Page 27

It was no surprise that General Namati’s men looked like sailors.

Their faces were weather-beaten, tattoos inked their arms, and one wore three blue beads strung in his hair.

An old wives’ tale known by all in the Northern Kingdom, and evidently in the Imperium as well, said it guaranteed good weather.

General Saxu’s people looked the most formal, their practice uniforms pressed, their hair closely cropped, and their arms free of tattoos.

The two men that General Maki had sent looked out of place. One was narrow, the other heavier, and both had the pale skin tone of someone who spent too long indoors.

General Bemishu was represented by two men he’d ridden with on the elephant the day before. Both looked worn around the edges, their hair sun-bleached and skin dull as though their endless campaign had faded them.

I had seen General Kacha’s men before, attending him at his parties. Wearing training uniforms, they looked more like soldiers than when they were making sure the dessert tray was within Kacha’s reach.

A servant stood next to a weapons rack with a dozen wolf’s claws stored on it.

There were other northern weapons, too. Spears and the thin knives used for war instead of hunting.

Even one of the harpoons that my father had said they’d turn to when desperate for a sharp object to use against an enemy.

When I stepped in front of the men, I noted who met my eyes and who was barely holding in their sneer.

“I’ve met some of you,” I said. “My name is Airón, and before I was married into His Imperial Majesty’s house, I was Prince of the Silver City, son of King Rimáu.”

I almost stumbled over the words. Because it was not how I would ever introduce myself in the north. In Northern, my title was Prince Airón, son of Queen Op?la, member of the Silvereyes Clan.

One of Saxu’s men stepped forward. He bowed, his fingers triangled above his forehead. “It is our honor to meet you. My name is Commander Rede.”

He introduced the rest of the commanders, and most of them bowed as soon as they were introduced. General Kacha’s men bowed almost before the introduction, but I could see the hint of a smirk and the shallowness of their bows. They were bowing in order to mock me.

To my surprise, General Bemishu’s men bowed even lower than General Saxu’s. Their faces were grim. These were men who knew the cost of ill-preparedness. These were men who never wanted to be caught on the wrong side of a weapon they didn’t know how to defend against.

“How many of you have ever seen a wolf’s claw in action?” I asked.

Both of General Saxu’s men lifted two fingers, the nonverbal imperial signal of agreement. One of General Maki’s men bowed his chin, a silent signal of uncertain agreement.

“The southern pirates have a similar weapon,” one of Namati’s commanders said. “However, I’m sure they use it differently than northern soldiers.”

“Very well. I’m going to run you through some drills with the weapon so that you can get a feel for it.

In order to understand how to defend yourself against it, you need to learn how to wield it first.” I walked over to the rack, taking a wolf’s claw from it.

I expected it to be dulled, the way that the blades had been for the sparring match at our wedding.

Instead, the sharp blade nearly sliced open my thumb.

These weapons had been maintained. Whoever was responsible for keeping them had done a good job.

I hefted the blade, checking the balance before I held it in front of me, bringing it back and doing a basic chopping motion.

It was the first thing we learned how to do as young warriors, studying how to keep our balance, increasing our arm strength so that we could do some of the more complicated moves.

Commander Rede stepped forward, taking a blade for himself and then falling into position. The rest followed behind, each testing the blade in their own way before repeating the swing I had shown them.

I wasn’t surprised that it only took them three hours to learn most of the first training exercises. For a child, it took over a year to master. But these were trained warriors—even General Maki’s scientists.

“Are we ever going to get to the part where you teach us how to kill northerners wielding this thing?” one of General Kacha’s men asked. “Were you hoping that we wouldn’t notice you’re only teaching us children’s exercises?”

“These moves are the basis for every northern warrior’s attack.” I snapped the words, feeling irritation and realizing anew a moment later that these were not normal trainees. These were not northern boys and girls I was training in our inherited way of fighting.

I had just shown men who wanted to subjugate the north everything they needed to kill us, if they were smart enough to realize it.

Kacha’s man laughed, clearly not one of those smart enough to realize it. “So that’s why they lost.”

“The north did not lose.” Commander Rede looked down at the weapon in his hand.

“I can beat those moves easily,” Kacha’s man sneered at me. “I know you think you beat our best soldiers, but you didn’t even scratch the surface of what an imperial is trained to do.”

Annoyed, I raised an eyebrow at him. Yor?mu would remind me not to give in, not to let my temper get the better of me. But these men thought the north had lost .

They thought the reason my mother had sacrificed both of her children was because the other option was the annihilation of our people.

They hadn’t realized that the north would always fight. The north would win. No one could beat us in our own territory.

They hadn’t realized that the only reason any imperials had returned from the cold was because my mother had seen an opportunity, and like the great northern bear, she had enough patience to wait for her victory.

“You think you can beat me.” I smiled at him, sweeping into the starting position of a fight and gesturing with one hand, my fingers twitching in invitation. “Should we see what these moves can do?”

Kacha’s man snorted. “I’m not going to fight you with a weapon that I’ve only had three hours’ training in.”

“You’re welcome to another. I’ll beat you if you use that one, too.” My heart was pounding in my chest, but I couldn’t stop, and part of me didn’t want to.

I looked over at where Tallu sat under his tent, a servant next to him holding a platter of fruit. Every few seconds, Tallu took a berry, and the fruit had stained his lips red. Tallu wanted me to kill him. If I did it, I would never kiss those red lips again.

The thought left me dizzy for a second, and when I blinked, Kacha’s man had acquired one of the long blades they preferred, the carving along the flat of it helping direct his electricity. He held it up. “I will not go easy on you, no matter who you’re married to.”

“Of course.” I nodded my head again. Stepping into the center of the grounds, I watched as Asahi shifted from his position, his muscles tensing. The other commanders stepped back, taking the water and towels that the servants offered.

Commander Rede didn’t let his eyes leave us. I turned back to Kacha’s man.

“What was your name again?”

“Fimo.” He bit out the word, bowing again without forming a triangle with his fingers.

I nodded, then put myself in a ready position. He lifted his blade, his grin turning vicious. Before I could move, he released a bolt of electricity.

I didn’t hesitate. Raising my blade, the leather on the hilt dragging on my palm as I shifted the angle, I caught the electricity, tilting the blade down so it went harmlessly into the ground. It was a variation on the third move I had taught them.

Fimo snarled. He ran forward, his blade crackling with electricity, and I used my wolf’s claw to block his. The impact reverberated up my arm, but I was able to push off his blade, and we circled each other, my eyes watching to see the direction of his next strike.

I caught it easily, the solid metal of his imperial blade nearly cracking my own in half. My shoulder screamed, and I danced around his next blow.

He shook his head sharply, the hair in his face damp from sweat as he pressed forward with a series of rapid blows that I dodged. The last embedded his blade in the soft grass of the training yard.

Dirt and greenery flew up as he pulled it free, grimacing at the sweat trailing down his face. He swept one hand over his forehead, droplets flying as he put both hands back on his hilt.

I focused on how he was moving. Fimo fought with all his strength, holding nothing back. Likely, he’d won in the past with a single blow, never having to do more than make one hit in order to end his opponents’ lives.

But I was not a normal warrior. Until I’d gotten on the ship south to the Imperium, I had trained every day since I could hold a practice sword.

I had trained when I was tired, when it was too much, when every movement had left me panting and exhausted.

I had trained in the cold and in a room with the fire stoked high.

With a shout, Fimo lunged forward, and I dodged again, but he shot a bolt of electricity into my path. It crackled loud in my ears, and I pulled back, a half-second pause that kept me from moving straight into it.

I batted the next bolt aside with my blade, spinning to send it toward the wall, cracking the white plaster, because that was what Yor?mu had trained me to do. Fimo remembered seeing me caught by three warriors. But I had trained for this. I had trained to fight men like him.

He used his blade to direct the lightning, and I used the third move I’d taught him to send it straight into the ground again, exploding a patch of grass.

He blinked, and I grabbed a handful of the smoking earth in one motion, throwing it into his eyes.

When he stepped back, I pressed the advantage, and he desperately raised another handful of lightning, but I was faster, kicking out at his knees as I slammed the hilt of my blade into his shoulder, launching his fistful of electricity into the group of commanders.

I didn’t see who caught it, but the noise was enough to distract Fimo, who was too slow to respond when I smashed my foot into his leg, forcing him back on his knees, his sword falling from his hand to drop onto the ground.

With one quick move, I pressed my blade against the front of his throat.

He wrapped his hand around it and yelped in pain as the sharp blade sliced through his skin.

His chest rose and fell with his ragged breath, and I pulled the blade tighter against his throat. “Do you yield?”

He arched backward, his voice hoarse when he growled, “Yes.”

I nodded, stepping back. “These moves form the foundation. I used nothing else to fight you. A true northern warrior will have more at their disposal, not less, but this is the basis for everything we do in the north.”

“A fascinating display.” Commander Rede stepped forward. He reached down, offering his hand to Fimo, but the other man batted it away before grabbing his blade and standing.

Slowly, grudgingly, he bowed to me, the triangle half-formed because of the blade he still held. I nodded to him but didn’t lower myself into a bow. He didn’t deserve it.

Rede looked over at me. “May I ask for a match, Consort Airón?”