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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ALIE

Sometimes the heart is wrong.

—From a letter archived in Farramark University

J ax’s ship wasn’t the opulent affair she expected.

Alie’s experience with sea voyages began and ended with parties she’d attended on docked vessels owned by fellow nobles, parties where the hosts had been smart enough not to set sail when the alcohol and poison would be plentiful.

Compared with those ships, essentially floating Citadel apartments, Jax’s personal vessel was sparse, and his crew worked silently, their loyalty to the Emperor crowding out any curiosity.

She stood at the stern, watching Auverraine recede. Night had fallen, covering their actions, though there really wasn’t anyone to hide from near the harbor. Most of Dellaire’s population was up near the walls, still looking for a glimpse of their god.

Despite that, they’d managed to get out of the Citadel fairly easily, once again making their way through the storm drain. “Almost nostalgic, isn’t it?” Bastian had said. No one laughed.

Outside, they all stayed in the shadows of the walls while Malcolm fetched a carriage, and Gabe drove them down to the dock at a breakneck pace.

Bastian wanted to sit up front with him, loath to let the other man out of his sight, but Alie convinced him otherwise.

“Do you want to risk someone recognizing you and making you listen to their prayer list? No? Then get in the carriage.”

The Fount piece hidden in her cloak buzzed against her thigh, intensifying the closer they got to the water. Pulling them on, guiding them, urging them toward the Mount. At least they wouldn’t have any trouble navigating.

They disembarked from the carriage and hurried onto the ship, she and Bastian and Gabe, Malcolm and Lilia. And Jax, the Emperor of Kirythea, who was staring right at her from his place near the wheel, watched closely by a glowering Gabe.

Alie didn’t return his gaze. She looked at the water, turning to watch the oncoming open ocean.

The sky over the Sapphire Sea was only clear for so far before the stars were choked by the ash shrouding the Burnt Isles.

She didn’t know much about other oceans, but she’d read about them.

Endless horizons that seemed to stretch forever, without the detritus of a holy war blocking it out.

She was used to gazing over what should seem infinite and having it strangled.

So when she saw the light, it took Alie a moment to understand.

An explosion. That’s what it looked like, at first.

A ball of light in the distance, as if the sun had come home to roost, dimming itself to something only a little brighter than the moon. It grew as Alie watched, its golden glow drawing in ribbons of blue, of black, a swirling cosmos of impossible color on the horizon.

Then, with a resounding boom, it was gone, taking the ash with it.

And the horizon, for once, looked endless.

Endless, other than the misshapen forms of islands in the distance.

Lilia, who’d been silent since they boarded, stood at the railing on the starboard side. Her face was unreadable, expression blank, but there was sheer terror in her eyes.

“What was that?” Gabe’s voice, close to the prow. But his tone said he knew.

“The smog,” Alie murmured, staring out over a star-strewn, unmarred sky. “It was burned away, by… something.”

“We all know what that something is.” Bastian’s jaw was a pale line in the moonlight, the shadows carving his face into a picture of exhaustion. He didn’t say what they were all thinking.

Apollius.

Gabe put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get to her before He does.”

Bastian reached up and covered the other man’s hand with his own. He didn’t say anything.

Alie stared up at the stars and tamped down her instinct to pray.

With the ash and fog gone, it was a clear shot to the Burnt Isles, and presumably to the Golden Mount.

Malcolm estimated they should be there in a day.

While sailing to the cradle of godhood was a significant historical event, they had all lived through quite a few significant historical events in the past year and found their patience for another lacking.

So Alie was in bed, tucked into a bunk belowdeck. Not sleeping, though.

Malcolm and Jax were still above, Jax to keep an eye on the crew, and Malcolm to keep an eye on Jax.

Lilia was at the other end of the cabin.

Gabe and Bastian were pressed into one bunk a few feet away, Bastian’s head on Gabe’s bare shoulder.

Both of them snored. Alie hoped Lore was prepared to deal with that.

Alie hoped Lore was in a position to, when all this was over.

Between her own anxieties and the symphony of snores, there was no way in any hell she’d be sleeping. With a sigh, Alie got up and rubbed at her eyes. She’d stuffed a robe in her pack; she pulled it on and belted it tight.

Then she went back up to the deck.

A lone sailor stood in the bow, manning the wheel to direct them toward the Isles.

Alie went to the stern, watching the gas lamp glow of Auverraine get smaller and smaller.

If she concentrated on the water, she could see the thin steel lines the prison barges used to navigate from Auverraine’s shore, bobbing gently below the surface.

Idly, she wondered what the prisoners had made of the ash’s sudden clearing. Whether it was taken as a sign of salvation or doom.

“You couldn’t sleep, either?”

His voice pricked down every vertebra of her spine.

Jax came up beside her, close but careful not to touch.

He looked nearly as haggard as Bastian did, his cheeks hollow, his eyes fever-bright.

He sighed, resting his forearms on the railing.

“I’ve tried. But having the plans that you’ve spent your entire lifetime working toward completely upended isn’t conducive to rest.”

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” Alie said quietly. “I try not to lie, when I can help it.”

He laughed, a rueful huff deep in his throat. “I would expect nothing less.”

They stood in silence. It wasn’t as comfortable as it had been before, strangely. Everything that should stand between them—his Empire, his plans—had all been expunged, burned out by Bastian finally getting rid of Apollius.

But there was still something in the way.

He felt it, too. After a moment, Jax turned to look at her, and she could feel his gaze like a hand on her cheek. “Alienor. We should talk about what comes next.”

All Alie’s insides were opposing magnets, repelling and drawing her in equal measure. She didn’t know what she wanted.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand lift. Twitch. Hide in his coat pocket. “I…” He ran a hand over his face. “I still want to marry you. Apollius may be… wherever He’s gone… and my feelings on Him may be different. But I still think our partnership would be beneficial.”

Now it was her turn to bark a laugh. “Our partnership ? I suppose this is a business deal, in the end. Might as well talk about it like one.”

“Alie.” His hand did rise, this time, and settle on her arm. “That’s not what I mean.”

She should have shaken him off, but she didn’t. Instead she whirled to him, snarling up into his face. “Then tell me what you mean without making it sound like an entry in your ledger.”

He didn’t match her snarl. He looked at her with such infuriating tenderness, when she was trying to be fierce, as if he didn’t believe someone who looked as soft as she did was capable of being sharp.

And he kissed her.

Alie had been kissed plenty of times. But it had always been for fun, half a joke, with no meaning behind it other than a good time.

She didn’t know how to categorize this kiss.

Protecting and owning. Gentle but unyielding.

He turned so his back was pressed against the railing and pulled her close, shielding her from the wind that seemed to come from all directions, a bite of winter chill.

And there were no gods to help her, and she kissed him back.

When they broke apart, she rested her head on Jax’s chest. Warm, and his heart thumping, steady and even while her own felt like it’d run right out of her ribs.

“I care for you,” Jax murmured, rumbling against her ear. “Could you bring yourself to care for me?”

“It depends,” Alie whispered, because the fact that she did still felt like a weakness.

He nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “I still want to send you to Laerdas. Even after all this business with Apollius is over, there will still be war. We’ll have to regroup, but the Empire will—”

“The Empire?” She picked up her head, leaned back to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Our plans have changed.” Just like he’d said before, but she’d convinced herself that changed meant ended .

The lights of Auverraine behind him looked like fireflies in his sea-swept hair.

“I’m not sure yet how Apollius will figure into our conquering of Caldien, but still, the news of Bastian being Apollius will have traveled, and we can use that to our advantage.

No one has to know that he is no longer a god.

And there are ways to subtly alter the narrative.

Maybe we can say that Apollius has left again, and we must build His Holy Kingdom before He returns.

” His eyes were far away as he put plans together, though his arms were still around her. “Yes, that could work nicely.”

“You still want to conquer the continent,” Alie murmured. “You still want to make the Holy Kingdom. Even now that you know Apollius is a fraud.”

“I don’t want to make it for Him.” Jax tipped a finger beneath her chin, brought her closer. “I want to make it for us, Alienor. For our children. The whole world will be at their feet. They will be the gods.” He smiled. “I will make an Empire in your name, instead of Apollius’s.”