heir. Let me take my proper seat. Let me send the Hálendiian traitor back to his brother. This conflict between kingdom and empire can end without any further bloodshed.”

She fought not to scoff.

If only it were that simple.

She had never considered Mareesh na?ve, but clearly ambition and vindictiveness had blinded him to the treacherous nature of the Hálendiian king. Even if Mikaen’s word could be trusted, such a pact failed to address the larger threat of moonfall. In the past, she had tried to explain this danger to Mareesh, but he had dismissed her, considered such talk blasphemous.

“Then you will not swear allegiance?” she confronted him. “To accept my rule?”

He simply stared at her for a long breath. His answer was as firm and final as a verdict. “Never.”

Recognizing this to be a lost cause, Aalia let her fist relax, unfolding her fingers. Mareesh would never be brought back into the fold. He would forever be a poisonous thistle to her rose.

I tried, Rami…

She had to accept that without Mareesh’s cooperation dissension would spread unchecked throughout Kysalimri. She could only hope the same held true across the sea to the north.

If I’m to be slandered as a murderer of a brother, then let that be the truth.

She nodded to Regar in the executioner’s circle. The Paladin hefted his scimitar high, twisted at the hip, and swung his blade at Mareesh’s neck.

To her brother’s credit, he did not flinch.

W ITH THE NEXT bell, Aalia sat atop another throne, this one in the main audience chamber. She still wore the same white robe as earlier, only she had shed her thirty-three Chaaen. They now filled the rows ahead of her. To her right, the other seat remained empty, as Kanthe should be at the docks, about to depart north with Rami.

She waited for the final rows to be filled, for the last tiers to be packed. Prior to departing for the Bless’d Tower of Hyka, she had summoned every imri of import, along with hundreds of the baseborn. Shayn’ra had also been called here by Tazar, who sat stiffly in the front row.

She waited for the assembly to settle to their seats.

Once an expectant silence acknowledged her raised palm, she nodded to Paladin Regar, who stepped out of view for a breath, then returned. He escorted a figure draped in brilliant white, even his headscarf. Embroidered across the back of his thick cloak were a pair of black swords surmounting gold wings.

Murmurs rose from the crowd—closer at first, then sweeping across the chamber. She listened as her brother’s name was carried on those shocked whispers.

She greeted the prince in turn as he drew before her throne. She stared down at his features, blemished by fire. She knew every facet of that face: the gleam of his dark eyes, the cleft of his chin, the sharp angle of his jaw. Even the sun-crinkles at the corners of his eyes came from his decades of serving aboard imperial wyndships.

“Prince Mareesh,” she intoned loudly. “The Shining Wing of the Imperium. I welcome you back to the bosom of our family. My heart bursts with joy to accept your penance. In return, I promise to seek common ground and sentiment, to rebuild what was broken.”

“Dearest sister, the true Rose of the Imperium, I will spend the rest of my years earning the full depth of your forgiveness. This I swear.”

Aalia rose from the throne and descended two steps, where she still stood higher than her brother. She lifted her hand, happy for this brief moment, praying it could last forever.

Her brother dropped to a knee, gently touched her outstretched fingers, and placed his forehead against the back of her hand.

Cheers rose—softly, then rising to a crescendo.

Her brother’s name was chanted along with her own. Knights beat fists on armored chests in recognition of this reunion. The noise grew deafening as Aalia drew her brother up. She kissed one cheek, then the other.

She leaned in close to his ear. “Thank you, Tykhan.”

The ta’wyn squeezed her shoulder, expressing his sympathy, then offered his arm, which she took, which she needed. She let him guide her through the thunderous applause until they were out of sight.

Tazar followed and came up behind her.

Tykhan let him take her, then offered a sincere bow. Her brother’s features had already begun to melt away, though it clearly strained the ta’wyn in his debilitated state.

“I must change my garb,” he said. “Then head to Rami and Kanthe before they set off.”

She nodded, unable to speak. She glanced back to the throne room, hoping this act would stem the rising discord after word spread of this night. Of a rebellion ended, of a brother united with a sister. She could not expect all rancor to end, but hopefully it would be enough. She trusted that her thirty-three Chaaen and Regar would keep her secret, but even if one or two broke their oaths, their lone voices would be lost in the greater tumult.

Tazar drew her closer. “Are you all right?”

She stared down at the hem of her garment, only now noting the speckles of blood staining the white. “I… I will be.”

She prayed her words were not a lie.

She’d had enough of them for one day.