Ava Rykus mourned her father’s death in silence. Once the emperor was taken to the healer’s tent, a small party was sent in search of her father’s body.


    Stakes were driven into the ground in the center of camp, and Ava and Madri were tied with their backs to the wooden poles, hands behind their backs. The angle made Ava’s arms ache.


    Aram Tulsein kept watch, in addition to several Attican soldiers, and when the body was found, the Faltari boy sprinted over to the soldiers and insisted they bring the remains before the rebel’s daughter.


    They carried his remains on a stretcher, covered by a dark cloth. Ava’s spirit splintered, her entire body wracked with an uncontrollable sob. Her breaths were desperate, empty gasps, wrists numbing as she strained against her bonds.


    Aram stood over her. “That’s for my father, you bitch.”


    Ava couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin on to the cold hard ground.


    Aram seized her face, jerking her neck to the side.


    “He’s here for you to see.”


    Ava opened her eyes, and took in the sight anew. His face was caved in, unrecognizable. Skin purple and yellow. More like a heap of flesh and dried blood and shattered bones than a human man.


    Aram’s fingers tightened on her jaw. “You asked for this with your little rebellion. Don’t look away, now.”


    “Aram Tulsein!” Madri shouted. “Enough!”


    “Oh, don’t start on me, you traitorous little—”


    Thud!


    Ava jerked her head as Aram’s fingers wrenched free. The blur of a man came from somewhere behind her, and Aram tumbled onto his back.


    Ruan Pelasius stepped closer. His personal servant seized Aram by the front of his tunic and lifted him back to his feet. The servant towered over the Faltari boy, and Aram’s confidence vanished. He struggled to free himself.


    Ava felt him reach for hish, but nothing happened. The servant had placed something around the boy’s neck in the scuffle.


    The servant punched Aram in the stomach, and he crumpled to the ground.


    “Resist again and you die, heathen!”


    Aram froze.


    It was Ruan’s commanding voice.


    “You have no authority over these prisoners. Or the body of this rebel. Or anyone else,” Ruan said evenly, standing over him. “We don’t need you to watch them. We have everything under control.”


    Aram grimaced, clutching his reddened jaw. “I was just—”


    One more punch to the ribs shut him up.


    “Guards,” Ruan addressed the two men who had brought Captain Rykus here in the first place, “take the body to Consul Pelasius, as you were bloody ordered. Then, help finish preparing the camp.”


    They nodded nervously, and took the body away.


    “W-what is this?” Aram demanded, reaching at the collar around his neck. The servant raised his fist and Aram held still.


    “It’s not meant for you,” said Ruan. He held a second collar. “But it will be, if you come near these prisoners again. Understood?”


    Aram glared impotently as the servant lifted the runemarked collar off the boy’s neck.


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    “You’re here to help guide the way to these Spires,” Ruan said, menacingly. “Nothing more. You’re not here to guard our prisoners. You’re not here to fight our battles. You’re here to point left or fucking right. You got that?”


    Aram nodded, blood pouring from his lips.


    “If I catch you here again, you’d better be ready to join them.”


    The Pelasius servant shoved him, and Aram scampered away, cursing and muttering to himself.


    Ava looked up. Ruan’s empty eyes stared off. His face was unreadable.


    Without a word, he handed his servant the second collar and left. His servant walked over to Ava and Madri and placed one collar on each of their necks.


    A bloody Attican invention, if ever there was one.


    The servant left, and the numbness set it. Ava had not realized how much of her body’s warmth had been subtle hints of her magic. In minutes, she was shivering.


    Her tears had vanished with the violence. The camp bustled all around as the colors of the sky faded, and evening set in.


    Ava hung her head, tired body drooping. She pushed away the image of her broken father from her mind.


    Instead, she pictured the sight of him streaking across the sky, more free than he’d ever been in all his life. Her father had spent so many years, tied to their island, tied to the ruse that he was a blood-traitor to his own people, tied to tending to her mother, tied to a dream of resistance that never quite materialized.


    All her life, he had wished to use his gifts in battle. For there to be no question of his honor in Valucia.


    A gods-damned dragonfall. Ava smiled. Oh, the songs that will be written about you, Father.


    If they survived this ordeal, it was the sort of act that could rally more rebels in Valucia, whatever their king’s cowardice.


    So long as the story was told. And it would be. Ava must make it so.


    “There’s no greater valor,” Madri said softly. “Such a sacrifice.”


    “The same could be said for your husband.”


    “Yes.”


    We will make both their deaths worth it before this mission is done, Ava thought.


    ***


    Night descended quickly, and Ava prayed the others were safe. Her stomach ached with hunger, but no soldiers came to offer them sustenance. The Attican company milled about erecting tents, tending fires, musing nervously about what would happen to their beloved emperor. Surely this could not be their path.


    Even without her sense, Ava could feel the tension like a tangible presence infiltrating the camp.


    Dragons circled cloudy skies, scouring the forest and mountains, as well as the Soul Road ahead. Fear lingered in everyone’s minds in the wake of the attack.


    Were there more rebels nearby? Had the runeship returned with more rebels?


    But their emperor’s survival sustained them. There was an arrogance about Atticans, no matter what came their way. Far as Ava could tell from the murmurings of passing soldiers, no one feared failure. They were anxious to fight.


    “How far are the Spires from here?” Ava whispered.


    Madri was weary. Her head hung low, chin resting on her chest. Her shoulders shuddered with shivers. But she roused at the words. “Half a day’s journey yet. I think they hoped to march through the night before this. Your father bought some time, I think. Now, we wait.”


    “For what?”


    Madri smiled. “For what’s coming.”


    Finally, a servant came with water and salted venison. The servant said nothing, but Ava noted the blue tower and dragon of House Pelasius on his cloak.


    As Ava neared sleep, a commotion rose across camp. Soldiers rushing. Madri stirred.


    Ava sensed anger, worry, fear. But she was not sure. Gods, if her father had actually managed to assassinate him…


    “Do you think it’s the—”


    Footsteps behind her.


    Urla Pelasius stepped from beyond the nearest tent, accompanied by several soldiers.


    She did not spare Ava a glance. Consul Pelasius strode straight to Madri, knelt in front of her.


    “You spared my son, though he was your enemy. You claim duty towards humanity itself. But how far does that extend?”


    “What do you mean?”


    “The emperor is near death.”


    Ava’s spirit soared. Could it be?


    “Our healers can do little else for him. The dragon eggs are one thing. They are military pieces on a board. But an outright assassination? That is an evil that could upend our world.”


    Yes, Ava thought.


    “You could help him,” said Urla.


    Madri lifted her head and looked directly in the woman’s eyes.


    No, Ava thought, aching for her magic. Don’t do it. Don’t be a bloody fool.


    “I did not know your husband for more than a few days,” Urla said softly to Madri. “But I think you and I both know that whatever resistance he had in mind, it was not bloodshed.”


    “You may be right,” said Madri. “But healing your son, an innocent casualty, and healing the man who has ordered the deaths of thousands. Those are very different things. My husband might not have condoned an assassination. But that does not mean he would have saved your emperor.”


    “I’m asking you,” said Urla. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the empire is not a force for good. But surely, that is not for one man to decide. This attack gives the rebels a fighting chance, but it by no means guarantees victory, whether the emperor lives or not. What follows, and each individual’s actions, those will not be forgotten. Should your son fail…”


    “Are you threatening my son?” Madri asked.


    “I’m offering you a bargaining chip, should this turn out poorly for you. And a chance to save a life.”


    No, Ava thought.


    “Very well,” said Madri.


    “What?” Ava demanded.


    “Be quiet, girl,” Urla said. She peered into Madri’s eyes.


    “Take me to your emperor,” Madri said.