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WillWight.com

To all my fans who asked me for these books so long ago: sorry to keep you waiting!

I hope this long-overdue ending is everything you hoped for.

PROLOGUE

PRESENT DAY

IN THE DIM, predawn light of the Capital streets, Karson clutched a musket to his chest and prepared to save the world.

Even at this time of day, the roads would normally be cluttered with the last of the city’s nightlife, but the street was bare. Karson waited behind a trash collection bin, his fellows in similar positions all over the nearby buildings.

There were twenty-one of them. Twenty-one souls offered up to the future of the Empire. They would not walk away from this, but if the Unknown God was kind, neither would the false Emperor.

He stole them from you, a voice whispered from deep inside Karson’s thoughts. It’s his fault they’re dead.

The pain seared through him. Five years ago, when Karson was little more than a child, his parents and older sister had been killed in the riots following the Emperor’s death. The wound had never closed. It had only festered.

And here the Imperialists were trying to raise an imitation, a fake Emperor, to pretend everything was all right. His eyes flicked up to the black crack in the sky, the badge that unified every one of the twenty-one patriots who prepared to die here this morning.

The false Emperor would deliver them all to the Great Elders.

Unless Karson stopped him.

The first wave of Imperial Guards marched down the street in their uniforms of black and red. These were the Guards with enhanced senses, and it seemed they had gotten more hideous since the true Emperor’s death. One Elder-looking woman paced ahead with her bat ears flicking from side to side, and another hideous monstrosity snuffled along in her wake, bent down so his snout could press close to the ground.

They had prepared for both of these. A fellow patriot had led the robbery of an alchemical workshop the week before. Using those materials, they had constructed devices to confuse both hearing and smell.

An open jar to Karson’s left bubbled and hissed strangely; the sounds seemed to dip in and out of audibility, as though they made noises that his human ears couldn’t pick up. They had four such devices scattered around, and the bat-eared woman pressed a hand to her head but continued walking.

Each of the patriots had been sprayed down with a scent-masking perfume that smelled like clean, fresh wind and dirt. The man with the snout sniffed here and there but showed no alarm.

In a more populated place or time, the false Emperor’s Guard would have been larger or more thorough. But this was supposed to be a secret trip, a quick one, through an all-but-abandoned neighborhood at a silent time of day. If one of Karson’s fellows hadn’t been a member of the Imperial Guard herself, they would never have caught the Liar King so unprepared.

Armored horses trotted around the corner, carrying a plain carriage, and Karson’s rage pounded in his ears along with his heartbeat. This was him. He felt a surge of contempt for the man. What was the point of disguising the carriage if you traveled with half a dozen more Imperial Guard along the sides, each dashing as fast as the horses?

The voice stirred up his rage, and the shadows of the alley seemed to deepen as it spoke. He doesn’t deserve to wear the crown.

In some of Karson’s daydreams, he and the other patriots captured the fake Emperor alive. Then they visited on him all the torments that they and their loved ones had suffered since the true Emperor had been taken from them.

He clutched his hate tighter than his musket. He had to put a stop to those dreams, to relinquish any hope of walking away alive. They wouldn’t win if they didn’t have the will to die.

But Karson was privileged enough to die last. He would get to see the corpse of the puppet-king.

The first four patriots popped out from nearby rooftops, throwing off the blankets or boxes meant to camouflage them from surveillance by Imperial Guards on winged Kameira. Two of them fired muskets while the others hurled waxed-paper globes with burning fuses.

One of the horses fell to the gunfire, its knees buckling, but the second one reared up and screamed, pulling against its harness.

That was when the fuses ran down and the bombs went off.

Karson ducked behind the corner to avoid the noise and the debris, but they didn’t sound terribly impressive. Just sudden, muffled thumps followed by the shouts of the Guards.

When he peeked out again, the carriage leaned to one side, its wheels shattered. Smoke and dust rose in clouds, and both horses and the coachman were dead.

This wasn’t Karson’s moment yet, but it was the most crucial of the operation. Because now the Imperial Guard were enraged.

None of them had died. A Guard with hooked, clawed hands scaled the side of a building faster than Karson would have dreamed possible, tearing one gunman apart and tossing the other screaming over the side. A woman with organic plates bulging under her uniform protected another Guard whose eyes bulged from his skull. That one leveled a musket and took out a patriot with a resonant crack.

Another team, half a dozen men and women who put the good of the Empire ahead of their own lives, dashed out into the streets. They leveled weapons and shouted as loudly as they could.

Karson stared at them, determined to witness their deaths. Their commitment would temper his own.

They matched the Guards in number, but this team was called the Bait Team. They had the hardest job, for theirs was simply to die.

When the door to the carriage opened and a woman in polished black-and-red armor stepped out, Karson knew their bait had been taken.

General Teach had served the true Emperor, and not one of Karson’s patriots could fully explain why she had transferred her loyalty to a lesser copy. Some believed that the false Emperor had blackmailed her, others that she had been in thrall to the Elders all along, and the true Emperor had merely held her leash.

Personally, Karson believed she was just simple in the head, more animal than human, and she hunted like a dog wherever her master pointed. But dogs could be dangerous.

Icy blue eyes stared out from her helmet, and one of her gauntleted hands had already wrapped around the sword-hilt protruding from her shoulder.

Before a single one of the Bait Team fired a shot, Teach bared an inch of her blade.

A wave of darkness thundered down the street with a sound that Karson heard in his very soul. Flowers in windowsills died, dirt flew to the sides, and cobbles cracked.

All six of the Bait Team fell over. Simply dead.

The Imperial Guard who had been in the path groaned and braced themselves against the ground or nearby walls, looking sick, but none of them died or showed any injury. Teach raised her fist in a sign.

But her enemies had signaled each other too.

Ten of Karson’s companions burst from hiding, all around the streets. They surrounded Teach and her Guards, and the sound of gunfire was suddenly overwhelming.

General Teach couldn’t unleash Tyrfang, her legendary sword, unless she wanted to kill all her guards and her precious false Emperor at the same time. They had her pinned down. She could only murder them one at a time, which she did with clockwork efficiency, sending out lashes of darkness without moving from the carriage door.

All of the patriots had exposed themselves against her except one.

Finally, it was Karson’s turn.

For all the blood he’s spilled, the voice of his hatred whispered, you deserve to spill his.

He ran out, keeping low, holding his musket under one arm as he pulled out a pair of vials from his pocket. It was only a few paces to the carriage, but he breathed harder than he ever had in his life, dashing past Imperial Guards that were all occupied with their own opponents.

He needed only a second, hurling the pair of vials beneath the carriage. The glass shattered, spilling a pair of liquids on the street.

The instant the fluids touched, they reacted. A blaze shot up, consuming the carriage in a blink.

This was the most powerful incendiary that they could create, bound by their limited alchemical knowledge and the requirement that it stay stable until used. The Guards shouted, turning to Karson, but he had already raised his musket.

The plan had gone even better than Karson had expected. The door was opening, and Teach covered the other door, which meant the false Emperor was emerging without her protection. If he had come out the other side, Karson wouldn’t have the privilege of killing the man himself.

He raised his musket, the gun shivering with his excitement. The Guards would be too late.

The second a figure began to emerge, Karson squeezed the trigger.

The musket-ball bounced off Calder Marten’s helmet.

He wore a suit of pure white armor that covered him from head to toe, his helmet covering his face entirely. Karson couldn’t see an inch of the man’s skin, only the dark that stretched between white plates. Even the visor, where the eyes or bits of the face would usually be visible, was entirely covered by what looked like darkened glass. He was a walking, inhuman statue clad in metal.

The musket-ball had done nothing.

Trembling with rage, Karson pulled a sword from his belt. He had practiced three hours a day for the last four years, trained by his fellows, channeling rage into his blade. It was as invested for this moment as he could make it, and he was as prepared as he could be.

The false Emperor signaled the Imperial Guard back, drawing his own sword. It was mottled orange-and-black, as though it had been formed from live coals, but Karson’s blade was made for this exact moment.

You have him, the voice whispered.

With a single stroke, Calder Marten sliced Karson’s sword in half.

Astonishment and despair tried to weigh down Karson’s anger, but his rage won out. He tossed himself at Marten, clawing at the armor, trying to pry it away.

“Don’t hurt him,” Marten ordered, his voice echoing hollow in the helmet.

The Liar King marched on, dragging Karson with him. He seemed to be trying to avoid stabbing Karson, keeping his sword low, but he walked across the street. He peered into the alley, looking to one side and then the other. After a moment, he focused on the spot where Karson had been hiding a moment before.

With his fingertips, Karson pried at the man’s helmet. It was lifting up, he felt. Soon he would be able to pry the helmet off, to expose Calder Marten’s head to the guns of his dying compatriots…

Marten drove his orange-spotted blade into the cobblestones.

The shadow on the street writhed like a pierced snake. Darkness spewed into the air like blood, and the shade hissed and screamed, sounds echoing in Karson’s mind in a voice that sounded like his own.

He lost his grip, falling to the floor, that scream all he could hear.

The heart of the shadow burned red where it was pierced by Marten’s sword, and in an instant, the darkness curled up and burned away like a dry leaf in flame. Suddenly, there was a hollow emptiness inside Karson, like a piece of his mind had gone missing.

The inhuman armored figure of the false Emperor knelt, and Marten raised his own visor. A young face, little older than Karson himself, looked down kindly. He didn’t look as corrupt as Karson had pictured him—he was pale-skinned, but he had gotten plenty of sun, and he wore the beginnings of a short, red beard.

“A spawn of Urg’naut,” Calder Marten explained. “It burrowed itself into your thoughts. This wasn’t you.”

Karson spat in his face. “Death to the false Emperor!”

He clawed for Marten’s eyes.

Marten stood, easily avoiding his fingernails. He thumbed the spit from his cheek. “General,” he said loudly.

Teach appeared at his side, staring death into Karson’s eyes. Looking at her this close, it was hard to believe her just an animal. “Yes sir?”

“Have the survivors taken to the nearest prison.”

One of the nearby Guards spoke up. “Candle Bay Imperial Prison has just reopened.”

Marten’s face contorted. Though Karson didn’t understand the source of the false Emperor’s pain, he felt a savage glee at seeing it.

“…Candle Bay Imperial Prison it is,” Calder Marten said, sliding down his visor once again.

Karson screamed at him as he was taken away, swearing vengeance, waiting for the voice of his hatred to reignite his rage.

He heard only the groans of the dying.

CHAPTER ONE

He Who Sees has spoken.

The Rebel will blind He Who Sees. This is seen, so it must be.

The Killer will spill the blood of the Rebel. This is seen, so it must be.

The King will rise from the ashes of the Killer. This is seen, so it must be.

What is seen must come to pass before the eye of the future is blinded.

Praise be to He Who Sees.

—FROM A FRAGMENT OF POTTERY RECOVERED BY THE BLACKWATCH FROM AN ELDER CULT KNOWN AS THE THOUSAND EYES

(FRAGMENT HAS NOT BEEN SUCCESSFULLY DATED)

PRESENT DAY

THE CORONATION of the Imperial Steward was a more lavish celebration than Calder had ever seen. The population of the Capital surged with people from hundreds of miles around, all of them packed into the Emperor’s Hall of Address, a specially constructed auditorium used only on those rare occasions when the Emperor wanted to speak to the entire nation.

The Guild of Witnesses would be in attendance, keeping and distributing records of this historic occurrence: the official appointment of an Imperial heir. The sky was filled with Imperial Guards, some capable of flight themselves while others used flying Kameira or some of those unreliable flying devices that the Magister’s Guild tested every few years.

Though Calder had been named by the Imperialist Guilds as the Steward weeks before, they had never held a public ceremony. Now that the Independents were weakened and largely quiet, the loyal Guild Heads had declared now to be the perfect time to present Calder to the public.

He only wished he could see it himself.

He stood at the highest window of an office building halfway across the city, looking out the window with a spyglass, catching irregular glimpses of his own coronation. He could only see the Emperor’s stage when his body double stood at a certain place, so he watched his own behavior in brief snatches.

“I could have at least attended,” he said aloud.

“Now they can’t blow you up,” Bliss responded. The Head of the Blackwatch lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with the same intensity he used to watch the coronation.

Her hair lay beneath her in a pale puddle, her black coat still neatly buttoned up. “And Ach’magut’s Inquisitors can’t dissect you,” Bliss continued. “I’m sure there are enough remaining to swarm over the walls and pull you to pieces. The alchemists can’t get you with their gas. Did you know they have a solution that will turn you inside out? It’s expensive and impossible to make in large batches, but I’m sure a single thrown canister is possible for the Head of the Alchemist’s Guild to produce. And of course there are the Consultant assassins—”

“I understand it, Bliss, but I don’t have to like it.”

“If you would like to interrupt me, please submit the proper paperwork to my assistant and I will have her consider your request. I was saying that if you were in that crowd, you would have to worry about Consultant assassins slitting your throat. But you’re with me, so you don’t.”

She was looking at him now with her pale silvery eyes, and he looked away from the spyglass to consider her.

Together, they waited in a moment of silence before he decided to ask, “Are you finished?”

She considered. “For the moment, I am done.”

“Good.” He returned to looking out the window, where his body double received what they were calling the Steward’s crown: a silver circlet to contrast with the gold circlet that the original Emperor had always worn.

The decoy held a replica, while Calder held the real one in a case in his coat. Its Intent was only a passing breeze next to the hurricane within the real crown, but it would have been in bad taste had he worn the same crown as the previous Emperor.

Also, the sheer weight of Intent inside the golden crown would have been too distracting if he had to wear it all the time. It was better to wear a normal ornament.

“He smiles too much,” Calder muttered.

“You smile often. Especially when you are trying to reassure others, which does not normally make them reassured. In fact, I think they might feel better if you did not smile.” She sat up, cupping her chin in one hand. “One might say that your smile does not fulfill the purpose of a normal smile. Is that common?”

Bliss pulled a black notebook from her coat and started making notes. He had seen her take notes on Elder anatomy in the same book.

Over the years, he had grown to like Bliss, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable being in a room alone with her for an extended period of time. At any point, she might decide that he would benefit from some bizarre and disturbing hallucinations.

He lowered the spyglass, collapsing it and slipping it into his coat. “When are the others due to arrive?”

Bliss flapped her hands at him. “Wait, wait, no! Don’t ask that yet!”

He glanced around the room to see if he’d missed something.

“Just a few more seconds…”

He stood in silence.

“Now, go!”

“When are the others due to—”

The door opened and General Teach stuck her head in. Her helmet hung from her belt, revealing her pale hair cut close to her scalp. She stared at him as though she intended to execute him, but that was how she looked at everyone.

“Guild Heads Bennett and Kern have arrived. Is everything secure?”

Her blue eyes moved to Bliss as the Blackwatch Head pushed down something trying to escape from inside her coat. “We are safe, Jarelys, thank you.”

Calder got the distinct impression that Teach was checking to see whether Calder was still safe from Bliss, but she still nodded and opened the door wider.

Cheska Bennett, Head of the Navigator’s Guild, strolled in with hands in her pockets. Her frizzy red hair was kept back by a blue bandana, and she wore a rumpled white shirt beneath a green jacket two sizes too big for her. Her sleeves were folded back to the elbow. She gave Calder a cocky grin, but a professional nod to Bliss.

Without a word, she tossed herself down on a nearby couch, propping her boots up on the armrest.

She was followed in by Baldezar Kern, Head of the Champion’s Guild. The man was about Calder’s height but noticeably broader, his massive chest and muscles straining at the buttons of his dark shirt. His black hair was winged with silver, and he strode in with a stoic expression.

His menacing demeanor was undermined by the child attached to his leg.

A girl of about three or four clung to his shin like a monkey to a branch. She wore a simple dress and long, dark curls, and she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He continued walking as though she didn’t exist.

Calder extended his hand, which the Champion shook. “Guild Head Kern, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you have a stowaway.”

Kern nodded grimly. “She placed me under house arrest.”

“Then you’re in violation of your sentence.” Calder slowly lowered himself to crouch next to the girl, who turned her face away. “What’s your name, madam?”

“Lily,” came the muffled reply.

“Lily is my youngest daughter,” Kern said, and at last Calder saw the hint of a weary smile. “I told her that I was going to work whether she let go or not, but I don’t think she believed me.”

“Do you like candy, Lily?” They had a wide selection of treats in storage, for the entertainment of guests.

Lily turned back to him and cracked one eye. But the eye hurriedly widened and she shut it again.

Calder looked to his right to see Bliss crouching next to him, her eyes wider than the child’s.

“How old is she?” Bliss asked in awe.

“Four.”

“Four. And she’s still so small.” Bliss extended a finger as though to poke the girl, but Kern pulled his leg back.

“She’ll get bigger.” Gently, as though handling a glass sculpture, Kern peeled his daughter off his leg and held her in front of him. She refused to look at him.

“I have to go to work now. If you wait outside with Zaria, these people will bring you anything you want to eat. Anything at all.”

Lily peeked at Calder, who nodded. Bliss saw him nodding and joined him.

The girl considered for a moment, then tapped her father’s wrist. He lowered her to the ground, where she ran off. Teach opened the door for her, but halfway to the door Lily paused, then scurried back and gave her father’s leg a quick hug. Then she ran back through the open door, where a grandmotherly woman with her hair in a bun was waiting with hands on hips.

Kern let out a sigh. “Kids. You know how they can be.”

Calder looked around the room. Cheska looked embarrassed, Teach mournful, and Bliss was openly shaking her head. He and Jerri had never wanted children, and none of the other three had ever married.

“We’ve spent more time with Elderspawn than human children,” Calder remarked, clapping the man on the shoulder. He’d felt softer boulders.

“They have more in common than you’d think.” The Champion grabbed a chair in each hand, placing them side-by-side and sitting on them both. They still creaked under his weight. Urzaia had been much taller than the Guild Head, but Calder was reminded of the times he’d sat on a barrel or crate and the planks had splintered under his weight. Champions were always heavier than they looked.

“That’s enough about Kern’s Elderspawn,” Cheska said. She pulled out a folded paper and waved it in the air. “We’re here to talk about this.”

It was a news-sheet, and though Calder could only see half the headline, he knew what it said. “REGENTS BACK DOWN! EMPIRE TO BE UNIFIED!” It was the talk of the Empire; since the battle of the Gray Island, the Regents had made several statements indicating that they would be willing to entertain negotiations.

If Calder and The Testament had managed to track down the Consultants and their ship, the Imperialist Guilds would be in an even better position, but he had been unable to chase far into the magical fog of Bastion’s Veil. And once they had spotted Estyr Six flying in, he and the others had decided to cash out and return to port.

General Teach now leaned against the inside of the door as though bracing it against an expected attack. “They want peace. Of course they do. We have the upper hand.”

Calder walked over to a chair opposite Kern, but Bliss stayed crouched on the ground where she’d greeted Lily. “I do not like the idea of reconciliation, but my motivations are primarily personal.” She considered that for a moment. “…yes, I’d say I’m motivated mostly by my desire to see Nathanael Bareius surrender. If I set that aside, I would be willing to work with the Regents and Independent Guild Heads for the sake of suppressing the Elders.”

Cheska eyed Bliss. “Well, that’s one vote.”

Calder looked back out to the sky, where the dark hairline fracture was visible even in the bright of day. He preferred it when clouds covered it up. “Have we made any progress on the crack in the sky?”

When no one answered him, he took that as his answer. “Then we need the Regents.”

“We can’t trust them,” Teach put in.

“We can’t trust the Regents?” Kern asked. “If Estyr Six isn’t loyal to the Empire and the human race, no one is.”

“How can you call splitting up the Empire loyalty?”

Cheska stretched across the length of the couch. “It’s all about the terms. Now that we’ve got the upper hand, we should be able to squeeze them for something good.”

“Too dangerous,” Teach said firmly. “The Regents aren’t the only ones we’re dealing with. I know the Consultants’ new Guild Head, and we may as well grab a snake by the tail as squeeze her for benefits.”

That was news to Calder. “You know her?”

He had heard, of course, that the Consultants had appointed a Guild Head. There was historical basis for it; many classical historians had referred to a singular Guild Head of the Consultants, and Calder had assumed her modern nomination was an attempt to add legitimacy to their Guild during a crisis.

But he hadn’t heard who it was.

Teach wore a sour look. “So do you. Shera of the Gardeners.”

Calder’s stomach tightened, and his memory treated him to the sight of a black-haired woman pulling a shining emerald dagger out of Urzaia’s chest. A green light hung in the air, the product of her Soulbound power.

A power that reminded him of Jerri’s. They were different shades of green, and Jerri’s powers were more flames than hazy lights, but he had more than once tried to draw a line between the two Soulbound in his mind.

Of course, no matter how little he trusted Shera, he was certain she wasn’t working with the Sleepless.

Calder’s dream of peace wavered. “Will she consider a treaty at all?” His impression of Shera was of a remorseless living weapon dedicated solely to accomplishing her objective, but he had made a connection with her partner Meia.

And had been close to a deal with the Gardener Lucan before Jerri ruined everything.

“She will consider it,” Teach said. “But she doesn’t keep her word.” Her blue eyes flashed hot, as though she remembered some pain in her past. “We will need to force her to hold to the treaty, or we can never trust the Consultants as long as she is their Head.”

Cheska spoke up from the couch. “We can make that happen. We tie her up in agreements until she can’t ignore us without losing her allies and the support of the Council of Architects. I know a Soulbound who can write mesmerizing contracts.”

Calder gathered himself up, looking over the four Guild Heads. He was supposed to be leading these people. None of them expected him to do so, they only wanted him to represent their interests and serve as a figurehead, but he could embrace that. Make it real.

“We will pursue a peace treaty,” he said, projecting unassailable confidence. “It’s foolish to continue squabbling among humanity while the Elders gather overhead.”

Kern glanced at him, then back at the floor. Bennett gave a microscopic shrug, as though acknowledging that he had said something to consider. Teach didn’t look at him at all.

Bliss still crouched on her heels in the middle of the floor, chewing on her thumbnail. “Bareius also cannot be trusted. He will twist our words in order to make the most money. I am biased, but I do know him well.”

Calder tried again. “We don’t have to trust them, but we have to pursue a working relationship. It’s with them or with Kthanikahr.”

He evoked the Great Elder’s name in order to scare them, but Kern only held out a hand as though to tell him to settle down.

“The cornerstone of any agreement will be the Regents,” the Champion said. “We will rely on them to hold the Guild Heads in line.”

“Then how do we stop them from taking over?” Teach asked.

“How are we stopping them now?”

It was the nightmare of all the Imperialists that the Regents might fly in and destroy them at any moment. They had only speculation why it hadn’t happened already; for one thing, the Regents had all expressed reluctance to lead the Empire. Maybe they were holding themselves back.

Calder believed that the ancient Soulbound were being cautious. They were powerful, certainly, but that didn’t mean they could ignore several powerful Guild Heads and a collection of Champions.

He had plenty of time to consider his personal beliefs in silence as the Guild Heads continued the discussion without him.

He’d known what he was signing up for when he allowed the Guild Heads to use him as a banner despite his relative lack of influence, but them openly ignoring him was starting to ignite his anger.

As Sadesthenes had once written, “A true leader’s words are not easily ignored.”

Or as Estyr Six had put it, hundreds of years ago: “If you’re not giving the orders, you’re not the one in charge.”

“I don’t know that I can meet face-to-face with the Regents,” Calder said. “I’ve had my share of…dark dealings.” He focused on not rubbing his forearm, where Kelarac’s six-fingered handprint was burned into his skin.

The Guild Heads looked to him, then one by one dismissed him.

“With Elders?” Cheska said with a snort. “I’d like to see them find a single Navigator who hasn’t.”

Teach glared at him. “Keep it to yourself.”

Bliss examined the back of her fingernails as though checking to see which she should chew next. “I have one of Tharlos’ bones in my pocket. You have an Elder chained to the bottom of your ship. A ship you stole from us, by the way. I worked very hard on that ship.”

She glared at him, though it had happened eleven years ago.

Kern laced blunt fingers together. “If the Regents can Read shady backgrounds, I’d say we’re all in trouble.”

“Do you think they can see into our pasts?” Bliss asked curiously. “I don’t imagine that would be very pleasant for them.”

Calder wasn’t sure it was possible to overestimate the Regents. He had something of a reference for the Emperor’s powers from the Imperial relics he had Read in his past, and the Regents were supposed to be his peers. Especially Estyr, who was held up in both myth and history as the Emperor’s equal.

“Whether they can or not, anyone in the same room with them is at risk,” Teach said. “We’ll have to hold some Guild Heads in reserve or find a way to meet with only one Regent at a time.”

Calder hadn’t seen the moment when the momentum of the conversation shifted, but it had. They were suddenly talking as though the peace meeting was a foregone conclusion.

He had gotten what he wanted, but not due to anything he’d done. They saw him as a mask they could wear.

“Trenches are dug one shovel at a time.” Laius the Younger.

Calder pulled out his spyglass and took another look at the coronation. His body double had taken up a seat on a prop throne—he could see only the man’s ornately covered knees—and a spokesman for the Imperialists had taken center stage, addressing the audience in his name.

The people gathered below would see Imperial Steward Calder Marten sitting silently in the background as the Guilds spoke for him.

And so, Calder thought, art imitates reality.

It took all of Calder’s authority to get someone to bring Jerri to him.

He ordered the Imperial Guard to fetch her from the dungeons, but at first they flat-out refused. He had to strong-arm them with threats of reporting them to Teach or reassigning them before they would listen to him.

Even then, they insisted on precautions. Calder didn’t object.

She would be searched in the dungeons to make sure no Elders had spirited her earring to her. Imperial Guards with enhanced senses would search her for any weapons or alchemy while Readers checked her for dangerous invested items.

Her hands and ankles would be tied with invested silk, as was the custom for noble prisoners in the Imperial Palace. Her skin wouldn’t be damaged, but she wouldn’t be able to fight.

As though Calder couldn’t defend himself from an unarmed Soulbound without her Vessel.

Thinking of Calder’s defense brought to mind the preparations the Guard had insisted on for himself. He was made to wear the Emperor’s armor and carry a weapon, and there would be two Imperial Guards inside the room and two outside. They carried whistles that could be used to start a chain of signals that would reach General Teach in minutes.

Gas would be pumped into the room at the first sign of trouble, and Calder and his Guards were injected with the antidote before the meeting began. Jerri could be rendered unconscious in four or five seconds while Calder would walk out unscathed.

He wondered if the real Emperor had to put up with any of this.

The first Emperor, Calder corrected himself. I’m the second.

But how convincing was that if he couldn’t even remember it himself?

The sitting-room for receiving prisoners was lavishly appointed, with luxuriously soft chairs and couches, priceless art in gilded frames on the walls, plush carpet, and even a gurgling fountain in the corner. He found himself pricing the decorations until Jerri was marched in.

Either the Imperial Palace dungeons had been treating her well or they had cleaned her thoroughly for this audience. She looked rested, her caramel skin smooth, her chestnut hair long and glossy.

His heart ached when he saw her, the anger and pain of betrayal rising to match it.

She wore a simple blue-and-white dress, tattoos rising up the left side of her neck and up her jawline. Besides the dress, she also wore a mask of hurt and anger so tightly that he could read nothing else in her expression. Her teeth were clenched, her lips pressed together in a line, and she glared at him as though she expected him to order her torture.

It hurt him in half a dozen different ways. He wanted to break that ice, to make her happy again, but at the same time how dare she act as though he was the one in the wrong?

As she sat wordlessly in a chair opposite him, her spine straight as a ship’s mast, he could tell that she was determined to make this conversation unproductive for him.

He could be satisfied with that. He didn’t even know why he’d called for her.

Her hands were folded in her lap, wrists tied gently together in red silk. He was sure that beneath the hem of her dress, her ankles were tied in the same manner.

Calder waved a hand to the two Imperial Guards who had taken up positions on either side of the door after delivering the prisoner. “You’re dismissed. I will be fine.”

They pretended not to hear him.

“Trust me, I can defend myself from her. I know you’ll be watching from outside anyway, I just want the illusion of privacy.”

No response.

Even in front of Jerri, they couldn’t even feign respect for him or his orders?

Calder rose to his feet. He was wearing the Emperor’s white armor from the neck down, the cutlass he’d received from Kelarac belted onto his waist, and he wore the silver crown of the Imperial Steward on his head. He had hoped that would reinforce to Jerri that he was in charge here, but this display from his guards would show her that was a lie.

Calder walked so close to the two Guards that his nose was almost touching one woman’s tusks. She exchanged glances with her partner before they reluctantly looked him in the eyes.

“Listen to me,” Calder said quietly. “You have just undermined my authority in front of an Imperial prisoner.”

“When it comes to your safety—” began a man with scaled arms, but Calder overrode him.

“I have no intention of stopping you from doing your job, but in return, you need to allow me to do mine. Now get out of this room before I have to remove you myself.”

They backed up, looked to one another, and finally bowed at the waist before leaving the room.

Suddenly exhausted, Calder strolled around and collapsed back into his chair.

He held his head in his hands. He couldn’t bear to see the laughter on Jerri’s face. He would hear it any second now anyway, as she twisted this to show that he should have listened to her from the beginning.

Something came to rest on the leg of his armor. He glanced at it from beneath his hands, as though peeking at cards that weren’t his own, and saw that Jerri had rested her bound hands on his knee.

He dared to look at her face.

Her belligerent mask had gone, leaving true concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

He almost broke down at the simple question. If she had still been only his wife, he would have.

“I don’t know why I called you up here,” he said instead. “I’m sorry. Is there anything you need?”

She took her hands away and leaned back in her chair, now amused. “Ruling the world not as easy as you thought?”

“I don’t want to rule the world. I want to use the position of Emperor to benefit more than just the Emperor.” But she knew that, so he added, “…and besides, right now I don’t even rule my own guards.”

“What a coincidence!” She held up her bound hands. “They’re my guards too!”

In spite of himself, he gave her a laugh. A small one.

The silence that settled over them then was comfortable. At first. But with every passing second, it grew colder and colder, as though he shared the room with a stranger.

When he could stand it no longer, he spoke. “Why are we here, Jerri?”

He expected a joke. A jibe. A deflection.

Instead, she said, “I handled myself…badly. I couldn’t have done worse.”

Calder sat back and waited for her to continue.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you for so long. I could have started with pieces of the truth, years ago, and worked my way up. But I…convinced myself that things were fine as they were. Everything would work out. Especially after…” She lowered her voice completely, merely mouthing the next words: “…the Great One.”

Ach’magut. The Great Elder and his prophecy.

Or his plan.

“Tell me now,” Calder said, and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was for this. “Tell me the truth.”

She flinched and looked away from his eyes, but with a deep breath for courage, she dove in. “My father brought me to the Sleepless when I was a girl. They’re not what you think. At least, not the smart ones. There are some who worship or sell themselves blindly to the Elders, and they usually get what they deserve.

“But as a whole, what the Sleepless do is exactly what the Blackwatch does. What the Navigators do. What we do.” She leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “My father was a Watchman himself, and he didn’t lose his sanity. He realized that we shouldn’t just be studying Elders, we should be learning from them. They’ve lived for thousands of years, and they have knowledge from worlds beyond this one. Truths we could never hope to learn ourselves.”

Her rational, convincing tone made her message all the more disturbing to Calder. “I’ve heard this before.”

“But you haven’t listened.” Her eyes were intense, but not angry. As intelligent and passionate as he’d ever seen them. “They do share truths with us, Calder. Techniques that work. How do you imagine I got away from the Gray Island when the Handmaiden attacked? I called messengers, and they carried me through their void to the Capital. It’s a two-day journey, and I made it in minutes.”

She stood up from her chair, pacing as furiously as she could with bound ankles. “They teach us summoning rituals for Elderspawn. You know what that means? It’s the same as ‘summoning’ a dog. You need the creature’s name, some bait—like food or a toy—and you use the right tone. That’s it. How do you think you ended up with Shuffles?”

That sounded so logical that it disturbed him. He had an Elder chained to his ship. He’d bartered with Kelarac for the sword he wore. Ach’magut had predicted him standing in this place, wearing a crown. He had used Kelarac’s mark on his arm to Read, predict, and destroy a small army of Elderspawn.

The Emperor himself had used one of Nakothi’s hearts to stay alive. It was a guiding principle of the Blackwatch that the Elders had to be studied if they were to be opposed.

He had already benefited from several face-to-face deals with intelligent Elders. Why not more?

But he was still sure that she had tried to bait him into killing himself. “What about the Optasia?” he asked.

The Emperor’s true throne was a device to amplify Reading, to send it out all over the world. Jerri had attempted to convince him to use it to converse with the Great Elders, but everyone else—Calder himself included—was certain that doing so would destroy his mind. Even the Emperor had refused to use it in his final years because the danger was so great.

Jerri paused in her pacing. She looked away from him and bit her lip. “That…may have been a mistake.”

“What was a mistake? You asking me to use it? Me not listening to you? You killing that Consultant?”

“The entire purpose of making you the Emperor was to give us someone who could negotiate directly with the Great Elders, so when he told me you were supposed to use the throne, it made sense to me.”

“He?”

“The man with the steel blindfold.”

She met his eyes, and Calder knew they were both thinking the same name. Kelarac.

Calder had dealt with the Soul Collector several times before, so he couldn’t hold that against her. But he had never fooled himself that Kelarac was on his side. If anything, the Great Elder wanted to own him.

“What else did he tell you?”

“That our real enemy is Shera of the Consultants.” She said it immediately, and with such conviction that Calder wondered if she had planned to lead the conversation here the entire time.

“I believe him,” she continued. “But not just him. The Sleepless have certain predictions from Ach’magut, and even a few notes from other sources. They call her the Killer.”

She had started twisting the end of her hair with her bound hands, as though nervously trying to work it into a braid. “Calder…she’s supposed to be dead.”

The door cracked open, and the tusked Guard from earlier poked her head in. She was trying to subtly remind him that he had more meetings on his schedule than just this one.

He stood, straightening his sheathed sword. As he focused on it, he felt the Intent of his armor pressing in on him, trying to overwhelm him with its strength. It surprised him with its strength; he hadn’t made a conscious attempt to Read the armor. It was as though the Emperor’s Intent was trying to push its way into him anyway.

He managed to force it away, but the brief mental struggle helped distract him from his confusion.

Jerri had noticed that she’d gone as far as she could. She released her hair, her eyes dead and her shoulders slumped.

She looked so defeated.

Before he realized what was happening, he’d rested a hand on her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll call you again.”

He almost kissed her head out of habit, but the pain of betrayal held him back. Still, that much physical contact was too much from the Imperial Guard, who marched into the room and grabbed her from Calder.

He stepped back and let them bring her back to the dungeon. He hadn’t forgotten everything she’d done; if she really was in the right, she wouldn’t have lied to him for years.

But when she was being escorted out of the room, she glanced back over her shoulder and he saw a faint, desperate hope in her eyes.

He was glad to see it.

CHAPTER TWO

FOUR YEARS AGO

PETAL SETTLED INTO THE RAFTERS, plugging her nose against the thick dust so she didn’t sneeze.

Her arms and legs ached from the effort of climbing up here. She was no natural climber—the most athletic thing she usually did was climbing up on top of the stool nailed to the deck of her cabin in The Testament. Sometimes she lifted beakers.

Today, she had brewed up an adhesive web that would allow her to climb as quickly as a spider when combined with specially treated gloves. It was a standard alchemical recipe for certain professions, but her limbs still had to hold her weight.

So she sat on the rafters, arms and legs still burning from exertion as she waited for the residue on the walls to dissolve. Most people wouldn’t be paying attention to the support beams or rafters of the old classroom, but if anyone were to notice, it would be these people.

Patiently, Petal settled in to wait.

She guessed it had been two hours or so when the professor finally entered the classroom. He was a sleepy-looking young man with a floppy wool hat and spectacles that took up his entire face. He arrived early, settling notes on a podium and setting up a collapsible table to hold some alchemical gear. Clearly, he was preparing for some kind of a demonstration.

She pulled out the tiny spyglass she had borrowed from Captain Calder. He only knew that she was doing alchemical research and had been happy to contribute to her efforts.

So long as he got his spyglass back unaltered.

Petal had been a little offended by that assumption, not that she had said so out loud. If she treated the spyglass, it would be to make it more effective. Some glass cleaner or…or, wait, there were Kameira with incredible eyesight. Surely there would have to be some kind of extract that would allow you to borrow their sight through glass. Maybe if it could be Awakened…

She chewed on the thought for a few minutes as the professor prepared. Slowly, his students began to fill the room.

The students weren’t as young as she might have expected. All looked older than she was, the youngest in the second half of their twenties, and a handful looked like they must be grandparents. The sun was setting, and most of them were dressed for jobs. Not all scholarly academic jobs, either; over there, she saw a woman in a flour-spotted apron who had to be a baker.

This wasn’t an official class of Kanatalia’s grand Alchemical Academy. It was a collection of amateur alchemists coming to learn from a Guild professional.

Technically, Petal only counted as a journeyman alchemist by Kanatalia standards. Her master had removed her from consideration instead of sponsoring her, but by that time, the damage had already been done. She was in love with alchemy.

She had continued mixing, brewing, and testing solutions of her own since the day she had been cut off. She couldn’t stop now. There were too many lessons left to learn, so she picked up alchemy treatises or guides wherever she could, attending every alchemical lecture she could find at every port The Testament visited.

Where possible, she paid her own way. Where impossible, she snuck in. Or eavesdropped with a heavily invested ear-horn. Or drilled a hole in the neighboring wall. Or bribed one of the attendees for a transcript.

There was usually a way.

Today, the professor was picking up a series on the history of augmentary potions and their regulation. Tucked away in a corner of the rafters, she scribbled furious notes; this was a specific area of interest for her.

After the better part of an hour on the context and history, most of which Petal was familiar with, he finally got to the demonstration.

The young, bespectacled professor held up a tiny vial of bright red liquid. “This is a sample of blood provided by the Champion’s Guild, preserved in a fresh liquid state.”

A murmur of appreciation ran through the crowd. Champion blood was a valuable prize; it held proprietary alchemical secrets relating to the process by which Champions were created. Though the Champion’s Guild had to cooperate with Kanatalia to procure and produce some of those substances, they still kept their precise formula a secret.

They parted with their blood only reluctantly, especially to alchemists. Petal had read stories of Guild alchemists who had exhumed Champion bodies in order to examine the organs directly.

Those alchemists had, one and all, been caught and…discouraged from pursuing their research further.

The professor hurried to reassure them. “As I said, this is official business. We’ll not pry too deeply into the secrets of the Champions—not that we could, with only a few drops of blood. We’re going to learn how to distill the Kameira extract inside this blood to create a potion that will briefly allow a mere mortal to taste the power of a Champion.”

Petal shivered in excitement.

It became clear soon after that the professor was exaggerating; Champions relied on an intricate network of body modification supported by years of training and adaptation, and there was no way to provide anything of that level in a single bottle. Even if there were, an ordinary human body would tear itself to pieces under the strain.

But the fact remained, as he demonstrated, that it was possible to extract the physical powers of a Champion and use them to temporarily enhance someone else.

Which he illustrated by having the grandmotherly baker quaff a small vial of the completed solution and then crush a wooden desk to splinters with her bare hands. She stood straighter than she had before, her eyes clearer, and she laughed like a little girl as she backflipped from a standing position and landed exactly where she’d started.

The possibilities sent Petal’s mind whirling. The process the professor demonstrated was too complicated to follow after one demonstration; she’d have to practice. Even once she did, he made it clear that the required ingredients were exotic and expensive.

But the most exotic and expensive ingredient was the blood of a Champion, and she just so happened to live on a ship with a Champion of its own. And he was chock full of blood.

She began writing down ideas, inspired. If a temporary enhancement was possible, it was within the realm of possibility that permanent changes could be made with nothing more than potions.

Alchemists had known for centuries already that, if you abused potions to the point of addiction for too many years, they could permanently modify your body as though through surgery.

The principle was a cornerstone of certain treatments, though usually only as a last resort. There were always side effects.

Maybe someday, one bottle could make you a Champion. Maybe that was already how it worked, and the Champion’s Guild just didn’t want everyone to know. Maybe…

Petal blinked and looked up. Night had fallen, and at some point she must have waited for all the students to pack up, descended from the rafters into an empty classroom, and left.

She inferred this from context, as she remembered none of it.

She was wandering the streets of Kalvin’s Rest, a port town in northern Erin where she knew no one. There were only a handful of locals still on the wide streets, and several of those gave her odd looks as she shook and clutched her notepad close.

She had gotten too absorbed. This happened sometimes. She was only vaguely aware of the passage of time when she drifted into her own head. Now, she found herself in a strange place hours after she said she’d return.

Petal slunk back into the shadows between a squat brick building and a place that looked like a saloon. Raucous laughter came from within, and she felt no desire to investigate further. She had to make it back to the ship.

Then a voice she knew cut through the laughter.

“You’re just meeting out here in the open, are you?” Jyrine sounded amused. “Children hide their secret clubs better than you.”

A man’s laughing voice responded, his consonants noticeably slurring together, and Petal followed him around to the other side of the presumed saloon.

Jyrine stood surrounded by four men, and she was by far the youngest and shortest person there. The least of the men was twice her size, and just watching him, Petal started to shake.

The loudest of the men was brown-haired and red-faced, and Petal didn’t like the look of him at all. He gestured too broadly with his hands, he was clearly drunk, and he looked Jyrine up and down with an openly hungry expression.

The other three didn’t give off the same sense of danger as that one, but they were still technically surrounding Jyrine. Did the girl know how much danger she was in?

“Well, you’ll have to lead the way. Unlike you boys, I have someone waiting for me at home.” Jyrine’s earrings gleamed emerald in the starlight as she nodded deeper into the alley. Which…now that Petal noticed, opened up onto something that looked like a cave.

How did that happen? Had someone hollowed out the stone wall of a building? No, the stone shouldn’t be more than a foot thick. Not nearly enough for a cave. And she was sure the alley had ended in a wall just a moment ago.

Petal pulled her head back around the edge of the wall, taking deep breaths and gathering up her courage. It took her enough effort to talk to strangers at all, and she hated confrontation, but she couldn’t leave Jyrine alone with these outsiders. Petal had to be the older sister.

Gripping her spirits tight, Petal stepped firmly into the mouth of the alley.

“…go of her,” she mumbled.

Two men, including the red-faced rude one, stared at her in surprise. The alley now ended in a wall. Jyrine and the other two men were gone.

What had happened to the cave?

Where was Jyrine?

The drunken leader glared at her, his expression darkening. “What are you looking for, little girl?”

Petal’s mouth stuck open, her lips quivering. Jyrine was gone.

The man’s scowl deepened, and he seized her by the left wrist. He shook her like a doll, demanding her attention.

It felt like Petal couldn’t get a deep enough breath.

“What are you looking for, I said! You spying out here? You spying on us?”

Petal tried to push air through paralyzed lungs to make a breath. “I…I’m a…”

With her one free hand, she withdrew her alchemist’s goggles from inside the pouch that hung from her waist. She waved them around, pushing them against her eyes in proof.

“…alchemist,” she managed at last.

The rude man shoved her away, still glaring at her. “Get out and don’t ask questions. Go!”

“That was my friend.” Petal’s voice was still unsteady, but she was proud of herself for managing the statement clearly. “Where is she?”

This was too much for the angry stranger to process. He lumbered toward her again. “I just told you not to ask—”

Petal withdrew a smoke bomb from her pouch and flicked the striker.

Most of these bombs worked on a longer fuse, with the fuse itself wrapped inside the package. Petal kept this one very, very short. Smoke shot from her clenched fist in an instant, spraying directly into the face of the drunken man.

He slapped his hands against his face and screamed as though she’d stabbed him in the eyes. His friend got off a little better; spared the direct spray, he stumbled away from the smoke, cursing and scrubbing at his eyes.

It was just an irritant, but it was a strong one. Such a dose from short range…

Petal took a few nervous hops backwards, away from the blindly flailing red-faced man…whose face had just gotten much redder. She pulled out her next emergency measure: a cloth, which she soaked with a measure of liquid from a sealed old wine bottle.

The liquid wasn’t wine.

In her nerves, she may have spilled a little more on the rag than she intended. She had barely gotten the cloth close to his nose before he stiffened up and fell to the ground, rolling and kicking at the dirt like a dreaming dog.

His partner had made it most of the way out of the alley before Petal, screwing up her courage one last time, leaped onto his back and clapped the rag over his face. This one managed to resist for almost an entire second before he, too, fell to the ground.

Between her pounding heart and her harsh, nervous breaths, Petal could barely hear anything else. But she forced herself to look around outside the alley, checking for witnesses.

She saw none. The street had mostly been bare when she entered, and it didn’t look like anyone else cared to investigate the noises outside the saloon.

However, the second man’s limp hand was lying in the street. She grabbed him by the belt with both hands, bracing herself against the dirt and dragging him backwards with her whole body weight.

Then she should leave and look for Jyrine. She knew that.

Instead, she dropped to crouch on her heels and trembled. She had to let the nerves out so they didn’t poison her from within. Like draining a wound.

And judging by how long it took her to get her breath back, she’d had a lot of poison inside of her.

In fact, she didn’t come back to herself until she heard her own name.

“Petal?” Jyrine asked in astonishment. “Why aren’t you back on the ship?”

She stood at the back of the alley with the other two men, all three of them looking equally stunned. There was no cave behind her.

Had there been some hallucinogen in the alchemy class? No, Petal was certain that wasn’t it.

If she was seeing things that weren’t there…and alchemy wasn’t the cause…there was only one other possibility.

Petal shrank into herself, looking from Jyrine to the other two strangers. “Are you…okay?” Petal asked.

She almost hoped the answer was no, that Jyrine had gotten herself in over her head and mixed up in something she didn’t understand.

But she didn’t look like someone out of control.

Jyrine knelt by Petal, taking trembling hands in her own, which were warm and calm. She gave Petal a familiar, almost motherly look, and the sudden sense of safety helped Petal to take a long, soothing breath.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I was just catching up with some old friends.”

Behind her, the two men had started checking up on the men on the ground, shooting Petal horrified looks.

“Jyrine, there was…I mean, I saw a cave.”

Jyrine’s brow furrowed as though she had no idea was Petal was talking about, and Petal could see the lie forming on her lips. Petal would pretend to believe it, and then as soon as she was back on the ship, she would tell Captain Calder.

Well, maybe she would. There was the possibility that Calder wouldn’t listen to anyone say anything about his girlfriend or would believe Jyrine no matter what Petal said.

Better to tell Andel. He would know what to do.

Jyrine must have seen in Petal’s eyes that a lie wouldn’t work, because she suddenly relaxed. She looked resigned.

“It’s Elders,” she said at last.

Petal had figured that out already.

“Are you…with them?” Petal asked. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that.

Jyrine sighed. “You remember when he, the Great One, spoke to us?”

Petal couldn’t forget it if the Emperor himself tried to erase it from her mind.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said…” Petal had reported this to the crew already, but it was still embarrassing to say out loud. She mumbled into the neck of her dress. “He said you were my family.”

Jyrine smiled, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “That’s right. And we are, Petal. We are. So can you trust your sister, this once, when I tell you that what I’m doing isn’t going to hurt anyone? I’m just here to learn, like you. The more we know, the better. Isn’t that right?”

Petal nodded. That much was true. The Blackwatch studied Elders. Even the Luminians studied Elders, though their interest wasn’t as academic.

“I knew you’d understand. But the others won’t. They’d think it was too risky.”

She rolled her eyes as though they both knew how silly that sounded, though Petal happened to think that messing with strange men and Elder powers in the dark of a strange town was dangerous.

But she understood what Jyrine meant, so Petal nodded.

“So you’ll keep it a secret?” For the first time, Jyrine looked uncertain. Vulnerable. Petal wondered what she would do if Petal didn’t keep it a secret.

But…

Petal had hated it when she was denied official access to the alchemical knowledge she craved. She had immediately resorted to her own methods of learning, from stealing textbooks to sneaking up to the rafters to spy on lectures.

Who was she to stand in the way of Jyrine’s ambition?

“I promise,” Petal said softly.

Jyrine brightened and threw arms around her in a tight, reassuring hug.

Behind her, the two newcomers tried to shake their friends awake, but the writhing locals only groaned in pain.

CHAPTER THREE

PRESENT DAY

COMPARED TO CANDLE BAY, the Capital’s tiny military harbor was nothing worth mentioning. It was surrounded by sheer cliffs, so cargo from the ships had to be raised and lowered by a series of platforms supported by pulleys and cables.

Calder had been forced to dock The Testament here. He couldn’t abandon the Lyathatan unsupervised in the Capital’s largest harbor indefinitely, and too many of the public knew his ship on sight to risk it.

But leaving his ship, his Soulbound Vessel, tucked away in this rocky, guarded, inhospitable stretch of coastline had left Calder feeling somehow lonely. As though he would never return.

So this morning, just to prove that feeling wrong, he had carved out some time to visit.

Escorted by Imperial Guards, he strode onto the deck he’d built with his own hands and saw his crew waiting for him.

Petal trembled, shooting peeks at the monstrous Guards through her dark cloud of hair. She shrunk inside her overcoat, fiddling with something inside that Calder couldn’t see. It would be some kind of self-defense alchemy, he knew. Holding a gas bomb or a vial of acid would make her feel more secure.

Foster wore his reading-glasses, his shooting-glasses still hanging against his wild gray beard. He was examining a nearby cannon, grumbling about its condition. The old man wore his toolbelt, his own Soulbound Vessel, and the tiny tools trembled as though aching to be used.

While Petal looked nervous and Foster distracted himself with work, Andel seemed completely comfortable surrounded by the Imperial Guard. He stood in his pristine white suit and hat, hands tucked behind his back, a subtly amused smile on his face as he watched Calder.

It lifted Calder’s spirits to see them, though he couldn’t help but eye the gaps between them. Urzaia would have laughed and thrown his arms around Andel, and Jerri would have rushed up to greet him.

The empty spaces made his heart ache, but he hadn’t expected any of the crew.

“Finally sick of slumming in the Imperial Palace?” Calder asked. “I see you decided to return to true luxury.”

Andel raised an eyebrow. “I was visiting with friends in the city when a very polite young man with ram’s horns instructed me that I was expected by the Imperial Steward.”

“They shook me from my bed,” Foster grunted.

Petal shrunk back from the nearby Imperial Guards, then spoke in an apologetic tone. “…I was in my room. They told me to come.”

Calder pushed down his instinct to blame this on the nearby Guards. For one thing, they had not given the order. He had. He just hadn’t intended to.

“I am more than sorry, everyone, but I do bring good news: the Independents have accepted our proposal for peace. The meeting is in two weeks’ time.”

From their lack of response, he could see they already knew.

“No, stop, settle down, your excitement embarrasses us all. Now, to celebrate, I mentioned that I wanted to spend some time on my ship and that you should be invited. I didn’t intend any kind of order.”

Foster peered deep into the cannon. “Lucky you, Captain. Now you have people that listen to your orders whether you want them to or not.”

Calder hadn’t made a plan or even looked too closely at his own intentions. He simply wanted to feel the old deck beneath his feet. Even wearing these armored boots, it was good to feel a connection to his Vessel, from its slick green-black seamless deck to the green-veined stretch of sails currently furrowed like a wing overhead.

Tapping into Kelarac’s warm handprint on his arm, Calder sent his Intent deeper into the ship. Through the chains at the bottom of its hull, his awareness dove to the Lyathatan, manacled and resting above the sea floor.

The Elder had been far more manageable ever since Calder had received the mark of its master. Now, it floated in the shadow of The Testament, contemplating its own slowly unfolding plan.

When it felt Calder’s touch, the Lyathatan sent a demand back up. It wanted repayment for a favor long granted.

Sharks, the Elder ordered.

Calder almost never needed to feed the Lyathatan. It could go months—maybe years—without eating, and when it was hungry, it was more than capable of hunting for itself. It took a moment before he could unravel the layers of its alien Intent and understand its full meaning.

It wanted the sharks that he had promised it as repayment for a favor. A favor it had granted years ago. And one that Calder had paid for already.

But he supposed he didn’t want to leave an angry, hungry Lyathatan in the Capital’s secret military harbor. Especially now that they had begun mining the Gray Island for its treasures.

The other two ships in this harbor were returning from the Consultants’ former headquarters, bearing teams of Readers and investigators determined to unlock the secrets of the Gray Island.

“Make a note,” Calder said to the nearest Imperial Guard. “We need to bring sharks to the harbor.”

The Guard inclined her head.

Calder clapped his hands together, the Emperor’s gauntlets clashing as he did so. “My apologies, everyone, but you know you can make yourself at home. I only planned to spend an hour here, and you’re welcome to return with me to the Palace afterwards.”

Petal scurried up to him, looking even more uncomfortable than usual. “Um, I wanted to…talk with you…soon. I found a job.”

That was a surprise blow, and it landed square on Calder’s chin. “Are you not being taken care of in the Palace?”

She shook her head vigorously. “…but if we won’t be sailing anymore, I wanted…” She brought out vials of brightly colored liquid, pushing them forward as though they explained what she wanted to say.

“It’s a research position in the Champion’s Guild,” she explained. “Not that I’ll be a Champion. But I have experience with…you know. Urzaia.” She studied the deck beneath her shifting feet. “A lot of their staff left since…the Emperor. They need alchemists.”

Petal peeked up at him as though expecting to see him angry.

Though it wounded him to see his crew crumbling in front of his eyes, how could he be upset? Petal had always been more talented than the Alchemist’s Guild had recognized, and she deserved to find a Guild that could use her talents.

He had thought she was happy working with the Imperial Palace alchemists, but if that wasn’t the case, he was glad she had found a new position.

“Congratulations, Petal! The Champions will be lucky to have you.”

Even in his first meeting with Baldezar Kern, the Head of the Champions had mentioned how short-staffed their Guild had become. This would be for the best.

Petal squirmed in place, but took a step back when Andel walked up to join them. He tilted his hat back so Calder could see his eyes.

He saw only compassion there, so Calder braced himself for more bad news.

“I’ve been looking for a position with the Witnesses,” Andel said gently. “Not as a true Witness myself, of course. I wouldn’t do any better as a Silent One than Petal would as a Champion. But they need paper-pushers and staff managers just like anyone else.”

Calder’s throat was growing tight, so he cleared it. “Do you have anything lined up yet?”

“I have a few leads. Failing that, I don’t mind looking outside the Guilds. There’s been a new delivery company making a fortune since the Emperor’s death, may his soul fly free, and I’m sure they could use a man who’s used to checking the contents of boxes against a master list.”

Though he felt foolish for doing so, Calder had to clear his throat again. “You know, I wasn’t going to leave any of you behind. I can make you a position in the Palace.”

Petal looked down, but Andel continued meeting his gaze.

“Once the treaty is signed,” the quartermaster said, “you won’t need us anymore.”

That was not at all true, but Calder couldn’t find the right words to say so.

Andel spoke gently, but relentlessly. “This is a good thing. The world is calming down. If the Guilds don’t make peace, you won’t ever get the chance to be a real leader. And now is the perfect time. The conflict between the Guilds has so far spilled very little blood, and it hasn’t become an all-out war like we all predicted. We’ve dodged the worst outcome, but it means we have to find something to do with our lives.”

Calder blinked rapidly to avoid tears. “I am…sorry to see you go. Both of you.”

Petal teared up to match him.

“It’s not like we’re saying good-bye forever,” Andel said reasonably. “We’re all sticking around the Capital, and if you’ve proven anything today, it’s that you can snatch us from our beds whenever you feel like it. Just like usual.”

A loud scraping sound drew Calder’s attention, and he looked over to Foster. The man had grabbed a long-handled brush and was enthusiastically scrubbing the inside of the cannon.

“How about you, Foster?” Calder asked. “Are you going anywhere?”

He had almost asked, “Are you leaving me too?”

“I’m retired,” the old man barked.

“You’ve technically been retired the entire time I’ve known you, but that hasn’t stopped you from collecting your pay.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I’m retired, and it’s not like I have anywhere to go. Might as well stick around.”

Foster staying with him did keep a little wind in Calder’s sails. It buoyed him enough to give him the strength to say, “I’m sorry for interrupting your morning, everyone. The Guards will escort you wherever you wish to go.”

Andel walked forward immediately, but he stopped on his way over to the railing and rested a hand on Calder’s shoulder. “We’re not gone yet. Call on us if you need to.”

Petal was up next. She tried to say something, but she didn’t seem to be able to get the words out.

Finally, she threw her arms around his neck and wept into his shoulder. His own eyes fogged up before she released him and followed Andel down the ladder and to the longboat waiting below.

With the exception of a lone Guard, that left him and Foster alone on the deck.

The air was filled with the sound of the gunner scraping away at the cannon.

“What am I doing, Foster?” Calder asked at last.

Foster grunted as he pulled the brush out. “What do you want to do, Captain?”

It wasn’t like Foster to answer a question with a question unless he was making a point. He was never shy about sharing his opinion.

“I want to show everyone that I can do the job.”

Foster braced the brush against the deck, leaning on it like a cane as he caught his breath. “That’s the thing, though. You can’t do the job.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mister Foster.” Calder should have known better than to go to Foster for advice.

“I’m not going to polish you up where you don’t deserve it. You know I’ve got no extra love for the Emperor. If you ask me, he did something great by protecting everyone from the Elders, then he stuck around for an extra two thousand years because he couldn’t trust anyone else’s hand at the wheel. But if you’re trying to fill the man’s shoes, you should at least learn from him.”

“Little late for that.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy. I’ll knock that crown off your head.”

Though Calder now had access to most of the Emperor’s belongings, he had actively avoided Reading them. For one thing, the Emperor left behind a weight and intensity of Intent in his most prized belongings. The longer Calder was around them, the more it felt like they were…pushing into his head. It was disturbing.

For another thing, Calder hated the man.

Walking around in his ancient armor, Calder continually felt the Emperor’s thoughts forcing their way into his own. It made him feel polluted. Defiled.

“I’ve got time, Foster. I’ll settle into it.”

The gunner barked a laugh and swung the cannon-brush around to point into Calder’s face. “All right, when you find a solution to the Great Elders tearing the sky in half, you send for me.”

Calder’s eyes moved against his will to seek out the black crack in the morning sky.

Foster chuckled. “Good luck.”

When Calder returned to the Imperial Palace, General Teach and Baldezar Kern were waiting for him at the gate.

The Head of the Imperial Guard stood scowling with her arms crossed, her freshly polished red-and-black armor gleaming in the noonday sun. The Champion held a wooden rocking-horse under one arm and a crumpled paper sack in the other hand.

“You’ve been informed that the Independents agreed to our meeting?” Teach asked briskly.

“Of course. I was told last night.”

A messenger had awakened him after midnight and delivered him the letter accepting the peace accords, which had been sealed by all the Independent Guild Heads and two of the three Regents, penned by the hand of a Witness. It was as official as anything could be.

The meeting was to take place in two weeks, which the fastest either side could reasonably make it. They both wanted to resolve the Guild conflict as quickly as possible before any more of the Empire crumbled around them.

“Good,” Teach said. “That leaves us to determine the specifics of the meeting.”

He noticed they weren’t letting him any farther into the Palace.

“What specifics?” Calder asked, walking forward to see if Teach would let him by.

She didn’t. She’d cornered him here, and she wasn’t about to let him out of whatever lecture she had prepared.

“Attendance and location.” She held out a small piece of paper. “The Guild Heads have met, and this is what we decided.”

Calder eyed Kern before taking the paper. He didn’t see why the Head Champion needed to be here, especially as the man seemed fully concentrated on not shattering the rocking-horse between his elbow and ribs.

The paper was divided in two. Across the top were written the names Azea and Calazan Farstrider. Twin heads of the Witness Guild.

On the left were the names of all three Regents and the Heads of the four Independent Guilds: the alchemists, Consultants, Greenwardens, and Luminian Order.

The right side bore the names of the Imperialist Guild Heads, with a circled question mark next to the Magisters. The Magister’s Guild hadn’t appointed a new Head since the death of Mekendi Maxeus, and it was Calder’s personal opinion that they were waiting to see how the conflict between Guilds was resolved before doing so.

He didn’t see his own name on this list.

Before diving into that, though, he turned to Kern. “What’s in the bag, Guild Head?”

He wanted to call the man “Baldezar,” just to establish his authority and shorten the distance between them, but there was probably a better place to start flexing his muscles than with a man who had singlehandedly sunk an entire fleet of rebel ships.

“Chocolate biscuits,” Kern said seriously. “I don’t get to this side of the city often, and there’s a bakery on Peregrine and Gazrial that serves my wife’s favorite.” He hefted his other arm, indicating the rocking-horse. “This is a present for my son Torrence. He collects them.”

“And how are you involved in this?” Calder asked, gesturing with the list of names. “Did you have something you wished to speak with me about, or did Teach feel she needed backup?”

He had hoped a joke would lighten the mood, but General Teach’s scowl deepened.

Kern seemed perfectly placid, but Calder expected he would show no more expression if a sudden gunfight erupted around him. “I happened to be leaving, but I knew what news she was delivering to you. I wanted to see your reaction.”

Wonderful, Calder thought. I was hoping for more pressure.

Despite what the news-sheets printed and what Calder conveyed to the Independents, the Champion’s Guild was not fully behind him. To hear Kern tell it, there was no single voice representing the Champion’s Guild.

Their members had largely dispersed, their organization a shadow of what it once was. They had graduated only one generation of Champions since the Emperor’s death.

The technicality of their joining the Imperialist cause was the only thing that had prevented them from announcing the dissolution of the Guild. One thin thread holding them together.

Though if they were recruiting alchemists like Petal, Calder hoped that meant good news. Both for the Champions as a whole and for their support of his authority.

In any case, he had to keep Kern’s respect.

Calder handed the paper back to Teach. “That’s a volatile room full of powerful people. We can’t avoid inviting any of them because we need their support, but with all three Regents in one room, they have us outnumbered and outgunned. It’s a security nightmare. We announce that I’ll be going, but it’s only for the public. We send a double instead, which they will allow because they don’t care about meeting the real me, and which we can afford because we don’t actually need my input. Is that correct?”

“Believe it or not, my primary concern is your security,” Teach said, and she sounded surprisingly honest. “Even meeting in a prepared, reinforced room in our own territory, there are no measures we could take to protect a single individual from so many powerful Soulbound.”

“If that room blows up, my survival will mean nothing.”

If every Guild Head who supported him died at once, even if none of the enemy survived, he would have no backing. He certainly would rule no longer, and probably wouldn’t live out the afternoon.

“We’re working on that. We suspect Bareius of the alchemists will send a proxy anyway, and we can argue that Cheska is away on a delivery or Bliss is hiding in a closet somewhere. Your mother can represent the Blackwatch, and the other Navigators will trip over each other for a chance to speak for their Guild.”

Calder wouldn’t be able to represent the crown. He wouldn’t even be allowed to represent his own Guild.

He would sit on the sidelines, waiting for decisions to be made without him.

Kern watched him, gazing his reaction. Calder sensed no malice in him, only a steady practicality; if he didn’t like Calder’s decisions, he would stop following. Simple as that.

And while Kern claimed to only represent himself and half a dozen other Champions who had decided personally to join their Guild Head, Calder knew there was more to it.

For one thing, Calder couldn’t afford to lose even the few Champions he actually had. Even one walking away would be a grievous loss.

But he also knew that half the value of having the Champion’s Guild behind him was that the public saw the Champions behind him. So long as Kern stood with him, he would still have that.

What kind of decision would Baldezar Kern respect?

A bold one. And one that he made wholeheartedly, with the good of the Empire in the front of his thoughts.

“You’re right,” Calder said, and Teach looked at him suspiciously.

As well she should, because Calder followed up with, “So why protect me at all?”

Teach reacted as though he’d asked her why the ocean was blue. “That is my job.”

“If the Regents attack us, we lose,” Calder said. “That’s the end of it. Whether I’m there or not, whether we can fight them off or not, we’re done. The best-case scenario is that you all defeat them, but we will lose people even in that case. We would move forward severely weakened and unable to trust half the Guilds.”

Kern spoke quietly. “We would be fighting to survive and retreat, not to win.”

“Even so, we have to extend them some trust. What better trust than me, there, in person, with no armor or weapons?”

Estyr Six could find and kill him even if he hid in a bunker halfway through the earth, so why hide?

Teach gritted her teeth. “That seems needlessly foolish.”

“You all wouldn’t have had this conversation if you needed me. Let’s use the fact that I’m useless.” He gestured to himself. “What are we risking here?”

The meeting itself was a powder-keg, but there was no alternative if they wanted peace. They would have to take every precaution. But his presence shouldn’t increase the risk at all.

Teach let out such a long, slow breath that Calder hesitated to call it a sigh. “Cheska said you would do this.”

Calder raised his eyebrows. Had he become so predictable? “She said I would do what?”

“Get involved.”

Calder smiled with as much charm as he could muster. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“We can insist on weapons and Vessels being left outside,” Kern said. “Though that’s dependent on the Regents allowing it. They may consider it rude. And even without her Vessel, Estyr is—”

The rocking-horse under his arm snapped in two.

Kern’s shoulders slumped.

“I’ll have a courier deliver another horse to your home,” Calder said. “General, thank you for keeping me informed. You have two weeks to make attacking us as unappealing as possible. I have every faith in you.”

Teach gave a little bow, but her eye twitched as she did.

Calder stared into the Optasia, and it felt like the Emperor’s throne stared back into him.

The device was built into a hidden nook in the wall of the Emperor’s personal chambers. Calder had his own rooms—in fact, he had to register with the Imperial Guard even to visit this wing of the Palace—but they had allowed him a supervised visit with the throne.

The Optasia didn’t look like a throne in the traditional sense; it was more like a nest of steel bars and wires twisted into a shape vaguely resembling a chair inside a cage. The last time he’d seen the device, it had just been freed from a mass of Elder-grown flesh.

The room around him showed evidence of its transformation and the battle afterwards. Seemingly random chunks of the wall had been torn out, as though something had taken bites out of the wood and plaster. He knew those were the parts that had turned to meat and skin and been gouged away afterwards.

The massive bed that had once dominated the room had been moved out, though it had remained completely intact. Apparently the Emperor’s desire for a safe, peaceful sleep had invested it with enough Intent that the bed could weather an all-out Elder attack.

Maybe Calder should attend the meeting with the Independents with the Emperor’s pillows strapped to his chest.

The paintings that had once hung on the walls had been thoroughly destroyed, and the armor and weapons that had been mounted in the room had been removed. The floor creaked under him, half of the planks having been replaced, and the entire room carried the fading stink of rotting meat.

The Optasia itself had been covered by a newly added mesh of barbed wire that was both invested to wound intruders and treated with alchemy that would incapacitate anyone who touched it. A yellow rope was stretched across the room to keep visitors at a safe distance…not that there were many visitors.

Calder extended one bare hand over the rope, toward the throne.

Past the Intent of the protective fence, Calder could feel the Intent of the Optasia waiting there, coiled like a predator nesting in its den. It didn’t seem too dangerous. Maybe he and the Magisters could work out some kind of protection…

As he was thinking, he felt a sensation as though a closed eye had suddenly opened.

Calder fell to his knees behind the yellow rope, retching and trying not to vomit. It was like he’d called up all his worst memories at once. His father’s execution, Jerri’s betrayal, Urzaia’s death…the Optasia had balled them all up and slugged him with them like a fist.

But just the feelings, not the memories themselves. That was somewhat strange. Reading usually evoked some kind of image, but this time it was a knot of horror and revulsion with nothing attached to it.

Elder Intent. It was seeping through the Optasia like an overflowing sewer.

Calder waved off the Imperial Guards who tried to help him to his feet, standing on his own, mastering his breath. So the throne was still unusable. That was good to confirm.

Still, it left him without a card he’d hoped to play. The meeting with the Independent leaders was only a week away, and if he could use the Optasia, he would have been able to contribute even if the Regents did attack.

Brooding, he left the Emperor’s quarters.

He missed it when the first two of his guards vanished.

The third got out a soft yelp that caused him to turn around. He found himself staring into the wide, panicked eyes of his one remaining Imperial Guard.

As Calder whirled to meet a threat, the Guard began to shout an alarm.

Half a second after opening his mouth, the man vanished.

Calder opened his Reader’s senses, stretching out for Intent. He certainly felt something distorted in the halls, something that didn’t belong, but he couldn’t pin it down. As though the Intent changed from second to second.

The problem was, this was a straight hallway. There were doors on either side, but he would have heard them open and close. He looked to his left and saw no one.

To his right, nothing.

When he turned back to his left again, Bliss was tucking a long stretch of bone back into her coat.

“I would like to speak with you privately,” she said, buttoning her coat closed and patting it carefully.

“What happened to my guards?”

“They are unharmed. Physically. But they are also…” She cocked her head. “…somewhere else.”

He knew that was the best explanation he would get out of her, but he hoped the Guards were only rattled. He had grown to think of Bliss as quirky and strange, but dangerous only to her enemies. If it turned out she used her power to blithely harm the innocent, he couldn’t trust her.

In the meantime, he continued walking down the hallway. “Well, thank you for not whisking me away. What would you like to talk about?”

Though she was a head shorter than him, Bliss matched his pace precisely. “It is not a conversation for pleasure. I am here to deliver you a message in advance.”

“In advance of what?”

She blinked at him. “The message.”

“Very well,” Calder said, as though she had made complete sense.

“In a few hours, you will be delivered a message telling you that the Independent Guild Heads would like to request a smaller meeting. Only three in attendance on either side. They propose sending Shera of the Consultant’s Guild, the Regent Estyr Six, and Nathanael Bareius of Kanatalia.”

As usual, she scowled when she mentioned the Head of the Alchemist’s Guild.

“That would solve one of our problems,” Calder said. It still didn’t address the issue of Estyr being an unstoppable force of nature all on her own, but at least they wouldn’t have to face her and her two companions at once.

“Furthermore, they will suggest that the known Soulbound among you leave your Vessels in secure storage outside the venue.”

Better and better. Though Calder was a Soulbound, he couldn’t bring The Testament into a meeting room anyway, and disarming would reduce the advantage the Independents had over them. More importantly, the proposal spoke to a willingness to talk rather than fight, which Calder deeply appreciated.

“Teach is going to throw a party.” Calder glanced sidelong at Bliss, whose brow was still furrowed. “So why did you tell me alone, secretly, and ahead of the messenger’s actual arrival?”

He didn’t even wonder how she’d known the contents of the message before it had arrived.

“Because I don’t like it.”

Bliss stopped halfway down the hallway to examine herself in a mirror, staring into it as though she’d never seen her reflection before.

Halfway down the hall, there came a loud thump as one of Calder’s Imperial Guards reappeared in the exact place where he’d vanished. The man was soaking wet and half his uniform had been torn off and wrapped around his head.

Calder pointed to him. “Will he be all right?”

“Disorientation is a common side effect of sudden, unexplained travel, but subjects usually shake it off in a matter of hours.” Her eyes in the mirror found his. “More importantly, I don’t trust this meeting. The Great Elders are involved in this somehow, and I don’t know how, and that makes me uneasy. I don’t want to be uneasy. I want to be eased.”

“If it worries you so much, you can be one of the three we send to the meeting.” Though now that he thought of it, Bliss’ presence might make things worse.

“Nonsense. No one trusts the Blackwatch, and I am notoriously unpredictable. The Navigators are similarly disreputable and Cheska is not capable of defending herself from a Consultant Gardener. It will be you, Jarelys Teach, and Baldezar Kern. You are expendable and the nominal head of our faction, and the other two represent respectable Guilds and can defend themselves.”

Bliss poked her reflection with one finger.

Once again, Calder was confused by what Bliss understood clearly and what mystified her. “That seems very logical.”

Bliss turned to stare at him even as another Imperial Guard reappeared behind her, brandishing a golden candlestick in the lobster claw he had instead of a hand.

“It is logical,” Bliss agreed. “And I don’t trust it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Some say the Emperor’s crown wasn’t always gold.

In the oldest artwork, he wears a crown of bronze. The commonly accepted explanation is that he replaced that crown with a new, more valuable metal to represent a new age of the Empire.

But over the years, some scholars have suspected that there may not be two crowns at all.

They suggest that the bronze crown slowly turned to gold because the Emperor wore it.

—MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF IMPERIAL HISTORY, VOLUME TWO

THREE YEARS AGO

CALDER WAS MET on the dock by a tall, tanned woman dressed head-to-toe in orange feathers. She looked down on him with an expression of cold superiority.

“Captain Marten, the Guild Head requires your presence at the chapter house immediately.”

Calder coughed out a cloud of ash.

This woman, Varia Selethir, was Cheska Bennett’s quartermaster. She had made it clear many times that she had no respect for Calder and couldn’t wait for the day when he collapsed under the burden of his debt and fled the Navigator’s Guild. He was certain that she would take her duty to hunt him down with uncomfortable glee.

Whenever he met Varia, he tried to put on his best face. Today…wasn’t his best.

He was covered head-to-toe in a layer of black soot that no amount of ocean water had manage to dampen, let alone wipe away. A sentient ash cloud had chased The Testament across half the Aion after their last assignment, giggling like a giant baby all the way. After vomiting all over them, the cloud had laughed its way into the distance.

At first, they had been relieved to see the back of it. Until they realized that the layer of black grit all over them refused to leave their skin.

“Your pardon, Quartermaster, but you can see I am not quite presentable at the moment. My crew and I could use a bath or five. Maybe a few days under a waterfall with some sandpaper. Do you know of anyone who might be Soulbound to a bar of soap?”

Varia’s smile stretched a little further. “Regrettably, Captain Marten, this is a request of terrible urgency. I’ll have to insist.”

Calder’s eyes moved to Varia’s fingers, which were twitching inside their orange feather-covered gloves. She was a Soulbound herself, bound to a Vessel that let her do truly unexpected things with flames, and she would embrace any excuse to singe Calder’s backside and keep him moving.

He gave a sigh that turned into another volcanic cough. Cheska wouldn’t have sent her quartermaster to round him up unless she really needed him, as she knew Varia wouldn’t let him get away.

He was sure that she wouldn’t have sent the woman just to torment him. Cheska didn’t hate him. He thought.

“Andel,” Calder called, “round up the crew.”

Andel popped his head up from the deck of The Testament, his normally spotless suit stained a greasy gray-black. “Aye, Captain.”

Varia held up a hand as though admiring the bright plumage of her glove. “Just you, Captain. I wouldn’t want to keep the rest of your crew from the bathhouse.”

Andel’s sigh of relief was loud enough to represent Calder’s entire crew.

The Capital’s Navigator chapter house was a massive edifice that appeared to be made entirely from the wreckage of ancient ships. Polished wooden prows jutted from the buttresses of the building, the windows were portholes, and several masts rose from the roof bearing flags instead of sails.

The moon-in-sun emblem of the Empire stood tallest, the Navigator’s Wheel representing his Guild came next, and the pure black flag representing the Long Mourning after the Emperor’s death was mounted in the lowest position.

A giant golden ship’s wheel—five times life-size—had been posted over the entry doors to the chapter house. It stared down at him with a carved golden eye whose pupil was a dark sapphire. It managed to look regal and majestic instead of unsettling.

The doors were propped open, admitting a steady stream of traffic in both directions, and it seemed that every visitor from all over the world stopped to stare at the well-baked Navigator Captain walking among them.

Varia took her time, strolling through the doors as though she had all afternoon, letting everyone take a good long look at Calder. For his part, Calder felt as though he left a black footprint and a cloud of ash with every step, though that wasn’t actually true. Only a few specks of black dust fell behind him.

It was an annoying reminder of how supernaturally adhesive the soot was. If it didn’t start falling off on its own soon, he was going to have to allow Petal to try her solution. She assured him that, while it was acid, it should have only a minimal effect on most skin types.

Maybe he could scrape himself clean with a knife.

After a parade that seemed to last most of the year, Varia finally ushered him past a goggle-eyed secretary and into an office bigger than The Testament’s hold.

Cheska spent relatively little time in her office compared to most Guild Heads, as she preferred to stay on the water. Her office reflected that. It was stacked with treasures, collectibles, and memorabilia that she’d picked up all over the Aion Sea.

A golden idol of some chubby, humanoid Elder shared desk space with a stack of leather-bound books filled with bookmarks. An old, yellowed map of Vandenyas covered most of one wall, pinned in place by four unique daggers. A stuffed two-headed owl was set on a shelf beneath a glass case next to a silver anchor the size of Calder’s hand and a jar of mismatched inhuman eyes floating in alchemical preservative.

Not all of these had been brought back by Cheska herself; she had inherited some from her predecessor. But each of these items had a story behind it, and she would much prefer to tell you that story rather than discuss current business. Usually.

Today, she looked to have been trapped behind her desk. She scribbled furiously at a stack of papers, her bright orange hair hanging in a tangled mess around her head. She wore a stained white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, rumpled as though she’d worn it for days. A worn blue jacket hung from the chair behind her, curled-up papers sticking out of its pockets.

“What have you got for me?” Cheska asked before the door had fully opened.

“Captain Calder Marten,” Varia announced.

At the first syllable out of Varia’s mouth, Cheska’s head snapped up. She pushed herself to her feet, dropping her pen, which rolled off the desk and to the floor.

Her intense gaze startled Calder. Was she that upset that he had walked into her office covered in ash? It was Varia’s fault, really. He should have waited outside. He started to brush himself off, but froze when he realized leaving ash all over her office would only make things worse.

Cheska was stalking up to him now, her eyes fevered. When she reached him, she grabbed a fistful of his soot-caked shirt. He flinched, anticipating her seizing whatever was nearby and beating him across the head with it.

Instead, she wrenched him closer, falling into him so her forehead rested against his shoulder. “Finally,” she breathed. “Finally.”

Of all the ways that Calder had expected to be greeted, this was not one of them.

Her head shuddered against him, and he thought she might be crying, so he slowly started to move his arms around her. It was so bizarrely out of character for her that he couldn’t quite fit the idea into his head, but if Cheska was crying, then something terrible must have happened.

Before he managed it, Cheska threw her head back and laughed, a desperate and hollow sound. “Light and life, I’m free.”

“Did you not know I was joining you today?” Calder asked. “I thought Varia had come to get me on your orders.” She’d acted like his presence was an unexpected birthday present.

“In fact, I noticed you coming into harbor myself and anticipated the Guild Head’s command.” Varia’s smile was gleaming.

Calder resolved to find an opportunity to dump her into the ocean.

Cheska released him, brushing her hand clean and making no mention of the black grit covering him. “You were right to do it. Kelarac’s bushy beard, I can breathe again.”

“You can’t be that happy to see me. You’ll make Jerri jealous.”

She gave him a grin that he was much more used to seeing. “Why would you need to be jealous when you own something nobody wants?” Without looking, she hopped up backwards onto her desk, sitting on top of some very important-looking papers. He wondered if the ink had dried yet.

“I’ll give it to you straight: Regent Loreli has been stuck to my backside like a barnacle, and until I pry her off, I can’t leave this room. Too much to do. So I’ve got another mission for you.”

Calder stiffened. Carrying out a mission for a Regent sounded a little too much like carrying out an assignment for the Emperor himself. The Regents had all been personal friends of the Emperor, after all.

There was every possibility that they might want him to work for free, and he was already trapped in debt for the rest of his natural life. If he started taking on trips for no more than expenses, his grandchildren would stay in the poorhouse.

“Too busy to scrape barnacles today, Cheska. I haven’t even finished my report from my last mission. You might have to take this one yourself.”

She glared at him. “You think I wouldn’t have jumped at this the instant I got a chance? We can’t have people see The Eternal on the hunt for the Emperor’s crown. They’d think I was setting myself up as Empress.”

Calder’s mind suddenly drifted a thousand miles from his body.

ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR OF THE WORLD. A voice older than human civilization had shaken his mind with that declaration.

Every word from the Great Elder carried volumes of meaning. One image carried clearly by the title “Emperor of the World” had been “He Who Wears the Crown.”

Ach’magut had given Calder an image of himself wearing the Emperor’s gold crown. It had lodged in his imagination for years.

“The crown is…gone?” Calder asked, and his voice came out as more of a croak. Fortunately, anyone would react the same upon hearing that the Imperial crown had been lost, so his tone raised no suspicions.

Cheska threw her hands in the air. “Right? You wouldn’t think it’d be hard to find! It’s been missing since the night of the Emperor’s death, may his soul fly free, but Loreli dug it up a couple months ago. Ach’magut only knows where she found it. She hired us to ship it to Jorin so he could bury it somewhere with proper security, so I assigned it to The Reliable.”

Calder was only somewhat familiar with Captain Tommison of The Reliable, but he knew the capabilities of the ship. It looked like a floating, animated conch shell that had somehow grown into the shape of a sea vessel, and Guild legend suggested that it could not be sunk.

“He didn’t make it,” Calder guessed.

“I’m going to make him rename the ship. The Limping Lady, maybe. The Snail.”

“That one’s better,” Varia put in, reminding Calder that the quartermaster was still there. “Snails have shells.”

“The Snail it is. We wouldn’t have even known Tommison was lost instead of taking the long way around, but we received word this morning that another captain spotted his ship tangled up by a roaming island only a week ago.”

Calder’s caution spiked at the mention of the roaming islands; some of them were predatory. “Which island?”

“New one. No name. Seems to have just grabbed them.”

So the Regent had hired the Navigators to transport the crown, and Loreli had been hounding Cheska for a report on the ship’s whereabouts when it had failed to arrive on time. Cheska had been certain the ship was just late until this morning, when she’d learned the worst had happened. It all lined up except for one thing.

“Why give this to me?” he asked. “I thought you’d assign this to the first captain who could raise sails.”

“I would,” Cheska said. “That’s why this is a gift from the Emperor himself. I was going to send the fastest ship available by sunset tonight. Your timing couldn’t be better.”

Calder again remembered the voice of the Great Elder, the thousand eyes on waving stalks. He pictured an uncountable number of tentacles, all pulling strings designed to move him like a puppet even years in the future.

“I understand the gravity of the situation,” he said, “but surely reliability is more important than speed. If the crown was stolen, it’s already stolen. If the crew’s dead, they’re already dead. We need someone who’s guaranteed to get there and back, unless…we need to get there first.”

As soon as he came to the conclusion, he saw confirmation in Cheska’s eyes. But it was her quartermaster who spoke.

“The secret is out, which is one reason why the Guild Head’s pen hasn’t stopped moving today. The Luminians know about the crown, of course. Regent Loreli keeps nothing from them, and we have reports that they have prepared ordinary ships for a long voyage. A few of the more ambitious among the Capital elite have bribed some Navigator captains or started to form their own fleets. Rumor has it that the alchemists are moving, funded by Bareius himself, and the Blackwatch…”

Varia tugged on her orange gloves as though to reassure herself, giving a distant shudder. “…the Head of the Blackwatch paid us a visit this morning.”

As a former Watchman, Calder longed to mock the woman for shuddering at the mere mention of the Blackwatch, just to get some revenge for the way he’d been treated. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

He knew what it was like to meet with Bliss.

The quartermaster continued: “She informed us that the agents of human interests are not the only rivals we have.”

This time, Calder shuddered with her.

He would have taken on this assignment regardless of the circumstances merely for the opportunity to make off with the crown himself. If he played his cards perfectly, he might be able to walk away with his position intact, but there was still the possibility of taking the crown and fleeing Imperial justice into the Aion.

As Ach’magut had promised him, he would end up with the crown on his head one way or another.

But a realistic estimation of the dangers still sobered him. He didn’t need the Emperor’s crown in order to take his place, it would just be a valuable tool. He could not give up the lives of his crew.

“We can be ready to sail by sunset,” Calder promised. “But I need to tell my crew it will be worth it.”

Considering this was a mission involving an Imperial relic, he was certain he could get five hundred goldmarks from Cheska, though he would settle for a hundred. It would make a significant dent in his five-thousand-goldmark debt, which he had whittled down to about four-and-a-half thousand over the last few years.

Cheska waved a hand. “You bring back the crown and the Guild will wipe out your debt to the throne.”

For a second, Calder forgot to breathe.

Varia gave him a disdainful look, as though she looked down on him for valuing money so highly, but she could take a one-way dive to Kelarac for all he cared. The Guild Head was offering to clear up the debt that he had expected to hang over him for the rest of his life.

But that did require the crown. He had been promised the position of Emperor, so he strongly suspected that he would end up with the crown regardless of what else happened. Beyond all that, he wanted it.

The Guild wouldn’t let him get away with that so easily. If he returned and reported the crown missing, there would be Readers crawling all over his ship within seconds. But he’d have time to solve that problem while on the mission.

When he could speak again, he said, “That’s an expensive gamble. What if I travel all the way out there and the crown is already gone?”

“A thousand goldmarks just for making the trip,” Cheska promised him. “The Regent is footing the bill. Another hundred for each member of Tommison’s crew you bring back, and five hundred for The Reliable. That’s on top of the crown, which clears up your debt of…I want to say forty-five hundred?”

She glanced out the window, where the sun had started to fall. “Just say yes already, Calder. Clock’s ticking.”

Calder ran back to The Testament, leaving tiny particles of soot crumbling into the air behind him.

Jerri knelt in the damp basement of a secret meeting-house in the Capital. It was dangerous to meet directly in the Capital, though after the Emperor’s death it had become more and more common. The Sleepless cell here still risked being picked up by a passing Magister or Watchman, but all the Guilds were stretched thin these days.

The Empire needed to be saved now more than ever.

She had never been more aware of the world’s need for unity than she was at that moment, with her knees pressed to the ground and her head bowed toward the icy rift in space.

The voices of the Sleepless cabal poured from the void, translated imperfectly by Elderspawn messengers.

“The Emperor’s crown—”

“—symbol—”

“—circlet—"

“—authority—”

“—is found once more. You will be sent. Retrieve it. There will be friends—”

“—allies—”

“—servants—”

“—tools—"

“—at your disposal when you make landfall. It is the will of the Great Ones that you bring the crown to us. Do so, and we will restore the world to its natural order.”

Jerri’s hands were shaking with excitement and she couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, so she kept her head down, lest the Elderspawn report back to the Sleepless leaders that she was taking the task lightly.

That was far from the truth. She understood the weight of the Emperor’s crown better than they did, and she very much doubted that it was the will of the Great Ones that the cabal have the Imperial relic. She suspected it was merely the will of the Sleepless leaders themselves.

Well, she had a better idea of where the crown should end up.

“Complete your task at any cost,” the chorus of Elders emphasized, and this time the whispering voices echoed exactly that:

“At any cost.”

“At any cost.”

“At. Any. Cost.”

“At any cost,” Jerri repeated.

CHAPTER FIVE

I wake Estyr Six to fight, not to talk.

—THE EMPEROR

PRESENT DAY

ON THE MORNING of the peace talks, Calder looked himself up and down in the mirror.

He had already second-guessed his decision not to wear the Emperor’s armor. It was imbued with so much complex Intent that Calder couldn’t even begin to understand the extent of its protective powers. It might even save him against Estyr Six.

But he had chosen to leave it aside. The armor was beginning to disturb him.

The longer he wore it, the harder its Intent tried to seep into his thoughts. He wasn’t used to Intent having any sort of agency, and he was afraid of what tricks the Emperor may have left behind.

Next, he had considered dressing in the Emperor’s clothes.

There were a few advantages there. First, it would reinforce his new title. Second, the Emperor’s regular clothes were invested to be more durable and defensive than most sets of armor.

Though there was the real risk that he would come across like a child dressing up in his father’s clothes. That would be doubly true in Estyr’s eyes, since she had known the Emperor personally.

So he dressed as himself.

He wore what he might aboard The Testament, only cleaner: a set of dark blue pants, a white shirt, and a long brown coat. He ran his hands along his short beard. Jerri wouldn’t like it, but he did. He thought it made him look rugged.

Finally, instead of a hat, he had decided to wear a crown.

But which one?

He examined the two circlets before him. One silver, one gold. He only really had a right to the silver one, the crown of the Imperial Steward…but hadn’t he earned the golden crown as well? He and his crew had shed blood for it, after all.

Blood from both humans and Elders.

He had to consider the message he wanted to send. The silver crown would say he knew his place, that he wasn’t seeking to offend, and that he was willing to back down for the sake of agreement.

Calder grabbed the gold crown and placed it on his head.

It clashed with his red hair. He’d always thought so. And wearing it might provoke Estyr; she could choose to interpret the gesture as him pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

But he needed some prop to remind them of his position. Besides, difficult as it may have been to ignore the Intent in the crown while wearing it, its powers had come in handy before.

He didn’t expect a crown-enforced command to work on these particular enemies, but who knew? Maybe it would help.

The Emperor’s Intent tried to push its way down from the crown, and he shut off his Reader’s sense more firmly.

When he was ready in his Navigator gear and a crown, Calder went outside to join his entourage.

Though their journey was entirely within the Imperial Palace complex and only the Palace inhabitants would see them, the Imperialist Guilds still made a grand procession. The Imperial Guard was out in force, their Kameira enhancements standing out against their red-and-black uniforms, and they covered every entrance, exit, rooftop, and window along their entire route.

Here and there he spotted a Champion, conspicuous among the Imperial Guard. They wore no uniform, each man or woman’s armor unique, and they carried Awakened weapons as well as several strange, obvious devices that could be their Vessels.

Their true Vessel was usually more subtle.

The Blackwatch made a disciplined, regimented army, some hundred men and women of all ages dressed in long, black, silver-buttoned coats. They stood side-by-side five deep, led by two figures at their head: Bliss and her aide, Alsa Grayweather.

That aide, Calder’s mother, was a trim woman who looked like she alternated her time between dueling with sabers and teaching school. Which was largely the truth.

Her gray hair was cut short at the shoulders, and she stood comfortably with her hands behind her back as she awaited Calder. When she saw him, her eyes lit up, and she gave him a fond smile.

Calder hadn’t expected her to be here, which led to some complicated feelings. He was glad to see her here, glad that she could witness his rise in person…but he was still worried that there would be danger today.

In a battle between Soulbound, she would stand no chance.

Bliss stood next to Alsa, her head moving as though she traced the path of an invisible butterfly. When she saw Calder, she held up a finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet. Or perhaps signaling that she wasn’t supposed to speak.

The Navigators, with Cheska Bennett at their head, had lined up behind the Blackwatch. Although “lined up” might have been too strong a term.

They were more of a loose mob of forty or so sailors, whichever Guild members Cheska had been able to scrounge up at the last minute, and one and all they looked like they had dressed themselves by raiding a theater’s costume closet at random.

Cheska herself was elbowing an older captain in the ribs, clearly in the middle of telling a joke, and for only the second time that Calder had ever seen, she had put effort into her appearance.

Her red hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her outfit—from her tri-cornered hat to the ankles of her pants—was a bright blue trimmed in gold. Medals decorated her chest, though he suspected they were all either self-awarded or meaningless.

Clean and laughing, she was radiant, and when she saw him looking, she shot him a wink that made him clear his throat and glance away.

Jerri wouldn’t let him forget looking at Cheska like…

No, Jerri was in prison. She had betrayed him. He didn’t owe her anything.

Calder added that thought to the long list of things he had to ignore and turned his attention to the next Guild in line. The Magisters milled behind the Navigators, though they came across as somehow grimmer than the Blackwatch. They all wore robes and carried staves, though each robe and staff were distinct from every other, and they all seemed wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Flanked by Imperial Guards, Calder took his place at the front of the procession, with General Teach and Baldezar Kern waiting for him at his right and left hand.

Teach looked the same as ever, wearing armor of red and black from the neck down, her eyes icy and her hair cropped close to the skull. This time, Kern wore armor of his own, and he looked far more comfortable in it than in his stretched-thin civilian shirts.

His armor was a deep slate gray, unornamented and utilitarian, and he carried a leather bag in one hand. Calder didn’t need to Read the Intent radiating from it to know that his weapons—the helmet that was his Vessel and his pair of maces—lay within the bag.

Teach carried her sword, Tyrfang, over her shoulder in its sheath as normal. She looked Calder from head to toe, her gaze lingering on his crown.

“Should I have someone dress you next time?”

“You’re looking radiant as ever, Jarelys,” Calder said. “And I selected my outfit with great care.”

Teach searched his expression as though looking to make sure that he was treating the situation with the gravity it deserved, which was just as well, because he was.

Kern didn’t give him a second glance.

Finally, the Head of the Imperial Guard turned to address the entire column. “Forward!” she bellowed, and the command must have echoed through the entire Palace.

A rough cheer erupted from the Guild members—mostly from the Navigators—and their parade moved forward.

The Imperial Palace was massive, often called a city unto itself, and took up almost twenty percent of the Capital. The convoy of the Imperialist Guilds gathered onlookers from the staff and inhabitants of the Palace, who numbered in the tens of thousands.

They lined the streets, cheering and throwing flower petals, colorful bits of paper, and scraps of cloth into the air in celebration.

Calder wondered if someone had ordered them to.

The Rose Tower was two miles away, on the eastern side of the Palace complex, next to the wall. They took their time on the march, a performance for the onlookers and for the news-sheets the next day.

The tower itself was identical to half a dozen others all around the edges of the Palace. It stood seven stories tall, with flat rectangular sides in smooth white plaster and tiered red tiles on the roof. Arrow-slits pierced the wall every floor or so, and there were openings in the roof where marksman could cover the ground below.

As they came closer to the Rose Tower, Calder began to see evidence of the Independent Guilds’ security. Rather than only Imperial Guards and soldiers standing guard, he began to see men and women in silver armor decorated with the White Sun: Luminian Knights.

They were far less numerous than the Imperial Guard, but if their reputation was to be believed, they would be worth a dozen soldiers apiece in combat.

There were Consultants on security detail as well, he was sure, though he saw none. They would have melded into the cheering crowd around him, and he imagined he could feel their eyes piercing him from the mob.

Even one blind man carrying an instrument seemed to be glaring right at them. Maybe Calder was just paranoid.

Although Calder couldn’t stay too wary when he thought of the crowd. All the cheering was infectious; he couldn’t be the only one among the Guilds encouraged by the support of the people.

Finally, they arrived to see the Independent Guilds spread out before them in the shadow of the tower.

Rather than in a column like the Imperialists, they had fanned out in a wedge. On the outside, he saw the Greenwardens, which was a rarity for him; he almost never had dealings with their Guild. But they were easy to spot, wrapped as they were in living green-leafed vines that spiraled all over their bodies.

Their Guild Head, Tomas Stillwell, was a wheelchair-bound man with auburn hair and an easy smile. That smile dimmed as he turned from his companions and regarded the enemy Guilds before him.

Calder recognized the alchemists immediately, as many of them were dressed in their iconic uniform of bulging glass goggles, a thick apron, and gloves. However, not all had the appearance of alchemists. A number of them were strapped with weapons or bore glowing, exotic artifacts that had the look of Awakened objects. Hired security? Or non-alchemist employees of the Alchemist’s Guild?

The Luminian Order was disciplined and organized, with a handful of knights in silver—most of them had been deployed for security—and a great fan of Pilgrims, recognizable by their all-white attire and the silver medallions they wore on their chests.

He suddenly regretted not asking Andel more questions about his former Guild.

At the head of the Pilgrims stood their Guild Head, Jameson Allbright, a saintly old man with a fringe of white hair around a bald spot. Unlike the other Pilgrims, he wore an intricate ceremonial outfit of many colors, mostly red and gold.

Beside him was his grandson, Darius Allbright, whose body was armored and whose face was hidden in shadows beneath a hood. Calder suspected the hood was invested to hide his appearance, which had reportedly been scarred in battle against Elderspawn. It was impossible to see anything of the man’s face but darkness.

Then there were the Consultants. There were only three of them…at least, only three standing in formation next to the other Guilds. The High Council, leaders of the Guild before the recent appointment of their Head.

He had met Kerian before, a dark-skinned Heartlander woman with a thin scar down the middle of her face and her hair worn in dozens of braids. She bowed when she saw his eyes move over her, a professionally pleasant smile on her lips. He had only recently learned she was the High Gardener, leader of the Consultant assassins.

She stood next to the High Mason and High Shepherd, on whom Calder had been briefed. All three of the High Councilors wore the skintight black clothing that he had seen the Consultants wear on the Gray Island, but without the stretch of cloth over the lower half of their faces. Did that mean something?

Finally, he turned his attention to the three standing in front of all the Guilds, and his stomach flipped.

He was standing in front of Estyr Six.

She looked exactly like the statues, paintings, and stained-glass windows had described her. She was a statuesque woman with long, blonde hair and a faintly amused expression. Her hands were tucked casually into the pockets of her long, black coat that reminded him of the Blackwatch…in fact, now that he thought of it, her coat may have been the inspiration for the original Blackwatch.

Above her head, three reptilian skulls roughly the size of an alligator’s floated in lazy loops around her head. The Vessels that made her the strongest Soulbound in history.

But it wasn’t Estyr alone that made his gut churn.

To her left was Nathanael Bareius, the richest man in the world, whose slick hair and thick-rimmed glasses and tailored suit were all polished to the point of gleaming. Like the Consultants, he too wore a business smile, and his teeth were blinding white.

Calder recognized him from paintings and sketches in the news-sheets. Though Calder had spent his share of time with Guild Heads, Bareius was one that he thought of more as a myth than a man.

At least Jorin and Loreli were gone. Latest intelligence suggested that the other two Regents were putting out fires elsewhere in the Empire, for which he was grateful.

And then there was Shera.

She was dressed very differently than when he’d seen her last. Her black outfit had been traded in for pale gray, with a gray hood hanging down so that it shaded the top half of her face while another gray cloth covered her mouth and nose.

He could see very little of her black hair, but her eyes were dark and fixed on him with frozen intensity. She could put a knife through his heart while wearing that expression. She had tried before.

In a way, it was comforting that at least one among them was being honest.

All the other Independents smiled like they were greeting clients or long-lost friends. Shera looked like she’d rather stab him in the back but was holding herself back for the sake of her position.

He trusted that expression more.

Estyr Six jerked her chin at Calder, and he held himself straighter as he realized she was about to address him.

“You sure you want to wear that?” Her eyes indicated his crown. “You’ll have a hard time hearing anything we say.”

In fact, it was taking a great effort of focus to avoid Reading the Emperor’s crown. He had it under control for the moment, but he wouldn’t be able to relax while wearing it or his thoughts would be overwhelmed by the Emperor’s memories.

Of course, now that she’d mentioned it, he couldn’t take it off.

“Thank you for your concern. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

It was a bit of a calculated risk, taking a cocky tone with one of the Regents, but he suspected it would make her weigh him differently. Measure him as someone to be taken seriously.

But she just shrugged. “Fine with me, just don’t pass out. Teach, I heard you gave Jorin a beating with his own sword.”

There was an awkward silence, and when Calder looked to General Teach, he was surprised to find that she was the one who looked like she was about to pass out. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and she trembled slightly.

“No, I didn’t…I mean, it was hard-fought. I had lots of…help.”

Teach gulped as though about to swallow her tongue, and Calder couldn’t help but stare at her. She lectured him on making sure he was ready, and then she lost her nerve the second she came face-to-face with a Regent?

He couldn’t Read the emotion that radiated off of her, but he thought he could recognize it nonetheless. It looked like awe. Maybe even deference.

As part of her enhancement to become the Head of the Imperial Guard, Jarelys Teach had replaced her heart with a Kameira’s. Calder had never thought of it before, but that had to come with side effects besides her increased strength and resistance to her own sword.

Perhaps that included instincts that made her want to surrender to a larger, stronger predator.

He had to hope it wasn’t a problem.

Estyr turned to Kern next, inclining her head. “Champion.”

“Champion,” he responded.

That was enough of a greeting for them, Calder guessed, because a moment later Bareius jumped into the silence. “Baldezar! Jarelys! How long has it been? Furman, tell me…ah, right, Furman isn’t here. That’s annoying.”

Calder didn’t know who Furman was, but Teach’s expression had transformed from awed admiration to one of annoyance. “Don’t push me, Bareius. I don’t want to break peace between the Guilds just to kill you.”

Bareius’ smile was invincible. “It’s just business, Jarelys! Don’t let it get too personal. If it has to be personal, then let it be for the right reasons! Remember the good times.”

Kern spoke slowly and calmly. “The night after the Emperor’s death, eight out of ten of the alchemists supporting my Guild canceled their contracts. I know why.”

By this time, Teach and Kern were both staring down the alchemist, and even Shera and Estyr had turned to watch him out of the corner of their eyes. Shera took a step away from him.

Bareius cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and fiddled with the buttons on his suit. “That was…bad business, I admit, but everything’s on the table now, isn’t it? These are all discussions we can have once the ink dries between us.”

Calder had been silent too long, and as the one person present without unpleasant history between him and the Alchemist’s Guild, he took it on himself to smooth out the situation.

Although he had to do so without siding with Bareius, because by all appearances the man was a snake who deserved what was coming to him.

“There’s bad blood all around,” Calder said. “For now, we should set it aside and work together, or it will lead to a worse end for all of us.”

By the end of the sentence, he was looking into Shera’s eyes.

She gave him a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.

Bareius clapped. “Well said! Now, shall we? Furman!”

At the shout, a man stepped forward from the alchemists—a man who, Calder now noticed, had taken great efforts to look exactly like Bareius. He issued some instructions to the Independent Guilds. They split in half, leaving an opening toward the entrance of the Rose Tower.

If Calder and the others wanted to enter, they would have to walk through the middle of the enemy.

The tower was guarded by a mix of Luminians and Imperial Guard, and drawing a weapon here would lead to indiscriminate bloodshed, so it wasn’t a trap. Just a symbolic gesture.

Teach motioned the Guards around her forward, to line the way between them and the Guilds around them, but Calder was already striding through. This was his chance to set the pace.

Shera fell into step next to him, and his heartbeat spiked. She still carried one of her large daggers on the right side of her belt.

“When this is over, we need to talk,” she said.

“Yes, I’d say we do. I’d like us to find a way to work together. Ideally without you holding a knife to my back.”

He couldn’t forget his own anger toward the woman. She had killed Urzaia, kidnapped Jerri, tried to kill him, and her hands were wet with the blood of countless others.

But they had been enemies. Today, their conflict should be over. He’d won.

If she could accept that, he could let her go…as long as he could trust that she wouldn’t slit his throat the moment she saw half a chance.

He thought he saw a smile flicker over her face like a cloud, but it was hard to tell with so much of her expression covered. “Would you prefer a knife to your front?”

“It’s better where I can see it.”

“Is it?”

Calder thought about that for a moment as a pair of guards opened the door to the Rose Tower. Talking with Shera, he’d passed between the Independent Guilds without even noticing.

“Maybe not.” Dying painlessly from a threat he never saw coming might be the best way to go. “But if you have to kill me, I want it to be because I deserve it, and not just because you don’t like me.”

Once again, he thought he caught the shadow of a smile. “We might be able to work together after all,” she said.

On the bottom floor of the Rose Tower, a group of assorted Guild members waited beside a series of boxes. The boxes varied wildly in size, from one the size of a fist to another that could fit Calder’s entire body inside. They were all made of blue-white stone and etched with images of knights standing protectively with shields raised.

A Magister attendant stood with the boxes, her staff short and decorated with blue jewels along its entire length and her robe cut to resemble a fashionable dress more than a Magister’s uniform.

“We created these sealing boxes especially for this occasion in conjunction with the Luminian Order.” Her voice was pleasant and professional. “You will place your weapons or Vessels inside a box of your choosing, which will then be labeled and kept in the care of our non-partisan guardians.”

Those “non-partisan guardians” stood behind her. A blindfolded woman wearing a massive sword on her back and the Golden Crown crest of the Champions rested against the wall. That would be a Champion who maintained her services for hire and hadn’t followed Kern to support Calder.

Her neutrality would have been verified by the four Witnesses standing beside her, each pair containing a Silent One and a Chronicler. It was always easy to tell which was which; the Chronicler carried a belt of wax candles at their waist, while the Silent One kept their mouth covered and usually carried weapons strapped all over.

Finally, a ruby-striped dog the size of a tiger prowled before them, eyes locked on the boxes. Stonefangs were sometimes employed as security, as they could guard a single location for weeks without rest. They made formidable fighters as well; Calder had a scar from a wild Stonefang they’d found in an abandoned ruin on the Aion.

“Your weapons will be released when the Head Witnesses certify that the negotiations have concluded. If this is acceptable, the first pair of you may select your boxes now.”

Calder stepped forward, waving behind him. An attendant from the Imperial Palace had brought along his Awakened sword just so he would have something to seal. The sword was sheathed and tucked away inside a wooden box, which a boy in Palace livery carried carefully forward.

He placed the sword inside a stone box as long as both of Calder’s arms, and the attendant looked to the Independent Guilds.

Calder had expected Estyr to step up as his opposite, but Shera surprised him by joining him. She pulled off her belt, including the sheathed dagger, and placed the entire bundle into a box the size of her head.

That would be her Soulbound Vessel, he knew. Bliss had reported that she had sealed away Shera’s weapon during the battle on the Gray Island, but had also warned them that the seal wouldn’t last forever. With the Regents on her side, Shera must have freed her weapon already.

But she showed no reluctance to lock it away now, and the Magister gestured with both her hands, levitating the lids into the air and sliding them in place. The Chroniclers each placed a hand to their candles, no doubt committing to memory which box was which.

Teach and Bareius came next. Teach pulled Tyrfang from her back, sheath and all, and placed it into another long box with a look of great pain.

The alchemist spread his hands. “I apologize, everyone, but I have come unarmed. Search me, if you doubt me.”

They did. Both pairs of Witnesses patted him down, signaling that he was indeed as unarmed as he claimed.

“…I admit, I’m a little wounded by your lack of trust.”

Finally, the two Champions walked up at the same time. Kern settled his leather satchel, containing his weapons and his Vessel, into a large box. He seemed imperceptibly happier once he’d put the bag down, as though he’d released a more-than-physical weight.

Estyr chose the largest box, the size of a coffin, and gestured toward it. Her three skulls stopped orbiting her head, drifting to rest beside one another inside.

Calder and the others had wondered if the Regent would submit to the indignity of having her Vessels taken away. To a Soulbound, having their Vessel locked away was like having a part of their body go numb, and Calder had known some that would rather amputate a finger than lose access to their power like this.

But Estyr still seemed completely at ease, tucking her hands back into her pockets and strolling upstairs.

The room at the top of the Rose Tower had been cleared for the occasion, then arranged in the traditional way: there were three circles painted on the floor on either side of the room, indicating where the participants in this negotiation would stand. No chairs.

It was an ancient arrangement that Calder had never seen himself, only heard about, though he supposed it was appropriate with Estyr Six among them.

The western window was open, but the eastern window was closed against the morning sun. Calder found the lack of breeze stifling, and he felt no shame in immediately shedding his coat. He already had to close his mind against the weight of the Emperor’s crown, so if he had to try and ignore the heat too, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the conversation.

He took the center circle, with Teach and Kern on either side. Estyr stood in the center on the other side, looking somehow incomplete without the skulls whirling around her head, and the hooded Shera stood to her left while bespectacled Bareius was on her right.

Between the two factions were the twin Heads of the Guild of Witnesses: Calazan and Azea Farstrider. He wasn’t sure which was which, but then, he couldn’t tell them apart. They were both tall, willowy young women with pale hair. They both had candles at their waist, and both their mouths were covered.

He had been instructed not to speak to them, but that felt wrong.

“Farstrider sisters,” he said. “On behalf of the Imperialist Guilds, I’d like to thank you for being here.”

They blinked at him in unison.

That was the end of his attempt to make friends.

“All right, let’s save some time,” Estyr said as soon as the door shut behind them. “We’re willing to pretend to follow your Imperial Steward as long as he’s not named Emperor and the regional governors are fully supported. In return, Jorin and Loreli and I will step down from rule. In a couple of years, if you’ve given the governors everything they need and there’s nothing wrong with the sky, we’ll go back to sleep. Deal?”

She didn’t seem bothered by the heat.

Calder could see what the Independent proposal meant. It was a slow death to a unified Empire rather than a quick one.

Teach spoke firmly, no sign left of the awe-struck woman facing a personal hero. “We need you to endorse Calder Marten as Emperor.”

Calder tried to hide his shock.

“We will support the governors,” she continued. “If we fall apart in the end, so be it, but we must first give the unified Empire a chance.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Estyr said.

Calder had already decided what his position should be in this negotiation: he should be seen pushing for unity at every opportunity. “We also need guarantees that your Guilds will continue to work together with ours. The Consultants and the alchemists especially play a vital support role, without which some of the other Guilds will cease to function.”

He snuck a look at Kern, hoping to see approval, as the Champion’s Guild was one of the most affected by the departure of the alchemists. The armored Champion was sweating lightly, but he thoroughly studied his opponents. It didn’t seem like he was even listening to Calder.

Bareius was, though. The polished alchemist stepped up to the boundaries of his painted circle. “That’s a critical concern, critical, and with it comes the question of hierarchy. Not that I’m a man of pride myself, but the current circumstances suggest that our Guilds may be seen as subordinate to those that pledged their loyalty to you, which would be a truly uncomfortable notion.”

Teach looked like she had wished the alchemist would shut his mouth forever. “We’ve had a number of proposals drafted up. We can’t undo the damage that we’ve done to each other in the news-sheets, but we can agree to make public proclamations emphasizing the efforts your Guilds make toward unification or mutual defense.”

In the corner of the room, Azea and Calazan Farstrider held their hands toward the candles on their belts. Their eyes locked with uncomfortable intensity on whoever was talking.

“We also need the Gray Island back,” Estyr said firmly. “There’s more to it than just the Consultant’s Guild headquarters.”

That was interesting, and it reminded Calder that he hadn’t checked into the Gray Island reclamation effort in enough detail. But there was a more pressing issue that no one had directly addressed yet.

Shera named it before he could.

“The Great Elders are moving,” Shera said from behind her gray half-mask.

Kern nodded. The Champion hadn’t said a word until now, but on this matter, he spoke up. “We’re all locked in the same burning house. It benefits no one to fight while the flames rise.”

Maybe it was the talk of flames, but Calder was still feeling the heat. As he rolled his sleeves up, he spoke. “More than anything else, even if we bicker and squabble over details, we have to make an agreement of honor between those of us in this room: we must join together in mutual defense.”

Shera’s gaze took on a haunted look, and Bareius looked suddenly uncomfortable, but he could see agreement in both of them even without Reading them.

It restored Calder’s faith in the possibilities of this negotiation. They may disagree on the future of the Empire, but they could set their personal visions and profit aside for the sake of mutual survival. United, they could stand strong against the Elders.

“What happened to your arm, Steward?”

Estyr spoke casually, but to Calder, the room suddenly felt ten times hotter.

He had rolled his sleeve up too far. An inch of reddish, burned skin peeked out. Kelarac’s handprint.

The Regent’s attention was focused on him, and strands of her blonde hair drifted upward.

She suspected him. He needed to get out in front of her suspicions immediately, or he wouldn’t live to see noon.

“Ah, this. Yes. I have nothing to hide from you, Regent, and I would love to get your guidance on this…mark…after this meeting is over.”

Leave it alone, he begged Estyr silently. Leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone…

“Roll up your sleeve,” the Regent commanded.

Sweat rolled down Calder’s skin. Shera was leaning forward on the balls of her feet, and even Bareius felt somehow more dangerous than he had a moment before. Kern and Teach shifted slightly closer to Calder.

Before Calder spoke, he took great pains to make sure his voice would be steady. “As you suspect, I did receive this from an Elder. But he has no influence over me, I assure…”

The words trailed off as the ends of Estyr’s coat and hair began to blow in a nonexistent breeze. Her Intent radiated out from her, so severe that it drowned out even the Emperor’s crown, and her eyes were like blue suns of judgment.

“Do you know who blinded Kell’arack?” Estyr Six asked him. “Who circled his head in bands of steel and drove spikes through his eyes, nailing him to the floor of the Aion Sea?”

Beneath the open bloodlust of the ancient Soulbound, Calder choked on his own voice.

“That is the mark of Kelarac. He placed it on his favorite slaves.” She had left her circle now, marching forward, and Calder could no longer physically stay where he was. He scrambled back, leaving his own circle, groping at his waist for a weapon he didn’t have.

Estyr spoke with the finality of an executioner. “His soul belongs to Kelarac, and he will not leave this room alive.”

She loomed over him as his back hit the wall. Though Teach and Kern both stood fully in front of him now, he felt naked before her.

“The Head of the Blackwatch has vouched for him,” Kern said. He held both hands out in front of him, and Calder wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a defensive gesture or a placating one.

Teach sounded like she was begging, and Calder noted that her trembling had returned. “We have kept him under observation in the Palace, and he has shown no cooperation with Elders or the Elder powers.”

Estyr stared through them, locked onto Calder with centuries of fury.

“I will Read the truth from him myself.”

She reached out, and Calder was certain he wouldn’t survive her touch.

Baldezar Kern seized her wrist, his arm twice as thick as her own. “Regent, please. Let’s take a moment to…”

He grunted with effort. Then he latched onto her with another hand.

She was pushing downward against him now, and his arms trembled. She made it look effortless even as the Head Champion’s face turned red and slick with sweat.

Metal shrieked as Kern’s armor began to crack. His knees buckled.

Calder’s thoughts were paralyzed by overwhelming Intent, and he was certain that he was about to die.

Teach dove into Estyr in a shoulder-tackle, but Estyr weathered it like a solid oak. She drew back her free hand into a fist, her eyes still on Calder.

“Elderspawn,” she spat.

Then she punched Baldezar Kern straight through the floor.

CHAPTER SIX

PRESENT DAY

KERN WAS HAMMERED through the floor as though by the fist of a Great Elder, and then everything moved too fast for Calder to see.

Dust exploded up from the new Champion-shaped hole in the floor, and Calder threw up an arm to protect his eyes, but he was only blinded for a second.

In that second, Teach had already taken a beating.

Estyr’s fists were so fast it was like she had twelve arms, and the room rang with the thunder of dented steel as Teach’s armor was caved in. The Guild Head tried to fight back, but Estyr was a whirling shadow, too fast to see until she threw Teach into the ceiling.

Then Kern erupted from the floor below. His face was bloody, but before Calder could see if he was all right, he and Estyr had bounced each other off all the walls. He couldn’t even tell who was winning; it was so loud that his eyes hurt, and he had already clapped both hands over his ears.

He had to get out.

Teach returned to the fight as Calder stumbled to the door leading to the staircase. He passed the Farstrider sisters, but they didn’t seem bothered by the noise; their eyes jumped around as though they could follow the fight just fine.

He hesitated next to them. So far, everyone who knew about his connection to Kelarac had dealt with the Great Elders themselves. They understood that sometimes, there was no other choice but to make a deal.

But these Witnesses could tell everyone that he was in league with a Great Elder. Without their testimony, the public would hear only that the Regents had attacked the Imperial Steward under a flag of truce.

He abandoned that line of thinking in a second. After the fight was over, he could worry about what the Witnesses would say. For now, he needed to get out of the room.

Estyr roared behind him. “Shera! My Vessels!”

If she got her Vessels, it was all over

But if he could get Teach and Kern their weapons first…

He didn’t look at Shera. If he did, that might be the time it took her to reach him and attack. He knew she was unarmed, and in a fight without weapons he thought he could defend himself against her, but there was no sense taking chances with a trained assassin. Not when there were protectors within arm’s reach.

He dashed through the door, shouting for the Imperial Guard.

A Guard with fox ears was standing on the other side of the door, her eyes wide and ears twitching.

Calder grabbed her by the shoulder and gestured for her to move down the stairs. The stairs were packed with Guards and the occasional Luminian knight, and he addressed them all.

“Peace is done,” he said. “It’s time to fight.”

He wasn’t intentionally concentrating on the crown he wore. When he’d used it before, he had done his best to concentrate and make sure that the Emperor’s Intent reinforced his own, but that wasn’t always how investment worked.

An object just performed its function better based on the strength, focus, and quantity of Intent reinforcing it, and the crown’s function was to represent authority.

No one questioned him for a second. The Guards pinned the Luminian knight to the stairs, disarming her of sword and shield in an instant.

“We need the Vessels,” Calder called, and the fox-eared Guard shouted for her subordinates to clear the way. They pressed themselves to either side, and the Guard ran him forward, the others falling in formation behind him.

Was this what it was like to really rule the Empire?

I should wear this crown more often.

They escorted him down to the bottom of the tower, and on the way he found another restrained Luminian knight and one missing from his post. That one must have figured out what was happening from the sounds above.

For now, Calder had the advantage, because he was one of the few who knew they were at war. That advantage would become less valuable with every passing second.

So when he returned to the open room at the bottom of the tower, he drew himself up and focused on the crown as he commanded, “Release our weapons.”

The Magister scrambled for her staff decorated with blue crystals, hurrying to obey. Two of the Witnesses fell to their knees and the other two ran over to the boxes, prying at the lids with their fingers.

The blindfolded Champion smirked and uncrossed her arms, casually drawing her sword. “How about everyone stays where they are?”

Loyalty to the Empire was one thing, but self-preservation was a powerful instinct. The Magister and the Witnesses froze, looking between Calder and the Champion.

The Stonefang Kameira had never flinched at Calder’s command, and the giant ruby-striped dog growled menacingly at the Witnesses who had dared to touch the boxes.

He had made the command too general. In his experience using the crown, once he had determined who would listen to the crown’s orders, he got better results when addressing people individually.

If he spoke to many people at once, then somewhere in the back of their minds, they might think, “He’s not necessarily talking to me. These other people will release the weapons.”

He had to leave no room for those thoughts, so he focused on the Champion.

Calder drew himself up, staring straight into the cloth over her eyes, and tapped a hand to his crown. “Champion, we are under attack. As the Steward of the Imperial Throne, I command you to release our weapons so that we can defend ourselves.”

He really wished he knew her name. Or at least that he could look her in the eyes.

Her sword came up as though poised to break open a nearby box…then it kept rising until it pointed straight at Calder.

“I don’t see any way giving you more weapons is going to make things better. Until the Witnesses give me the go-ahead, they’re staying where they are.”

Calder turned to the nearest Chronicler and Silent One. “Witnesses, tell—”

“Not those Witnesses. You know that.”

He did, but it had been worth a try.

By now, the Imperial Guard had filled up the stairs behind him and spilled into the room. They braced their weapons, looking to him for orders. He could have them rush the guardians and maybe open the boxes.

If he did, the Champion would grind them to pieces.

Maybe she could be overwhelmed by the sheer weight of bodies, but most—if not all—of the Guards would be killed.

For a moment, he was very conscious of the weight of the crown on his head. Not just the physical weight, but the significance.

In this moment, he had the authority of the Emperor under his command. What did he want to do with it?

Calder pulled the crown off and addressed the Champion. If overwhelming Intent wouldn’t work, he would try sincerity. “Please, madam, would you tell me your name?”

Her smirk remained in place. “You can call me Twelve.”

Was this some kind of Champion joke?

That made the third Champion to tell him to refer to them by number, and he’d never learned what it meant. There was no Champion tradition he’d ever read about that suggested they named their members in sequence, and most of the Champions he’d met didn’t have numbers for names.

He should have asked Urzaia when he had the chance.

“Madam Twelve, look around you.” The tower shook beneath the blows of the superhuman fighters at the top. “We were attacked. I was driven out, and now General Teach and your Guild Head, Baldezar Kern, are fighting together against Estyr Six.”

He desperately hoped his earnest expression was making it through the blindfold. “They can’t win. Without their Vessels, they are no match for her. She will kill them, and she will come down those stairs, and she will take back her Vessels from you. She will not speak to you, she will take them by force. Please. Without your help, we have no chance.”

Twelve’s head slowly lowered, as though under an invisible weight. As it did, her sword drifted down until it rested at her side.

Calder’s heart lifted.

“Nah,“ Twelve said at last. She ground the sword into the floor and leaned on it. “If the Farstriders tell me to open one of these boxes, I’ll do it. Otherwise, I’m here to draw swords on anyone who tries me.”

Calder tried not to let his frustration show, but he shoved the crown back onto his head and turned to address the Imperial Guard. “Escort me out of here.”

Unless the Independent Guilds had moved, they were still gathered outside the main door of the Rose Tower. But there were Guards out there too. He needed the Imperial Guard to make him an exit, or he was trapped here.

He had to escape to get to the one person he could think of that might be able to help: Bliss.

As the Guards formed up before the door, the ceiling collapsed.

Kern fell to the floor with a crash, and Calder couldn’t tell if he had crashed through intentionally or if he had once again been cast down by Estyr Six. The Guild Head landed with his knees bent, and his dented armor creaked as he slowly raised himself to a standing position.

Unhurried, he looked around, taking in the situation of the room. One half of his head was sheathed in blood and his entire body was covered in the dust of stone and plaster, but he acted as though it was all just makeup, not worth mentioning.

He had landed among the boxes, and he took in Calder and the Imperial Guard gathered at the foot of the stairs, the Stonefang growling at him, the Magister cowering nearby, the Witnesses silently observing, and the Champion standing with her massive sword.

He focused on her. “Yzara. I need my weapons.”

The Stonefang could take no more. This threat had stayed among its charges for too long. It hurled itself at Kern, snarling, jaws gaping wide enough to crush a man’s skull.

Kern caught the tiger-sized dog by the throat with one hand and hurled it behind him in a single motion.

Twelve—or was it Yzara?—no longer looked so smug. She gripped her sword in both hands and held it up, leaning forward, ready for battle. “Sorry, Baldezar. It’s a job.”

Once again, there came an explosion of motion from a pair of combatants too fast to clearly see. Calder flinched back from the thunder of their crash, instinctively throwing up a hand to protect himself.

When he lowered it, the battle was over.

Twelve lay crumpled in a heap against the wall. Her chest and stomach looked like they had been caved in, and her blood had been sprayed all over the far wall. Her ravaged chest still moved in and out, and Calder could hear a pained wheezing from all the way across the room. Her sword hung limp in her hand.

Kern did not apologize or say anything to his fellow Guild member. Instead, he turned to the Magister, blood-spattered gauntlets held loosely at his sides.

“Open the box.”

The Magister didn’t have the same lethal commitment as the Champion. She hurriedly raised her crystal-speckled staff, her Intent activating the power of the Awakened object. The lid of Kern’s box slid aside.

Kern reached in and picked up his leather satchel. He let out a breath as he lifted it, regarding it like he would an injury.

Calder pointed to the long stone chest containing Teach’s sword. “The rest of ours too,” he commanded the Magister.

When she looked to the Guild Head for permission, Kern nodded.

“Can you win?” Calder asked. There was no time for pleasantries, and he doubted Kern would appreciate them anyway.

The Champion considered for a moment as the stone lid slid away. “Not if she gets her Vessels back.”

Kern lifted the sheathed Tyrfang out and looked up through the hole in the ceiling, from which plaster rained down as the battle raged overhead.

For the first time, Calder noticed that not all of the deafening sounds of battle were coming from above. Gunshots and screams rang out from all around the Rose Tower.

The battle had begun outside.

“Would you do me a favor, Marten?” Kern asked.

He wasn’t watching Calder, but Calder almost couldn’t believe that the Head of the Champion’s Guild would ever ask him for anything. “Name it.”

“Back everyone off. This is going to get messy.”

Kern tucked Tyrfang under his arm, reaching into the leather satchel. He pulled a helmet out and somewhat awkwardly shoved it onto his head. Then he let the satchel fall to the floor, holding a pair of maces in a single hand.

He turned to face Calder, so Calder saw his transformation.

The helmet, carved into the aspect of a snarling bull, flared with red light as though a crimson quicklamp had been ignited within. The light shivered through every plate of the armor he wore, traveling from his neck to the bottom of his boots in an instant.

Dim scarlet energy radiated from within the armor. It was barely noticeable, but the Intent that rolled off the Champion…

It was bloodlust, desire for combat, distilled and focused into pure violence. Calder and the Magister both stumbled back, bowled over by the force of the Soulbound Vessel’s Intent.

A chuckle began deep in Kern’s chest, slowly gathering and building to a wild laugh that competed with the blows from above. The laugh became a deafening roar, and suddenly Kern leaped up through the hole in the ceiling in a blur of motion.

An instant later, an explosion sounded from the top floor. Through the window high on the wall, he saw debris raining down.

The Magister fell to her knees, breathing heavily. “That was…I don’t…I thought we were all going to die.”

So did Calder, but he grabbed his own sword from the freshly opened box and buckled it onto his waist. He had a job to do.

“Open the door,” he commanded.

The Guards hurried to obey, unbarring the doors and pulling them open.

Immediately, the battle spilled inside.

Guild members swarmed all over each other, stabbing and beating each other and hurling weapons of all descriptions. They were a mess of color and motion, so that he could barely tell any of them apart.

But he didn’t have to.

He let the Emperor’s Intent trickle down from the crown just a little.

“RETREAT!” Calder shouted.

The melee froze. A second later, all of them—Independents and Imperialists both—scrambled away. Allies stuck to allies, and a few took parting potshots, but in a matter of only seconds, the doors were clear.

However, the command had been too broad. His own Guards scurried up the stairs, dove behind boxes, or hid in the corner.

Calder tried again. Most of his attention was focused on keeping too much of the Emperor’s power from leaking through; he could already sense new memories pressing against his awareness like half-remembered dreams.

“Imperial Guard, to me!”

A mob of red-and-black-uniformed men and women condensed around him out of nowhere. Surrounded by their broad shoulders and inhuman limbs, he was reminded like never before of how much bigger the average Imperial Guard was compared to him.

“Half of you protect the boxes. Don’t let Estyr get her skulls back. The rest of you: get me to Bliss.”

They practically carried him out the door.

The streets of the Imperial Palace had turned into a nightmare.

The Champions, which he had been certain would put a quick end to any violence, had been set upon by gangs of alchemists with gas, darts, traps, and some kind of sprayed adhesive that kept the Champions bound to the floor.

If that were enough to stop them, though, they wouldn’t be Champions. Calder saw mercenaries with Awakened weapons among the alchemists, as well as leashed Kameira or even Soulbound.

Even so, the Champions strained against the poison and their bonds, and the broken bodies of many an alchemist littered the street.

His own Guards kept him hurrying down the road, but the fellow members of their Guild were engaged with everyone, most of all the Luminian knights.

From the bits of the fights that Calder could see, any knight was worth two or three of the Guard, catching blows on their shields and returning strikes with swords that flashed unnaturally bright.

Eventually, numbers would carry the day for the Guards. Some of the knights had been overwhelmed in the same way as those in the Rose Tower, and they had either been bound and left in the dirt or killed and stripped of weapons and armor.

Greenwardens were largely harmless without access to their trained Kameira, but several of them carried guns or alchemical weapons, and they moved in packs.

Wherever Calder saw combat, he shouted for retreat. Sometimes he was drowned out by the sounds of battle and his Guards carried him past, but sometimes the crown-reinforced order stuck. Imperialists and Independents alike stopped fighting, instead scrambling for shelter with their allies.

As they traveled, he thought he felt the battle slowly dying down. He hoped it was more than just hopeful imagination. There would never be a truly unified Empire if he had to destroy half the Guilds to build it.

Finally, they caught sight of what they had been looking for: a flock of Blackwatch holding a building secure.

The Guards had last seen Bliss here, but for some reason she hadn’t joined the battle yet. That much, Calder could tell on his own. The paving-stones hadn’t been turned into squids.

The Watchmen on the doors drew sabers even though they were being approached by their supposed allies. “Stop where you are!” one shouted.

Calder pushed his way through the Guards so they could see his face. “Where’s Bliss?”

They traded looks and finally lowered their weapons. “Upstairs. Would you have your Guard wait here?”

The Imperial Guard looked like they weren’t even going to slow down, but he ordered them to stay outside with the crown. “Secure the perimeter.”

As he walked in, the older of the Watchmen leaned over to speak in his ear. “She’s having one of her bad days.”

Calder almost stopped.

He could always go around the Palace hunting down the packs of alchemists that were restraining Champions; he had already considered it. But he chose against it for the same reason he had before: Bliss had the potential to end the entire conflict on her own. And she was one more person who might be able to defend herself from Estyr Six.

He squared his shoulders and marched inside.

Following the directions of the Blackwatch, he moved deeper into what was apparently an inn. There were a number of similar buildings inside the Imperial Palace; official guests would stay in guest rooms, but visitors or family members of Palace staff could rent places like these. It was one of the many new things he’d learned since moving into the Palace himself.

He walked up a set of stairs, passing another set of Blackwatch guards, and into a second floor filled with half a dozen rooms. All the doors were open save one.

Before he knocked, he lifted a hand and Read the room.

Overwhelming confusion radiated from within.

He shook off the Intent, blinking rapidly to clear his sight and focus him on reality. No point hesitating now.

He knocked on the door. Before he could hit it a second time, the door was torn open.

Bliss had flung the door wide, face flushed and hair in disarray. Sweat ran down her face, and she looked like she could barely stand.

When she saw Calder, she lit up. “You came! Thank you. Thank…”

She collapsed against his chest, holding fistfuls of his shirt to keep herself upright. Her wet forehead pressed against him, burning hot.

Horrified, he looked from Bliss to the other person in the room: his mother.

She did not look as pleased to see him. Her Blackwatch coat was buckled tight, and she had bared an inch of her saber. He caught a glimpse of a pistol holstered at her hip, and her face was pale as she regarded the Guild Head.

“Bliss,” she said carefully, “please back away from my son.”

Bliss’ fingers trembled as though she were trying to release his shirt. She mumbled as she spoke. “I apologize. This is not very polite, is it?”

One step at a time, Calder shuffled into the room, slowly shutting the door behind him. He was afraid to move too quickly, lest the Guild Head think he was shaking her off.

With his eyes, he asked Alsa what was going on.

She gestured subtly to her own Blackwatch coat.

Calder glanced down at Bliss’ coat. She carried the Spear of Tharlos in there, a weapon made by the Regents from a bone they’d taken from the Great Elder of Chaos. Sometimes, as she tucked it inside, he saw it stretch or try and leave.

This time, it throbbed visibly against the black fabric. Like a beating heart.

Calder spoke in the most soothing tone he could manage. This might be an even greater threat than Estyr. “It’s no problem, Bliss. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m here for whatever you need.”

Alsa furiously shook her head, slashing a finger across her throat. That had been the wrong thing to say.

But Bliss relaxed, breathing more deeply against him.

“Thank you. I’m glad I can be honest with you. Now, will you please let me make everyone quiet?”

Calder forced himself to keep breathing. She’d notice if his breath hitched. “Why do you want to do that?”

“It’s so loud out there,” she whimpered. She touched an ear. “Not just in here, but in here.” The finger moved from her ear to the side of her head, where she twisted it as though trying to drill a hole in her own skull.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It will settle down soon.”

“I wanted to make everyone be silent, but Alsa Grayweather said that these were citizens of the Imperial Palace, and we’d named you Steward. So they belonged to you. That was true, I agreed to it, and I don’t want to break anything that’s yours. But now you’re here, and you can let me!”

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. She was certainly older than him, but she looked like a child begging her parent for help.

He selected every word with the care of an alchemist mixing components. “Bliss…I’ve been doing my best to make everything silent for you. I’m going to go back out there and see if I can get them to quiet down. Can you let me try first?”

Her brow furrowed, but she straightened up and nodded once, sharply. Then she reached out and smoothed the creases she made in his shirt. “I am sorry about this, I’m simply…out of sorts. Because of the noise.”

He didn’t know if the clash of powerful Intent had roused her Soulbound Vessel, but he wondered if this might be the true attack they’d feared from the Elders all along. “Nothing to apologize for, Bliss. We’re—”

A thundering crash shook the world outside.

Calder dashed downstairs, his mother following him. He glanced back once to see if Bliss had joined them, but when he turned back, he found her already peeking out of the front door.

The other Watchmen backed carefully away from her, but Calder deliberately stepped up, looking over her head and through the cracked door.

Teach and Kern had been smashed down into the street, the paving-stones ruptured where they had landed. An invisible force pinned Teach flat to the ground, Tyrfang just out of her reach, but Kern snarled and pushed against it. The red light in his armor flared, and his knees trembled as he fought.

Against the might of Estyr Six.

The Regent lifted into the air, staring down at them all with the icy glare of an Empress. Her skin was covered by dust and blood, but the combination made her expression into a regal mask. Her coat had been shredded, and now it blew in the wind like the ends of her hair.

The three reptilian skulls floated around her head.

Kern hadn’t managed to finish her off in time.

“Citizens, lay down your weapons!” Estyr’s voice echoed between the buildings, majestic and resonant. “This battle is over.”

And so it was.

Calder let the weight of failure settle onto him. He’d lost. He had made too many stupid mistakes, rushed too much, played the odds too many times. No one could stand against Estyr Six. It was the end.

Estyr called out once more. “Calder Marten. Come out.”

Bliss turned to look at him, real concern in her eyes. He patted her shoulder as he pushed past her and walked into the street.

His shirt had been newly white this morning, and now it was stained with soot and the blood of others. An odd detail to focus on, but it seemed to represent the day.

He walked out to stand under Estyr, looking up at her. A stream of dust fell from her body, trickling down in front of him.

Now it would be up to her to fix the world.

He would get no chance to try and preserve the Empire, to create a world governed by mortals. He wouldn’t get to fix or use the Optasia, or to settle things with Jerri. Someone else would have to do those things now.

A stubborn spark of anger flared to life within him.

No, not someone else. He’d fought to get here. He’d earned the right.

And unlike what Ach’magut had promised, no one had yet addressed him as the Emperor of the World.

But they would.

He opened himself to the crown and let the Emperor’s Intent flow unfettered into his.

He wasn’t wearing a crown that belonged to someone else. He was wearing the Emperor’s crown. His crown.

He was the Emperor, and even Estyr Six was subject to his will.

Distantly, he heard someone shout behind him. “No!”

The Emperor addressed his oldest and most powerful subject. “Estyr. Stop.”

He felt it work even before he saw the effects. Her Intent shook like a sheet in a stiff wind. Here, her legendary power and sensitivity as a Reader were her weaknesses; she could see that he wasn’t the Emperor she knew, she could hear a voice that sounded nothing like his, but her Reader’s senses contradicted and overrode all others.

Her power relaxed. Just for a second.

That was enough for Baldezar Kern.

Even as Teach sat up, gasping, Kern stumbled forward. The force pinning him down was suddenly, unexpectedly, gone.

As Estyr looked around for the Emperor, as her expression began to change as she realized her mistake, the Head of the Champion’s Guild had already leaped into the air.

He swung one of his maces, the near-mythical weapons that had crushed a ship with every blow during the South Sea Rebellion. It slammed into Estyr’s chest, and from the point of impact, a fiery explosion bloomed into a crimson sun.

Along with everyone else on the street, the Emperor was blinded by a wave of light and heat. He felt the explosion in his bones, felt the Intent of the buildings on either side of the street melt away as they were seared by the Champion’s fiery power. Glass shattered and paint peeled and paving-stones cracked.

There came a far-off crash as Estyr was launched into a home at the far end of the street. The house collapsed around her.

On the other side, Kern had been driven away as well, and he had landed just as hard.

Kern’s own blow had been the strongest he could produce, strong enough that it would have staggered a Great Elder. He couldn’t withstand his own power…and in the same moment, Estyr had landed a hit of her own.

Now he lay in a limp pile, his armor falling from him in smoking pieces. He was crumpled as though every bone in his body had broken.

Teach staggered over to stand next to the Emperor, trying and failing to lift Tyrfang high enough to get it in the sheath over her shoulder. “Get…inside. She…may not…be…”

A bone-curdling cry tore through the air.

The Emperor turned to see Jorin Maze-walker, Regent of the South.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He knew the man as well as he knew himself. They had spent centuries…

…no, wait, not centuries. He had met Jorin only briefly on the Gray Island.

Why couldn’t he remember Jorin? They had fought the Great Elders together. So why didn’t he remember that?

The Emperor remembered what the man was supposed to look like, at least. Instead of his trademark wide-brimmed hat, he wore a hood, and black-lensed glasses perched on his nose.

He was screaming in apparent anguish, swinging his sword.

His sword that carried an Intent of pure death.

The nameless weapon was the prototype for Teach’s Tyrfang. Its blade was rotten, corrupting, like a septic and leprous wound. But it held terrible, ancient power. Enough to blight forests with every cut.

And now he was swinging that weapon at the Emperor. His friend. His sworn ruler.

Hideous, rotting darkness swept toward him, and he stood exposed in the center of the street. There was nothing to do, nowhere to hide, and no time to react.

The Emperor would meet his demonstration with power. He raised one hand, gathering his Intent…

Teach shoved him behind her.

She held Tyrfang before herself with both hands, pumping out all the power she could from her Vessel, screaming as darkness met darkness. Horror and bloodshed filled the air, drowning out the Intent from the crown.

Overwhelmed, Calder’s mind shut down.

His body crumbled to the stone.

Calder was shaken awake to see Cheska leaning over him.

Her hat was gone, her hair tied back, her face smeared with soot and blood. Tears tracked down her cheeks, but she was staring at him in shock.

Her expression brightened on seeing his eyes open, and she seized him by his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. “Not the time to lie down on the job, Captain.”

Still dazed, Calder leaned on her and tried to sort through his recent memories. He remembered Estyr, and then…

He’d been powerful.

He’d been ancient.

He’d been…someone else.

Before he could organize his thoughts, a violent stench penetrated his consciousness, and he gagged. It smelled like rotten meat and burning refuse. What was that?

His eyes were drawn to Teach.

She still knelt in the same pose as when she had defended him: kneeling with Tyrfang braced in front of her. Now she held on to the sword with only one hand, leaning on it for support. The plates of her armor had largely been melted away, revealing scarred mail beneath.

But the armor had fared better than her head.

The memory snapped back into place: she had taken Jorin’s blow with Tyrfang. While wearing no helmet.

Her hair had burned away completely, but her skin had been blackened and tightened to her skull. She looked like a dehydrated corpse, preserved in a desert tomb for centuries. What remained of her lips had been drawn tight, revealing her teeth.

The road beneath her was the point of a wedge, inside of which the paving-stones were intact and unharmed. To either side, the street had been melted and blackened, toxic shadows spreading on the ground behind her like a pair of wings.

Calder looked down at the clean stone on which he and Cheska stood. The Head of the Imperial Guard had stood as a bulwark against the darkness for his sake.

Teach had given her life for his.

She hadn’t even liked him.

Cheska was pulling him back, away from Teach, so that he could leave without stepping on the cursed stones. He heaved himself free, moving closer to Teach.

They couldn’t leave her corpse here. If it was the only thing he accomplished as Imperial Steward, he would ensure that she was buried in the Palace, next to the other heroes of the Empire.

A faint, sudden beat, like a single strike on a drum, stopped him in his tracks.

There came another. And then a third, faster.

It sounded like a…heartbeat.

Teach’s eyes snapped open and she inhaled a breath so sharply that it resembled a scream. Her eyes were too wide and too bright in her ravaged face, and as she sucked in air, she stared sightlessly into the distance.

After a long, painful moment in which Calder stared in horror, Teach’s eyes rolled back into her head. Then she pitched backward, her armor falling apart on impact with the ground.

Calder focused his Intent on the crown. “Guards!”

A few Imperial Guards had started running for her already, but now they sprinted, leaping the black part of the street or weaving around.

He forced himself to turn away from the Guild Head. They would take care of her, if anyone could, and there was more work to be done.

Cheska’s attention was still locked on Teach, her mouth hanging open. Calder gently pulled her along with him.

“I thought she was dead,” Cheska whispered. “I’d have bet my left hand…”

“She hasn’t made it out yet. What happened?”

The Head of the Navigators steeled herself and shifted course. “The Independents escaped. Try not to be too shocked, but they had an escape plan. Melted away like dew. We would have chased them, but…”

She waved a hand to indicate their surroundings. The injured stumbled between scarred buildings, separating the dead from the dying.

“And Estyr?”

Calder tried not to swallow too hard as he asked the question. If the Regent had survived, she could come back for the rest of them at any second.

Cheska let out a long breath. “The body’s gone.”

His heart plummeted into a chasm.

“Bliss says the last Consultants to escape were carrying something, but she couldn’t stop them. Jorin covered their retreat.”

Calder wouldn’t have followed after Jorin either. Not after seeing the man blacken stone for dozens of yards.

“How’s Kern?”

Cheska staggered next to him, and he steadied her with an arm. She shivered beneath him, and he remembered she must be as exhausted as he was.

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “Let’s find out.”

Unsteadily, she turned to the side, toward the inn the Blackwatch had been using as their headquarters. They had turned the inside into a surgery, with wounded on pallets covering every table and every inch of the floor.

The injured were tended by Watchmen without their coats, bandaged Imperial Guards, Magisters in bloodstained robes, Imperial Palace staff still in their livery…anyone who wasn’t too badly injured themselves.

Calder asked a question of one of the Watchmen and was pointed upstairs, toward the room where he had met with Bliss and his mother earlier. They were in there now, standing against the far wall and watching the man on the bed.

Baldezar Kern’s armor had been pried off of him in chunks. His bull helmet lay cracked into two pieces.

His face was a mask of blood, and a six-inch length of wood jutted from his chest. It had penetrated his armor, drilling through a piece of steel that was still fused to his flesh; Estyr must have launched it at him like a bullet in the last instant.

A member of the Alchemist’s Guild, no doubt taken captive out of the battle, worked desperately on his wounds. She took a breath as Calder walked in, wiping sweat from her forehead but leaving a swipe of Kern’s blood behind.

“I don’t have anything here,” she said to Bliss. The alchemist took on a begging tone. “Please, I can’t do any more. He’s gone.”

Kern’s chest still rose and fell with irregular breaths.

“He’s breathing,” Calder said.

The alchemist didn’t seem to want to look away from Bliss. “Champions don’t give up easily. Even when they’re already dead.”

Bliss stood against the wall with her spine straight, but her eyes were hooded and dark. “I could have silenced them all.”

“Yes,” Calder said. “I’m sorry.”

His mother looked at him with pain on her face, but she didn’t disagree.

Together, in silence, they stood vigil until the Head of the Champion’s Guild breathed his last.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THREE YEARS AGO

IT TOOK three days for Calder and The Testament to reach the roaming island, but when they did, he didn’t need Jerri’s confirmation of their coordinates to know they were in the right place.

The island was dense with growth, choked with jungle in a way that you rarely saw on the Aion Sea, and the water was shallow enough around the shore that Calder would never have pegged it for a roaming island except for one detail: the unmistakable shape of The Reliable tangled up in the treeline.

All Navigator ships were one-of-a-kind Awakened objects, but this one was distinct even among its fellows. It looked like a giant conch shell that had been grown into the shape of a ship, its form curving in pink-and-seafoam curls to form a hull. Its mast jutted up like a natural growth, though its sails were made from ordinary white sailcloth.

The Reliable had been caught in the island’s clutches. Trees and vines had extended from the jungle, seizing the ship and dragging it close. The sand beneath the ship pushed it upwards so that it had tilted, leaning drunkenly against the trees.

If Calder hadn’t known better, he would have thought the ship had run aground on this island years ago, long enough that trees and vines had grown up around it. But Captain Tommison’s contract had started a few months before, and his ship was half the speed of The Testament. He had made it only a week out from the Capital before the island had caught him.

If this roaming island had been predatory, the ship would have been sunk or consumed, the crown lost to Kelarac.

Looking at the pink ship, Calder thought of the man with the steel blindfold and what the Collector of Souls could do with the Emperor’s crown.

Even in the tropical wind, he shivered.

“We’ll have to take a longboat to shore,” he said, lowering his spyglass. “I don’t know how a roaming island brings a beach with it, but if that’s the strangest thing we see ashore, I’ll swallow a cannon.”

“Not one of my cannons,” Foster grumbled.

“I will, of course, require the services of my trusty cook.”

Urzaia Woodsman thumbed one of his hatchets. “Yes, Captain! There may be something delicious out there!”

Calder wasn’t entirely certain the man was joking, but he pushed on. “Foster, you stay here and man the guns. Petal—”

He was in time to catch one glimpse of frizzy hair before the trap door down to the hold slammed shut.

“—as you were, then, Petal. Mister Petronus, you’re coming ashore. Jerri, assist Foster with the cannons, if you don’t mind.”

Cheska had sent him away with the Guild’s best estimates of what could have happened to Captain Tommison and the crew of The Reliable, and Calder had spent plenty of time on speculations of his own. If they were only trapped by the island, then Calder would free them and escort them to the destination of their delivery.

Alternatively, they could have been apprehended by another party, in which case they were likely dead and the crown taken. Now that he could see the ship seized by the island, he considered this less likely…but still not impossible.

An enemy could have boarded the ship, killed the crew, and—unable to sail a Navigator’s vessel—run the ship aground.

Third, Captain Tommison could have taken the crown for himself and fled. Once again, the circumstances seemed to disprove that, but Calder couldn’t rule it out yet. Maybe Tommison would greet Navigator reinforcements with musket-fire.

Finally, something strange could have happened. And strange on the Aion Sea meant strange indeed. Elders could be wearing their bodies like husks, or a rogue Kameira could have driven their ship into the island in a rage.

There was one commonality in all of those scenarios: they all held the potential for a fight.

Petal had proven herself reliable in combat before, but she hated it. Calder tried to respect her wishes whenever possible. He really did need Foster on the cannons, just in case, and Jerri…enthusiastic as she was, and as much as she enjoyed the thrill of danger, she was hopeless with a sword. Adequate with a firearm, but nothing more.

And he couldn’t bear to risk her.

Shuffles fluttered up to the deck, saw what was happening, and laughed. Then it lumbered back down below, presumably to go back to sleep.

Calder chose to take that as a good omen.

With the crew assigned, Calder marched over to help Urzaia with the longboat, only to find Jerri standing between him and the cook. Her earrings flashed emerald in the sunlight, seeming to blaze with green fire, and her eyes flickered with fire of their own.

“I’m not staying on the ship,” she declared.

“Sorry, Jerri, I’m too busy to talk. I’m helping Urzaia with the boat.”

She shot a skeptical glance at the Champion, who was lifting a longboat one-handed without use of the ropes.

Urzaia shot her a beaming gap-tooth smile. “Do not worry, Jyrine! I can handle this myself.”

Calder wondered if he could get away with docking Urzaia’s pay.

“I know we’ll be in danger, but I accept the risks,” Jerri went on.

Calder weighed his options and decided to appeal to the gravity of the situation. “I will not increase risk for the rest of the crew. Taking along someone who cannot hold her weight in battle puts us all in danger.”

Her face contorted as she wrestled with herself, trying to come up with an argument against her uselessness in combat.

Andel stepped up to Calder’s side, adjusting his white hat. “I agree with the captain, Miss Tessella. You won’t be of any help to us, so it would make no sense to take you along. My apologies.”

She glared at him, jaw tightening as she searched for something to say.

Calder was about to apologize and promise to make it up to her on his return when Urzaia called out. “I will look out for her, Captain!”

Jerri looked as though the sun had risen again.

Calder turned to Urzaia, who was holding the longboat by its prow one-handed, lowering it down long-ways into the water. “You think she should come ashore with us, Urzaia?”

Carefully, the Champion continued lowering the boat, leaning over the railing to get it closer to the water before he let it fall with a loud splash.

“She wants to, yes? Then let her come! It could be an adventure, and there might be no bloodshed at all. Either way, she will have fun, I think.”

Jerri ran over to him, and without a word, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Calder tried and failed to find a further objection.

With Urzaia looking out for her, she’d be as safe as she would if she remained on the ship. Maybe safer, depending on what they found. Besides, he wasn’t certain they were running into danger.

“Fine with me,” he said at last. “But let’s not waste any more daylight. Lower the ladder, Urzaia.”

If not for their prior experience with roaming islands, they would have beached their longboat right next to The Reliable.

One end of the island would be the ‘mouth.’ If the island had tried to swallow the ship and failed for some reason, then landing close to The Reliable would have been like tickling the lips of a sleeping predator.

It would have been easier to walk along the beach, but Calder wanted to avoid as little contact with the sand as possible.

There wasn’t supposed to be a beach.

Instead, they marched through the jungle, keeping the beach in sight and taking the long way to the crashed Navigator ship.

The beach was thin, which was only unusual in that roaming islands usually didn’t have beaches at all, but the vegetation was so thick that it was difficult for them to push through.

Well, difficult for all of them except Urzaia.

They adapted by following the Champion, who swept through the bushes and low trees as though through a curtain and left a carpet of mashed undergrowth in his wake.

Only a few yards into the strangely thick jungle, with Urzaia leading and Andel guarding the rear, they came to a halt. Urzaia raised one hand, signaling a halt, and drew in a long breath through his nose.

“What’s wrong?” Calder asked in a low voice.

“I cannot be sure,” Urzaia said. “There is something…” He sniffed the air again. “…something strange about the air. But I have never been here before, so it could be that I am not familiar with the local flowers, yes?” He chuckled to himself and continued pushing on, casually snapping a leg-thick tree in half.

Calder kept his senses sharp. If their Champion thought there was something off about the smell of the jungle, then Calder took that seriously.

He himself didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary—he caught the salt of the sea, the pungent sweet scent of crushed greenery, and the natural scents of turned earth and fresh water. But then, he didn’t have the nose of a bloodhound or whatever strange Kameira had donated its sensory gifts to Urzaia.

He did, however, have one sense that Urzaia didn’t.

Calder seized a broken stem of a leafy bush that had broken in their passage, Reading it.

As expected, he picked up nothing useful, tossing the green stick aside. Plants didn’t store Intent unless a person used them for something.

When the plant failed him, he opened himself to Reading the ambient Intent of their surroundings. Once again, he knew it was a long shot, and once again he missed the shot.

He felt nothing but a sense of life, of desire to survive, of undirected hunger and energy. Exactly what he would expect from a jungle, and as weak as he would expect from a place uninhabited by humans.

In fact, from the time they pulled the longboat ashore to the moment they reached The Reliable, they saw nothing but bugs. They heard the buzz of insect wings and the chirps of distant birds, and here and there something tiny rustled the undergrowth nearby, but they didn’t see anything.

Even Urzaia lost his cautious edge, talking more and more loudly and trading jokes with Jerri. Who was in a fantastic mood.

For once, Calder was more in line with Andel. He and the former Pilgrim had grown more sober with every step they took. Now Calder was walking with his cutlass out while Andel kept one hand on his pistol and one on his White Sun medallion.

Calder didn’t need to exchange words with his quartermaster to know they were thinking the same thing. The quieter the jungle seemed, the less they trusted it.

Abruptly, the greenery broke in favor of a curved wall of pink-and-cream shell. They had been navigating based on the general shape of the island and glimpses of the ship through the trees, but Calder had misjudged how close they were to their destination.

After coming up to the ship, Urzaia tossed a hook up to the lip of shell that served as railing. He climbed up hand-over-hand, glanced over the deck to make sure there was nothing hostile or hungry aboard, then called Jerri to come up next.

She gripped the rope with both hands, holding on as the Champion effortlessly hauled her aboard.

He pulled Andel and Calder along next, and in a matter of moments, all four of them were aboard The Reliable.

Immediately, Calder noticed a few discrepancies.

For one thing, when he sliced at one of the nearby vines holding on to the tilted deck, it parted easily. It didn’t hiss and strike back at him like a snake, nor did it suddenly come to life and try to wrap around his ankle.

“This,” he said, “is just a vine.”

Andel pulled his pistol, though Calder didn’t see why this being an ordinary vine put them in any immediate danger. It was merely suspicious.

Urzaia peered closer at one of the vines. “Yes, that is strange. One of the hungry islands would only pretend to have vines. Maybe it comes to life when the time is right?”

Calder had seen stranger things. There was a rumor of an island that only existed in the light of the full moon. But he didn’t consider that the most likely explanation.

“I don’t think this is a roaming island at all. I think someone raised this island and brought it to life for the explicit purpose of trapping this ship.”

He traded grim looks with Andel. Urzaia nodded and casually pulled out one of his hatchets. Jerri looked astonished.

“Who do you think raised an entire island?” she asked. “Do you think it was one of the…”

She didn’t even mention the Great Elders by title, which Calder thought was only prudent. Naming them directly would have been foolish—there were all sorts of superstitions about Elder names, most of which had been disproved by the Blackwatch, but the circumstances merited some extra caution.

“It’s impossible to guess,” Calder said. “Anyone in the world could be after this cargo, and far too many powerful Soulbound are capable of raising an island from bare sea.”

Andel knelt and ran his fingers along the deck. “Spilled powder.”

Urzaia checked a nearby crate. “Empty. And the lid…cracked. They packed themselves in a hurry.”

Since there was only one possible course of action, Calder’s orders came easily.

They stuck together as four and explored the ship.

As they searched, evidence mounted that the crew had been able to make a coordinated escape. Personal chests had been thrown open and emptied, the containers abandoned. Most of the food was missing, the rest tossed overboard or left to spoil. All the quicklamps had been taken away or switched off.

Finally, the safe in the captain’s quarters had been opened and left empty. Either the crew had abandoned ship with plenty of time to pack or the ship had been systematically robbed.

“So they left,” Calder said at last. “Where did they go?”

Andel peered through the trees using his own spyglass, surveying the horizon. “I can’t speak for them, but if I were in their situation, I’d have gone to that watchtower.”

Calder took a look himself. Sure enough, over the green horizon of the island, a crenellated tower of yellowish stone scraped the sky.

He handed the spyglass to Jerri, who took it eagerly.

“You don’t need this, do you, Urzaia?” Calder asked.

The Champion’s blue eyes were fixed on the undergrowth, tracking something that Calder couldn’t see.

“…Urzaia?”

Sudden as a striking snake, Urzaia hurled his hatchet.

The dark gray weapon spun end-over-end, slamming into a tree with a thunderclap so loud that it sent a distant flock of birds fluttering into the sky. He sprung after it, clearing the tilted deck with a mighty leap and landing dozens of yards away in a spray of sand.

“Am I the only one who lives in constant jealousy of him?” Calder asked.

The other two shook their heads.

A moment later, Urzaia emerged from the woods, holding his hatchet away from his body with one hand.

Something wriggled on the end of it.

It was the size of a large dog, but flattened like a centipede, with at least a dozen webbed amphibian legs. It had bright green skin across its whole length, and three yellow eyes bugged out of either side of its head. At the end of its body waved a long red-tipped stinger.

The hatchet’s blade had blown a huge hole in its midsection, but it still writhed in death, whipping its stinger in the air, gnashing jaws that looked like a cross between a fish’s teeth and a spider’s mandibles.

Calder’s breath caught. He didn’t need his Reader’s senses to know that this creature was wrong, twisted, the creation of a distant world.

“Othaghor,” Urzaia announced.

The spawn of the Hordefather were here, on the islands. So the Great Elders were involved after all.

He should have known.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Reading the Emperor’s Intent is an exercise in folly.

Many Readers have touched lesser Imperial Relics. A doorknob he opened, perhaps. A pair of his socks that escaped incineration.

I myself had the privilege of Reading the crown itself, with his permission. I came away with an even deeper respect for the skill, wisdom, and power of the original Reader.

But I would not do so again.

Each time you Read the Emperor’s Intent, you are toying with a force that is stronger than you are. You are petting a sleeping tiger.

If you do so enough, one day that tiger will wake.

—HEAD OF THE MAGISTER’S GUILD, MEKENDI MAXEUS

(SEVEN YEARS BEFORE HIS DEATH)

PRESENT DAY

ANOTHER FREELANCE ALCHEMIST strode out of Teach’s recovery room, looking confident.

Calder had learned that such confidence meant nothing.

This man wore a mask with a long beak that had been painted with green and purple symbols of no meaning Calder could determine. Sprigs of holly hung from the mask, and vials filled with brightly colored fluids clinked together with his every step.

Calder had learned that, when the Guild exiled alchemists, it wasn’t necessarily for their lack of skill. It usually had to do with personality.

“My infusion will have twice the efficacy when it is inhaled in her sleep,” the alchemist said, his voice somewhat muffled by the bulky mask. “While nothing is certain, I am confident enough to say that she should be on her feet and speaking by no later than noon tomorrow.”

Calder gestured for a servant to pay the man. The alchemist accepted the thick stack of silvermarks with a deep bow and scurried away as though Calder would change his mind.

“Generosity costs nothing.” It was a strange saying, often repeated by philosophers. Calder considered it a sort of riddle.

By definition, generosity cost something.

Even so, he could afford to be generous here. If Teach survived her wounds, that would be worth more than a ship full of goldmarks.

He needed her.

The Watchman doctor stepped up after the alchemist had left. Calder had forgotten the woman’s name, but he still trusted the opinion she whispered into his ear. “If he developed this cure on ordinary people, it will almost certainly not be effective here. Her biology is unique, and it seems to change every hour.”

The Capital had no shortage of medical alchemists, even with the Guild on the side of the Independents. And of course it had doctors, surgeons, healers, and researchers aplenty.

They had stitched up Jarelys Teach’s wounds within hours, removed debris from her skin before it scarred, and administered healing agents. Even after all that treatment, she had looked like a corpse left to dry in the desert.

It was only when he turned to the experienced doctors of the Imperial Guard and the Watchmen that he had found useful professional opinions. They were used to dealing with patients that had unusual or illogical biology, and they confirmed that the Guild Head’s heart was responding strangely to the dark Intent that had afflicted her.

Would she wake up? In time, she would. Even the freelance alchemists and scam artists agreed on that.

But when she did, would she still be her? No one was certain.

“I’m going to see her,” Calder said, and no one stopped him.

The air stank of harsh alchemical solutions and rotting fruit, presumably because of the device in the corner that spritzed a green cloud into the air every few seconds. That would be the beak-masked alchemist’s treatment, and Calder stayed far enough away from it to avoid taking in a lungful of gas.

At some point over the last week, Teach had stopped looking like a dried husk. Either someone’s treatment had helped or it was simply the broth she was force-fed twice a day.

But she no longer looked like herself.

Her skin was mottled dark and light, which might not have been unusual, except the light and shadow seemed to be arranged in a pattern. As though color had been painted into her skin. The lightest patches had a lavender tinge, while the darker spots could be called purple.

Her ears had grown long, thin, and swept-back, and her hair had started to grow back—after the initial half-inch of blonde, it was growing glacial blue.

Her constitution was based on the Bonereaver heart with which she had replaced her own. According to the medical alchemists, the heart was taking over the rest of her body in an attempt to keep her alive.

Day by day, the pattern on her skin became sharper, less blurred, and she began to breathe more heavily, even shifting around in the bed.

It was clear that she was transforming. She might wake up enhanced, stronger than before, but Calder didn’t trust any transformation that was triggered by a clash of destructive Intent and a Kameira’s heart.

The sooner Teach woke, the better.

The irony of it all was that the Independents could have easily treated her. One and all, the experts had recommended contacting Luminian Pilgrims for their healing powers, the Consultants for their vast store of strange knowledge, Kanatalia for the best medical alchemists in the world, or the Greenwardens for their Kameira expertise. Some had even suggested begging Jorin Curse-breaker to intervene.

If I could do that, she wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.

He left before he breathed in too much of the strange alchemy, where he found two Imperial Guards waiting for him.

He knew where they were bringing him without having to ask. It was almost time for his meeting with the Guild Heads.

That would be a lonely affair.

Cheska Bennett waited in one of the Imperial Palace’s comfortable sitting-rooms, her bare feet propped up on a footstool. Her hair was wet and she wore a fluffy white bathrobe, but she didn’t look refreshed. She stared ahead, haunted.

Bliss didn’t look much better. She had stabbed a decorative sword into the wall and was now crouched on the flat of the blade, scanning the floor as though there were something dangerous there.

Calder missed Kern and Teach more than he’d thought possible.

“What are you doing, Bliss?” Calder asked.

“Cockroaches,” she whispered.

“Did you see a roach?” The outer Palace by the walls was filled with shops and ordinary people, but this was the main Palace complex. It was kept fastidiously clean, alchemically sprayed against pests daily, and most of the walls were invested against intrusion even by insects. He had never seen a bug of any description here.

Bliss’ eyes didn’t stop moving. “I dreamed I did.”

Calder wondered why he had invited her to this meeting.

The conversation would have been more productive with just him and Cheska, and he pulled up a chair beside the Head Navigator, propping up his feet on the table beside hers.

He looked over at Cheska, but she was lost in her own thoughts. “How bad is it?” he asked.

She let out a breath. “Good news first: Loreli snuck off somewhere, reports suggest Izyria, and it seems like Estyr really did die of her wounds. None of our agents in Rainworth have reported seeing her or hearing anything from her all week.”

“No bad news could possibly crumple my confidence after hearing that,” Calder said, dry. “Continue.”

“The end of the good news is that we gave it an honest run. The bad news is that we lost.”

A servant slipped into the room and lit the fireplace with alchemical accelerant and a match. In moments, flames danced over the logs.

Calder watched the fire grow. “Could be worse. It could be raining.”

Rain had pattered constantly on the roof for the last hour. Outside, thunder rolled.

Cheska didn’t laugh, but some of the distant horror in her face retreated. She kicked his booted foot. “I’m serious. If we can’t win, the best thing we can do for the Empire is to give in and leave ourselves to the mercy of the Regents.”

“What about you, Bliss? What do you think?”

Bliss had hammered a second sword into the wall, climbing even higher. “Every Elder we’ve ever examined or conversed with has desired the fall of the Empire. Every prophecy concerns a step toward human disunity and the breaking of civilization. I do not want anything that Nakothi wants.”

The obvious question hung in the air between the three of them, resonating with the crackling off the flames, until Calder brought it to life. “Then what do we do?”

“Win.”

“Thank you for your contribution, Bliss.”

Bliss glared at him. “Don’t talk to me as though I am a child.” She was currently curled up against the corner of the ceiling. “I mean what I said. This game between the Guilds is not worth playing if it hands the victory to the Elders, but we need the authority of the crown to force the governors to spend resources keeping the Great Elders sealed. Most of them see it as Guild business and no immediate threat, so the security on the Great Elders has never been weaker. We must put an end to the Independents, and as quickly as possible.”

“Are the Regents not aware of that? They know more about what it takes to oppose the Great Elders than anyone.”

“I believe that the Regents trust in their own power and the power of the Emperor, but nothing else. They see us as sheep in need of protection.” At the moment, Bliss looked more like a bat than a sheep. “If they were interested in explaining themselves to us and how their methods would protect us from the Great Elders, I would listen, but they are not. So we must defeat them.”

Cheska threw her head back against her chair. “How? If we knew how to win, we’d have done it already.”

“We need another Reader on our side who understands our full capabilities and can operate on the level of the Regents.” She looked to Calder. “Wouldn’t that be your responsibility?”

Calder coughed. “I appreciate your estimation of my abilities, but—”

“No, wait!” Cheska shot bolt upright. “You have the greatest Reading teacher in all of history! Light and life, I’ve been so focused on what everyone says: never Read anything the Emperor touched. I’ve ignored it as a resource. You have a window into the mind of the Emperor!”

“No,” Calder said.

Both Guild Heads stared at him.

“I’m here because I don’t want to be him. If that’s what it’s going to take, you’ll need someone else.”

There was a long pause before Cheska said “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She held out a hand.

Calder didn’t always carry around the Emperor’s crown, but he had been meeting with alchemists and strangers earlier. He trusted its power to defend him against anyone with sinister designs.

Carefully, he pulled it out and held it over Cheska’s palm.

She jerked the hand back on instinct, but he kept the crown out. Gingerly, she reached back out…then shuddered and withdrew her hand.

“All right,” she said. “I get it.”

Calder wordlessly pocketed the crown.

Bliss suddenly stuck her head between them from behind the couch. Both of them flinched; the swords she had been standing on just a moment before were still driven into the wall. “I do not get it. It is only polite for you to explain yourselves.”

“There’s…too much Intent,” Cheska said. “I can feel it from here. If I dove in, I don’t know if I’d be the one coming out, or if it would be some copy of him in my body.”

Calder searched his pockets for a loose piece of lint, which he balled up and tossed into the flames. “So that leaves us with the question: how do we win?”

Cheska groaned. “The Farstriders’ report will bury us.”

“But we know it’s coming,” Calder countered. “We can get out ahead of it.”

Bliss nodded along with his words, still uncomfortably close. “Yes, and also I can help you use the Optasia.”

Calder turned until he was nose-to-nose with Bliss. She was pretty, in an otherworldly way, with flawless skin and wide, clear eyes. Which made the close contact all the more uncomfortable.

“You can?”

“They’re not actively watching us at the moment. After the battle in the Imperial Palace, all the Great Elders that we can track have split their attention. So I can help guard you.”

She put a hand on either side of his face, and for a second he wondered if she was going to kiss him. But her expression remained perfectly serious, and her hands were firm; she was preventing him from looking away.

“You will have a short amount of time. And if the Elders notice you, they will destroy your mind and I will destroy your body. Are you willing to try?”

It seemed that all of Calder’s options involved the risk of his mind being destroyed. “I don’t see us beating Jorin without rolling the dice.”

Bliss nodded, but she didn’t release him. She studied his face inch by inch, as though committing it to memory.

“Um…Bliss…”

“You have freckles. They’re very faint. I’ve never noticed them before.”

Cheska leaned in beside her. She took a sip from a glass of red wine that Calder hadn’t noticed a servant bring. “Huh. So he does. You look good with a beard, by the way.”

Calder looked from one woman to another. “What’s…happening here?”

“We’re having a conversation,” Bliss said gravely.

Cheska pulled back and ruffled his hair. “Wishful thinking won’t get you anywhere, Captain.”

After chasing the Imperial Guard out of the Emperor’s quarters, Bliss began nailing wide silver rings into the walls around the Optasia with her Blackwatch spikes.

Calder touched one of the rings, spinning it around the spike. He hesitated to Read it himself, standing so close to the Optasia. “What do the rings do?”

“Silver rings were traditionally used to ward off Elderspawn,” Bliss said, hammering in another spike. “They had no effect until they were used in that manner. The collected Intent to repel Elders is what made them function.”

She stood on the tips of her toes, trying to reach the frame over the secret door that held the Optasia, until Calder took the hammer and spike from her and did it himself. He looped the silver ring over it afterwards.

“These rings were part of a set that dates back almost five hundred years,” Bliss continued. “Do not steal them.”

“Why would I steal them?” Calder asked, wondering how much they would be worth.

“Because they are very valuable. Don’t do it.”

Calder looked over the vaguely chair-shaped cage of steel bars and wires that was the Optasia. “They’re most valuable to me here.”

“That is true,” Bliss agreed. “I do not know how effective these will be. And it is always possible that the Great Elders have deceived me, and that they are in fact watching this place closely. I do not feel an Elder presence now, but they can be deceptive.”

“I’ll keep it brief. Focused.”

“Good, because I can only help you start using it without breaking your brain. If the Great Elders felt your mind on them, they will focus all their attention on slipping inside your flesh, and I will have to kill you.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, as she always had, but it made him curious.

“Would you regret that? If you had to kill me?”

She considered, her brows furrowing briefly. “…I would regret that. Alsa Grayweather would be hurt. And…it is hard to say for certain, but I believe I would be hurt too.”

That was surprisingly touching.

“I’m glad, Bliss. I thought we’d gotten closer over the last few years.”

“We have.” Suddenly, her look became stern. “So now, if you make me kill you, you will have inflicted emotional injury on me.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

All seven nails were in place, pinning seven silver rings. The Blackwatch spikes and these rings were some of the most powerful Elder countermeasures in the world, and Bliss was standing over him to protect him from attack…and to protect everyone else from him in case those countermeasures failed. He was as ready as he could be.

And yet he hesitated. He shifted in place, watching the Emperor’s throne, searching for a way out.

“The wise man does not hesitate when faced with necessity,” Sadesthenes said. There was nothing to do but dive in.

He pushed his body to move before his fear could stop him, sliding into the steel cage. It was not just a seat, but it supported every part of his body; there were bars positioned under both his arms and his legs and even a loop where his neck was supposed to rest.

The unfathomable Intent of the ancient, world-bending tool pressed against his mind, straining his ability to resist.

The throne was set somewhat lower than the rest of the room, making it easier to climb in, so he found that he was looking out on the Emperor’s ruined bedroom with Bliss looking down on him. Her hands were folded in front of him, and she gave him a smile of what was no doubt meant to be encouragement.

“Do not worry,” she said. “It is very possible that you will survive.”

Rather than responding, Calder released the restraints and opened his Reader’s senses.

It was like leaping into a rushing river.

He wasn’t Reading the throne itself, he realized immediately; the Optasia was taking his Intent and distributing it all throughout the world.

There was too much.

Far too much.

The obelisks wait on the Erinin plains for millennia, massive slabs of stone. They are excavated by human slaves working for Othaghor, their Intent seeping into the stone as they beg it to protect them, plead for their work to save them from the whips of their overseers. But there is Othaghor’s Intent too, filtered through his human slaves, and there is the aggregated Intent of the thousands of visitors who visit this place and wonder—

Now the home of a carpenter in Vandenyas, his carefully crafted pieces set out on display, who had once visited the obelisks of Erin and wondered where they had come from. This table is made to stay strong and sturdy, to last for years if not decades, to bring the home of the customer together, but there is also the Intent of the boards and the lumberjack who cut them—

Lumberjacks. A lumberjack in Dylia prides himself on cleaving through trees in one swing of the axe he inherited from his father. An engineer outside of the Capital designs a machine that would make lumberjacks obsolete. An obscure sect in the jungles of northern Izyria worships lumberjacks, considering it a revered profession, as only the worthy could be selected to end the long lives of trees—

Calder pulled himself out of the flow for a moment, catching a glimpse of Bliss and the world around him, gasping for air and for stability. Each of his stray thoughts directed the Optasia, filling him with far more information than he could ever sort or contain.

He had to focus.

Rainworth. Under different names, the town stands for fifteen hundred years, since the establishment of the Capital as the center of the Empire. In one age, it is a center of Heartland art and culture. In another, a shelter for refugees. Then it is a haven for businesses that cannot quite make it in the Capital, and then and then and then…

Focus.

Shera. Jorin. Bareius.

The Optasia drowned him in knowledge, far too much for him to sort, but he found them.

The Independents were in Rainworth, and they were making moves of their own.

He continued absorbing information, some as relevant as the current general attitude of the Consultant’s Guild and others as irrelevant as the ambitions of the man who had laid the tiles of the Rainworth Imperial Library.

He could have sat there, drinking in the endless stream of information, but he only had so much time.

There was something else I was supposed to be looking for. Something more important…

In the constant deluge, it was hard to keep his own memories straight.

Oh right, the crack in the sky.

With no further encouragement, his vision reversed until he stared into the sky.

Through the lens of the Emperor’s throne, there was no crack in the sky. No one could call that hideous wound, that shadow-bleeding gash in all of reality, a mere crack.

It was like the top half of the world had been rent open by a great sword, leaving a slash. He stared into the void from which the Elders had sprung, a deep darkness with distant lights like stars of every color. They wavered slightly as he watched, as though he saw them from underwater or they vibrated in place.

With his senses magnified, he could sense that each one of those colored points was the focus of unimaginable Intent, and if he only reached out, he could taste that Intent for himself. He yearned to do so, craved to sample them, as though those points of colored light held heavenly flavors that he’d never imagined.

But they were too far…and there was someone standing between him and those false stars.

A human figure dressed in black floated in the void, highlighted by a hazy blue light. As Calder watched, he got the distinct sense that this stranger watched him in return.

The Optasia could stretch far enough to reach that unknown person, but it didn’t do so on its own. The network of devices that magnified Intent were all earthbound, so looking into that void would be straining it beyond its original purpose. And how long might it take? The Great Elders could notice him at any second.

But Calder couldn’t waste this opportunity. He would gaze into the void, but he would do so carefully—

The Emperor’s throne picked up on his decision, but not on the word carefully.

Calder instantly regretted his thoughts as he rushed into the void, the darkness swallowing his awareness whole.

CHAPTER NINE

THREE YEARS AGO

“LET’S GO!” Jerri rushed to the edge of the conch-shell ship. “We have to make it to the tower.”

Calder looked past the dense trees of the nameless island in the Aion Sea. The sun was already almost touching the ocean.

“We don’t have much time until dark. If we get caught by a swarm of Othaghor’s spawn in the dark, we’re done.”

Urzaia was still standing on the beach below, and he whipped his hatchet once. The green creature of the Hordefather was launched from his blade, its body slapping against the sand. A dozen frog-like legs twitched into the ground, its crimson stinger flailing, blue blood leaking.

“They haven’t bothered us until now,” Andel noted. “That means they’re directed by a greater intelligence. I would guess they are waiting for us to join up with the other crew, if indeed the others survived. They mean to trap us here once we get deeper into the island.”

Jerri spread her hands. “How could you possibly know that? Maybe that thing is the only one on the island!”

“It is not the only one,” Urzaia responded, looking deeper into the trees. “It is only the one I caught. I have seen others, and I smell even more.”

Calder looked to the tower, mind working. If the crew of The Reliable was alive and in the tower, it might be worthwhile to reach the tower and join forces, even if there were Elderspawn waiting to encircle them. He had contingencies in place for this, and they would have more options once they joined forces.

He didn’t want to leave a fellow Navigator to the mercies of Elderspawn, and he certainly didn’t want to leave the Emperor’s crown to a Great Elder.

On the other hand, walking into an Elder trap on the cusp of sunset was the definition of suicide.

“Urzaia,” Calder asked, “how fast could we reach the tower?”

“If we hurry, we can beat the sun. But we will not make it there and back.”

That settled it in Calder’s mind. “We wait for dawn,” he said. “It’s too risky. We don’t even know…”

A flag rose into the air from the tower. At that distance, obscured by leaves, Calder couldn’t make it out clearly. But he knew what was on it.

The Navigator’s Wheel.

“…okay, they are alive,” Calder said. “But they’re going to have to wait until dawn. They’ve made it until now, they’ll make it a few more hours.”

He was a bit surprised that no one argued. His path was the only sensible one in the circumstances, but he was used to his orders being incessantly questioned.

Now that they knew this wasn’t a roaming island, they could risk the beach. Everyone climbed down to the sand, and once they were together and Urzaia had recovered his grappling hook and rope, they jogged around the outside of the island.

In moments, they rounded the edge of the trees where their lifeboat was visible. Urzaia sprinted ahead to secure the boat, where he would walk it into the surf and wait for everyone else. Once they were back aboard The Testament, they could plan the next day in safety.

Urzaia hadn’t covered half the distance to the lifeboat when the surf exploded.

It looked like the hybrid of a crocodile and a flatworm, a long smooth-skinned monstrosity with jaws that elongated as it struck. Calder only saw part of the creature, the rest remaining coiled in the shallows, and the length he saw was enough to snap into their lifeboat and crunch it to splinters.

Urzaia roared, hurling his hatchet, but the monster slithered back into water as quickly as it had appeared. The Champion’s Awakened weapon struck the beach, sending a geyser of sand exploding into the darkening sky.

Calder and the others came stumbling to a halt as horror seized their legs.

Calder couldn’t help but imagine their trip here on the lifeboat. That worm-creature could have been coiled beneath them the entire time, watching their shadow pass over it. If it had struck, it would have snapped their boat in half with them inside.

He had no doubt that Urzaia would have torn the thing to pieces afterward. But, barring an astronomical stroke of luck, it would have been too late for the rest of them.

He pushed the gibbering terror to the back of his mind, focusing on their immediate crisis. “Back to The Reliable!” he called.

They reversed their march in an instant, dashing back down the beach.

Only a few steps later, the water beneath the conch-shell hull boiled. As though to mock them, the fanged worm rose from the water. It rested its head on the deck of the ship, hissing as it sniffed around the deck. After a minute or two of lazy exploration, it slowly slithered back into the surf.

“We’re cursed,” Andel muttered.

Far more than the monster’s appearance, Calder was horrified by what its action meant. “It heard me.”

All four of them were quiet.

“It might not have understood your words,” Jerri pointed out. “It may have recognized that we only had one option, like a cat watching a mouse-hole.”

“Does that make it better?” Calder asked. His tone was sarcastic, but he deeply hoped someone would say yes.

“Worse, if anything,” Andel put in.

“Thank you, Andel.”

Together, they turned to the treeline in the deepening orange light of the setting sun.

“Whatever we do, we’ve got to do it now,” Calder said. “Does anyone want to stay on the beach?”

Urzaia gripped a hatchet in each hand. “I am ready for it now. When it strikes again, I will cut it down. If there is only one.”

“Into the jungle we go,” Calder announced.

This time, Urzaia plowed through the trees at a pace the rest could barely match. His head never stopped swiveling, his eyes sharp, his hatchets ready to take a life with a second’s notice.

Though the rest of them were infinitely less dangerous, they were no more relaxed.

Andel and Calder both held a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other while Jerri clutched a pistol in both hands. Calder kept his eyes on the jungle half the time and on Jerri the other half. He couldn’t shake a terrified vision of something snapping her up before he could react, pulling her into the jungle and a fate worse than death.

The march through the trees seemed to last hours, but when the shadows had lengthened and they reached the base of the tower of yellowed stone, Calder was still surprised that they had made it already. Nothing had jumped out at them, and no one was hurt.

Which only meant that the spawn of Othaghor were holding themselves in reserve for later.

The tower looked as though it could have been five hundred years old, and its doors had long since rotted away. Its new “doors” were a pile of garbage and lashed-together logs that formed a makeshift wall.

“Let us in!” Calder shouted the second he saw the newly made barricade.

“Identify yourselves!” a man’s high-pitched voice called from the other side. “We can’t trust any strange—”

Low on time and patience, Calder cut him off. “Calder Marten, Captain of The Testament, here on orders from the Navigator’s Guild searching for Captain Tommison of The Reliable. Now let us in or my cook will do it for you.”

Calder had no doubt that Urzaia would tear his way inside in an instant, but he wasn’t poised to do so at the moment. He stood with his back to the tower, facing the jungle around him with a hatchet in each hand as though he meant to do battle with all the unknown hordes of Othaghor.

A hurried, whispered discussion ensued from behind the barricade, which lasted long enough that Calder almost ordered Urzaia to break through.

Finally, a plank at the bottom corner started to shiver.

“Give me a second to untie it,” the voice said. “And you’ll have to crawl.”

Rather than face a jungle filled with who knew what Elderspawn, Calder was ready to dig.

The three surviving members of The Reliable’s crew waited for Calder behind the barricade.

Miss Lakiri, a gunner from Jerri’s ancestral homeland of Vandenyas, was built along the lines of a stone statue. She brooded in silence, thick arms crossed, glaring at Calder throughout her introduction.

Her companion was Mister Goss, a ship’s navigator who looked like pale skin stretched over a tall, gangly skeleton. He kept checking a pocketwatch and his every word was high-pitched and nervous, as though he expected to be overheard by someone who wouldn’t approve.

Finally, Captain Tommison himself had lived as well. He looked like a fanciful portrait of a Navigator from half a century before, with his long gray walrus mustache and his navy blue bicorn hat that matched his jacket. His jacket and shirt strained across a prodigious gut, and his every word was a pronouncement.

“We have lost our alchemist and gunner in battle against the forces of darkness,” Tommison declared, scratching at his eye as though outlining a monocle. “Since we shut ourselves in here a fortnight ago, we have scarcely been bothered by the monsters outside. We have kept our minds and souls occupied by games of chance and any other means available to us, and we have food stores enough to occupy us for weeks more. So long as we have no further hungry mouths to feed, that is.”

He eyed Calder in disapproval.

“You’ve seen the tiny creatures in the trees?” Calder asked.

“We’ve been calling them Slithers,” Goss put in, flinching as though he thought Calder would hit him for interrupting.

“Slithers it is. Well, I don’t know if you’ve seen their larger cousin in the water, but it’s got a taste for boat. It doesn’t want us to leave, but it had no problem with us joining you here.”

The statement floated over them, hanging in the air, as they all separately came to the same conclusion that no one wanted to voice.

No one except Urzaia. The Champion lounged on a barrel, idly toying with a hatchet. “We should not stay. If they wish to keep us here, it can only be because something else is coming.”

Mister Goss rubbed at his own eye. It looked like a nervous tic, but so did everything else the man did.

Calder clapped his hands together to gather everyone’s attention and snap them out of their hopeless reverie. “Fortunately for all of us, we have some options. We bring with us a Champion—” He indicated Urzaia, who gave a seated bow. “—and another surprise that we arranged before leaving the ship. I believe we can push through the jungle to The Reliable. Do you have weapons of your own?”

He addressed this to Miss Lakiri, who was rubbing surreptitiously at her own eye. Maybe there was something going around.

“Alchemical munitions,” she said. “Enough to burn all the trees on the island to ash, if we set them up right.”

Tommison drew himself up to his full height, which was unimpressive, especially as he was standing in Mister Goss’ shadow. “Now, see here. Even if we board my ship, how do we clear these worms that haunt the beach?”

“We just have to launch for open water,” Calder said. “If we get close enough to The Testament, I can take care of them.”

The Lyathatan would eat the Elder worms for breakfast. Perhaps literally.

The crew of The Reliable exchanged glances.

“Too dangerous,” Tommison declared. “No, it’s far better to remain safe here and wait for Guild reinforcements.”

Andel tilted his head. “Who else do you expect is coming? We are your Guild reinforcements.”

“Be that as it may, I will not waste what remains of my crew on your…your…dash headlong into the maw of madness!”

Calder took a deep breath and reminded himself that this man had just endured a very stressful few weeks.

“We will be leaving at dawn,” he said with forced calm. “I would like your assistance. Without The Reliable, I will be forced to take a more dangerous method of reuniting with The Testament, but I will find a way. However, if you choose to stay here, we will be taking the crown with us.”

All three of the other crew members stiffened. No one had mentioned the crown thus far, focusing instead on their immediate crisis of survival.

Jerri finished plucking an eyelash from her eye, blinked it out, and then examined the strange reaction from The Reliable’s crew. “You do have the crown, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Tommison blustered. “I would scarcely abandon my sacred charge. But I have no reason to turn it over to you.”

“We need to see it,” Calder said.

“Never! You will have to accept my good word that I—”

“Captain,” Calder interrupted. “We need to work together to escape this situation, I’m sure you will agree. So I hesitate to take negotiations in a more aggressive direction. But either you show me the crown or I will have Urzaia find it.”

Urzaia gave a cheery wave with a hand that happened to still be holding a hatchet.

Tommison’s jowls turned a slow red, but he leaned away from the champion. He began sputtering about honor and trust, but as he was doing so, Miss Lakiri stood up. She turned around, huffing as she lifted with both hands the object she’d been sitting on.

It was an iron box secured with chains, and from her strained expression, Calder knew it must be heavy.

“If it’s not inside here,” Lakiri said, “we made this trip for nothing. But we don’t have the key.”

Calder nodded. That had been in the packet of information Cheska had provided them regarding the mission; Captain Tommison wouldn’t have access to the crown itself for the duration of delivery. “Thank you, Miss Lakiri. Now, we’d like your help and access to your munitions as we leave. You’re all invited to come with us. But we are leaving at the first light of dawn.”

Tommison fussed with his jacket and his hands, and he looked to his crew members as though searching for some reason to refuse. Finally, he shot a quick glance at Jerri that Calder suspected he wasn’t supposed to notice.

He suppressed a surge of protective irritation. They weren’t even aboard the ship, and the man was already making eyes at Jerri.

“Agreed,” Tommison said at last, deflating.

“Very good. Now, we have no guarantee that the Slithers will leave us alone tonight, so we should post a watch on the doors. Andel?”

“I’ll take first,” the quartermaster agreed, taking a seat next to a crack in the makeshift barrier that served them as a door. He folded his arms and looked out into the night.

“Mister Goss, do you have an inventory of your munitions?”

The ship’s navigator nodded quickly.

“Then I suggest one of you prepare them for transport. We’ll need them at some point, either to free your ship or to burn down the entire island as Miss Lakiri suggests. The rest of you, make sure you have packed up anything you’d like to take with you.”

They set up a watch schedule, which involved at least one member of The Testament’s crew awake at all times. Everyone, Calder had insisted, should do their best to sleep over the course of the night, but he didn’t trust Tommison or his crew.

People did stupid things out of fear.

Half an hour into Jerri’s watch, when Calder’s breathing was slow and even and Urzaia’s snores threatened to bring down the tower, she abandoned her post and slipped deeper into the structure.

It looked as though the tower had once been an outpost of the Imperial army, or maybe one of the earlier Guilds. Although the stairs leading upward had been destroyed decades if not centuries before, the ground floor was still divided into multiple rooms. She passed a sleeping Goss and Lakiri, who had curled up under one blanket in each other’s arms.

That was unexpected. She thought Lakiri must have fifteen years on Goss, and she had a face about as appealing as the blunt edge of a cliff. Then again, Goss himself looked like a skeleton animated to haunt the nightmares of children, so maybe it was a match decreed by the Great Ones themselves.

She found Tommison in the back, carefully wrapping ceramic cylinders in cushioning layers of cloth. He settled them into padded boxes, which were stuffed with more clothes to prevent the alchemical explosives from jostling in transport.

Jerri stopped when she saw what he was doing. He nodded to her, acknowledging her presence, but did not take his eyes from his task. He had finally removed his hat and jacket, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow, but a thin sheen of sweat still showed on his forehead.

She could relate. If these munitions were properly made, then it wasn’t quite as dangerous as a single wrong gesture sending them all up in a pillar of fire, but who knew what might set off a batch of alchemical explosives?

When he finally finished, delicately closing the box, he let out a heavy breath and settled against one wall. “I apologize; I have never been comfortable around alchemicals. Now, did you have some business with me, Miss…Tessella, was it?”

Jerri gave him a flat look and traced a circle around her left eye. “You signaled me, and you did it with the subtlety of a baboon.”

“I expected your entire crew to be loyal,” Tommison said, keeping a careful eye on the doorway. There were no doors remaining here, so they had to keep their voices down. “I didn’t think my message would reach only one of you.”

“Well, you reached me. Now, how did you mangle things so badly that you ended up in this…situation?”

Tommison looked steadily behind her, keeping his eyes fixed on the hallway and his voice low. Even so, he said nothing that would be unduly incriminating if they were overheard. “We docked with this island as an agreed rendezvous point, but there were other parties interested in the cargo. We were provided with a…breeding pair…for just such an eventuality, but we were not apprised of the dangers. We released them into the jungle, but they overwhelmed us in days.”

Jerri closed her eyes and fought against the rage that echoed between her and her Soulbound Vessel.

Burn down the island and him with it, her earring suggested. It was a tempting vision.

“I’m trying to imagine how someone could be so monumentally stupid,” she said. “I’m having trouble picturing it.”

Based on his earlier persona, Jerri expected Tommison to fly into a defensive tirade, but instead he responded quietly. “We were supposed to be provided a quick exit from this tower, but when we tried to bring the cargo through, our passageway collapsed. We have been out of contact since.”

That, at least, clarified the picture for Jerri.

Tommison had expected to deliver the crown by void transmission to the Sleepless cabal, but the Emperor’s powerful Intent remaining in the object had destroyed the portal. Leaving them stuck with the mindless spawn of Othaghor and waiting for assistance.

Also, she was beginning to realize that Tommison was not as much of a fool as he appeared.

“Where were you to deliver the package?”

“To the head office,” he said, meaning the head cabal of the Sleepless. “They were to donate it to a private collection.”

Kelarac.

There were those who said that anything thrown into the Aion Sea went into Kelarac’s collection—even Calder believed that. In reality, it depended on which of the Great Ones’ influence was stronger in the area. Here, if they tossed the crown into the water, it would more than likely end up in Othaghor’s claws.

And that was something no one wanted. Least of all the Sleepless. They could learn from Othaghor—he clearly understood the mechanics of life better than any human ever could—but he saw humanity as no more important than frogs or spiders.

There was no civilized discussion with the Hordefather. Whatever swarms he designed to inherit the earth, they would leave no room for humanity except perhaps as food.

“The situation has changed,” Jerri told him. “We have a new purpose for the cargo.”

Carefully shielding the view of the hallway with her body, she cupped her hand in front of her and ignited one quick, green spark.

Tommison’s eyebrows lifted, but he gave no other response. Some Imperial citizens would have been impressed or terrified at the prospect of being in the same room as a Soulbound, but all Navigator captains were bound to their ships. He had personally interacted with more Soulbound than most people would have ever heard of.

“I’ll still have to refuse,” he said. “Orders. You can take it up with the head office yourself if you’d like.”

“Then what is your plan now? You can’t deliver the package directly, and we certainly aren’t bound for the head office.”

Tommison’s eyes were dead. “We’ll figure something out.”

In his flat tone, Jerri read Calder’s death.

Unless Goss was a Champion in disguise, they wouldn’t be able to fight Urzaia, so they would have to kill him in his sleep. The hordes of Othaghor were infamous for their variety of poisons, and a Champion would bleed out from a severed artery just like an ordinary human. Only more slowly.

So Urzaia would go first, and then the rest of them in their sleep. Possibly including Jerri herself; Tommison wouldn’t trust her any more than she trusted him.

The captain must have realized he’d slipped, because he gave her a fatherly smile. “Don’t worry. The head office won’t give up a prize like this so easily. They’ll tell us what to do.”

For this, he burns, Jerri’s Vessel whispered.

She smiled back. “I know they will. You should get some sleep; one way or another, we have a long day tomorrow.”

He yawned widely, covering his mouth with a fist. “Now that’s a mission I can accept, but I have to finish these bundles first. Lots to do before dawn breaks.”

“I’ll see you then,” Jerri said, walking away.

The hallway back to the main room, where the others slept, was a straight line. Sight would have been broken by three different doors in the tower’s heyday, but now it was just a long stretch of shadows interrupted by the occasional shaft of moonlight that shone in through a crack. Only in the room at the far end, where Tommison bottled up their alchemy, was there a pool of dim orange light from a tiny quicklamp.

She returned to the main room, checking to make sure that Andel, Calder, and Urzaia were still asleep.

Then she walked back and glanced down the hall.

Tommison’s bulk blocked part of the quicklamp. He, too, was standing in a doorway and watching her.

There came a long, frozen moment in which she saw realization dawn in his eyes. He started to yell at the same instant that she pitched a ball of green fire.

As soon as it left her hand, she dashed over to the crates next to the wall, taking up her position on watch as though she’d never left.

“Traitor!” Tommison managed to shout.

Then a stronger roar swallowed him up. Noise slammed into Jerri’s ears as the alchemical munitions exploded, the entire tower shaking. She was tossed to the ground from her seat, and the barricade rattled against the walls, sending planks raining to the ground.

Calder and Andel rolled to their knees, groping for weapons, but Urzaia was already up and running down the hallway. She hadn’t even seen him move from the floor.

Smoke billowed down the hall and Jerri’s ears rang, so she couldn’t hear Calder calling her name. Only see his lips move.

But as he shook her and looked into her eyes, she returned his look of concern with convincing panic.

CHAPTER TEN

Who are those who watch from beyond the borders of our world?

And why do they not save us?

—THE EMPEROR

PRESENT DAY

THE VOID SWALLOWED Calder like a frog taking a fly.

His consciousness was projected through the Optasia, so he had no physical form here, but he felt like he was falling a hundred stories. The vast swath of darkness in the sky consumed him, pulling him in with irresistible gravity until he had left the world behind.

When he drifted with darkness all around him, points of bright color shivering in the distance, only then did he stop.

Adrift in nothingness, he simply floated.

He couldn’t adjust the direction of his Intent anymore; even his most focused thoughts couldn’t pull him away. He could break the trance entirely and wake up, if he wanted to, but he was afraid to lose his connection to the Optasia.

The Emperor’s throne had fed him far too many details before, so this sudden absence of everything was jarring. It would have been peaceful if the Great Elders couldn’t hunt him down at any second.

He tried to reorient himself and look back at his world. He managed to turn, seeing a slash of detail behind him as though someone had painted it into being with a single swipe of a paintbrush.

It was only the Capital below, the view taken up mostly by the red-tiled mass of roofs that made up the Imperial Palace, so Calder knew he was looking down on the place where his physical body was located.

A man drifted between Calder and his reality.

From the neck down, the stranger wore armor of unrelieved black that would have blended into the void if not for the nimbus of blue light that surrounded his entire body.

The armor he wore was smooth as polished obsidian, almost liquid, and Calder could see no seams at the joints or even around the neck. It was as though the plates had fused to the man’s skin.

That skin was pale, paler even than Calder’s own. He had a handsome face, if a bit long, with eyes of such an intense blue that they didn’t seem human. His hair was long and flowing white, though age had not marked him at all. He seemed timeless, perfect, like an impossibly detailed sculpture or the ideal form of a human brought to life.

The man watched Calder for a moment, though only Calder’s awareness had traveled through the Optasia. Somehow, he met Calder’s eyes.

Then he beckoned with one hand.

Calder instantly found himself in a room. Each of the four walls, floor, and ceiling were made up of stained glass depicting the same figure—a featureless man with black armor and white hair—in various scenes.

In one, he stood atop a rock in a sea of wheat, hauling back a huge scythe for a great swing. On the ceiling, the same figure held a ruby planet in his right hand and an emerald planet in his left while behind him a great sapphire river flowed like a ribbon.

Whoever this was, he was very taken with his own deeds.

That man lounged on a luxurious couch, basking in the multicolored light. “I am he of the name Ozriel, which is my identity and my purpose and that which you can call me.” His accent was all wrong, like nothing Calder had ever heard.

Calder tried to sort through that sentence and realized the man was introducing himself, but he obviously didn’t have much of a grasp on the language, so Calder spoke slowly and clearly. “My name is Calder. Where am I? Do you understand me? Where?”

Ozriel quickly rolled his eyes. “Sorry and apologies, the fault is not held in your hands. Speak more, if your will aligns with mine.”

“All right…ah, I am Calder Marten, Steward of the Aurelian Empire. I have come here as a representative of my people in order to discover the cause of the…crack…that the Great Elders left in the sky. I am communicating with you now through a device that amplifies Reading.”

It was strange, talking this way, because he couldn’t feel the words in his throat or his lips move. He supposed he was communicating entirely through Intent, which might have explained the translation difficulties.

“Can you understand me?”

Ozriel waited for a moment with the concentrated expression of a man doing calculations in his head. After a moment, he said, “Ah, there we are. Is that better?”

His accent was now almost entirely gone. He might have grown up in the Capital.

Legend had it that the first generation of Readers, including the Emperor and Estyr Six, could speak with those of other languages by Reading the Intent behind the other person’s words. They had used those skills to unite the language of the Empire.

Had this man drifting beyond the sky done the same thing?

“Did you learn the language by Reading my Intent?”

“Something like that. We had the language of your world stored away, but such things change over time. Hearing you speak helped me connect with you and your knowledge, since your world is usually cut off from me.”

That opened a library’s worth of questions for Calder, but he couldn’t ask them. “I might have only moments, but I must know. Who are you?”

“I am Ozriel, the Destroyer.” He sounded a little too lighthearted for a man calling himself ‘the Destroyer.’ “Eighth Judge of the Court of Seven, and the end of all that was, all that is, and all that shall be. Please don’t call me Oz.”

Calder couldn’t go on pulling answers out of this man one question at a time, so he focused on the one that mattered: “The Great Elders cracked open the sky. Do you know how to fix it?”

Ozriel sat up on the couch, his face becoming serious. “Yes your consciousness has a tenuous connection to this place. I will restrict myself only to the most important details.”

He held one hand out to the left, where a massive apparatus appeared out of nowhere. It was a complex network of glass flasks, tubes, whistling steam vents, and whirring parts that Calder could scarcely comprehend.

The machine took up an entire quarter of the room, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, and liquids of multiple colors flowed through the transparent tubing.

Calder watched the liquid spiral through a hundred twists and turns, changing color along the way as it was compressed, combined, extracted, and refined. Finally, it reached a faucet over Ozriel’s hand to fall into…a teacup, which had appeared perched on Ozriel’s fingers.

The liquid was now golden, and it filled the room with an aroma that almost convinced Calder he was standing in a flower garden.

Ozriel took a sip and shuddered. “This is the most delicious tea in all existence: the Leaf-blend of Tanashai. Would you like a taste? I’m kidding, of course. You’re a tethered consciousness, whereas I have a real body.” He took another sip. “Thank you, physical human tongue. I have never been so grateful for your tangibility.”

Perhaps this man was a being beyond comprehension with the power to kill Calder with a thought, but Calder had bargained with Kelarac. He couldn’t allow Ozriel to tease him and treat him like an ignorant child, or Calder would never get what he wanted.

Calder focused his attention. “Listen to me. I don’t know if you get your thrills by flaunting your knowledge, but my life is at stake. And the existence of the entire world. Kill me or help me, but stop wasting my time.”

Ozriel took another taste of his tea. He didn’t seem offended, but nor did he seem rushed. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I act this way for two reasons. First, it amuses me, and I like to find the little joys where I can. Second, I want to demonstrate to you that while you’re with me, you can relax. You are under my protection.”

A shiver went through Calder’s awareness as something pressed in on him from outside this room. He suddenly experienced the sense of icy cold, of depthless hunger, of a shadow that wanted nothing greater than the consumption of all that lived. It was as though the void itself had locked its eye on Calder.

The room of stained glass darkened as a shadow passed over them, and Calder’s terror peaked. He almost shot back to his body in the Emperor’s throne, but he was afraid that the darkness would catch him on the journey back.

“It’s here,” Calder whispered. “Urg’naut. He’s found me.”

Ozriel’s pleasant expression slowly peeled away like a mask melting. He set his teacup aside, where a table manifested to catch it.

Then he stood, his vivid eyes piercing through space. When he spoke, Calder was certain that he only voiced the words out loud for Calder’s benefit. “I’ve never seen trash so eager to be burned.”

And Ozriel released his Intent.

Existing as he did only as awareness of his own, Calder was especially sensitive to Intent. He had felt the force of will projected by the Emperor, Estyr Six, Kelarac, and Ach’magut.

Unlike those others, Calder wasn’t overwhelmed by this man’s Intent. It was almost gentle in the way that Calder could feel it, let it pass over him, and immerse himself in it without harm. The force of the Emperor’s presence could bowl Calder over like a raging river, but this man’s will was like the sea, and Calder merely floated in its center.

Something else was taking the brunt of his attention.

There came the feeling of a distant scream, and suddenly the shadow retreated. Urg’naut, the Creeping Shadow, drew back like a whipped dog.

When the light through the stained glass shone as brightly as before, Ozriel flopped back down on the couch and picked up his tea. “I didn’t arrange that, but I couldn’t have asked for better timing. Perfect demonstration.”

For a moment, Calder was speechless. “…is the Great Elder afraid of you?”

“If it’s wise.” He sipped the tea again. “Pay attention, because while I can do that any number of times, you have more important things to do. Your world is a prison, and I am one of the jailers.”

Calder didn’t interrupt despite his mouthful of questions.

“What you call Great Elders are what we call Class One Fiends. I like your name better, incidentally.” He shrugged. “They were named before my time. Anyway, they are the inmates in this prison. And they want to escape.”

“The crack in the sky. That’s like a…break in their prison?”

“It is, but it’s not enough.”

Ozriel held up three black-armored fingers. “There are three fates awaiting a Fiend. If there are too few humans remaining on your world, then it’s fate number one: the world itself begins to crumble until I come along to erase it. That will destroy the current form of the Fiends, but not kill them outright, so they will eventually re-form. But doing so will cost them so much time and energy that it is the fate they wish to avoid at all costs.”

He folded a finger. “That brings me to fate number two: they escape through this crack in your sky. Those with enough strength could do so already, if they wished. But if they do…” He smiled theatrically. “…they meet me. Now, they could fight me or run from me, but eventually I would hunt them down and it would be the same as fate number one.”

He folded a second finger, leaving only one. “Fate number three is the one they’re seeking, and the one we are trying to avoid. They want to escape your world, their prison, into another world. Fiends are like parasites. Perhaps plague-bearers would be a better analogy. If they escape in the right way, they can spread to a perfectly healthy world, one that I would hesitate to destroy. Or one that I couldn’t destroy, either because it is too valuable or because it is so old and strong.”

Ozriel dropped the last finger and returned to his tea.

“How do they escape in the right way?”

“That’s a much better question than the others you could have asked. Well chosen. They require human…what you would call human Intent…in order to cross the Way Between Worlds with intention. So they will prepare human vessels for themselves, possess them, and leave their prison behind.”

Calder thought back to the behavior of the Elderspawn and Elder cults that they had found over the last few months. Preparing a vessel had to be more complex than just choosing a person to possess or they would have done it already.

“How do we stop them?”

Ozriel poured himself another cup of tea from the whistling machine. “Preparing a vessel is not a simple process. It’s very subjective and personal, much like…are you familiar with the Soulbound Vessels from your world? Good, I see you are. It’s a related process. The Elders need a personal connection with their subject, the deeper the better, and that takes time.

“They will be more powerful in a human form as well. As powerful as they would be if they had finished restoring their original physical forms. But they will not take over their human bodies until they are ready to leave the world behind.”

“Why not?” If their powers would increase, why hadn’t they taken human form already?

For the first time since driving off Urg’naut, Ozriel spoke seriously. “Because when they do, I’ll erase your world.”

He faced Calder with all humor gone, and only ancient sadness on his face. “I am sorry, but it is the least harm for the greatest number of people. If it looks like any Class One Fiends will escape in human form, I will remove your entire world from existence.”

It didn’t even occur to Calder that the man could be lying. He had felt Ozriel’s Intent, and his resolve was unshakeable.

Ozriel looked back to his tea. “In fact, I was sent to destroy you already.”

Back home, Calder was sure that his palms were sweating and his heart beating faster. But here in the world of Intent, he felt only a great pressure.

On the one hand, the Great Elders.

On the other, the looming threat of destruction.

“Why tell me this?” he asked. His Intent had weakened, so his voice came out softly.

“You think I like erasing billions—or in your case, millions—of lives if I don’t have to?”

The stained glass room shattered, each shard of glass evaporating. The teacup and massive refining machine vanished as well, as though it had all been a dream.

Now Calder and Ozriel drifted together in the void, looking down through a rift into the Capital.

“I can’t reach into your world without making the breach worse,” Ozriel said. “This is a problem for your people to solve. This crack in your sky is not a wound that was made once; it is being maintained by the combined efforts of your Great Elders. If you can seal or weaken their powers enough, your world will heal itself in moments.

“Alternatively, there is a way to rid yourself of the Great Elders forever.”

He drifted over the world, looking down into it like a father looking into his child’s crib. “Taking human form is risky for them because it binds them to the rules of humanity. Rules like death. If they inhabit a human body, they can die like humans do. But if they escape…”

He held out a hand, and Calder found his focus drawn to it like iron to a magnet.

A moment later, a scythe as large as Ozriel’s body appeared, grasped in his hand. Through Calder’s eyes of Intent, the edge of the weapon gleamed like black moonlight.

“…I’ll have to do my job.” He gave Calder a wink. “I try to avoid that whenever possible. Do what you can to keep me unemployed, Calder Marten.”

Calder woke to himself panting and sweating, the Spear of Tharlos at his throat.

Bliss’ pale eyes were hard, and she glared at him over the weapon. “You were gone longer than I think is safe. I tried to free you. If you are still Calder, say something that only Calder would say.”

“The Guild War doesn’t matter,” Calder gasped. “None of it matters. We have to seal up the Great Elder tombs.” He struggled against the bars. “Help me out, we need to get a message to Jorin.”

She looked down her spear suspiciously. “I don’t know if Calder Marten would say that…”

“Bliss!”

She spent a long moment searching his eyes, then she gave a sigh and tucked away her weapon.

A moment later, Calder burst out of the Emperor’s chambers with Bliss trailing him. The Imperial Guard and servants stationed outside of the room were startled to attention; one Guard even raised his spear.

They had been uncomfortable leaving him with the Optasia in the first place, though they were likely unclear on what it was or the risks it posed. Now that they saw him apparently unharmed, he could read relief on their faces.

He wished he shared that relief.

“I need paper!” he called. “Bring me paper, pen, and the Imperial seal. I’ll be sending messages to all the regional governors, so bring me their delegates. And have each Guild provide a messenger that can get into Rainworth.”

The Imperial seal was one of the most famous relics; the Emperor had used it to imprint his seal on messages since the beginning of the Empire. It wasn’t Awakened, but it had such heavy significance of Intent that it might as well have been. Messages sent with the seal could not be opened or read by anyone other than the intended recipient.

It was the only way to deliver this message. If the Great Elders realized what Calder had learned, they would expend all their powers to destroy him. They certainly wouldn’t let him cooperate with the Regents.

All the servants and Guards bowed, but there was a moment of hesitation as they looked from one to the other, unclear on whose job this was.

They weren’t used to him yet, and the entire Palace had been sent into an uproar after the battle. Order had not yet been restored.

But he didn’t have time for this.

He pulled out the Emperor’s crown and added to his commands. “Run!”

Everyone but Bliss dashed out of the room.

Jakson had just joined the Imperial Guard. He hadn’t earned his augmentations yet, but he had daydreamed about having the claws of a Bonereaver.

He was afraid of getting something like an elephant’s ears, but even that would be all right. It was the Imperial Guard’s uniform that really impressed people.

When the senior Guards came with a message straight from the Steward, he had leaped at the responsibility. He was the perfect man for the job, too; he was born and raised in Rainworth.

He knew every way in and out of the town, and more importantly, he knew the people who lived there. He knew who would be working outside Independent security. His uncle was a fisherman who stopped by the Capital sometimes, and he lived just outside Rainworth’s borders.

Jakson could make contact with him, and his uncle could get him into the town. If that didn’t work out, he had a dozen other ways in.

Working for the Steward could make his career. General Teach would hear about this, whenever she woke up.

The Guard lent him the fastest horse he could handle, and even it was in disguise; Jakson and his mount both had to leave their colors behind. He left at a trot on one of the least-used roads in the city.

He would have to walk the horse once the sun set, but he would arrive no more than a couple of hours after full dark. It wouldn’t be unusual for a message to arrive that late.

Jakson kept his message—bearing the Imperial seal—sealed inside a fake envelope with a false seal. No one would suspect him of being part of the Guard, and if any Independents did stop him, he could tell them exactly who he was without raising any suspicion.

He was just going home.

The sun had vanished over the horizon when Jakson slid off his horse. She had worked hard, and he patted her side to let her know he appreciated it. He could still ride in this light, but it was best not to risk the shadows.

Each rise of grass by the side of the road had dark shadows that could conceal a rock or a pothole, and the paving-stones in the road itself were worse.

Come to think of it…

He squinted at the road. Some of those shadows were stretching toward the sunset. Had someone spilled something on the road? Ink? It could even be blood.

The thought chilled him, but as he looked closer, he saw that these were nothing more than shadows.

Shadows stretching toward the sun.

A chill rose up his spine as sixteen years of Elder stories rose up in him at once. He leaped back on the horse, turning the other direction, heading back toward the Capital…

A great black mouth opened beneath him and he fell.

When the mouth snapped shut, Jakson was no more.

Emeralda had worked for the Blackwatch for almost three decades. She knew when she was being followed.

Many Watchmen liked to joke that they developed a kind of Reader’s sense after years in service, a sort of tingling developed by thousands of close calls with men and Elders alike. She was feeling that tingling sensation now as a man that looked like a down-on-his-luck farmer took up the whole dirt road with his ox-cart on the way toward her.

There was nothing to him alone. He could just be an unfriendly man, not acknowledging the woman he was pushing off the road.

It was the way he seemed determined not to look at her…combined with the boys behind her, who leaned too casually against the low stone wall that kept one side of the road from collapsing. And the “blind” beggar with an empty alms-bowl who tapped his cane randomly against the ground as though to illustrate his blindness.

This is an awfully popular dirt road all of a sudden, Emeralda thought.

She had worn no uniform and no one had followed her this far, so there were only two reasons for a group of men to be encircling her here. One, they were simple bandits doing bandit things, and wouldn’t that be a stroke of luck? She’d pull out her pistol and they’d go on their way.

Two, they knew what she carried.

The sealed letter in her pocket, disguised as a deck of cards, was intended for Jorin Curse-breaker’s eyes alone. If she couldn’t put it in his hands, then it would go to no one.

Just to see what would happen, she pulled her pistol.

The farmer jumped down from his cart, his oxen pulling to a halt. The boys behind her cried something, and she turned to keep them in view. The blind man pulled down his blindfold to peek at her.

She pointed the gun at him, and he smiled, showing rows of rotten teeth. He showed her what he carried in one hand: a compass. Rather than north, its needle pointed to her. “Don’t haunt us, miss. Made a bargain, we did.”

Kelarac.

Emeralda knew how the Soul Collector worked. He would have granted this beggar a paltry wish in exchange for following that compass, which no doubt pointed toward the Intent of the Imperial seal.

No Elderspawn would know what this message contained. Only some powerful Elders, or the Great Elders themselves, could unravel the Emperor’s Intent without destroying the message.

They must have been ordered to stop any message bearing the Imperial seal.

Though she knew it was hopeless, Emeralda switched her pistol to her left hand and drew her saber in her right. Another pair of men emerged from the forest, in clothes just as shabby as the others.

She would kill two or three, and then—if the rest didn’t break and run—she would die as she’d lived.

Fighting Elders.

Most people didn’t know that the Alchemist’s Guild was dealing secretly with the Magisters, but Rina did. She had been working with Nathanael Bareius, and he trusted her with these secrets, including negotiating secret meetings.

So when a Magister met her at one of their rendezvous points outside of Rainworth, bearing a message for Jorin Curse-breaker, Rina promised she would deliver it. The Magister trusted her with it. The Intent of the Imperial seal couldn’t be broken anyway, so no one could read it, not even Guild Head Bareius.

As soon as the Magister left, Rina lit a match and set it to the corner of the envelope.

Bareius’ orders. It wasn’t time for peace yet.

Rina was honored by his trust.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THREE YEARS AGO

CALDER HAD LED the others to barricade the far wall as best they could now that the hallway ended in a smoking hole.

As far as he could piece it together from Goss and Lakiri’s mangled stories, Tommison had been packing up the alchemical munitions and had made some kind of a mistake.

It was impossible to know exactly what that mistake was, but it had resulted in him joining a cloud of smoke that drifted down the hall.

He didn’t know if Lakiri had exaggerated the power of the munitions, because if they had really been capable of burning the island bare, he would have expected them to take the tower down. Maybe they were more incendiary than explosive, but he would be the first to admit that he knew almost nothing about alchemy and even less about demolition.

They had certainly been sufficient to destroy the back room and take any hint of Captain Tommison with them.

Calder wished Tommison had survived so that he could beat the man with his own hands.

Now The Reliable was no longer an option. Most Navigator ships could be launched without the captain, but not sailed far. He might be tempted to risk it if not for the giant fanged Elderspawn in the surf.

No, without the captain, the ship was no longer an option. And the munitions were gone, which he had planned to use to clear the way to the beach.

Now he was reliant on Foster and Urzaia to make a path for the rest of them.

Goss and Lakiri were all but dead weight now; they had been closer to the explosion than anyone else, and their hearing had still not returned. Goss was covered in burns, though they were all shallow. He would be fine, but he wouldn’t be much help in their escape.

Which meant that Urzaia, Andel, and Calder—with Foster’s support on the long guns—had to carry three passengers incapable of combat through a jungle filled with Elderspawn.

On the bright side, if there was a bright side, the sun was almost up and none of them had been torn to pieces by Slithers yet.

All six of the survivors were gathered in the main room as Calder addressed them. “This will be a dash for our very lives. Our only hope is to have Foster bring The Testament close enough to shore that I can make contact.”

He wasn’t sure how far away he had to be to contact the Lyathatan. He would prefer to be standing on deck, but that obviously wasn’t an option.

If he couldn’t wake the Elder from the beach, or if Foster and Petal couldn’t manage to get the ship close enough, they would have to do battle with the fanged worms using only what they had on them.

Which was possible, given Urzaia’s presence, assuming they weren’t attacked from behind by an army of Slithers.

“I’ve already signaled Foster.” The alchemical flares burned brightly from the top of the tower, and the responding flags had been flown from The Testament’s mast almost immediately. “He’ll be trying to bring the ship closer, but we have to meet him on the beach. That means running behind Urzaia and sticking close. I want us to be tripping over each others’ heels, do you understand?”

He waited until everyone nodded except Urzaia, whose gaze was drawn and fixed on the view outside.

That was as it should be; he needed the Champion focused on their goal, not on Calder’s words.

“No need to carry anything but weapons. We have provisions on the ship, and even if we didn’t, it’s better to lack food than to be food.”

He had expected a tense laugh, or maybe a look of agreement, but he got one only from Andel. At least he and the quartermaster had been singing the same tune recently.

The first pink rays of dawn were already sneaking through the barricade. Calder took a deep breath and readied the sword in his hand.

“Well, that’s enough talking from me. Does anyone have anything they’d like to contribute at this late hour?”

He still wasn’t certain Goss and Lakiri had their hearing back. They nodded again, but they’d nodded to almost everything he said.

Andel looked grim and resolved, Urzaia like a hound straining at his leash, and Jerri like she was eager to begin a race.

“All right, then. Urzaia?”

The cook tucked the heavy safe containing the crown under one arm. Calder would prefer to have someone else carry it, but it would have taken anyone else two hands, and they couldn’t afford that. Taking their Champion down one arm was better than burdening someone who could barely run.

Besides, Urzaia had insisted.

The cook lowered his other shoulder, the one wrapped in the golden hide of the Sandborn Hydra, and bulled straight through the barricade.

The crunch of wood snapping was deafening, and Calder and the others had to flinch back as they were pelted by flying splinters. But Urzaia tore through the wood in seconds, slowing himself only enough to allow them to catch up.

Like one of Othaghor’s many-legged beasts, the Navigators scurried after him.

From the base of the tower, Calder glimpsed the green-tinged sails of The Testament drifting closer. Foster would be cutting it close with the sand, but it would be better to run aground if that gave them access to the Lyathatan.

The problem was the Elder itself. If it was annoyed by the shallow depth and towed the ship away from the island, there would be nothing Foster could do about it.

Urzaia dove into the forest with a sound similar to an elephant trampling a pile of matchsticks. He wasn’t holding himself back now; trees fell or bent away from him as he passed, and any bushes that missed his feet were swarmed by the crew behind him.

It was a headlong rush into green chaos, and Urzaia’s noise had woken the jungle. Birds and cats screamed at each other from across the island, insects buzzed in a great chorus, and other, stranger whispers floated on the wind.

Calder questioned everything.

Based on the stories of Othaghor, he was capable of making any living creature, so it wasn’t only obvious monstrosities that could be in his service. Maybe one of these flies was actually a miniature Elder abomination.

It was their second tense twilight dash through the woods in one day, and when the beach came into view, Calder started to breathe more easily. This stretch had ended peacefully. Now they had to move on to the next problem.

Or so he thought before the next problem leaped onto them.

There came a roar that drowned out even Urzaia’s snapping trees, and Calder caught a glimpse of green bulk descending from the treetops. It landed on Urzaia before he could get a good look at it.

The Elder of Othaghor was built like a gorilla with a hide of leathery olive skin and no fur. Its head resembled a bullfrog more than anything else, with a limp sac of skin falling like jowls from its jaws. Yellow eyes bulged from its head, and its mouth split open sideways, hissing at Urzaia with rows of tiny teeth and flailing its massive fists.

But it still hadn’t made contact with the ground.

Urzaia was holding it in the air with one hand.

The Champion’s muscles strained, his teeth bared, blond hair blowing behind him like in a portrait of an Izyrian hero. He dropped the safe, bringing his left hand around to catch the green fist that would have crashed into his ribs.

“Get to the beach!” Calder shouted.

At that moment, the bushes came alive.

The Slithers crawled out from everywhere.

Everywhere.

Every patch of grass and gnarled nest of roots and loose patch of bark disgorged a hideous lime-green creature with six yellow eyes and a dozen webbed amphibian feet. Scarlet stingers flexed, and the Elderspawn lived up to their name as they slithered for Calder and his crew.

Andel separated from the group, dashing for the safe that Urzaia had dropped. He’d probably made the best call in regard to their objective, because the crown’s return would benefit the Empire even if they all died here.

But as far as personal safety went, Calder applauded everyone else instead. He, Jerri, Goss, and Lakiri circled with their backs to one another, their various weapons held out.

A pistol cracked behind him, and he hoped it wasn’t Jerri, who would only have a long knife to defend herself once she’d unloaded her single shot. He skewered a Slither to a tree, cut another one along the ground, and sliced a third in half as it tried to sink its strange horizontal-split jaws into his ankle.

A scream the sounded like Lakiri came from his left, but he was too distracted by the fourth Elderspawn biting into his left arm. It raised its stinger, ready to plunge, but he swatted it away and glanced back to Jerri.

She seemed fine, as far as he could tell; the wave of Elderspawn must have crashed into his side of their circle because she was facing fewer than anyone else. But Goss was about to break formation, covered in at least half a dozen clambering creatures. He made a strange choking noise as he swatted at himself, dancing like he was covered in spiders.

Calder’s blade moved as fast and carefully as it ever had. He cut a long gash in the man’s arm and took off the tip of his ear, but he caught four of the Slithers before he had to return to his own concerns.

That was all he could do for the man.

A missile flew through the jungle air, smashing through trees.

Urzaia.

The Champion flipped and landed on his feet, roaring out a challenging laugh as he dashed back to battle, but Calder spared another glance over his shoulder for Andel.

The Luminian held the safe behind him as Othaghor’s amphibian behemoth stood over him.

Without thinking, Calder broke formation, dashing for Andel. He shouted, trying to draw the creature’s attention.

Then a familiar scream pierced his awareness, cutting through even the panic of battle. Jerri.

He turned again, spinning back to her. She had been overwhelmed, her knife plunging into a Slither that had bitten her shoulder even as two more crawled up her legs. So much for her not facing the brunt of the attack.

But she still wasn’t in as much danger as Andel, and he had the crown. She could possibly still make it without his help.

She met his eyes, fear in her warm brown eyes, and she screamed his name.

That settled it.

Calder ran for her, swift motions of his cutlass scraping away the two on her legs and two more that were about to launch themselves from a nearby tree. Only seconds of attention had been lost, and he completed the motion by spinning around to help Andel.

Just in time to see him swallowed by the frog.

Its maw had opened unnaturally wide, flexing out enough that it looked like the massive creature could have swallowed itself. With the fanged flaps on the side of its mouth, it tucked the quartermaster—along with the safe—inside.

The sac on its neck was now distended, packed with a living human, who flailed and pushed and kicked against the inside. The Elder’s flesh flexed as Andel fought.

Jerri screamed. Calder whipped back to her, searching for danger, but the Slithers were gone, vanishing back into the remaining undergrowth one after another.

Urzaia hit the behemoth like a cannon-shot, tearing up one side of the creature’s body. Its whole side exploded, leaving a sticky blue crater where its ribs, shoulder, and right arm had once been.

But it borrowed the momentum to leap off into the jungle, Andel and the crown still tucked into the sac beneath its chin.

The Champion gave chase, roaring and leaving the rest of them shocked and horrified.

Lakiri lay on the ground, twitching, foaming at the mouth with her eyes staring blank into the sky. The burned Goss knelt over her, weeping and shaking her, but he was himself covered in blood. He looked like he barely had the strength to stay on his knees.

Jerri buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

Calder moved to her and put his arm around her on instinct, drawing her close to him. “It’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t.

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PRESENT DAY

ALL DUE RESPECT to the crown, but am I supposed to listen to the Imperial Steward or my Imperial Regent?

Until the answer is clear, I’m afraid I can’t justify the expense that it would take to further reinforce the Tomb of Kthanikahr. If it eases you, we have detected no unusual activity from the Great Elder since the night of the Emperor’s death, may his soul fly free.

Perhaps if you could persuade the Blackwatch to focus on their duties instead of acting like a militia, we would not need to fear for the security of our Elders.

Respectfully,

Natalia Corwin

Governess of Dylia

Calder preserved the message for the Imperial records, but he wanted to crumple it in his fist.

The message had been delivered that morning from an Awakened pen with the ability to transmit handwriting. The words required no ink, burning themselves into the paper, and he had similar methods to contact each of the other governors.

Only two of the seven had given him a positive response, but even those had included a request for funds or manpower to support their efforts.

The governors would only listen to him if he had the power to back them up. The Regents had wanted to empower the governors to act independently, but that was clearly a mistake. The governors couldn’t be relied on to act for the greater good.

Maybe Calder could find a solution if he could speak with Jorin Curse-breaker, but the Independents were ignoring his messages.

Worse, he suspected they were killing the messengers.

Only one, the courier from the Magister’s Guild, had returned. He had reported delivering the sealed message into the hands of a personal aide to a Guild Head, but there had been no response from the Independents whatsoever.

Even if he could assume the other messages had been waylaid, at least one had made it through. Odds were, more had gotten through as well.

They were ignoring him.

He handed the Dylian governess’ message back to the servant that had delivered it to him in the first place, then took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts.

He was dressed in the Emperor’s old clothes today, layers of red and orange and gold like a sunset, with the silver Steward’s crown on his head. He didn’t need the wrestle against the authority of the Emperor’s Intent today, and if he had to compel his next visitors to do anything, he’d already lost.

Though he did wish General Teach was at his side as he addressed the remaining Champions.

Calder strode out into the Emperor’s throne room, which was like stepping into a mural of the Elder War.

Scenes of battle painted on the walls merged seamlessly with images of a littered battlefield on the floor and a smoke-darkened sky on the ceiling.

The depictions and the shape of the room cooperated to draw the eye to one place: the throne. It was opulent, imposing, and a reminder of its long history in Imperial culture.

His remaining Champions waited for him. Kern had brought very few of his Guild in the first place, and after the debacle in the Imperial Palace and Kern’s death, even fewer remained.

“The Independents have ignored our messages,” Calder said as he strode across the floor toward his throne. “Clearly, they are not interested in talking.”

His throne was a small, plain seat of polished wood at the base of the stairs leading up to the Emperor’s throne. At this point in his career, he had decided that it would demonstrate too much ego to take visitors while sitting on the Emperor’s ancient seat.

Even if his true throne had been the Optasia, almost no one knew that. This was the seat that represented the Empire.

Calder lounged as well as he could in his lesser chair, throwing a leg over the side in deliberate imitation of Ozriel. “If they don’t want to talk, I can only conclude they want to fight. That’s your department.”

He had been trying to ignore the fact that there were only two Champions before him.

Rosephus was smaller than most Champions tended to be—meaning that he was the size of an average man but muscled like an Izyrian statue—and he had weapons strapped everywhere.

Everywhere.

There was a sheathed dagger strapped to the back of his neck, and his helmet looked like it was made from the head of a hammer.

Calder knew Rosephus was deadly, as he must have been to have survived Champion training, but he looked ridiculous. His breastplate was a bunch of swords strapped strategically to his chest. The one practical aspect of the costume was that Calder had no clue which of the many exotic and strangely positioned weapons was the man’s Soulbound Vessel.

The second Champion, Tyria, hadn’t brought any weapons at all.

She had the naturally tan skin and brown hair of a Vandenyas native, and while she was a head taller than Rosephus and just as broad in the shoulders, she looked like she might have stolen her outfit from a milkmaid.

He had lived with Urzaia for years, and he had still never seen a Champion so casual. Urzaia often slept in his armor, and always kept his weapons close to hand. Tyria’s hair was tied in a loose bun and she carried a greasy paper wrap from which she was munching on something fried.

“And it looks like there will be plenty of fights to go around, if it’s just the two of you,” Calder added.

He masked his irritation; he had invited six Champions to this meeting, though he had expected the woman called Twelve to decline. She had been neutral to begin with, injured by Kern in the fighting, and he’d received word that she planned to travel back home to Izyria.

Another of them had died, he knew, but he had still expected to see four people here. The other two might have been running late, but if they weren’t in the room, he had to assume they weren’t coming.

“They’re dead,” Rosephus said from inside his helmet.

Tyria crunched into another snack.

Calder tried to pretend to be unruffled by this information, even though someone had potentially murdered two Champions. “How did you find out?”

“They found Trip dead in his bed this morning. Had to be poison, and it takes some real poison to kill one of us without waking us up.”

Rosephus’ voice boiled with hidden anger, and Calder found that more understandable than Tyria’s apparent boredom. Her eyes roamed around the room-wide mural, and she didn’t stop eating.

“The alchemists said it was heart failure,” Calder said. This was the one Champion death about which he’d been informed. “I’m told that’s not unheard of in members of your Guild.”

Champions were built for battle, not longevity.

“Would have thought so myself,” Rosephus growled, “if not for the others. Oleana was stabbed to death in a bar fight down by the docks.”

Tyria spoke with her mouth full, still examining the art on the ceiling. “Normal guy with a normal knife couldn’t stab her to death if you gave him all night. The blade would break before she did.”

“And then there’s Interion. Rode out to Hightower yesterday. Taught the Luminians a lesson and then disappeared on the way back.”

Calder had heard about the “lesson” that the Champion Interion had inflicted on Luminian headquarters.

Most of the Order was in Rainworth, so they had left only a skeleton crew manning their fortress. Interion had unleashed the wrath of a Champion on a few washouts, old-timers, and servants. Calder had already drafted up an order to have him executed for it after the fighting was over.

“And you think he’s dead?” Calder asked. “He could be anywhere.”

Tyria yawned. “He said he’d be back to Hightower this morning. He didn’t show. He’s dead.”

Rosephus tightened his grip on one of the three swords buckled to the right side of his hip. “I know the work of Gardeners. Cowards. They would have gotten me, too, if not for my battle instinct.”

“He had to relieve himself,” Tyria explained. “Stepped out at an unexpected time and saw someone running away. Found a bomb just lying there.”

Rosephus growled at her like a dog. “I knew there was something wrong. I could smell it.”

“Bomber got away, though, didn’t he?”

Rosephus’ knuckles tightened on his sword, and he glared pure wrath at her. She fished around in her paper sack for crumbs.

Calder’s own feelings were more in line with Rosephus. The Consultant assassins had struck against his Champions.

So this is their answer to my message.

Rather than responding with diplomacy, they killed his greatest warriors as they slept.

But they couldn’t afford this sort of infighting anymore.

He had to give them another chance.

He sat up straight, forgetting his casual façade. “If the Gardeners are acting against us, what do you think their next move will be?”

“They’re softening you up,” Tyria said easily. “Next they’ll go for the kill.”

That was Calder’s instinct too, though it was disconcerting hearing it from an expert. If the Gardeners were bold enough to remove Champions, they were setting up for something else.

Calder fixed both Champions with his gaze. “I’ll be addressing the public tonight…and when I do, I intend to give the Consultants the opportunity they’re looking for. Present myself as bait. Will you be my hook?”

Tyria tossed aside her greasy paper sack. “Why do you think we’re here?”

“I almost set out to Rainworth on my own,” Rosephus said.

“Good.” Calder shifted on his throne, adjusting the Emperor’s clothes. “This might be my last act as Steward. I want to make it a good one.”

The official Witness account of their peace accords was going to print today. Nathanael Bareius’ printing-houses had made sure that it would be big news all over the Empire.

Calder had taken what countermeasures he could, as even in the Witness account, it was the Independents who had struck first.

But the fact was that Estyr Six had accused him of collaborating with Elders, and damage to his credibility would be irreversible. There would be a call for his removal by sundown, or tomorrow at the latest.

When he told them, neither of the Champions seemed surprised.

“Ideally we’d all go out like Kern,” Tyria said. “On our feet with swords wet.”

“We still might.”

There was every possibility he would be dead by dawn tomorrow if anything went wrong.

And if everything went perfectly…well, he might still end up dead.

That was what usually happened to the bait.

After leaving the Champions, Calder had his Guard lead him deep into the bowels of the Imperial Palace. Their destination was the heart of the Palace, next to the Emperor’s quarters and his private armory, but the Guards wouldn’t tell him exactly what it was.

“It’s a secret,” they’d said. “We’re not even supposed to say it out loud.”

He didn’t understand why he had to go to such lengths to meet his body double.

When they arrived, the building looked the same as a thousand others around it: white plaster walls and a sloping red-tiled roof.

Ordinary guards bowed as Calder and the Imperial Guard approached, then unlatched and pushed open the doors. To his surprise, there was a second set of doors inside, and these required a pair of locks.

He began to wish that he’d come armed and armored; if his Guards wanted to kill him while he had no weapons, he would be easy prey.

The inner set of doors opened onto…he wasn’t sure how to describe it at first, actually. Something like a costume gallery.

There must have been two or three hundred wooden mannequins populating the tiered rows that covered the back half of the building. Some wore wigs and thin, rubbery masks, while others had fake facial hair pinned to boards nearby. All were dressed in pristine costumes from all over the world.

The closest mannequin, looming on a raised pedestal over the entrance to the room, was covered by a full set of the Emperor’s white armor. As far as Calder could tell, the suit was identical to the real thing. The Intent couldn’t be faked, of course, but the armor itself appeared to be real.

At the base of the pedestal stood Calder’s twin brother.

…or so it appeared. A smile crept up as Calder looked himself up and down, gazing into what might have been a mirror.

His copy matched his smile, even speaking in his voice: “Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re one handsome man.”

“Amazing. I knew they’d found a double for me, but…even the voice?”

The fake Calder swept a bow. “Rojric Little, at your service.”

Calder didn’t consider himself superstitious, but it seemed like a more-than-mortal coincidence that this man who shared his appearance should have his father’s first name.

In fact, maybe it was no coincidence at all.

His father had been separated from his mother for years, after all.

“I don’t want to offend, but you weren’t perhaps…named for your father, were you?”

The copy gave him a grin that Calder thought was rather dashing. “I was, as it happens, but my father’s a fisherman working down on the bay. Saw him this morning. I’d consider it a compliment to my acting skills that you mistook me for a brother, but it’s less my acting and more Soulbound magic.”

Rojric gestured to one side, where an ornate portrait of an ancient woman hung on one wall. The woman sat in a high-backed chair, posed carefully for the painter. Behind her, where another woman’s family might have gathered around her for a family portrait, were half a dozen mannequins.

“She crafted disguises. Died a few years ago, may her soul fly free, but her works remain as potent as ever.”

He reached up, peeling away his fake beard about an inch. “She hadn’t crafted one for you, of course, but she left a few materials behind that we could cobble into shape. They’re invested to make me look as much like the subject as possible…and of course there’s some alchemy and some rather fine acting involved.”

“Uncanny.” Even considering the powers of a Soulbound, doing all this only with what she left behind would have taken an impressive level of dedication and artistry.

A candelabra stood near the painting. It had been replaced by a quicklamp, but there were still fresh candles in their holders; Calder pulled a small box of matches from his pocket and used one to light the candle.

One of the Guards cleared his throat. “Sir, would you like us to turn on another quicklamp?”

“Not necessary.” He lit the other two candles as well. “Now, Rojric, are you aware of the public address at the Emperor’s Stage tonight?”

“It will be the biggest stage I’ve ever played,” the double said proudly.

In times of crisis, the Emperor could invite people to gather before the Emperor’s Stage, a balcony overlooking a huge courtyard.

He could use the Hall of Address instead, but the Stage was more secure.

Knowing when the Farstrider report would be released, Calder had issued a statement three days ago that he would be delivering an address from the Emperor’s Stage. Thousands of Capital citizens would gather in the courtyard, waiting to hear his words.

“I’d like to go over the security measures together with you, if you don’t mind.” Calder walked over to the base of the portrait, where a small table held a notebook and a pen.

A quick glance revealed that it was a sort of logbook, within which Imperial Palace staff had noted down which costumes they were borrowing and when.

One of the Guards stepped up. “I will recount our preparations, if the Steward doesn’t mind. Your double will be onstage, addressing the citizens using the script you have prepared.”

Calder flipped through the rest of the book. “My two remaining Champions will be with him as well to add authenticity. If anything happens to me, they’ll still be close enough to respond.”

“We’ll be glad to have them. Meanwhile, Steward, you will be in a waiting room we’ve secured inside the Stage building. Wearing the Emperor’s armor for an added layer of protection. After the address is over, you will visit the double and switch places, after which you will greet selected citizens personally. Once they have passed through our security screening.”

Ideally, Rojric would deliver the address while Calder was a mile away, as he had done during Calder’s coronation as Steward. But there were a few business-owners and members of prominent families who were too important to the Capital to ignore, and Calder had to greet them in person. So he had to stay close enough to be switched.

Though while sitting inside a guarded room wearing the Emperor’s armor, Calder would be far safer than Rojric.

“Flawless,” Calder declared. “However, I have recently gained some insight into the mindset of the Consultants. We believe they will come after me after the Farstrider report is distributed, but this is only their first opportunity. It won’t be their last. If they do act tonight, I don’t want to let them get away. Can we seal the Stage building with the assassin inside?”

The Guard exchanged glances with his partner, then stepped closer to Calder. So close that Calder could smell a strange musk from the man’s bear-like limbs. “There is a padlock that General Teach sometimes used. It was Awakened by the Emperor, and it can seal the exits to an entire building in an instant. But you’ll have to authorize us to use it.”

Perfect. Calder couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“We have to minimize the chances of a leak,” Calder whispered back. “After we leave, tell me its location and I will retrieve it myself. Tell no one.”

Louder, he added, “Good work, Guardsman. Now, could you give me and Rojric some privacy? I would like a moment to give him some notes on his performance.”

The Guards looked Rojric up and down before one of them pulled a belt knife and handed it to Calder.

“I don’t think he could take you even if he had a weapon,” the Guard said. “But just in case.”

Calder resolved to make sure this man got a raise.

As soon as the Guards left the room, Calder walked over to the nearby table, placing the belt knife next to the logbook.

“If you’re concerned about security, you can keep a Guard or two—”

Calder silenced him with a gesture. Then he reached down, tore a corner of blank paper out of the logbook, and scribbled on it.

When he’d finished, he held it up for Rojric to see.

Could be listening.

Rojric swallowed audibly.

Calder immediately fed the scrap of paper into the candle-flame, then dropped it to the floor to let it burn out. He tore off a second piece of paper and scribbled another note.

I will give the speech.

The double’s eyes widened as he realized where Calder was going.

This will be risky for you. Are you willing?

They had found Rojric for his ability, not for his loyalty, but the man was obviously brave enough to pretend to be Calder while knowing that it would attract the attention of enemies.

Sure enough, the man’s spine straightened and his eyes hardened. He gave Calder a single, firm nod.

Calder reached out and shook his hand.

Thank you.

He looked up to the Emperor’s duplicate armor standing on the pedestal over their heads, then added more to the note.

Now, help me get this down.

Bliss woke from a nightmare, sweating and breathing heavily.

That in itself was not so unusual. Nightmares were tools favored by several Elders, and many others inspired nightmares even in the most steel-willed.

But this was not an Elder nightmare. Not unless the Elders had taken to stirring up memories.

She remembered her birth.

Emerging from an alchemical bath in a body that she now recognized would be normal for a three- or four-year-old child, she had looked up and seen Nathanael Bareius’ glasses gleaming in the light.

There had been a whole team of alchemists in the room that day, and the memory was so distant that she wasn’t sure she took any particular notice of Bareius, but in her dreams he was the only one she remembered.

Likewise, she didn’t remember his actual words. She hadn’t been able to speak yet.

But she imagined him saying, “If she fails the tests, put her into the incinerator. Like the others.”

She knew that, in reality, he had probably said nothing of the sort.

He wouldn’t have needed to. Everyone in that room knew the procedure.

But she had passed their physical and mental examinations, and so she had been brought into her new home: a polished pink room.

There, he had kept her for years.

She only had three sorts of visitors in those years. First, her tutors, faceless interchangeable men and women in alchemist masks who taught her everything she would need to know about the world through textbooks and worksheets.

Second, Nathanael Bareius himself. He said he was her father, and a father was someone who should always be obeyed.

Third were Elderspawn of Tharlos.

Her first…few dozen…encounters with them had been just like any other child’s. She had screamed and panicked and tried to escape. Spawn of Tharlos were shapeshifters who held no form for long, bizarre ever-melting blends of animals and objects.

But she found you could grow used to anything over time.

Once she had learned to tolerate the Elderspawn, she had been given a length of yellowed bone. This time, she really did remember what Nathanael Bareius had said to her: “No one has ever managed to beat this before, but you will, won’t you? You’re such a good girl.”

She had wanted so badly to pass the test.

It had been weeks before she could even hold the Spear without turning her hand into a slithering mass of tendrils or her floor into honey.

Once she mastered that stage, they reintroduced the Elderspawn. This time, they were hostile.

She had defended herself with the Spear.

Bliss didn’t know how long the tests had continued, but she remembered when the Soulbinding was complete. The Spear of Tharlos’ Intent had become clearer and clearer to her until one day, its logic just made sense to her. It wanted things to change. Anything and everything, all the time.

That day, she had changed her location for the first time.

And she saw the facility where she had been trapped. The prison.

She saw the outside.

She saw what had happened to the others before her.

And now her nightmares showed her the label outside her cell. Her name: #4162B.

That facility no longer existed.

It had taken much longer for her to break the hold that Nathanael Bareius had over her, and she still sometimes woke shaking at the memories. It kept her anger hot.

She shivered in her nightgown and patted the Spear of Tharlos in its Intent-sealing harness beside her bed. Revenge was too difficult to achieve on the richest man in the world, she found. And she had a greater purpose now anyway.

How could she put her personal desire over protecting people from the Great Elders?

“You can’t, of course!” Bareius said from the foot of her bed. He adjusted his glasses, his smile wide. “I would never ask you to.”

Instantly she whirled, impaling him through the chest with her Spear.

He spurted blood and fell, but a second Bareius stepped out of her closet. “Bliss…that’s a wonderful name, a beautiful name for my daughter. I’m proud of it, if I do say so myself.”

“I picked my name,” Bliss muttered. “It’s mine.”

The room had gone from freezing to scalding hot.

She swept the Spear through the second Bareius, but he jumped backwards into a swirling portal into the void.

Bliss felt a brief surge of triumph. He was in league with the Elder cultists! She’d known it all along.

Well, she hadn’t known it, but that made a great excuse to kill him.

She followed him.

Somehow she was certain where the portal would come out, and she changed her location from her bedroom to the rooftop of a bell tower in the Capital.

Her bare feet found purchase on the cool tiles even as the moon shone overhead. He smiled. “Not bad, but how about this?”

He leaped off the tower.

She changed to follow him, transporting herself directly to the ground.

…but not the ground where she intended.

She found herself standing in a grassy field. Bliss glared at the Spear—it interfered with her intentions sometimes, because even plans should change.

But it was hard to focus on her Vessel. Slippery. As though…

…as though something was getting in the way.

Bliss sharpened herself. She gathered up all her concentration and directed it to changing her blood in a very specific way. Cleansing it.

Removing any foreign agents.

For a moment, she burned with fever and her heart sped up.

Then her mind was clear.

Alchemy.

She had been poisoned.

She saw the world around her clearly for the first time since she’d woken in her bed: the moonlight playing over the grass, the ground under her feet, the trees casting their shadows, and the fifteen laughing Bareiuses surrounding her.

Bliss glared at the nearest one. Now that her mind was unclouded by alchemy, she could feel the foreign Intent in the illusion.

“I imagine he is paying you a lot of money,” she said. “But is that really worth me learning who you are?”

The illusions of Bareius exchanged uncertain glances.

Bliss drew herself up and spoke with the dignity she felt her position deserved. “I will not punish you if you tell me where I am.”

Like pricked soap bubbles, the illusions disappeared one at a time.

She clicked her tongue. “Rude.”

So someone had gone to great risk poisoning her—and not with a lethal poison, but with one that would inhibit her judgment and cognitive functions. That same someone had hired a Soulbound to project illusions and lure her away from the Capital.

It wasn’t hard to imagine who that someone was.

He never tried to harm her, because even Bareius knew he needed the Head of the Blackwatch and that she would be almost impossible to replace. He usually just stayed away from her.

Which was a good decision for several reasons. If he had tried to administer a lethal poison, the Spear of Tharlos would likely have neutralized it immediately. It needed her alive.

Bareius had known that, but he had still gambled quite a bit to be rid of her. It must be important.

The Independents wanted her out of the city, so they were going to make a move. Or they were already making one.

She tried to transport herself directly to the Capital. When nothing happened, she realized she must have been even further than she thought.

Until she made it back, there was nothing she could do.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THREE YEARS AGO

WHILE JERRI CONTINUED TO WEEP, Calder distanced himself from her and the two remaining crew members of The Reliable.

One remaining member, he corrected himself.

Lakiri had been stung by several of Othaghor’s Slithers; the marks had swelled up and turned purple, oozing with pus and a strange ichor. Her seizures were nearing their end, and Calder doubted she would make it even if they had a medical alchemist on hand.

He could only count it as a miracle that the rest of them had escaped without being stung, but he had been bitten three or four times, and the others were in the same condition. As far as he knew, these things had a slow-acting poison in their teeth that would do worse than the stings.

Now that the crown was gone, Andel had been swallowed and probably killed by the Slithers’ big brother, and Urzaia was in pursuit. There was nothing more Calder could do for them.

He only had one idea left, and it was a stupid one.

Calder headed off to the beach, kicking away his boots as he walked. He carefully set down his gun belt; Foster would never let him hear the end of it if he got sand in the barrel of a Dalton Foster original. Then he limbered up his bare sword and waded into the surf.

The Testament was close, so close that he could see Petal and Foster scurrying around on the deck, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the ship with his Reading yet. Just to be safe, he opened himself to the Intent of his Soulbound Vessel, but it still felt distant.

He waved his sword in the air, drawing Foster’s attention.

They would have seen him anyway, he was sure, but he kept waving as he forced himself step by step into the ocean.

Terror pushed against him as much as the water. He had seen the Elderspawn, the giant flatworms with extendible jaws and the teeth of crocodiles that had destroyed his longboat. They were in the surf with him now, he was sure, though he couldn’t see them.

Every slight eddy of water against his skin felt like the brush of an invisible monster, and he shivered as he moved deeper.

Foster had caught on to his message almost immediately. After only a moment of busying themselves on the ropes, he and Petal freed the sail, which instantly filled with wind.

Calder stopped with the water up to his ribs. Even if he managed to swim with his sword and jacket, there was no way he could gather up the courage to try it; at least with his feet in the sand he had some kind of defense.

The Testament drifted toward him, and Calder reached desperately for his Vessel.

Finally, after too many agonizing seconds, he made contact.

The Lyathatan is irritated by having to lie flat against the hated sand, and its irritation is what lesser creatures might call blinding rage. If this state persists, it intends to pull the ship out to the comfort of the sea even if it leaves the human that holds its contract behind.

Calder shivered with a chill deeper than the water. As he’d suspected, the Lyathatan planned on abandoning him.

Defend me, Calder commanded, sending a mental picture of his situation to the Elder.

The ancient creature examined his communication, and Calder felt some of its irritation dissipate, replaced with humor.

His heart sank. Humor was far worse.

The Elder communicated in old, complex Intent that was difficult to translate, but Calder heard it as something like Defend yourself.

With that statement, the Lyathatan sent its perspective on Calder’s situation, and Calder was glad he was standing so deep in the water, because he immediately lost control of his bladder.

One of those worm-creatures had encircled him.

Its flat, smooth body had looped wide around Calder in the water, like a noose slowly tightening. Now its head was raising out of the water, preparing to strike.

Calder’s eyes snapped open, and he came face-to-face with the purplish crocodilian jaws of the Elderspawn.

It was the kind of elemental, heart-stopping terror that he liked to think he was used to from his time as a Navigator. But no one could be prepared to face down the teeth of a predator unprotected.

His sword came forward, he was flailing blindly like a terrified child. It had him.

Until its head exploded into blue blood.

A crack of thunder came at the same time as Calder was soaked in stinking azure gore, and he stood frozen in pure astonishment for a long second before he regained enough control over his body to catch view of The Testament.

One of its cannons leaked smoke. Foster gave him a casual salute while Petal trembled behind him.

The water was clouding further with Elderspawn blood, but from the Intent of the Lyathatan, Calder knew there were more out there. He imagined he could feel them undulating closer like sea-snakes, drawn to their dying brother.

If you save me now, I will owe you a favor, Calder sent to the Lyathatan.

He didn’t know much about the Elder, but he knew that it was a creature of Kelarac. It was bound to The Testament as a result of a deal, and it should be open to bargaining now.

The Lyathatan considered, and with every thought that passed between them, Calder could feel the worms growing closer.

Food, the Lyathatan demanded, and Calder received the image of full-grown sharks. You will feed me.

I accept!

It could see the worms looping around the island toward him, and Calder couldn’t count on Foster nailing every one with a cannonball.

The Lyathatan sent its agreement and Calder scrambled for the shore, scraping gore away from his eyes as he marched. The Testament was close now, so it would soon run aground, but as long as the hull didn’t fracture, that was a problem the Lyathatan could handle.

For now, he had to get Jerri and the others. And they had to find Urzaia.

For the most part, Urzaia reserved his rage for the Elders.

Other people had managed to provoke him to wrath a few times in his career, but for the most part, he understood them. Even when they betrayed him or tried to kill him, well, they had reasons for what they did. It was usually easy to take in good humor.

Elders, though…there was no understanding the Elders. There was no forgiving them. They followed their own natures, and those natures were alien and malicious.

It was easy to hate Elders. Especially when one ate your friend.

The toad creature, with its gorilla body and amphibian head, leaped from tree to tree. The sac beneath its chin was swollen with Andel and the safe containing the Emperor’s crown, and the Captain trusted Urzaia to get them both back.

He’d already smashed the Elder’s right side into a mash of blue gore, but that barely slowed it down.

Which didn’t seem fair to Urzaia, but he had expected as much. Elders did not fight fair.

He slammed one hatchet into the tree holding the creature, caving it in two, but his enemy had already leapt away.

He was trying to corral it back toward the beach where the others were, but it was hard to pin down an Elderspawn that could jump from one branch to another with ease.

Fortunately, Urzaia had more tools at his disposal than just his hatchets.

When the frog behemoth jumped to a new tree, he called on the power of his Soulbound Vessel.

The predatory fury of the Sandborn Hydra filled him, and he could feel himself growing heavier. The Hydra’s power wasn’t as simple as merely changing his weight; he couldn’t explain exactly what the difference was, but he knew he grew tougher even as he grew heavier.

His bones didn’t snap under his own weight, for one thing, and his skin shrugged off musket-balls when he was drawing on his power.

Once, when he had pushed his Vessel to the limit, he had managed to catch a cannonball.

That had been a good day.

But more relevant to his current situation: with great concentration, he could affect the weight of other things.

He focused his power into the tree. Not giving it weight but taking weight away.

Then, before the Elder creature could reorient and jump to a new perch, Urzaia tore the tree from the ground.

It gave easily, its roots snapping off as he heaved the massive trunk upward in both arms. The amphibian elder squawked and clung to the bark with its three remaining muscular limbs.

Urzaia returned the tree to its original weight…and slammed it into the ground.

As satisfying as it would be to splatter the Elder like a blood-filled mosquito, he was still concerned with Andel’s safety. So he twisted the trunk to one side, crushing the lower half of the behemoth into a blue pulp.

Its scream was a deep croak that felt almost as good as hearing its flesh break.

At the sound of their leader’s cry, the Slithers crawled from nearby bushes, threatening him with their stingers.

Urzaia was still filled with the power of the Sandborn Hydra, so he doubted such small creatures could break his skin. Even if they did, his Champion augmentation meant that most poisons did less to him than a mug of beer.

If their venom could get through his skin and his bloodstream both, then the Slithers had earned their kill.

He allowed the small creatures to slide all over him, trying to find purchase with their teeth and stingers. As they did, he advanced on their leader, which scrambled with its one remaining limb to escape.

The tree rolled off, but by that time, Urzaia stood over its froglike head.

The creature gave a pathetic croak and its mouth opened, disgorging Andel and the safe.

Andel was covered in blood and fluid as though he’d just been born. His hat and gun were gone, and he emerged with an explosive cough, gasping in air like it was the first breath he’d ever drawn.

He blinked at the gunk covering his eyes, trying to see, but fainted instead.

Urzaia’s relief hit him all at once, and he staggered to a seat on the collapsed tree. He had allowed himself to hope for Andel’s survival, but deep down, he had given up on his friend’s life.

This was a new ray of hope, and it brought back his smile. A Slither crawled closer to Andel, but with a single flip of his toe, Urzaia punted it deep into the forest.

The huge frog-headed monster gave him a deep, pathetic croak, gesturing to the chest with the crown inside. Urzaia didn’t need to be a Reader to understand its intentions; it was trying to bargain for its life.

Urzaia leaned closer to the Elder, and its yellow eyes went wide with fear. Even with most of its body a mangled mess, it tried to crawl away on its one remaining hand.

The Champion chuckled and rubbed its slimy head. He would have ruffled its hair, if it had any.

He didn’t like Elders, but bargaining for its life was a very human thing to do. He could let this one go. After all, it hadn’t really killed his friend.

He stood up, brushing Slithers from his skin, then slung Andel over one shoulder and tucked the box under the other.

Now he could bring good news to the Captain.

“I’m going to see if I’ve got this straight,” Foster said, once they were all aboard The Testament. “They got caught by this island somehow, you don’t know how, the Elders caught up with them and killed them off, their Captain blew himself up, the other one got poisoned, this one’s a gibbering mess…and you’re all fine?”

Calder looked around. He was soaked in blue gore, which had mixed with plenty of his own blood. Every one of them was scratched, bruised, beaten, and exhausted…every one of them except Urzaia, who was merely wet. And happy as a cat that had just brought its owner a dead rat.

Andel was below, with Petal tending to him. She thought he was only exhausted and missing a little too much blood, but with Elders it was always hard to tell. She was going to test to see if he had been poisoned or infected somehow.

Thoughts of the quartermaster brought a mix of stomach-churning guilt and muscle-loosening relief. He had abandoned Andel for Jerri. But it had all worked out, thanks to Urzaia. But he had abandoned Andel. But…

His thoughts ran in circles, and he forcibly put a stop to it.

“Fine is an understatement,” Calder said, focusing on their one unmitigated victory.

With a flourish, he shoved the crown’s locked chest out for them all to admire.

Foster looked at it skeptically, Jerri with awe, Urzaia with pride, and Goss with something that looked like hate. He hadn’t said a word since Lakiri’s death, and they had all wondered if the Elders had done something to his mind, but hate might be a completely rational reaction. Calder could understand how he might blame this object for the death of his entire crew.

“Mister Woodsman, we need this chest open,” Calder announced.

Jerri and the others sent up a cheer.

He wished Andel and Petal could be here for this, but he wasn’t about to wait any longer. The Lyathatan, as per its agreement, had cleared the waters around the ship, but Calder still wanted to put as many miles between them and this island as they could. And they needed to confirm the presence of the crown before they could leave.

Urzaia made quick work of the chains around the box, but it took even his hatchets a moment to force open the box itself.

Calder had Read it already, trying to divine the crown’s presence, but the box had been made by the Magister’s Guild with the assistance of Regent Loreli herself. It was all but invisible to his senses, a deep void of Intent that he could scarcely believe existed even with his hands on it.

Finally, Urzaia pried open the box to reveal the Emperor’s crown.

It looked just like the paintings.

The gold circlet rested on a velvet lining, and Calder could easily picture it sitting on the Emperor’s head. It was simple and unassuming. Just an object. In a word, it was disappointing.

Until Calder touched it.

The moment his fingers made contact, he was overwhelmed by the force of the Emperor’s will.

He had dealt with Imperial relics even as a child, so he had thought he was prepared, but the weight of Intent and significance in this object outweighed everything else he’d ever sensed a hundredfold.

It held ten thousand memories, a hundred thousand, all bent to a singular purpose: to lead. To be a symbol of something great.

To inspire others to obey.

The Emperor only wore his crown to address crowds, and it was his authority, Calder could feel it in the metal. He didn’t wear this when he was drafting laws or personally bettering the lives of individuals. The Emperor had worn this when he needed to be the Emperor, the founder of human civilization, the icon of a single unified Empire.

The sheer impact of that Intent overwhelmed Calder.

When he came back to himself, he was lying back on the deck, staring up at the sky. He tasted blood in his mouth and realized it was coming from his nose. His head pounded in the beginnings of Reader burn. From one Reading.

Jerri cradled his head in her lap, staring down at him from above, looking terrified. The rest of the crew—Urzaia, Foster, Petal, even Goss—looked down at him with their own expressions of concern.

Calder pushed himself up to a sitting position, wiping blood away from his nose.

“It’s the real thing, all right,” he said. “This was his.”

In a flutter of leathery wings, Shuffles came to rest on his shoulder, its tendrils squirming on his face to peel away a taste of his blood.

Shuffles boomed into his ear: “HIS!”

That night, as the waves lapped at The Testament in a familiar, calming lullaby, Jerri sat at Andel’s side.

She was as exhausted as anyone else, and her wounds ached—she had been forced to allow the Slithers close to her in order to keep her cover as a Soulbound, and the mindless spawn of Othaghor couldn’t tell the difference between friend and foe.

Jerri needed sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Andel.

When she had called for Calder’s help, she had only meant to show her vulnerability to him, to establish once again that she couldn’t possibly be a Soulbound. No Soulbound would have allowed herself in that position.

She hadn’t intended to distract him from Andel, but when the Elder had swallowed the quartermaster whole, her first thought hadn’t been concern for his well-being.

She had felt relieved that the one person who might stand in her way was gone.

Then, when Urzaia brought him back, her heart had been mixed. On the one hand, she had traveled with him for years, shared hundreds of meals with the man. He kept to his own, but he was loyal and kind and wise.

On the other hand, if he’d died, her life’s purpose would be so much easier. Only one voice was whispering into Calder’s ear besides Jerri’s, and it was Andel’s.

That realization sickened her. The rest of the world thought of the Sleepless as evil, and she accepted that view because she understood it. But she knew they weren’t evil. They simply fought for progress.

“It will be worth it,” she whispered, patting Andel’s hand.

It would be. When Calder was Emperor, with the infinite knowledge of Kelarac and Ach’magut at his disposal, the entire world would change. They would enter a golden age the likes of which the former Emperor had never imagined.

Jerri was alerted to another person’s presence by shuffling footsteps and a wet cough.

Mister Goss loomed in the doorway, his skeletally thin frame covered in bandages. Some burns or fresh wounds peaked out from the edges of the cloth wrappings, but they were nothing compared to the wounds in his soul. His eyes looked ravaged and haunted, and they smoldered with barely contained rage.

“I saw your signal,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, she didn’t hear any of the nerves she’d heard there before. “I know who you are.”

She feigned concern. “You’re not well, Mister Goss.”

“You spoke to Tommison last night, didn’t you?”

Carefully. She had to play this carefully, or he’d scream for the rest of the crew and draw too much attention. It was already a blessing from Ach’magut that he’d come straight to her with his accusations instead of to Calder.

“I spoke with him last night, yes,” Jerri said, now sounding puzzled. “I saw him packaging up the alchemical munitions. Thank the Unknown God I didn’t stay long enough, or I’d be ash on the floor beside him.”

Goss extended his hand, and in it was a twisted key that looked to be made of blackened bones. She froze.

He nodded, his eyes flaring with excitement as though he’d caught her at last.

In truth, he really had.

“Yes, you recognize this, don’t you? I can call the cabal anytime I want. And you will answer to them.” His fist tightened around the key. “Now, I need you to bring me the crown.”

Jerri understood the plan as Goss must see it.

First of all, he really was crazed and feverish, thanks to whatever the Elderspawn had done to his mind and body. In his irrational state, he had become fixed on his mission.

Maybe he thought if he completed it, the death of his friends would be worthwhile. Maybe he thought the cabal could bring the rest of his crew back to life.

He saw that he had a lever over Jerri, and that was the one lever he could pull to get him closer to the crown. She doubted he’d thought about what to do with the crown once he had it; Tommison had already proven that it couldn’t be passed by void messenger.

But he knew he had leverage because he knew she was one of the Sleepless.

And didn’t know that she was a Soulbound.

She deflated, letting her entire body convey obvious defeat. “I will obey.” She reached out for one of the clean syringes that Petal had left beside Andel. “Excuse me; I have to give him his medicine on the hour. Do you know how you will get the package to the…head office…once I bring it to you?”

Jerri partially filled the syringe from the vial of sedative that Petal had left out for Andel.

Goss twitched, the key shaking in his hand. “They’ll tell me!”

Jerri nodded along, sticking the syringe into the next vial along. This was a new recipe for a paralysis potion, meant to be ingested, that Petal had been trying to perfect for months. “Good. That’s good. I can get the package, you know. No problem. By this time tomorrow night, I’ll have it, and I’ll bring it straight to you.”

The next vial was labeled, in Petal’s hand, “EXPERIMENTAL – DANGEROUS.”

It went into the mix.

Goss was nodding spastically. “Good, good, good, good, good. Yes. I think—I think I…”

Jerri casually turned and stuck the needle into his thigh. She pressed the plunger.

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “Don’t worry about it.”

In his normal state, Goss could have easily avoided her. He would probably have pushed her off. But he was half a thread away from snapping, so she had time to finish the entire syringe, pull it out, and wipe it down with a cloth before he finally gasped.

“You…what did you do?”

Jyrine started washing out the syringe.

With both hands, Goss stuck out the key, muttering something with a tongue that sounded like it was growing thicker by the second. Ice began to form at his feet, and the room darkened.

Jerri’s earring flickered green, and she tossed an emerald spark at the key.

It didn’t take much damage to ruin the delicate Elder artifact; only a little burn and the light and warmth of the room returned. Goss gaped at her like a fish, but that could have been because the site of the injection on his thigh had swelled to the size of a grapefruit.

“Come here, Mister Goss,” Jerri said.

He made a choking sound and lunged for her.

If she wasn’t a Soulbound, she would have been in danger. If not from Goss himself, then from the noise he would inevitably make upon attacking her.

Instead, she reached up and grabbed his neck, unleashing just a little of her power into his throat.

It was impossible for her to control her Vessel so precisely without time, focus, and contact. Even with those things, it was difficult to inject fire into something that had its own Intent.

But this didn’t take much.

Goss tried to scream, but with his throat fused shut, he made little progress. He couldn’t even flail his limbs; they had already gone dead. In only a few more seconds, the cocktail of potions completed its work, and he collapsed.

A green-tinged fluid had started leaking from his thigh. Jerri pressed her palms against a nascent headache.

Now she not only had to clean up the syringe and put it back where it was, she had to return a grown man’s limp body to his bunk. Without waking anyone.

It was going to be a long night.

The next morning, they found Goss dead. Petal offered to examine the body, but she clearly didn’t relish the idea, and no one wanted to make her do it.

Once they found the wound on his thigh, the cause of death had been clear anyway.

The Elders had claimed another victim.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Don’t use anything as bait that you don’t want eaten.

—LORELI THE STRATEGIST

(MODERN PARAPHRASE)

PRESENT DAY

CALDER STOOD on a wide balcony with Imperial Guards standing to either side of him, looking out over a crowd of ten thousand people packed into a massive courtyard. The Emperor’s Stage was a three-story building at the entrance to the Imperial Palace from which the Emperor or his representatives could address the gathered citizens of the Capital.

For years, he had dreamed of standing in this position.

But in those dreams, the people hadn’t been screaming at him and waving news-sheets that accused him of worshiping the Great Elders.

He wore the silver Steward’s crown and loose, layered green clothes from the Emperor’s wardrobe. His sword was buckled on his hip; the Emperor had never worn a weapon belt, but one of the Palace attendants had made it work, making the equipment look surprisingly natural.

He was a mix of old and new, presenting himself as someone who could rule the Empire without pretending to be the former Emperor.

No one who had used this platform had wanted to carry a broad metal cone in their hands, so the speaking-horn was bolted to the balcony. It had been used by centuries of orators, including the Emperor himself, so it easily caught his voice and sent it booming over the crowd.

He delivered his speech mechanically, one word slotting into the next like the gears of a clock, his inflection raised and lowered at precisely the calculated moments. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Will they come after me tonight?

The Consultants would try to kill him. He’d been certain of that since the battle at the Imperial Palace, and the assassination of the Champions had only confirmed his suspicions.

But would they take this first opportunity he was dangling before them, on the very night of the Farstrider report’s release? Or would they bide their time?

Calder and the speech-writers from the Imperial Palace had all agreed not to address Estyr’s accusations directly. Anything they threw up in their defense would only become ammunition against them, in the mind of the public.

Instead, he spoke about his passion for Imperial unity, alluded to the panel of experts who had publicly confirmed his freedom from Elder influence, and promised to crack down on Elder activity by making cultist-hunting the army’s top priority and by funding the maintenance of increased security on the Great Elder tombs.

The crowd didn’t cheer him or shout support. He hadn’t expected them to, though it would have been encouraging.

But they didn’t jeer him or swarm the Emperor’s Stage to take his head on a spike, so he would take his victories where he could.

As his mouth worked and his eyes scanned the crowd for raised guns, his ears caught the first signs of intrusion: a shout from deeper in the building. The crowd wouldn’t hear it, and he almost missed it himself, but his Imperial Guards muttered to each other and closed ranks behind him.

Stealthily, he glanced behind him to see Rosephus the Champion clanking down the hallway, running deeper into the building.

Tyria followed him more gracefully, wearing armor of leather and mail that would allow her greater freedom of movement than her partner. Her weapon seemed to be a long needle the size of her arm, but he would never question what arms a Champion carried into battle.

A Guard stepped up next to him, taking his arm. “It’s time to go, sir.”

Calder pulled away, and the Guard couldn’t manhandle him in front of the crowd. If there were an imminent threat to Calder’s life, Calder would be carried off, but for the moment he could get away with staying put.

Still speaking, he slipped his hand inside the Emperor’s clothes and pulled out an icy lump of metal from an interior pocket. The Awakened padlock looked like it was made of ice and crystal as well as steel. The Awakening process had transformed it into a jagged work of art.

He was making no effort to Read it, but it bled eagerness to shut doors, to seal windows. All harmful elements must be kept out for the sake of protection.

Calder pressed the lock against the balcony and snapped it shut.

An invisible surge of Intent shivered through the entire Emperor’s Stage, sealing every door and window at once. If the Gardener wanted to escape, they would have to break through glass or wood, which would reveal their position.

A smile crept up on him as he spoke. The Consultants had taken the bait so quickly.

Now he had them.

Concentrating on the Consultants, he didn’t realize at first that he had gone off-script.

“…you know, I’ve seen Elderspawn.” He shouldn’t be addressing this so directly, but there was an assassin in the building after his life. If he couldn’t play recklessly now, when could he?

“In my youth, I worked for the Blackwatch. Ever since then, I’ve sailed the Aion, and I’ve seen things that put to shame the brightest dreams and the darkest nightmares. If you’d seen what I’d seen…then you, too, would fight to keep the Empire whole. No matter who stood in your way.”

The last line came out grimmer than he intended, and the noise from the crowd dipped a little.

But he was done with them. He turned from the balcony and walked into the building, where Guards pressed in on him so tightly that he had no space to breathe.

“Your double is dead,” one said.

A chill passed through his spine. On their first chance, the Consultants had succeeded in killing Calder’s replacement. If he had been in that guarded room, as planned, they would have killed him.

The news of Rojric’s death also pained him more than he’d expected. They had both known there was a chance the double might be killed, and Rojric had taken that risk willingly. He had actually given his life for Calder’s.

That was his job, but it still fueled Calder’s anger.

The Guards took him down to a dark room where the Emperor’s armor and Calder’s sword waited. The room was packed with even more Guards, and Calder had to order one out of the room so that he could change.

As he slipped out of the loose clothes and strapped on the armor one piece at a time, the Guards filled him in on the situation.

Only moments ago, a servant had discovered a maid and two Guards unconscious outside of the secure room.

It seemed the assassins had caught the maid leaving the room after delivering food, put her and the Guards to sleep with poisoned darts, and entered the door that had not yet shut after the maid’s exit. From this evidence, the Guards suggested they were dealing with a team of at least four Consultants.

Rojric was found with a knife in the eye and a slit throat, which Calder found strange. If they’d thrown a knife from the doorway that landed in the eye, why had they walked all the way across the room to slit his throat?

From the blood and the body, it was estimated that the body had been found only a minute or two after death. They were hot on the heels of the assassins.

The second Calder pulled on his helmet, seeing only through the hardened glass of the Emperor’s visor, the Guards began carrying him away. “We’re taking you out, sir.”

“You can’t.” He pulled himself free and stood his ground. “I’ve already sealed the building.”

Some of the Guards looked at him in astonishment, others in anger. “You’ve locked yourself in a building with a team of Gardeners?”

“No, I’ve locked them in here with us.”

Somewhere along the side of the building, there came a gunshot and the sound of shattering glass.

Three Guards dashed off, but Calder stayed put with the rest. They were in a wide open room, a preparation area for the Emperor before he went onstage, and Calder ordered quicklamps lit.

“We’ll need the light to fight,” he told the Guards. “When they realize they can’t escape, they’ll come for me.”

The building would only stay shut for about half an hour, less if its Intent was opposed, but the Consultants shouldn’t know that. They would have to assume that the building was sealed for good and act accordingly, which meant either breaking out or trying to finish the job.

If they escaped, they would be caught.

So he had to make the other option just as dangerous for them.

Before the Guards could even reach for the lamps, a silver-blue mist billowed down the hall. It filled the room in seconds, the Guards drawing swords and shouting to each other as visibility shrank to almost nothing.

Calder pulled his own ember-spotted blade, which stained the nearby mist with an orange glow. He filled the inside of his helmet with a reckless grin that no one else could see.

Shera was here.

He had only recently discovered that her promotion to Guild Head included control over Bastion’s Veil, the mist that had—until recently—protected the Consultant’s island. If this fog was here, so was Shera.

This time, he was ready for her.

He stood with his sword drawn, waiting for Shera and her team to come through the door. He waited. And waited.

As the mist thinned, Calder began to feel like he had gotten excited for nothing. He sheathed his sword because there was no point in keeping it drawn.

Eventually, he sat down against the far wall.

A nearby Guard with arms that were twice as long as normal shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Calder. “Is this the Gardeners coming after us?”

Many people had never seen the Bastion’s Veil that surrounded the Gray Island, but practically every one of the Imperialists had seen the silver fog that had hidden the Independent retreat during the battle of the Imperial Palace.

They knew where this mist came from.

“Coming after me, I think,” Calder said. “But there are Champions defending us.”

If Calder was honest with himself, he was a little worried that Shera would be killed or captured without him there to see it.

It shouldn’t matter, but this was the woman who had kidnapped Jerri, killed Urzaia, and repeatedly tried to kill him. She had even pretended to be willing to work with him, only to drop that resolve instantly.

He wanted to see her punishment with his own eyes. And he wanted to know why the Independents had ignored his messages; he had clearly told them that this was a matter of survival.

“The Champions…they couldn’t even save themselves from the Consultants.”

Calder looked from Guard to Guard. There were six still in here with him, as well as squads of four outside both doors into this storage room. Even a ghost couldn’t get into this room without raising an alarm.

All six of the Guards wore shadowed expressions. They looked like Urg’naut himself had pulled a shadow of gloom over them.

Calder almost reached beneath his armor. In a concealed pocket beneath the plates, he carried the Emperor’s crown. He had intended it as a backup weapon against the Consultants, but now it might come in handy to soothe his allies.

Or…would it?

The old Emperor hadn’t understood the emotions of men. Calder did.

He pulled off his helmet and sat it next to him. “Whew! Hard to breathe in that thing. I can see why you all don’t wear helmets all the time.”

Some glanced at him, but no one said a word about him taking his armor off.

“Listen to me,” Calder commanded, and somewhat surprisingly they all did. The six Guards turned to him with looks of expectation.

Well, he’d try not to let them down.

“As you’ve heard, three Champions were killed recently. I have no proof, but we all know it was the Consultants. There are a million rumors about them: they’re everywhere, they know everything, they can kill anyone. But you know what? They had to kill Champions in their sleep. Or bomb them when they went to relieve themselves.”

He threw out his hands. “You think they could touch Champions on a battlefield?”

A few of the Guards shook their heads; they’d all seen Champions at work before.

“Even at the Palace battle, it took entire teams of alchemists just to hold the Champions down. Not to kill them! Just to keep them from killing everyone else. Now, out there, we have a pair of fully armed and armored Champions against a squad of cowardly assassins who have never held a sword in their lives.”

One of the Guards cleared his throat. “My great-uncle used to work for the Consultants, and weapons training is standard—”

“Never drawn a sword in battle, then! It’s a figure of speech. The point is, if I were a gambling man—and I am—then I know who I’d bet on.”

The mist had grown a little thicker, which made his voice seem more faint, so he raised it further. “I’m putting all my money, and my life itself, in the hands of the Champions…and the Imperial Guard. What do a bunch of spies have on you, huh?”

The long-armed Guard forced a laugh, but at least his expression looked a little better. The other five were little more than shapes in the mist, but he hoped he had lightened the mood at least some.

The lock on the western door clicked, and Calder perked up. If the outside Guards were coming in, that meant there must have been some news. Which could only mean that the Gardener had either escaped or been taken.

Of the two Champions remaining to him, Tyria had the Soulbound power more suited to capturing enemies. Rosephus was temperamentally unfit for taking prisoners, and also his Vessel allowed him to create spectral weapons.

Apparently all the blades he had strapped over his entire body weren’t enough; he had to conjure new ones.

Most likely, Shera would escape. If she ran into Rosephus, she’d be dead, and Tyria would take her captive. He found himself rooting for Tyria, but he would accept any of those fates. At least they would come away from a conflict with the advantage.

“Identify yourself,” the Guard on the inside of the door called.

Before Calder could react, the door flew open and all of Bastion’s Veil flooded inside.

The fog had strange effects on sound, so all of the Guard shouts seemed to come from all directions. Panicked cries and questions bounced throughout the room, but Calder could see no one.

He couldn’t even see the helmet sitting on the ground next to him.

Panic spiked in his throat, and he scrambled with both hands, sweeping them along the floor. He knew the helmet had to be around here somewhere, and if Shera caught him with his head bare, he would die in an instant.

Finally, he hit something, and he seized the helmet in triumph.

As he lifted it to his head, he glanced up.

Shera emerged from the mist.

Her tight-fitting gray silk made her whole body blend into the mist. Strands of her dark hair peeked from inside her hood…and her eyes were darker still, ice-cold, with crushing depths that made him think he was staring into the bottom of the ocean. A line of blood had been drawn across her cheek, just above the cloth that covered her nose, but she stared at him ready to deliver death.

Her right arm was raised, clutching an Awakened knife that billowed with blue-silver clouds. Even as he shoved the helmet over his head, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He’d let his guard down for the last time.

A thorny vine made of golden light wrapped around Shera’s ankle and pulled her back into the mist.

Champion Tyria’s Soulbound power.

Calder’s helmet fitted into place, and for a moment the world was dark…until the Intent in the glass of the Emperor’s visor allowed him to see once more. The Emperor had intended it to enhance sight, so that was exactly what it did; Calder suffered almost no loss of vision from wearing the helmet.

Shera lunged back out of the fog again, swinging her dagger, and Calder jerked his head back a moment too slow…but the blue Vessel skittered off the side of his helmet before he was able to back beyond her reach.

She couldn’t break the Emperor’s armor. He was safe now.

…but she wasn’t.

Tyria emerged from the mist next to him, her silver needle in one hand and hair tied into a long tail. She still managed to look casual even with the gold power of a Soulbound pooling around her feet. Golden vines made of light retracted back.

She shot him a wink and tapped that long needle of hers against her shoulder. “You’re pretty slippery, aren’t you?” she said into the fog.

Before Shera could respond, an explosion of wood echoed through the room. Some of the Guards shouted, and Calder readied his sword; even Shera couldn’t have done all this without a team, and if this was the rest of her squad blasting through the door, he needed to be prepared to fight.

But Rosephus helpfully identified himself by shouting “FACE ME, SNAKE!”

Shera didn’t answer. Of course.

Calder turned his helmet toward Tyria. “Has that ever worked?”

“I’ve never fought with Rosephus before,” Tyria said. “But I can say with confidence that no, it never has.”

“East exit!” someone shouted.

Calder couldn’t pinpoint the direction of shouts in the mist, but he could see the north wall, so he could orient himself enough to be able to point to the east exit.

If he could do it, the Champions could do it faster.

Tyria instantly thrust her needle in the direction of the east exit, but held herself back from firing whatever power she had been about to unleash. If she fired blindly, she could easily hit a Guard.

Rosephus had no such reservations. Calder saw him briefly emerging from the mist as he leaped entirely across the room, a massive man with a blade in one hand and a dozen more strapped all over his body. Daggers of red light floated over his head—the ghostly weapons created by his Soulbound Vessel.

The floor cracked as he landed, and Rosephus continued to rage, so Calder took that to mean that Shera hadn’t been caught.

Tyria motioned to Calder, and when he leaned in, she kept her voice low. “You and I and that ape are the only three in this room she can’t kill. Spread out. He’s got the east exit covered, I’ll head to the west, and you walk along the south wall. Call out your location when you make contact.”

She vanished with inhuman speed even before he nodded his understanding.

Walking through the veil of magical mist was a uniquely terrifying experience, even though he was only a few paces from the south wall.

The first two people he ran into were Guards, but they saw each other as dark shapes in the fog. He nearly crossed swords with each of them before they recognized each other and lowered their weapons in relief.

When he reached the south wall, he decided to check the southeast corner first. Rosephus seemed like he would be less likely to check systematically, so his corner would be the most dangerous. Calder wanted to get that over with.

As he walked, he saw something that focused his attention and made his breaths come faster: bloody footprints.

They could belong to anyone, but he had seen Shera bleeding. Just as the thought occurred to him, he saw a silhouette crouched in the corner.

He pushed his sword closer, afraid to approach. If this was Shera, he didn’t want to give her another chance to break through his armor. If it wasn’t, he didn’t want to accidentally stab anyone.

But the orange light of his Awakened sword revealed the edge of a hood and the blue-tinged light of a dagger clutched tight in a gloved hand.

Calder mastered his fear and his excitement, speaking with all the confidence he could scrape up. “By the authority of the Imperial Steward, you’re under arrest, Guild Head.”

The dagger lifted, and Calder tensed, but Shera responded easily.

“We’ve fought before. You want to try again?”

He’d only directly fought her twice that he remembered, and she’d either bested him or escaped both times, despite his sword having her by almost two feet of reach. That first time, she’d spared him.

He could learn from those encounters.

First, he’d rather take her alive. Both to get information from her and because they would need the Consultant’s Guild to join them rather than remain in open rebellion.

Second, he wasn’t about to risk himself in open combat with her again. Not even while wearing the Emperor’s armor.

He took a step back. “This is not about me or my pride.” The Guard could hear him, so he had to make sure he took the moral high ground. “We will stop you from tearing the Empire apart. Whatever it takes.”

As much as he would love to defeat Shera personally, he wasn’t an idiot.

“Though he would surely win, the Emperor does not fight battles on his own behalf.” Loreli, the strategist. Come to think of it, she was one of Shera’s allies. What did she think about this conflict?

Calder was leaving this battle to his more qualified subordinates.

“Southeast corner,” he called.

The Champions joined him in moments.

Rosephus gave a cruel chuckle, crimson daggers dancing around his head. “So even a roach can’t scuttle around when it’s pinned to a board.”

Tyria rolled her eyes. Gold light pooled under her feet, and vines began to emerge. “Is she a snake or a roach? Pick one.”

“Wait!” Calder shouted. He threw out a hand to hold Tyria back. “Something is strange about her Intent.”

It was hard to Read in the mist, just as it was hard to see or hear, and the armor muffled his ability even further. It was difficult to Read anything without drowning in the overwhelming Intent of the armor itself.

So he pulled off one gauntlet and extended it toward her, careful not to get within arm’s reach. He didn’t want to lose fingers to her dagger.

She didn’t move, and he sensed no dangerous Intent from her. As always, Reading a person’s current mentality was a tricky business, but he felt pure chaos coming from her direction. Like three people were living in her body who all wanted vastly different things.

Then he caught a glimpse of green light. He tore his hand back, shoving the gauntlet back on.

“Take her! Take her now!”

Tyria obeyed, casting her Soulbound powers toward Shera in thorny ropes of shining gold. The vines wrapped around Shera in a cocoon.

“What are you worried about?” Rosephus asked. He had the tip of his sword pressed against the ground and was spinning it in place. “We have her already. Now that we do, you should lend her to me for a day.” His smile was ugly. “She’ll never go against us again.”

A slash of green light sliced the golden cage.

In an instant, all of Tyria’s power flashed green and imploded.

Rushing into Shera.

The influx of emerald light lit her up like the flash of a green quicklamp, so Calder saw her through the mist for a moment.

She was crouched with the blue blade in her right hand…and a glowing green blade in her left, having just cut through Tyria’s power.

She had unsealed her second Vessel.

“No more capture!” Calder shouted. “Just kill her!”

Rosephus had been waiting for the word. He leaped toward Shera, swinging a huge sword with one hand. He had just seen Shera absorb power from Tyria’s Vessels, so he didn’t use the red daggers hovering over him, slashing down with his physical weapon.

The Consultant met the Champion’s blow and deflected it with her dagger, sending it into the floor beside her.

In the same motion, she spun with blurring speed, driving her green dagger at Rosephus’ head. He ducked out of the way as though he had seen the future, but still not fast enough to avoid having a gash opened in his helmet.

Another flash of green light flowed into Shera, but in the same motion as he dodged, Rosephus swept his leg at her ankle. She fell and rolled into the mist before silver light flashed from Tyria’s needle and speared the ground where Shera had fallen.

All of that happened in a blink, and by the time Calder processed what had happened, he had already come to one conclusion.

Time to go.

Shera was apparently a double Soulbound with the strength to deflect a Champion’s blade.

He officially no longer had the qualification to participate in this fight.

He would leave this to warriors with a chance of victory and retreat.

He bolted in the direction he thought was the exit, grabbing an Imperial Guard as he ran into the woman. She stabbed at him as he emerged from the mist, but the attack didn’t even scratch the Emperor’s armor, so he ignored it.

More Guards had flooded into the room after Shera’s entrance, but no one knew where anyone was in the mist. He managed to gather three more before he hit the north wall and started feeling his way to the door.

“Where is she?” one of the Guards demanded.

The room was filled with the deafening noise of the Champion-level battle.

“Who cares?” Calder responded. “We’re leaving.”

None of them argued.

Every second in the mist, feeling their way along the wall, felt like an hour. He expected Shera to leap out of nowhere at any second, plunging a dagger through his visor.

But maybe that would be his chance. His armor had already withstood her knives once, so maybe…

No, he had to die to such foolish thoughts. If she escaped the Champions, she was beyond him. He had to let her go.

“Lost her!” Tyria shouted, and Calder’s heart sank.

He turned to his Guards. “Just run for it!” he called, but his voice died as he saw only two with him.

The mist had grown thicker, so maybe he couldn’t see them. “Sound off!” he said.

“Here!” one Guard said.

No one else said anything.

In the blink since he’d checked, another had vanished.

As he watched, the last Guard was pulled into Bastion’s Veil as well. There was a look of horror on her wide cat-like eyes.

He shoved out his orange glowing sword, his heart hammering in his chest. “She’s here!” he shouted.

“WHERE?” Rosephus roared, and it sounded like his voice was coming from everywhere at once.

Shera materialized in front of him, looking like the gray phantom of death with a blue blade in one hand and green in the other. He could see nothing of her face beneath the hood. She was an inhuman specter, here to claim his soul.

There were some who believed in a certain type of Elderspawn that showed itself only to the dying a moment before death.

If it were real, it would look like Shera of the Gardeners.

“Where’s your wife?” she asked. Her voice was ice itself.

He had not expected her to speak. The longer he engaged her in conversation, the longer the Champions would have to catch up; he could hear shouts and explosions as they hunted for her.

He levered his sword, both to project confidence and to see her better in its light. “You want to know? Defeat me and I’ll tell you.”

Shera seemed to dissolve into gray as the fog devoured her. Even the lights of her Vessels vanished.

“I’m not here to defeat you,” her voice said.

Terror shivered up Calder’s spine, and he spun in place. Somehow he’d lost the wall, and he groped blindly in the direction he thought it was…but that left his back open. He spun, swinging his sword. He no longer cared if he accidentally caught a Guard.

Even through his fear, he focused on his objective. She would open herself when she attacked. He had to trust in the Emperor’s armor, trust in its Intent to protect and preserve his life. If it turned her first strike, he could land one in return, and then she would be easy prey.

A weapon pierced his back.

He’d been stabbed before, and there was no way to prepare for the pain. It lanced through him, seeming to penetrate his bones all over. It was like being kicked by a horse at the same time, knocking him forward, driving the breath from his lungs.

On top of the unspeakable pain, he felt something draining from him. As though the dagger were drinking his blood through a straw.

She had stabbed straight through the Emperor’s armor.

How?

But that question bled away as his vision blurred at the edges. He tried to turn and swing his sword, to take her with him, but instead his sword fell from limp fingers.

His whole body sagged, but she supported him as he fell, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

“All hail the Emperor of the World.”

His mind filled with the image of the one who had spoken those words to him, so many years ago: Ach’magut, the Overseer.

The Great Elder had made it sound like a promise.

And now that promise was fulfilled.

Darkness closed in on Calder, and his thoughts turned to Jerri. Years of habit couldn’t be broken so easily.

But she didn’t deserve his last thoughts.

Instead, he chose to remember the sun on his face and the pitching deck beneath his feet. Petal presenting an experimental draught to him as her hands trembled with doubt. Andel adjusting his hat as he pricked at Calder’s ego. Foster shouting with his head halfway up a cannon. Urzaia’s laughter echoing over the ocean. Shuffles fluttering down to land on his shoulder.

…and, though he resisted it, even Jerri slipping her arm into his and looking with him out over a strange and magical sea.

He kept that memory in his mind until he could think of nothing any longer.

Tyria stumbled out of the fog and onto the bleeding body of the Steward.

The Gardener had vanished, but of course she had. Her mission was over. Tyria reached out and pulled the Steward’s helmet off his head; his eyes stared, glassy and empty, into the distance.

With two fingers, she tested his pulse. Nothing.

She was no Reader and no medical alchemist, but she was more than familiar with corpses. And this was a fresh one.

Still, she needed to move him. She couldn’t leave his Awakened weapon or the Emperor’s armor to the Independents, and she was sure that they were coming. They wouldn’t send their Guild Head in alone, no matter how many insane Soulbound powers she had.

“Northwest corner, Rosephus,” she called back. “He’s down.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THREE YEARS AGO

CALDER STOOD at the wheel mostly for show as the Lyathatan pulled them into Candle Bay.

He tilted the wheel one way or the other, but the sails were furled, and the only steering he did was to briefly nudge the Lyathatan with his Intent to show the Elder what their location looked like through human eyes. His thoughts were free to drift.

And so they did. Instead of the ocean ahead of him or the swiftly approaching skyline of the Capital, Calder saw Mister Goss’ body.

He had barely known Goss at all, and the brief impression Tommison’s crew had made was anything but good, so it wasn’t as though he was personally upset by the man’s death. He was only…disturbed.

Was Ach’magut’s prophecy really a prediction? Had the Great Elder really calculated the future?

Or did he command the Elderspawn to make it happen?

The Slithers had bitten everyone equally, and from everything Calder had ever heard or read, Othaghor’s creations were more like animals than ordinary Elderspawn. They had no cosmic designs, they operated on no twisted logic, they merely fed and reproduced like any beast.

Shuffles was himself a spawn of Othaghor, and Calder fed him fish on a daily basis.

But no one had been stung other than Lakiri and, apparently, Goss. Had a more intelligent Elder held the Slithers back to avoid harming the future Emperor?

Tommison’s death was even more suspicious. He had been in a tower alone with those munitions for weeks. What were the odds that he would blow himself to oblivion so soon after their arrival?

The others called him paranoid. They all had been bitten, after all. They had certainly been in danger. Andel had been swallowed alive, and if Calder’s cutlass had been a hair slower, Jerri would have been stung.

As for the explosives, Tommison had left them alone during his entire stay. It was only when Calder ordered him to prepare them in a hurry that he had the opportunity to fumble and blow himself up. If his alchemist had been alive, it was a tragedy that would have never happened.

Still, the thoughts plagued Calder.

Was Ach’magut manipulating events to make sure Calder survived to take the throne? Now there weren’t even any witnesses outside his crew to say that they’d recovered the crown, and no one on The Testament had any love for the Emperor. They would stay quiet.

Jerri walked up next to him, standing on his right side. The spidery text of her tattoo ran down her jawline and her neck, reemerging down her leg. She still wouldn’t tell him what it said—he suspected she didn’t actually know.

“Are we working for the Elders?” Calder asked suddenly.

Jerri flinched, which he understood. It was a startling question.

“…it depends on what you mean.”

“You know…the one with all the eyes.” He didn’t want to say Ach’magut’s name aloud. Not only did he not want to risk the rumor getting back to anyone, but he was afraid Shuffles would hear it and start repeating it.

“When he spoke to me, I was sure I knew exactly what he meant. I could feel it, like I was Reading it myself. He had seen how the world would play out, and he was telling me where I would end up. Now, I wonder if he’s just…pushing me where he wants me to go. He’s playing the music and I’m dancing.”

She snuggled up next to him, taking his arm. “The Elders are strange, and they’re old, and they’re dangerous. But they aren’t evil. At least not all of them.”

Calder’s eyes tracked to the entrance to his hold. Somewhere down there, Shuffles would be sleeping the day away in its covered birdcage.

“I don’t want to survive just because an Elder likes me best.”

He hadn’t liked Tommison. He hadn’t even known Tommison, really. But the idea that Calder had only lived because he met the preferences of a Great Elder…that felt wrong.

Jerri was quiet, watching the shore as they slid into Candle Bay. The rest of the crew scurried below, making their respective preparations to return home.

“I feel like I let you down,” she said finally.

He turned to read her face.

“I weighed you down in the fight, just like you said I would. I don’t want to be useless.”

Calder slipped his arm out of her embrace and wrapped it around her, pulling her close. “We’ll have Foster make you a gun. Not sure how much we’re getting paid this time, but it should at least make a nice dent in the debt. We might be able to make you a Soulbound someday.”

She burrowed closer to his side. “I’d like that.”

Cheska was waiting on the docks with a team of Readers in the employ of the Navigator’s Guild. Varia, her orange-clad quartermaster, was chief among them.

The Head of the Navigators marched up to the end of the dock before Calder had even tied off. She wore a simple brown tricorn hat and coat today, her red hair the most brilliant spot of color about her, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Well, Captain Marten? Where’s my cargo?”

Calder gave her a long-suffering look. “You sent us to die.”

Cheska gripped her hat so hard it looked like she was going to tear it in half. “Stop trying to hike up your pay and tell me if you have it.”

“No, I don’t have it!” Calder shouted. “I don’t have it, and I don’t have Captain Tommison or any of the others! I’ve got one of his crew, but I doubt you’ll want him, because he was Elder-poisoned and we can’t tell if it’s contagious or not. We have him in his very own box in the hold.”

He put more and more emphasis on every word until he was red in the face.

Cheska relaxed, searching his expression. “…Kelarac’s beard. Come on down, you can make a full report.”

Minutes later, Calder was standing on the docks and regaling the Guild Head with his version of events as Readers crawled all over his ship.

His version of events was remarkably like the real version, except the crew of The Reliable had lost the crown immediately upon their arrival on the island.

“…we found Goss dead in his bunk the next morning,” Calder finished. “If anyone had any clue what happened to the crown, it would have been him.”

Cheska watched him. She kept her eyes on his face for far longer than he was comfortable with, her arms crossed, chewing on her lower lip.

Finally, she stepped close enough to kiss him, looking up to meet his eyes. “The Regent is stuck to me like a coat of paint. Now, you know I might not personally care what happens to the crown, but if she comes asking for it, I’ll swear in front of the entire Witness’ Guild that I had nothing to do with it.”

“I can’t imagine—” he began, but she rode over him.

“And she will come asking for it the second it shows up for sale in some rich person’s display. Or when you start trying to prop yourself up as the Pirate King of Izyria or whatever title you’ve cooked up.”

“I would nev—” he attempted, but she cut him off again.

“There is only one thing I do care about, and if you lie to me, I’m going to feed you to Kelarac one squirming piece at a time.” She skewered him with her gaze, locking his eyes in place. “Are you being straight with me about Tommison?”

He had expected this suspicion, he just hadn’t expected her to ask him so directly.

If he was in her place, he would have been suspicious too; Calder walked away with his crew intact while Tommison and his crew all died under mysterious Elder-related circumstances.

And Calder had a Champion. If any ship in the Guild fleet was going to be able to get away with murder, it would be his.

In his mind, Cheska’s priorities did her credit.

She had some flaws as a Guild Head, but she always put her people first.

He dropped his guard, hoping that she could sense his sincerity. “I don’t know how we made it out and they didn’t. I don’t know how we made it out at all.”

Once again, she stared at him until he thought she might be examining the back of his skull for clues. He hoped she saw his guilt and his worry there.

She finally relaxed, giving him a look of shared pain and squeezing his arm. “Sorry about that. I just…I have to ask, you know? It’s hard watching people go.”

A knot had formed in Calder’s throat, so he only nodded.

Varia returned soon after, adjusting her gloves and looking sour. “He’s clean,” Cheska’s quartermaster said. “We disposed of the body. It was a mess. If it wasn’t Elder work, there’s no telling it now.”

“Hear that, Captain Marten? You check out. Clean as a whistle.”

Calder wasn’t surprised. He’d strapped the chest containing the crown to the Lyathatan’s manacles.

No Reader in their right mind would examine those closely.

No Reader but him.

“I am pleased to hear that my record is as clean as my conscience.”

Cheska snorted. “I do wish I knew who’d walked off with my prize,” she said, giving him an overly obvious wink that Varia immediately noticed. “I’d put in a bid myself. I do have quite a collection already, you know.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

While the captain steers the ship, the crew steers the captain.

—NAVIGATOR’S GUILD SAYING

PRESENT DAY

PETAL’S TIME in the Champion’s Guild had wreaked havoc on her nerves.

She had only been on the job a few days before they started finding Champions dead all over the Capital. She had even been part of the team of alchemists and surgeons that had examined the bodies after death, which had been both fascinating and morbid.

Every Champion was a treasure trove of alchemical knowledge and discovery, but she also hated cutting human corpses apart.

And now she had been instructed to stay inside the building the Guild was renting because there was something going on outside. She and the other alchemists were gathered around the entry room, which looked something like a waiting room from another Guild’s chapter house.

They could have gone back to their individual bedrooms, but none had wanted to be alone.

The other six talked with each other, trading jokes and news and speculation on what was going on outside. Petal didn’t say anything, but she curled up in a fluffy chair and listened.

The chatter soothed her; it made her feel like she was back home on the ship.

There were only two Champions left in the area, and they had gone to protect Calder, so only the support staff were left here. Seven alchemists and a handful of servants. There had been some guards at first, but they had been drafted elsewhere days ago.

It was only weak, ordinary people here. Now that something was going on outside, she wished at least one of the Champions had stayed.

Petal glanced behind her chair, where she saw the only person in this makeshift chapter house more nervous than Petal herself: a little girl with red hair and a dress with such a high collar that she could hide behind it like a mask.

Lotta was the twelve-year-old daughter of one of the administrators here, and she peeked out from behind a corner to watch the others talk.

The girl wanted to take comfort from the talk of the adults, but she was too afraid to come closer. Petal understood.

She rose from the chair—nobody said a word to her—and walked across the room toward Lotta. The girl flinched back but didn’t run away; Petal had spent the time to make friends with her already.

Petal knelt down, smiling gently at Lotta. “You know, I have a project in the back. I could use some help with it. If you don’t mind?”

The girl glanced nervously at the door. “What if they come in?”

Petal knew better than to ask who ‘they’ were. That meant whoever was outside, causing problems and trying to get to them.

“They won’t. The Champions won’t let them.”

Lotta sunk into her collar, muttering, “The Champions are gone.”

“No, the Champions are out there. Fighting for us. And they never lose.”

Urzaia had claimed that he was undefeated in the Izyrian arena. She tried to focus on his smile and his confident laugh, and not on the fact that he had been killed himself in the end.

Lotta looked up and met her eyes…

…and then someone kicked the door in.

Both Petal and Lotta jumped and screamed at the explosion of the door hitting the wall, but Tyria was the first one through. “Table!” she shouted. “Where’s the operating table?”

A few of the others scrambled to lead the way down the hall, and the Champion pushed past Petal carrying something. No, someone.

Petal’s breath stopped when she saw who Tyria carried.

White armor. Red hair.

And a wound on his back, slowly dripping blood.

Rosephus charged through the door afterwards, the Emperor’s full-face helmet clutched in one hand. He glowered at no one in particular as he walked through, and she saw that he had a shallow cut over one eyebrow.

“We need you to get the armor off the Steward’s body without breaking it,” Rosephus said to the room. “Who among you are Readers?”

Lotta tugged at Petal’s arm, but Petal was beyond caring. She drifted down the hall as though in a nightmare.

Two of her peers had already started busying themselves around Calder’s body, strapping on goggles and aprons and preparing scalpels to cut the armor free.

Calder’s body.

Petal found herself standing over him. His face was waxy and fake, like a mask. His eyes stared up at nothing.

Someone called her name, but she shakily felt for a heartbeat in Calder’s throat. He wouldn’t die here. Not yet. He still hadn’t succeeded the Emperor, not really.

The Champion snapped her fingers in front of Petal’s face, and Petal jerked back to reality. She didn’t move her hand, but she looked up, startled.

Tyria gave her an exasperated look. “You think I didn’t take his pulse? He’s gone.”

One of the other alchemist’s tugged on Tyria’s arm and then whispered something in her ear. Tyria’s face fell.

“Light and life…sorry, Petal, I didn’t know. Could somebody take Petal…yeah, thanks.”

One of Petal’s colleague’s gently tried to steer her away, but she didn’t move.

There was no pulse. What did that mean?

“Petal,” Tyria said, “We’re on a clock here. If we’re not out of the Capital in an hour, we’re not getting out.”

Calder’s death would mean the fall of the Imperial Palace. Tears welled up in her eyes. She shouldn’t have stayed away from him. That was when everything had gone wrong…

Something thumped against her fingers.

She jerked away from Calder’s throat, staring at it as though it had bit her. Then the meaning of it sent a lightning thrill racing through her, and she grabbed his neck as though she meant to strangle him and shoved her ear up against his lips.

It was faint…so faint and so irregular that she almost couldn’t hear it over the chatter of the others. But air whispered into his mouth.

Tyria spoke again, less gently this time. “Petal, we can’t work with you standing there.”

Petal tried to speak, but the words were all jumbled up on her lips. Instead, she did something that she would usually never have dreamed of doing; she reached up and grabbed Tyria’s head, pulling her ear up to Calder’s face.

If the Champion had resisted, not all of Petal’s body weight could have budged her an inch, but the woman sighed and relented. “I know he was your Navigator, but I—”

She cut herself off. Her eyes widened.

An instant later, she stood up straight. “Rosephus! Seal the door! Nobody gets in!” She looked around, taking in the rest of them. “I don’t know how he’s held on this long and we’re still running out of time…but do what you can to save his life. No one leaves this building until he stabilizes or dies. We can’t let word get out that he’s here.”

Petal’s thoughts whirled around one another like a flock of confused birds…but she clung to one thing.

She needed help.

Without explanation, she scurried back into the hallway, where Lotta cowered behind her high collar. Petal grabbed her, pulling her farther away from the examination room so Tyria couldn’t hear.

She swiped tears away, took a deep breath, and met the little girl’s eyes. “Lotta. That man is my friend. And I need help if I’m going to save his life. Can you help me?”

Lotta’s eyes trembled with fear and uncertainty, and Petal could tell she was going to have to find another way.

The other researchers would report her to Tyria, but maybe she could sneak out a window herself and find a street courier…

“I’ll do it,” Lotta whispered.

Petal was stunned for a moment. Then she was overwhelmed by gratitude. She swept Lotta up in an embrace.

“Thank you. Now, here’s who we need…”

Dalton Foster sorted through his cabin on The Testament, grumbling. He’d taken his most important possessions off the ship weeks ago, but he’d left a few things here on the assumption he’d return.

Now the Capital was buzzing like a hornet’s nest, bells were ringing for some reason known only to the Emperor’s ghost, and people were screaming that the Imperial Palace had fallen and the Steward was dead.

Well, he’d only believe the boy was dead three days after he buried the body himself, but he could read a room. The time had come to get out of the city. If Calder was still alive, he could find Foster whenever he wanted.

Andel would be fine. Jerri could go rot in the Elder’s void.

Petal…Petal might be in some trouble.

He leaned out of his room and peeked down the corridor, where Petal had stayed. She had left tons of her samples and equipment and alchemist junk in her room as though she’d meant to come back for.

He certainly wasn’t going to touch it. They were lucky her possessions hadn’t exploded and sunk the ship already.

She’ll be fine, he consoled himself. She’s with the Champions; she’ll be safer than me.

He heaved the sack of his belongings onto his shoulder and climbed up onto the deck. His joints ached, and he had to move carefully to avoid a spill, but he managed to get everything in place.

No way he was going to carry it all down the ramp, though. He’d have one of the Imperial Guards do it.

But when he reached the deck, he realized there was no Guard up here. They were both standing at the bottom of the ramp, looming over a little girl.

She trembled under their scrutiny as they held a hooded quicklamp over her head, examining her in the dark. Her hair was redder than the Captain’s and she hid most of her face behind a tall collar. She was telling a story and pointing to the ship.

Foster grumbled as he carried his own luggage down the ramp. He should have hired a porter.

When he was halfway to the Guards, the girl’s eyes lit up and she pointed straight to him. “Dalton Foster! Are you Miss Petal’s friend?”

One of the Guards asked another question, but Foster elbowed him aside and put on his reading-glasses so he could see the girl better. “You know Petal?”

“She sent me here for her things, but I was supposed to go find you after.”

The girl was shaking like a leaf, but she put plenty of power in her voice, as though she was forcing herself to confront a monster.

Good for her, but Foster didn’t think of himself as quite that scary. “Why does she need her stuff?”

The girl glanced up at the two Imperial Guards and shook her head.

Foster carefully lowered his bag to the ground. “Keep an eye on this,” he told the Guards. Then he gestured to the girl and started heading up the ramp.

Dutifully, she followed him.

Only when they were out of earshot did she start speaking, and she still whispered. That was probably wise; neither of the Imperial Guards looked like they had giant ears or anything, but there was never any telling with their kind.

“The Steward is alive,” she said.

Foster wasn’t surprised, so he didn’t understand the wave of relief that hit him when he heard the news. “That so? He’s looking to skip town, then?”

That would be the wise move, but if so, Calder should have shown up on the ship.

The girl shook her head vigorously. “He’s been stabbed. I think he’s going to…die…if Miss Petal doesn’t get her things.”

Foster ran a hand through his beard, thinking. If one of the Independents got him, that probably meant Gardeners. And if the Gardeners stabbed him but failed to kill him…

He leaned closer. “Tell me, girl. You saw him?”

She nodded.

“Was he wearing all-white armor?”

She nodded again.

Petal had been right to call him.

Foster looked back down the ramp and barked at the Guards, “Change of plans! Get up here double-speed. We’ve got packages to move and no time to drag our feet. Step to it! The Steward’s life is in danger!”

The Imperial Guard would have plenty of questions, but he’d have to answer them after they were already on the way.

He directed them down below deck. “Pick up the pace. Once you’re done with that, we have another stop.”

Andel put the list down, finishing his recitation. “…and twenty pounds of dried lentils.”

The merchant leaned over the counter. Metz was a grizzled man with wild hair, a bright red shirt, and a left eye that seemed permanently locked in a squint. He surveyed Andel, his one open eye flicking to the door as though he expected to be inspected at any second.

“I can get you baby Kameira,” Metz growled. “You name the species.”

Andel tapped his list. “This will do fine, thank you.”

“An executioner’s cowl dating back to the eighth century. No one will recognize you in it, no matter what you get up to.”

“I’m here for supplies, sir.”

Andel had been hired on as part of a noble family’s estate, and he’d found the staff in a pitiful state. Not a one of them had any idea how to stock a pantry or plan an event. They were about to throw a feast for some of the more influential visiting Guild members, and the instructions they had given their servants were to “buy some food.”

Andel had been hired at the perfect time to save them from themselves, but for some reason this merchant seemed to think “twenty bags of beans” was code for something.

“All right, I can see you’re a man of discriminating taste. Yes indeed.” Metz chuckled and carefully withdrew a long box from beneath his counter. He flipped it open with dramatic flourish, revealing a rust-spotted cavalry saber.

“A saber from the South Sea Rebellion. Filled with the resentment of dead men, and still spotted with the blood of Baldezar Kern himself.”

Half the flagstones in the Imperial Palace are spotted with Kern’s blood, Andel thought, but he maintained a businesslike smile.

“Perhaps I have come to the wrong place. If you don’t stock foodstuff, then it was my mistake, and I will return to you when I need…tools of dubious origin.”

Metz stood up straight, crossing thick arms and regarding Andel through his narrowed eye. Andel could only hope that the message had penetrated.

“I see. I see who I’m dealing with now.” He raised one finger. “Give me half a minute and I’ll come back with something that will knock you right out of your boots.”

Metz packed the cavalry saber away and stuck it back under his counter before marching into the back room of his shop.

“I hope it’s rice,” Andel called after him.

Someone tugged at his sleeve, and he looked down to see a little girl with a cloud of fiery red hair and an expression like she was staring down a bear.

Andel immediately thought of Petal.

He smiled down on her. “Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Are you Andel Petronus?”

So she’d been looking for him. Interesting.

The only people who knew he was here worked for his employer, but he was still surprised they had sent someone after him so late at night.

“I am. And who are you?”

“I’m Lotta, but I’m supposed to tell you that I came from Mister Dalton Foster. He needs you to go to the chapter house of the Champions on Peregrine street.”

Andel’s eyebrows lifted.

Calder had been supposed to deliver a public address a few hours ago, but Andel hadn’t attended. He would have expected Foster to lure him to the Imperial Palace, not a chapter house. If this was an attempt to persuade him to leave his employer and join a Guild, this was…strange, to say the least.

“Did he say why?” Andel asked.

Lotta’s eyes flicked nervously to the back. “He said to tell you that your Captain’s life is in danger.”

Andel’s breath caught and his heart clenched, but he regained control of himself a moment later. It couldn’t be too urgent, or the entire city would be in an uproar.

Unless…if the Imperial Palace had been sealed off, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten word yet. He’d been working all night, and it took time for news to travel across the Capital.

His voice was colder than he intended when he asked, “Do you know what happened?”

She shook her head too rapidly, sending her hair flying everywhere. “They carried him in bleeding, and they said he was dead, but Miss Petal said he wasn’t.”

This time, Andel stopped breathing.

He reached into the holster beneath his white coat, checking his pistol, then turned across the counter as Metz returned. He carried a brown sack in his arms.

“Not only is this rice, but it’s an ancient strain of alchemically enhanced, Kameira-blessed—”

“Change of plans,” Andel interrupted. He put a thumb behind his White Sun medallion and lifted it. “I need one of these, I don’t intend to ask any questions about where it came from, and I need it now.”

Metz’s grin split his face, and he tossed down the bag of rice as though it contained garbage. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

When a knock thundered on the door, Petal screamed to stop the Champions from blasting it to splinters.

Rosephus and Tyria had leveled their weapons instnatly. Tyria’s silver needle was ignited with bright light and a ghostly red dagger rushed from behind Rosephus toward the door.

“WAIT!” Petal shouted. The dagger froze before hitting the door.

Both the Champions turned toward her.

“We don’t…we don’t know who it is.”

“I wasn’t going to stab anyone sight unseen,” Rosephus said. “But if this is an enemy who followed the Steward, they will blow this door off its hinges.”

Another knock followed, and Petal had to wipe her hands clean of Calder’s blood before she rushed from the back to open the door herself.

As she’d expected, Foster stood at the other end, glasses hanging on his beard and an irritated expression on his face. When he saw her, he pushed inside.

“Good, I’m in the right place. Thought I was going to knock until I—”

Petal threw her arms around him, sobbing.

He stiffened beneath her, but she didn’t care if he was uncomfortable. Too much had happened too quickly, and the relief of seeing someone familiar tore her apart.

Gradually, he melted, hugging her back.

“Let go, girl,” he said, but his voice was soft. “We have a life to save.”

She nodded, pulling away and swiping her sleeve at her eyes and nose.

Tyria still had her silver needle leveled at his chest. “How did you find us here?”

Foster glanced at her, but Petal had thought of this already. The Champions wouldn’t approve of her sending Lotta out, but it was already done. She would have taken responsibility…once she was in good enough shape to speak.

“Captain had an emergency signal for the crew,” Foster announced. “Bell only we could hear. He wouldn’t ring it unless he was in trouble, so lead me to him.”

Tyria and Rosephus exchanged glances but lowered their weapons.

When Petal led Foster into the back room, he shuddered at the sight of Calder with a sucking wound to the back, but he didn’t hesitate before laying a hand on the white metal and closing his eyes.

After a painful half-minute during which Petal left him to his Reading, Foster finally sighed and pulled his hand away.

“Just like I thought. The armor was invested by the Emperor himself to protect and preserve the life of the one wearing it. As long as he’s wearing it, he’ll stay alive, but the armor can’t tell the difference between surgery and a stabbing. Can’t fix him until we take him out, and the minute we take him out, he’s gone He’s just too weak.”

Petal got her breath under control and spoke. “Stronger. We can make…him stronger.” She hurriedly rushed over and grabbed some of her notes and held them out; he’d read them before. “They have Champion samples.”

One of the Champion’s Guild alchemists sighed from nearby. “Petal, I keep telling you it won’t work. The Champion treatment requires months. And that’s after years of conditioning.”

Petal had been trying to get them to read her research notes ever since Calder arrived, but they had all been busy. Now she flipped through her notes and found the relevant section, forcing it into the other alchemist’s face.

“I know you think you’ve found…hm. But making that an elixir, it wouldn’t…”

Petal forced another page onto her.

“…huh.”

Her partner shook his head. “I looked through them, Petal. It works in theory, but you’ve cut too many corners. Maybe with a few more years of development we could do something with this, but we’ll never make him a Champion with your formula.”

Foster looked at them like he was staring at a bunch of idiots. “Who said anything about a Champion? We want him sturdy enough that he won’t fall apart like a roast the second we pull him out of that breastplate.”

Too worked up to speak, Petal pointed to the gunner.

“Well…sure, but we don’t know what long-term effects it will have on him.”

“You think they’ll be worse than instant death?”

“Well…no...”

“I called for a Pilgrim who can be trusted,” Foster said, not noticing the death glares he immediately got from the Champions down the hall. “We need Calder to survive leaving the armor, and we need his heart not to stop when the Luminian heals him. Will this do it?”

The female alchemist handed a sheet of paper to her male counterpart, and they discussed something in low tones.

Finally, she blew out her cheeks. “We’ll have to make some adjustments, and of course we can’t know if it will work. But between our stock and what Petal brought, we have enough to try.”

Petal’s heart lifted so high that she felt like she would drift off her feet. She immediately rushed over to her equipment.

“You can’t hold us accountable for what happens,” the male alchemist warned. “Petal has followed some…unorthodox pathways. This is far different from any physical augmentation elixir we make, and it’s designed to have permanent effects. We don’t know what strain it will cause on his system.”

Foster glanced around the lab. “Petal, which of these things can I use to hit him with?”

After a moment considering which equipment wouldn’t break on impact or cause him permanent injury, Petal selected a long wire brush and handed it to him.

Foster brandished it like a sword, and he actually looked threatening as he advanced on the alchemist. “Every time you make an excuse instead of working to save a man’s life, it’s five lashes.”

“I just wanted you to know,” the man muttered. “This is stressful for me too.”

But they fell into line with Petal and got to work.

It was like pulling out his own bones to get the alchemists to answer any straight question, but Foster eventually figured out that brewing the elixir would be done in a matter of hours. Developing the formula and gathering the ingredients were the time-consuming parts of the process; actually putting it together was just the final step.

So Foster had time to prepare himself for Andel’s arrival.

When the knock came at the door, he was ready. He pulled it open, revealing Andel in his spotless white suit and hat with a jewelry box in one hand and Lotta at his side.

Foster addressed the girl first. “Looks like we put the right person on the job.”

Lotta gave him a salute and then ran deeper into the house, leaving Foster to face Andel.

“How is he?” Andel asked. He sounded as unaffected as always, as though he was asking for a weather report, but Foster knew better.

“Come on in. Prying eyes outside.”

In the middle of the night, the streets were lit by sunset-orange quicklamps, and the Capital was as noisy as ever. He didn’t see the traffic that he would expect at noon, but people crouched in every doorstep and around every corner, muttering to one another and holding weapons close.

It hadn’t been so bad only an hour before. News was spreading.

Andel strode in, pulling his hat off and hooking it onto a nearby rack. “If the Independents have taken the Palace, we don’t have long before they think to look here. If they haven’t yet, we should be safe at least until tomorrow.”

“Either way, we better get working,” Foster grumbled. Andel was about to walk down the hall, where he could clearly hear the alchemists working, but Foster held out a hand to stop him.

“You know why we need you here, don’t you?”

Andel craned his neck, looking into the room where Calder lay on a bed, but he should be able to see only a pair of white-armored legs. “I understand.”

“We have to strengthen his body so he’ll survive taking the armor off. They don’t know if their potions alone can do it.”

Andel held out a jewelry box and flipped open the lid. Within was a medallion identical in shape to the one hanging on his chest: a silver sun with a white diamond at its heart. Unlike the one Andel wore, the silver of this one was tarnished, and the diamond in the center pulsed with Intent.

Foster could feel it from a pace away: this White Sun medallion yearned to right the world, to bring light and restoration to the darkest corners. It was a true Beacon, a focus for the most powerful Pilgrims.

With the Luminian Order supporting the Independents, that left very few Soulbound capable of healing injuries. And the list of those Foster could trust was short.

In fact, it was only one name long.

But Andel had his reasons for leaving the Order, and Foster still wasn’t sure the man understood the full impact of what he needed to do.

Foster tapped the medallion with the back of his knuckles. “You know we can’t use that without you.”

“I’m aware.”

“And we need your connection to the one you’ve got on, but the power from this one. Which doesn’t know you at all, so it might fail.”

“Yes.”

“And if it doesn’t fail, it might not work like we want. Whatever I Awaken, you’re stuck with it in your head for the rest of your life. It could be a false Beacon, a horrible, twisted—”

“Dalton.” Andel met his eyes, then pulled off the second medallion from around his neck. He handed Foster one with each hand. “I said I get it.”

Foster examined the look in Andel’s eyes and grunted in approval. Then he took both medallions.

The Luminian Order had very strict regulations on which of their Pilgrims could possess the full power of a Soulbound. They had to serve the Guild for years, oppose a certain number of Elders, and heal dozens of people the old-fashioned way: with alchemy and medical skill. Their medallion, and the Pilgrim themselves, should be a symbol of protective and healing light.

Even then, it sometimes didn’t work.

Awakening was a process of blending Intent from three sources: the object, its owner, and the Reader doing the Awakening. Some Pilgrims could form barriers of light but couldn’t heal worth a mark, and others had their minds warped by the Awakening process so they gained a holy zeal toward the eradication of Elderspawn. Still others successfully Awakened their medallion but failed to bond to it.

Andel had passed none of the checks his former Guild usually required.

This was a gamble.

Maybe the alchemy will be enough, Foster thought as his floating tools pried the gem out of first one medallion, then the other. Maybe we’re kicking off too soon.

The tools slotted the empowered gem into the silver with the connection to Andel, then hammered arms of silver back around the sides of the diamond to hold it in place.

Easy part done. He could stop here until they knew if the alchemical process would work or not.

But it was better to be sure.

Besides, it’s not my mind we’re gambling with.

Andel had said he understood what he was getting into, and Foster hoped that was true, because he was about to push this boulder over a hill.

He sat down at a chair, set the newly combined medallion in front of him, and started making Andel a Soulbound.

Calder looked around. He was seated in a plush, well-furnished sitting room of an expensive Capital mansion.

…but at the same time, he also felt like it was a disgusting slaughterhouse. Blood was splattered over everything, bits of meat lying on the floor and sinking into the walls, the stench of blood and decay hanging in the air.

Everything had the hazy sense of a dream in which his surroundings weren’t fixed. Somehow he was both in a pristine sitting-room and the site of a violent slaughter.

Even his thoughts were dim, but one figure was clear and distinct: the Heartlander man seated opposite him, covered in luxurious gold jewelry, with the steel blindfold nailed to his face.

“I’m pleased to see you again, Reader of Memory,” Kelarac said. “Though not as pleased as you should be to see me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FOUR YEARS AGO

DALTON FOSTER’S hands shook as he tapped into his Soulbound Vessel. Awls, chisels, tongs, and hammers floated around him, each fused with Kameira pieces of his own selection.

The tools drifted like a constellation around the project on his workbench: a half-assembled handgun. The shed skin of an infant Duskwinder was pinned to the grip and wound its way up along the barrel.

His hands had never shaken on any other project. Now, it was all he could do to keep himself steady, his eyes focused. He hadn’t slept in five days, running on coffee and alchemical stimulants. His workshop stank; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to bathe.

He worked without food, without sleep, on pure desperation. And hate.

The lives of his family depended on him.

On the far end of the workbench was a covered box. He tried not to look at it, to focus on his work through the reading glasses perched on his nose, but his eyes were drawn back to the box like iron filings to a magnet.

He drifted off, sinking into his all-too-real nightmare, and was almost surprised when his tools finished the job without him. The revolving chamber—a pet project of his that he had never gotten to work quite correctly—snapped into place.

Mechanically, he wasn’t there yet. He hadn’t completed the gun on pure skill; this was not a project that could be marketed. If he could finalize development, he could revolutionize firearms all over the Empire.

Instead, he counted on Awakening to cover up the imperfections in his craftsmanship.

Guns were infamously difficult to invest or Awaken for a few well-documented reasons. Any complex machinery tended to interact with Intent as a collection of parts rather than a single object, which made investment inefficient.

In addition, Awakening could transform the parts into a more aesthetically pleasing or powerful whole, but the parts could end up changing shape and working against each other mechanically, so the device might no longer function.

In the case of a pistol, that could result in an explosion that tore the user’s hand off. So Awakened firearms remained largely the stuff of myth.

But the man holding his family demanded the best. The best was what he would get.

Foster beat his overwrought mind into focus, diving into a Reader’s trance. His vision fuzzed as the trance settled on him, and his knees weakened.

Only the driving heat of rage, the icy grip of fear, and the lightning jolt of vengeance drove him forward.

Fragments of this gun remember being part of Crime Duke Telethia Derembor’s personal pistol when she executed her rebellious lieutenants. They are instruments of justice, of revenge, of bloody satisfaction.

Other pieces were designed for the Lost Daylight Regiment, a stranded unit of the Imperial army formed from the loved ones of soldiers who had been killed by rebels. Like their creators, these weapons hunger to be used in a righteous cause.

The Duskwinder sheds its skin in order to grow, but it has a singular focus: to destroy the man that killed its mother. It remembers, the offense carved deep into its Intent, and it will stop at nothing to sink its fangs into the human.

The Shade, an Elderspawn of Urg’naut, is not the most powerful of Elder-kind. It is not as ancient as the stars, or as wise as the being that gave it birth. It exists only as a parasite of humanity, feeding on their bloodlust and their desire for vengeance.

Its hunger for such cannot be sated.

Gathering the Intent took far longer than normal, and Foster almost lost the vision. He took a moment, holding the different images in his mind, combining them into a whole.

“You are a weapon of revenge,” he muttered to himself.

The brigands who had taken over his hometown waited outside the door, and they would be able to hear him if he spoke too loudly, but spoken words focused Intent.

“You are the blade that will pierce their hearts. For the blood that has been spilled, you will spill blood. You will turn from those who use you for cruelty and serve those who seek justice.”

Like he was hauling up an anchor with his bare hands, Foster pulled the Intent steadily, bringing it up to the surface. He had gathered the materials for this weapon himself, selecting and collecting them over the years to store them in his workshop. They had significance to him.

But they had only been introduced to one another over the last week. They had very little connection between them.

This would cause a risk; the Awakening could ruin the gun, or it could turn the weapon into something he didn’t understand, or the Awakening could fail, and he would have to try again another day…

No. That was the worst of all outcomes. He squeezed his eyes tighter, determined not to open them and let them drift to the box with blood staining its corner.

He would finish this. Now. Today.

“Just…kill the bastards,” Foster growled.

He dug deep, hands tightening around the infant weapon, and the effort of focusing caused his head to pound in the beginnings of Reader burn. More and more with every breath, with every passing second, the pain dug into his skull like a drill.

He pushed, dragging on every memory, pushing them together. His grunt became a growl, became a long, low shout.

“You are my sword!” he declared, so loud that he was undoubtedly heard by the guard. “You will tear my enemies apart! My oath to eternity!”

Pain crashed like thunder behind his eyes and he knew nothing for an unknown time.

Foster shuddered awake when a boot nudged him in the shoulder.

His cheek was pressed against the floor, his reading glasses cracked. Every joint and muscle in his body ached, and none of it meant anything against the remaining echo of his massive headache.

His situation was a blur in his mind, so he followed the boots up to a pair of filthy pants that had probably once been a color other than brown. A similarly disgusting shirt and coat covered a short, round man in a bowler hat. He looked like he had once worked in a bank, but his eyes were streaked with the blue veins of an Anthem addict.

Harriford Wells, leader of the brigand gang that had taken over Foster’s town after the Emperor’s death.

No one from the Capital had ever come to defend them or check on them.

The whole town was alone.

“This it?” Wells asked, jerking his chin at the workbench. He was chewing on something, but Foster couldn’t tell what.

Through sheer effort of will, Foster climbed to his knees, steadying himself on the side of the bench. “Read it yourself,” he choked out.

He wasn’t sure if he was correct or not. Had he finished the gun?

A surge of nausea kept him from straightening up. If he hadn’t finished, then he would die here. His family would be lined up and shot next to him.

He hoped.

The worst case would be if they weren’t shot, if Wells made him try again, if he forced Dalton Foster to continue making custom guns while still carving off a tiny piece of his family every day…

Wells ran his thumb along the tips of his fingers, blue-veined eyes narrow. A moment later, he called out the door, and a woman hurried in.

She looked like the child stories of a swamp-witch, her skin artfully streaked with mud, tiny animal bones woven into her hair, strange symbols tattooed onto her eyelids so that they flashed whenever she blinked. She had a staff with a skull that she claimed was that of an Elderspawn, but which Foster recognized as coming from an ordinary bat.

“Check it,” Wells ordered, pointing to the workbench.

Wells was supposedly an accomplished Reader…or at least, his men thought he was. Maybe he was only fooling them, or maybe his paranoia made him more careful than Foster would have expected.

There were indeed some traps that you could set for a Reader that carelessly checked an object. The simplest and most well-known of them being the unexpected inclusion of Elderspawn Intent, which Foster had indeed included.

Reading the Great Elders directly was a one-way ticket to an asylum, and Reading any Elders was tricky business, but most Elderspawn were weak enough that Reading them was only disorienting and disturbing.

But those effects could be enhanced. Foster had heard of Readers tricked into getting lost in Elder objects, caught in a trance from which they never escaped.

The witch-woman, whose name Foster had never learned, sucked in a deep breath. Wells glanced over to Foster, flipping out a switchblade.

The same switchblade that had taken off the fingertips of Foster’s children.

“It’s…amazing,” the woman said. “A work of art. A true weapon.” She had far less of an accent than Foster had initially expected, when he’d heard her speak for the first time. The swamp-witch getup was most likely a costume she’d adopted to impress customers who were superstitious about Reading.

Wells’ eyes lit up with greed, and he pushed her aside, snatching up the pistol.

For the first time, Foster saw the weapon he’d made with his own eyes.

It was a dark green, like the hide of an alligator, but it glistened in the light of the white quicklamps that illuminated Foster’s workshop. The leathery hide covered the back of the barrel and down the grip as though it had grown there, armoring the metal, and wherever the iron did show, it was a deep black that looked like it had been painted.

The weapon had a lean, aggressive, hungry look to it, and as Foster watched, he could see lengths of bone on either side of the barrel that resembled fangs.

The bandit leader held the gun from every angle, twisting it this way and that, examining his new treasure like a child with a present. His knife rested on the bench nearby.

“I knew you could do it, Foster,” he whispered. “I believed in you.”

It took everything left in Dalton Foster not to grab the knife and lunge at the man right then. He held himself back.

His plan was better.

It had passed its first check when the witch-woman had given the pistol her approval after Reading it. He had been afraid she would divine the weapon’s true purpose.

Awakened objects were complex to Read, and it took time to get to know them. A cursory inspection usually wouldn’t reveal much about its capabilities or nature.

He had been counting on it.

Wells dashed out of the room, leaving Foster to hobble along in his wake.

The workshop doors crashed open, leading directly onto a well-furnished living room in the Capital style. The ceiling was high overhead, lit by a chandelier of a dozen tiny quicklamps that required a servant to maintain. The carpets were expensive and imported, various firearms hung in display cases or racks on the walls, and an intricately decorated piano sat in the corner. The furniture was plush, comfortable, and lined in threads of gold. In between the guns mounted on the walls sat paintings, mostly originals, that Foster had once collected.

The room, and really the entire house, was a monument to what Foster had valued in his younger years. He was known as the greatest gunsmith in the world, his creations sought after from Dylia to Axciss, and he had built himself this home as tribute. He had bought everything money could.

It had cost him only all his time, his marriage, and his relationship with his children.

He had not been welcome in his home for years.

Now, those already-bad memories were polluted with a true nightmare. If he made it out of here alive, he’d burn this house to the ground.

At Wells’ command, the brigands all over the house scurried into action. Some admired their leader’s new weapon—Harriford Wells would be the only person in the world with an Awakened gun. A true legend.

He might even become Soulbound one day, which made him straighten up like he was being awarded by the Emperor himself.

Some of the other bandits dragged in Foster’s family.

His ex-wife was a dignified person in all other scenarios. Now, her gray hair was frizzy and loose, her days-old makeup streaked with tears and bruises. She wept and begged, pulling against them with her whole body as they dragged her in. Her dress was torn and spattered with blood. Her hands were covered in bandages so that they looked like thick mittens.

She only had five whole fingers left.

Not all on the same hand.

Foster had come home three weeks before, taking a leave of absence from his Navigator crew to follow up on a hunch given him by a Great Elder. He was supposed to spend two weeks ashore, then hire a local crew for a brief trip into the shallow Aion, where The Testament would pick him up.

He was now a week overdue.

When he had arrived, he was confronted by Wells, who demanded a Dalton Foster original of his very own.

When Foster refused, Wells had tracked down his ex-wife.

Foster had begun to work after the first threat. But not fast enough for Wells.

Every day that Foster worked, Wells trotted out another family member. Foster still didn’t know if the man had captured them all at once and only revealed them one day at a time or if he had been hunting down Foster’s family, picking them off one by one like a wolf pack taking down deer.

Only a week ago, Wells had decided that Foster wasn’t motivated enough. He had taken a box and cut a small piece off one of Foster’s relatives every day. The box was now almost full, but Wells had assured him that they could find more boxes.

Foster’s twin sons, each more than thirty years old, were bound as his wife was not. One had a bandage covering his missing ear, and they both kept their blood-caked mouths shut. The tip of their tongues had been removed.

Foster was forced to watch every one of the removals. Fortunately, the wives and children of his boys hadn’t yet been touched. If Wells had brought Foster the tiny finger of one of his grandchildren, Foster wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from lunging at the man and trying to bite out his throat.

He stared at his family with pleading, but they didn’t look at him. No, it was worse—their gazes cut away after looking at him, as though they found him too difficult to see directly.

They blamed him for this. That had been clear from what little interaction he had been allowed.

That was okay. Foster blamed himself too.

“Please…please…let us go,” Terisia said. Foster’s ex-wife was not the kind of person to give in to anyone’s forceful demands, but this torture had hollowed them all. “You have him, you don’t need us. At least…at least the children…”

His two sons were gagged, but they looked at Wells, silently begging him to release their children. Still, none of them looked Foster in the eye.

Wells gave no sign that he’d heard. He idly pointed the gun in a random direction, too close to Terisia for Foster’s comfort, and thumbed the hammer back. She flinched as he pulled the trigger, but there was only the click of the hammer slamming into place on an empty chamber.

“It suits my hand,” Wells said, satisfied. He held out a hand to one of his men. “Shot.”

Foster stood up and cleared his throat. “It takes custom rounds. Got a half-dozen in my shop.”

Wells waited, frozen with the gun in one hand, for a moment that stretched on too long. Finally, in the tone he would use to berate an idiot, he said “Well…go get them.”

Foster did.

The bullets weren’t simple balls of lead, but shaped bullets that held their charge inside. There had been experiments from alchemists and gunsmiths that suggested this was the next step in the development of firearms.

They were most likely right, though Foster had cheated with Awakening. The rounds were ordinary.

Foster handed Wells the bag, trying not to show his rage or disgust. Or his newborn, trembling hope. “Push out on the side. Slide the bullets in…yeah, there you go.” Wells pushed out the chamber, which now looked like it had been made out of metal and bone fused together. It resembled nothing so much as a rib cage protruding from the side of a serpent.

“No powder?” Wells asked when he’d finished loading.

“It’s in the rounds already.”

Wells’ grin stretched the bounds of his face. “Well well, look at you, going above and beyond. You see what you can do when you’re properly motivated?”

“Never been so motivated,” Foster said. He kept his tone and his face blank.

Wells thumbed the hammer back and pointed the gun at one of his men. The bandit flinched back but didn’t dare to move.

Wells slowly moved from him to another man, who once again froze, hoping his boss would choose to kill someone else. There were four lackeys in the room, two holding on to Foster’s family and two lounging near the exits. The swamp-witch and Wells made six.

Foster saw the brigands with new eyes. They were prisoners of their leader just like he and his family.

And that didn’t change their crimes a bit.

When Wells spun to Terisia, Foster’s throat tightened. He passed on to their sons, and Foster had to look away.

Finally, Wells ended up pointing at an empty couch. There was the ghost of a smile on his face, as though he’d enjoyed the reactions of everyone in the room.

“Test run,” he announced, finger tightening on the trigger.

But before he squeezed, he glanced out the corner of his eye to Foster.

“Does it have a name?”

“Oath to Eternity,” Foster said.

Wells made a thoughtful sound. “Old-fashioned. I like it.”

Then he squeezed the trigger.

From the beginning, Foster had known that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave after making the bandit leader a gun. If he failed, he would be killed. If he succeeded, he would be kept as a slave or killed anyway.

But he had kept an extensive collection of old firearms and pieces that might one day be useful in Reading. He had the brigands bring him some of the more mundane substances he needed for his craftsmanship, but he had raided his own stores for the particular Intent he required.

This gun was a seeker of vengeance. It existed to destroy those who had unjustly wronged others.

No…it existed to destroy those who had hurt Foster’s family. He had sworn to have his vengeance.

His oath to eternity on it.

The gun dragged Wells’ hand up, pressing itself against his temple, and fired.

The sound deafened the room as smoke flew up from one side of Wells’ head and blood sprayed out the other. He collapsed to the floor, Oath to Eternity falling from his hand and sliding on polished wooden floors.

Foster felt no relief. His head was still pounding from Reader burn, but if this worked as he expected…

He knelt on the ground. The gun, defying momentum, slid on the wood between two carpets and rushed straight into Foster’s hand.

Even through his burned-out Reader’s senses, he could feel Oath to Eternity’s glee. If he were Soulbound to it, he might hear its voice, as he distantly heard the voices of his tools from time to time.

Instead, he sensed a lust for vengeance. And blood.

As the bandits came to their senses and scrambled for their own weapons, Foster pulled the trigger five times.

The four bandits and the witch-woman joined Wells on the floor.

Smoke hissed from the barrel of the gun as though from the snout of a satisfied dragon. He walked in a dream-like trance back into his workshop, delicately placing Oath to Eternity on the bench and picking up Wells’ knife.

When he returned, Terisia was scrambling at her sons’ bonds with her mangled hands, still weeping. He knelt beside her with the knife and cut them free.

When they were finally unbound, they all three spun around, looking at him in horror.

“Where are the others?” he asked, trying to ignore the look in their eyes.

Tears ran down Terisia’s face. “Why? You’ve killed us. You’ve killed us all.”

Wells’ gang did not number merely half a dozen. They held the entire town. By Foster’s estimates, there were a hundred lawless men and women keeping this town captive.

“I’ve got more rounds,” Foster said. His boys stayed quiet—as now they always would.

However, they both rushed out of the room. A moment later, he heard the door to the basement crash open, followed by exclamations of surprise and relief from children. Lots of weeping.

No one came to speak to him.

That was fine, he told himself. He had work to do.

He started boarding up the doors and windows immediately, injecting another alchemical stimulant in his arm when he felt as though he would collapse. The bandits outside tried to push their way in, but between the old, long-invested locks and the boards bracing the entrances shut, they got nowhere.

Most of the “boards” they used were pieces of interior doors or furniture that they broke up, the family getting to work quickly. They would speak to him when they had to, asking his instructions on craftsmanship or where to find tools, but mostly they treated him like a stranger.

Every time he glanced at their bloody bandages, he held the pain like a red-hot poker against his heart. He deserved it.

By sunset, the brigands had stopped shouting for Wells and pounding on the door. The others were relieved, but Terisia and Foster knew better. They were gathering their forces.

Even if the brigands left their family alone, the injured wouldn’t last long without food or medical supplies. They would have to break out if they wanted to live, while the bandits only had to wait.

Of course, while the house lacked food, it did not lack weapons.

Every pair of hands kept a gun nearby as they worked, even down to eight-year-old Zarentha. When the time came to fight, they would be ready.

Which was why Foster still felt no relief at killing the man who had tormented their family.

They were going to die anyway.

In a firefight, people died. That was the point. He didn’t want to see his granddaughters go out like a soldier on the battlefield.

So they stayed holed up in their fortified home. Waiting.

He didn’t know what they were waiting for.

Slowly, over the next day, bandits collected outside of their house like ants gathering onto a fresh kill. They carried muskets, most of them. A few carried what must have been invested or—in one or two cases—Awakened weapons.

One woman revealed that her hands were four times too big and resembled the paws of a tiger. A former Imperial Guard.

Foster felt like he was reading about someone else’s situation. It was all so clear to him, from this distance. As the sun rose on the first day after Oath to Eternity’s birth, something slammed against his doors.

Splinters flew inside, cracking the boards used as a brace, and the children screamed.

He knew what was going to happen. The family would make the best stand they could, would drag a few of them down to Urg’naut, but the bandits would get in. And that would be the end of it.

The door shook as the bandits slammed against it again.

Lost in his own vision of the future, Foster felt no pain. No fear. Even the exhaustion felt like it belonged to someone else. He walked up to the door, a musket-ball crashing through the wood and zipping by his ear, and glanced through one of the newly made holes.

A mob shouted and screamed, pulling back the hammers and axes they were using to tear open his home. He looked past them, to the sparkling sapphire of the sea. Maybe he should never have left.

He almost thought he saw, standing out against the blue, the pale off-green of Elder-tainted sails.

He took his last, deep breath, cradled Oath to Eternity, and prepared to unload into the invaders.

Then he snapped back to reality and pressed his eye against up against the hole in the door.

A woman tried to stab him through it, and he had to pull back in time to avoid the cut and shoot her through the chest. But this time he was sure.

The sails were real.

“Fall back!” he shouted, so loud it felt like it tore his lungs. He pulled his son away, waving at Terisia. “Back to the basement!”

“We’ll be trapped in there!” his ex-wife declared.

“Do it! Do it now!”

He threw Zarentha over one shoulder and ran himself, hauling his family along. Every second counted. Each instant they bought themselves was another chance.

The doors exploded inwards, the first wave of enemies kicking their way through the wood, as Foster threw open the door leading down to the basement where his family had been captives for three weeks.

His basement had an unspeakable stench, such that he could barely breathe. One of his grandsons vomited into the corner. Blood and worse stained the floors, along with shredded ropes and bits of soiled bedding.

He tried not to look around the room, tried not to imagine what had happened in here over the last few weeks, instead tapping into his Soulbound Vessel.

The band of tools around his belt came to life, expressing their eagerness to work. His Vessel was interesting, almost unique, in that he was bound to a set rather than a single object. Bone fragments from a Cloudseeker Hydra were worked into most of the tools and into the belt itself, so they floated where he needed them.

He tended not to use the Vessel much anymore. For one thing, the second the Vessel realized that he was working on something other than a gun, it tended to lose interest. For another, floating tools gathered too much attention. He was the only gunsmith Soulbound on record in the Empire, so if strangers saw an old bearded craftsman with levitating tools, rumors would fly.

This time, he only needed to hammer a nail.

The tiny hammer that was part of his set flew up, Foster held the nail in place, and the hammer dipped when it realized that he wasn’t working on a gun, or a weapon, or even a gunbelt.

No one—save maybe the Emperor himself—had ever been sure exactly how Awakening worked, so Foster wasn’t sure if the Vessel had senses of its own or if it simply connected to his Intent. Either way, Foster felt the moment when the hammer realized he just wanted it to nail a door shut.

It sagged in disappointment, dipping in the air, and turned its head toward Foster.

Art? It asked hopefully.

His Vessel wasn’t the most verbal, but it managed to express itself anyway. It wanted to work on what it considered art: one-of-a-kind weapons.

For the ten millionth time, Foster spared a thought of frustration and resentment for his younger self. His single-minded obsession had infected even his Vessel.

Foster focused his Intent, on the fact that this was life or death. “We don’t get out of this,” he growled, “and we can’t make anything ever again.”

The Vessel gave the equivalent of a silent sigh. Safety, it said in the tones of a child mocking something ridiculous.

But it did finally, halfheartedly, start hammering nails.

Foster kept up himself with a larger hammer, hurriedly nailing the door shut and closing it with the leg of a chair across. The brigands would be drawn to the sounds of hammering and would check this room first.

Sure enough, a shot rang out, and a hole erupted in the basement door. Foster ducked, but he felt a breeze pass through his hair. He had almost taken a shot to the head.

A glaring brown eye looked at him through the door, then backed up. From the position of the man’s body, Foster could tell the bandit was taking aim. He prepared to fire Oath to Eternity blindly through the door.

There came a clamor like a rising tide from inside the house.

The half-seen bandit through the door spun, looking at something in the living room.

Then a flashing golden blur took him off his feet.

A gun cracked like thunder and Foster heard laughter. Blessed, familiar laughter.

“Foster!” Urzaia called happily from down the hall. “You are a week late!”

Foster collapsed on the basement stairs.

The relief was too much. His mind and body had been strained beyond their limit again and again, stretched with alchemy and fear, so in the first second of safety they simply gave up. He tried to struggle to his feet, to help Urzaia.

But why? A Champion was here.

The battle was over.

Urzaia pulled the secured door off its hinges with one hand, tearing it apart like it was made of sticks and string. The huge man looked down on Foster, his blue eyes kind, smiling his gap-toothed smile. He was in full gladiator regalia, leather armor strapped all over his body, and the golden hide of a Sandborn Hydra—his Soulbound Vessel—wrapped around his left arm. In his hands he held his dark Awakened hatchets, which were already slick with blood.

A bullet slammed into his back, richocheted off, and bit into the ceiling.

Urzaia brushed dirty blond hair out of his eyes as he knelt in the middle of Foster’s house, ignoring the battle behind him. “Do not worry, Foster. We are here now. I will take you home.”

Foster passed out.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Yes, of course Kelarac keeps his promises. I know I’m not supposed to say so, but I find that to be a stupid question.”

“Then if you worded your deal perfectly, so that there were no loopholes, nothing he could take advantage of…couldn’t you end up with a beneficial request? A wish, so to speak?”

“I apologize; I was mistaken before. That is a stupid question.”

—TRANSCRIPT OF A WITNESS INTERVIEW WITH

BLISS OF THE BLACKWATCH

PRESENT DAY

CALDER SAT in a plush Capital sitting-room with the air of a slaughterhouse, but he didn’t focus on details. He already knew this was a dream.

Only the man sitting in front of him was real…and he wasn’t even a man.

Kelarac’s steel blindfold gleamed as he reached to the side, lifting a jeweled golden goblet to his lips. “You are dying, you know. You might have suspected.”

In the handful of times that Calder had met Kelarac in a dream world before, he had felt like he’d been transferred here physically. This time, it was more like his meeting with Ozriel: he couldn’t feel anything from his body. When he tried to look down, he saw only a chair.

If it weren’t a dream, he would have panicked. But you accept all sorts of impossible things in dreams.

“The Consultants finally got me, then?” he asked. His final memories were hazy, but he could piece things together. Shera had plunged a dagger into him.

“They have you now.”

Kelarac waved a hand and the curtains were drawn back from one of the sitting-room’s windows. Beyond the panes of glass, Calder looked down onto himself from above.

He was lying face-down with a gaping, bloody hole in his back. Men and women in the black uniforms of Consultants bustled around him, using Awakened tools to hack away at the white armor encasing him.

The view shifted below and the table became transparent. He could see himself.

Looking into his own face was a punch in the gut. It didn’t look like he was dying, it looked like he was dead. His skin was waxy and pale, his eyes stared sightlessly at nothing. As his enemies worked to loot his armor, the impacts jerked his body so that his head bounced on a loose neck.

“The Emperor’s armor is keeping you alive,” Kelarac said casually, sipping from his goblet again. “As you can see, the Independents are prying it off. As soon as they finish removing it, you’ll die.”

Calder couldn’t feel his stomach, but he was still somehow hollow and sick.

He’d failed. Everything was for nothing.

When he spoke, his voice sounded empty. “What about Ach’magut? He said I would rule.”

From behind his blindfold, Kelarac showed surprise. “For a time, did you not sit the throne?” He gave a regretful sigh. “We intended for there to be so much more…a human we could actually communicate with. I even sent the Champions to save you, but you wasted the gift I bought. At great expense, I might add.”

Calder was still staring into his own dead eyes. He had wasted his life.

“Then why did you bring me here?” There was no hope in the question, only resignation.

“I’ve invested in you, and I rarely deal personally with a human more than once. I thought we could watch your end together. Call it a…professional courtesy.”

On the table, Calder’s body jerked and sent blood dripping down the pale armor. A plate came away and the wound oozed more freely.

Shera leaned over, inspected the body, then said something to one of the Consultant surgeons.

The Independents had hindered him at every turn. They had prevented him from doing anything he’d planned to do, from showing everyone that it was better to be ruled by a mortal like him than an immortal who couldn’t understand human concerns.

He had even tried to tell him what he’d learned from Ozriel about destroying the Great Elders, and they had refused even to take his messages.

He could have done so much more for the world…if only they had let him.

His anger boiled up suddenly, and he wanted nothing more than to jump back into his body and grab Shera by the throat. He turned to Kelarac, furious at everyone. “You said I should be glad to see you. Tell me what you want.”

A Great Elder wouldn’t have brought Calder here if there wasn’t something he wanted.

Kelarac didn’t let an instant go by. He pounced like a shark, leaning forward and baring his teeth, his necklaces and rings flashing gold in the light. “I want everything. Give your life to me, and I will use it as you could never imagine. I will accomplish everything you could not. I will grind your enemies to dust. I will establish a global Empire so grand that people forget the first one. When people speak of the Emperor in a thousand generations, the only one they remember will be you.”

Calder stared into his own reflection where the Elder’s eyes should be.

He ached for it to be true.

Even if he gave himself up here, how was that different than dying? When someone died for a cause, you called them a hero. And Kelarac kept his deals.

But that didn’t mean he could be trusted.

“You want my soul? You’ll torture me for eternity after I die?”

Kelarac waved a hand. “I’ve already told you, I don’t know what a soul is. I want you, and only for the duration of your natural lifespan. We can make that a part of the deal, if you like.”

Calder turned that over for loopholes, but Kelarac gave a sigh of mild annoyance.

“When you use a tool and it is destroyed, do you continue tormenting its broken parts or do you simply…throw it away?”

Somehow hearing himself being referred to as a tool reassured him. He had already known that was how Kelarac thought of him, so hearing him say it out loud made him more trustworthy.

But he wanted to throw Kelarac off-guard, to observe his reaction to something unexpected, and he had just the tool for the job.

“What about Ozriel?” Calder asked casually.

He thought he was about to observe a rare expression of fury from Kelarac, but the Great Elder laughed. “You met him, did you? He’s something of a house-servant. No, not even a servant. He is the furnace in which trash is disposed. There are many worlds beyond this one in which you and I are currently trapped, and he is only a small part of them.”

“He said he would destroy us if it looked like you would escape. Does he not have the power to do that?”

“Oh no, he does.” Kelarac picked up a small dried fish from a nearby tray, lowering it into his mouth. “As would I or any of my brethren, in our true forms. And he will try. But in our long-awaited plan to escape this prison, do you really think we had failed to consider our jailers?”

Through the window, blood spurted from Calder’s back again. His limbs twitched, and Calder found his attention locked onto his own dying body.

"Our time grows short,” Kelarac said. “I do not have the mind of Ach’magut, but I will make my own prediction now: you and I will come to an agreement. We will wake up in your body, which we will share. I will restore it to perfect health and eliminate your enemies in one stroke, and then I will sit upon the Optasia. Using its power, I will open the sky and hold off our warden until my brothers and sisters have escaped. Then…”

The window changed.

Instead of Calder’s dying body, it now showed Calder wearing armor and a tall, spiked crown of yellowed bone. He raised his hand and the crack in the sky opened onto a massive void.

Human figures with the features of monsters walked in front of Calder. The man with worms coming out of his skin must be Kthanikahr, the silhouette of solid shadow would be Urg’naut, and the squirming, shifting figure that blinked into a different form every second was surely Tharlos.

For a brief, unnerving second, he thought he saw Bliss’ form among those Tharlos spun between. Then they all ascended into the void.

Every Great Elder but Kelarac lifted off, and he caught sight of a celestial battle beginning in the void beyond their world.

Then his own hand moved, the sky was healed, and he walked away.

He sat on a throne in the center of the Capital…and the world began to speed forward. Days flashed to night in a fraction of a second. The Capital healed itself, built up, expanded. Ordinary ships began to look like those of the Navigators.

Buildings got higher, larger, and some began to gleam as though they were made of metal. Ships sailed through the sky, people stepped through glowing doorways and emerged on the other side of the world, plants that fit into a window-box produced endless fruit.

“This is no imagination,” Kelarac said from an inch away. He was no longer seated across from Calder but sat right next to him on the couch. Had this been a couch before? “These are miracles I already have the knowledge to create. With us together on the throne, the world could be this prosperous in a year.”

Time spun forward until a gray-bearded Calder was laid to rest in a stone coffin. Mourners lowered him into a massive tomb over which a ninety-foot golden statue of Calder himself stood guard. The Capital swelled with people for the funeral of the Emperor, and a woman with Calder’s red hair placed the crown on her head.

“Rule stays in your family for eternity,” Kelarac went on. “And they are free to live their own lives. I will need no vessel after you. I can remain an advisor, sharing my knowledge with your line until this world ends.”

He spread his ringed hands. “Or until I grow bored of the game and decide to escape myself. I don’t destroy my toys when I am done with them. I will leave you humans to your own devices.”

If Calder had eyes, he was sure tears would be streaming from them.

This was everything he’d always wanted, brought to life in more detail than he could have imagined. For the first time, he could understand what Jerri had seen in the Elders. If the world could be like this…

What would he not sacrifice?

Calder stood and moved to the window. He reached out to see if he could touch the illusion that Kelarac was showing him.

His fingers tapped against the glass.

His fingers.

He still couldn’t see any part of his body, but he felt his hand touch the cool glass between him and the vision. As soon as it did, the view changed.

Now, a pair of Consultants were on the table, straddling his body, prying the plate from his back with crowbars that shone brightly. Awakened tools.

Even so, the Emperor’s Intent glued the armor to him as though attracted by magnets. The Consultants strained, pulling the plate of white metal away. The further it got, the faster blood flowed from Calder’s back, until it pooled at his sides and dripped down to the floor.

Over it all, Shera watched with cold, dark eyes.

Kelarac came up behind Calder and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s up to you to choose, now. One future…” The image in the window flashed back to a crowd of people cheering his daughter’s coronation. “…or the other.”

He patted Calder once more and then walked away. “I admit, I’ll be disappointed if you make the wrong choice, but I won’t force you into anything. You’ve given me enough already.”

Calder stood and thought. He wasn’t foolish enough to trust a Great Elder for no reason, but his other trades with Kelarac had been for his benefit. And Ach’magut had let them leave his presence with their knowledge.

While the Elders were alien to humanity, they weren’t evil. They had their own goals.

As Jerri had told him, the Sleepless didn’t deal with all Great Elders equally. A few of them, including Kelarac, could be dealt with for the benefit of both parties. Others were too dangerous to risk interaction.

He stared at the crown on his future child’s head.

If he lived and went on to get everything he wanted, it would be for the world’s benefit. Even if Kelarac didn’t keep his word about the advancement of technology, just being ruled by someone of human lifespan being would be a benefit for the Empire. The regional governors and Imperial advisors could have a real say, not just bowing to the whims of one immortal man.

He could have it.

But he kept watching the crown and thinking.

What would a real Emperor do?

He had once looked down on the Emperor for using a Heart of Nakothi to maintain his life. Now, he was afraid he knew the answer to his question.

He turned back to Kelarac. “Where are we right now?”

“This is a projection of your consciousness into an artificial space. It’s not a technique you’re capable of understanding. Think of it as a dream.”

“And why don’t I have a body? When I’ve visited you before, I felt like I had been transported there.”

The Great Elder tilted his head. “As I said, these concepts are beyond you. If you demand a simple explanation: your connection to your body is too tenuous. You are close to death, so I brought only your consciousness.”

Calder lifted his hand. He could feel it now.

With great concentration, he materialized his hand. He could barely see it, as though it wavered in and out of existing, but he reached to one side and managed to carefully lift Kelarac’s goblet.

“So what does this mean?”

Kelarac laughed and spread his hands. “That your will is tenacious enough to establish yourself in a dream. If you wish, I can educate you on the physics of conceptual existence, but you don’t have the time.”

A wet, meaty squelch came from behind Calder.

He had heard nothing from the vision outside the window until now. This time, he turned around and saw that the sound had come from the Consultants pulling the plate away from his body. They tore a chunk of flesh with it, but now they were all celebrating, taking away the Emperor’s armor piece by piece.

Shera herself picked up a quicklamp and shattered it on the side of Calder’s bed. She tossed most of the luminous fluid over his body. Someone nearby lit a match, handing it to her.

She held it poised over Calder’s body, ready to burn him. The tiny flame sent shadows dancing over her face in a hideous mask.

A primal fear shot through Calder. He almost felt like he could feel the fire about to consume him.

If he accepted Kelarac’s offer, this would stop.

“To be the Emperor is to carry the Empire.” Sadesthenes.

Calder deliberately turned his back on the image.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

The Soul Collector watched him, unreadable.

Calder ticked off points on his fingers. “First, why would the Head of the Consultant’s Guild personally help remove my armor? Second, why would she start a fire right there in the operating room? If I’m about to die, they would take my body elsewhere. Third…”

He held up the three fingers. They were more visible now.

“If I’m dying, why do I feel stronger now?”

If he hadn’t met with Ozriel and experienced what it was actually like to converse using only his consciousness, he might not have noticed.

If he hadn’t met with Kelarac three times before this, he wouldn’t have known that anything was any different than usual.

But he suspected that his connection to his body was growing clearer by the second.

Maybe he actually was dying, and in a moment he would regret this decision. But that brought him to his last point.

“And finally…what kind of king lets someone else rule his own body?”

Kelarac stared at him. The rivets in his blindfold reflected fire.

Suddenly the stench of the slaughterhouse, which Calder had almost forgotten about, returned in force. As though he’d been prevented from seeing them before, he saw flaws in the room: a bleeding tear in the couch, a length of intestine dangling from the ceiling, blood splattered over the carpet.

The Great Elder flashed him a smile.

It was too wide to fit on a human face.

“The deal I offered was real, you know. You could have had it.” His voice was quiet, but his lips didn’t move. The sound came from all around Calder…and it slowly got louder and louder. “With your will joined to mine, you could have had all your wishes come true. And I, too, would have gotten what I wanted. Now…”

In the middle of the sentence, his voice suddenly shook the entire room, quaking Calder’s mind and soul as though the words rattled Calder’s skull from the inside.

“I STILL GET WHAT I WANT. I WILL PULL IT FROM THE ASHES OF YOUR SHATTERED WORLD. AND YOU WILL SUFFER UNTIL THE STARS BURN OUT.”

Kelarac’s shadow stretched out behind him, squirming with a thousand unseen shapes, eyes blinking open on the walls and ceiling.

Fear choked Calder, gripping him from every angle, pressing him down as though he stared down the mouth of a shark.

But fear did not rule him any more than Kelarac did.

He forced his own smile as far as it would go, marching forward until he stood nose-to-nose with the Great Elder.

“We thank you for your long history of service to the crown,” Calder said. “You are dismissed.”

Kelarac’s jaws unhinged, lunging forward. Calder was swallowed up, and he somehow managed not to scream.

Then his eyes snapped open.

In the last few months, Jerri had grown used to spending time in cells.

First was the cell on the Gray Island, which was cold and damp, but the Consultants had been attentive. Torn clothing was replaced immediately, she was given plenty of blankets, and they even gave her a steady stream of books.

She had broken out of there with the help of the Sleepless cabal and the destruction generated by Nakothi’s Handmaiden. Immediately afterwards she had been imprisoned here in the Imperial Palace—or somewhere inside the enormous Palace complex—by Kelarac himself.

That had been…less comfortable.

She still wasn’t sure how long it had lasted, but was sure it must have been at least two weeks. Elderspawn had dragged her food, squirted out drinkable water, and even disposed of her waste.

It was a nightmarish experience bearable only because of all the things she’d learned and because of the personal connection she’d made with the Soul Collector.

He knew her now. That alone would elevate her beyond the ranks of his other servants.

Finally, she had been left in the dungeons of the Imperial Palace. This room was nicer than any before: it had a soft carpet, a padded chair, a table, even a polished plate of silver set into the wall to serve as a mirror. Her bed was tucked into a cabinet in the wall, and she even had her own bathroom with running water.

It was better than many hotels she’d stayed in. Far more comfortable than the cabin of The Testament, though she’d give almost anything to be staying there instead.

Unlike the Consultants, the Palace guards ignored any requests she made. They delivered her food twice a day, and every three days they bound and gagged her while they cleaned the room. But they largely left her bored.

There were other prisoners down here in this dungeon, but there was some sort of Intent working to keep them from communicating. She couldn’t tell if it was the carpet or the walls or something else, but sound coming from outside was always muted. Though she could see right through the bars of her cell, she could hardly hear anything.

Before about a week ago, Calder had summoned her frequently, but he’d been silent since. She wished she had a cellmate, or a neighbor she could chat with.

She missed Lucan.

Of all the things she’d given up in her service of the Elders, the life of the Consultant Lucan was one of her greatest regrets. He had listened to her, kept her from going insane during her imprisonment, and she was certain that she could have gotten him to listen to reason in time.

But she had rashly decided to strike against Meia, one of Shera’s allies, and had missed her shot. She’d lost her Soulbound Vessel in the process.

Calder wouldn’t destroy it—destroying a Vessel could have unpredictable effects on the mind of the Soulbound—but even if she could summon Elderspawn and escape, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to find her earring.

She was sitting and reading the one book they had provided her—a stage play entitled Heart Like a Churning Sea. A classic, but she’d read it too many times already.

She was interrupted by the ringing of metal-on-metal. The noise coming from the door itself wasn’t muffled, so the guard got her attention by rapping his keys on the bars.

Eagerly, she tossed the book aside. It wasn’t time for a meal, so this could mean only that Calder was calling for her.

The guard leaned in close to the bars, cupping his hands to shout into the room. It came out at a slightly lower volume than a normal speaking voice.

“…you have a visitor…”

A visitor?

Just in case it wasn’t Calder, she sat in her chair, crossed her ankles, folded her hands on her lap, and adopted a knowing smile.

No matter who came through the door, she wouldn’t react with surprise.

…especially when a Consultant strode into view.

She was wearing the black uniform of her Guild, but the cloth that usually covered her mouth and nose was missing. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a short tail, and she carried a stick and a box of matches in one hand.

She looked somehow familiar, but it was hard to place her. It was hard to place Consultants when they so often went around with half their faces masked.

Until she turned to face Jerri directly, and suddenly recognition struck like a bolt of lightning. This was Shera’s ally. The woman Jerri had meant to kill.

Meia.

She would never have remembered, but she had been having dreams of Meia every night…though not nearly as frequent or intense as the dreams of Shera.

The Great Ones were speaking to her through dreams. Driving her against the one they called the Killer.

Before Meia could speak, Jyrine decided to knock her off her guard. “Hello, Meia,” she said immediately. “Where’s my husband?”

Meia showed no reaction at all, only setting a bronze stand down on the nearby table and slipping a stick of incense into it. “The Guilds have reached a peaceful agreement,” she said.

Jerri had missed most of the Guild conflict from inside one cell or another, but she was disappointed to hear that Calder was working with Consultants. She would have hoped that he would harbor more of a grudge against the people who kidnapped and imprisoned her.

Meia struck a match and lit the incense. “I have been sent to ask you a few questions about the Sleepless cult. If you cooperate, I can authorize a few concessions to your accommodations.”

Jerri didn’t know what concessions she was supposed to ask for, but she was far more curious about the incense. That wasn’t normal behavior for an interrogation.

She nodded to the burning stick. “What’s that for?”

“I have a sensitive nose,” Meia responded. “Now, what do you know about the intentions of the Great Elders?”

Changing the subject.

The incense was likely to be alchemy of some kind, but if it was intended to prevent Jerri from lying, then the Consultants had wasted their time and money making it. She meant to tell the truth. If Calder didn’t listen to her and negotiate on behalf of humanity, the Great Elders would leave nothing behind when they left.

No one would benefit from that.

On the other hand, maybe she shouldn’t give this Consultant any answers. Why hadn’t Calder told her about the end of the Guild War in person? He should have wanted her to know that the Great Elders hadn’t driven them apart.

For a full minute, Jerri tried to decide whether to speak or not speak as the peppery scent of the incense filled the room. Meia calmly pulled out a notebook, a pen, and an inkwell, obviously in no hurry.

Jerri’s frustration eventually won out. Her thoughts were going in circles, so she might as well talk. “The Great Elders want to pass through the crack in the sky in order to ascend beyond this world,” she explained. “This isn’t their home; they’re trying to leave. So you see, we’re really trying to help you.”

Meia scribbled a few notes while she spoke, then lifted the pen to ask a question. “How do they plan to leave?”

“I don’t know.” Jerri really wasn’t sure. She only had guesses.

But as the Consultant scratched away at the paper, Jerri found the silence pressing on her nerves. She decided to continue. “…but they’re supposed to take human vessels. Well, we have conflicting reports. Some say they can’t leave unless they’re in the form of a person, but others suggest they could leave, but they seek human bodies anyway. In the Elder War, some fought in human bodies at first before reverting to their true forms, but some didn’t.”

She wasn’t sure that answered the question, but the more accurate information she spread about the Elders, the better.

As soon as her speech lagged, Meia had another question. “And what do the Sleepless want?”

Jerri was only too happy to answer that. Maybe Meia could be reasoned with, just as Lucan could. “We’re working to secure a bargain with the Great Elders so that they will leave their power and knowledge with us when they depart.”

She leaned forward, looking into Meia’s blue eyes.

Come to think of it, the dreams showed Meia with orange eyes. Was this some other Consultant who looked similar? Meia’s sister, perhaps?

As long as she’s listening, Jerri thought.

That’s why we need Calder,” she said. “If he can negotiate with them directly, he can get their concessions. He might even be able to open the crack in the sky himself and let them out without any conflict. I’ve told him—”

“About that,” Meia interrupted. “How do we heal the sky?”

“I don’t know,” Jyrine admitted, and it was true. As far as she understood, there was no way to repair it until the Elders left. “I can’t even begin to guess. It was made by the Optasia as the result of a plan by Ach’magut. As far as we know, they were never able to do so much even at the height of the Elder War.”

The records that the older generations of Sleepless left behind were fascinating; some included transcripts of conversations with Great Elders. Ultimately, there were still more mysteries of the Elders than answers.

Meia scribbled some more notes. “I see. I’d like to speak some more about your knowledge of the Great Elders, but first…we’ve talked about the desires of the Sleepless and the Elders, but what do you want, Jyrine?”

Jerri didn’t want to answer that.

She was beginning to suspect that the Consultants weren’t in contact with Calder at all, because they were asking her redundant questions.

On the other hand, she had already come so far.

And someone was finally listening.

“I want it all to be worth it,” she said. “My father sacrificed his career, his reputation, and eventually his life because he believed the Elders were the path to a better world. I’ve given up everything myself. I don’t want it to be for nothing.”

Memories bubbled up as she spoke: her father leaving in the middle of the night for an emergency trip. Jerri lying to the man she loved, over and over, telling herself that it would be worth it in the end. Kelarac’s shadow stretching behind him as he threatened her.

That couldn’t all be worthless.

She continued with renewed passion. “And if we don’t get it now, on our terms, with someone on the throne speaking on behalf of humanity, then the Great Elders will break us and get what they want anyway. We either cooperate with them or we are trampled beneath them.

“Calder can give them what they want from us while getting what we want from them. It’s symbiosis. But if he won’t do it…then I’ll still do whatever it takes to strike an agreement with the Elders. If they’re going to break us anyway, we need a foundation to rebuild. I…”

Why am I telling her so much?

The spicy scent of the incense filled her head, and stopping her sentence in the middle caused her actual, physical discomfort. She wanted nothing more than to keep talking.

The Consultant wore a subtle look of smug satisfaction, but Jerri was stunned. She had been aware of the alchemy and it had still led her to say more than she wished.

She was furious at herself. She had intended to maintain control.

Meia shut her notebook. “I see that my time has run out.” She reached out and snuffed out the incense with her bare fingers, lingering as though to emphasize that the embers couldn’t burn her.

It was enough to make Jerri shiver like she was facing down a hungry Kameira.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Tessella,” Meia said.

She was emphasizing Jerri’s maiden name. Why? Just to taunt her? Had Calder decided to proceed with a divorce?

“I’ll be back to see you,” the Consultant said, and it came out as a threat rather than a promise.

She moved to leave, but Jerri’s thoughts were already racing. There were too many pieces of this interrogation that didn’t match up.

Something had happened to Calder.

She didn’t have enough information to know what, but something had.

Meia turned back like she’d sensed Jerri’s sudden realization. She spoke again, her voice colder than it had been. “If you really intend to lean on the power of the Elders to protect us from the destruction of the Elders, then you’re even more of a fool than I took you for. Would you adopt a wild wolf to protect you from wolf attacks?”

So she hadn’t been listening after all. Or maybe she had, and she was too stupid to understand.

Still, Jerri needed to get some information out of her. Something related to Calder. “Kelarac keeps his bargains,” Jerri responded. “Ask Calder.”

Meia’s expression was still relatively blank, but Jerri thought she saw the beginnings of a sneer. “I will,” she said.

Then she left.

That was the wrong answer.

If Calder was still in charge, a Consultant wouldn’t be asking him anything. He would be talking to Jyrine directly.

Of course, it could have just been an inaccurate choice of words. A flippant remark. But combined with the other things that felt off…something stank.

And if the Consultants had really taken over, they would not keep her alive. Not with the Killer as their Guild Head.

Using her fury to push herself into action, Jerri raised the meat of her finger to her teeth and bit down hard. She had to chew to break the skin, but she soon felt blood flowing into her mouth.

With the guard still escorting Meia out, she began to rub her blood onto the carpet, staining it red. She drew a circle of symbols one at a time, inflicting new wounds on herself when she needed to.

This was a simple Elderspawn summoning ritual. It was dangerous; she had no control over the type of spawn that arrived, nor any influence over the Elderspawn itself. It was just as likely to devour her as break her free. And they were in the Imperial Palace; any Elderspawn that tried to crash through the wall by force would be annihilated.

More importantly than any of that, if Calder was still in charge, she would lose what influence she had on him by breaking out.

But she’d said what she needed to say. Both to Calder and to the Consultants.

Whether Calder had lost his position or he had just stopped listening to her, she couldn’t allow herself to be trapped in here any longer.

She had a world to change.

Calder opened his eyes to white light and a world of pain.

Everything in his body hurt. He’d thought it would just be his back, but his bones felt like they were running with lightning. He tried to move, but it was as though his joints were filled with razors.

He tried to speak, but he ended up in a violent fit of coughing.

The agony almost blacked him out again.

When his vision returned, the light was fading. From a diamond that Andel dangled over Calder’s chest.

His quartermaster stood over him, a White Sun medallion hanging from his fist. It had been glowing just a moment ago, which made Calder wonder if he was hallucinating. Andel had been a Pilgrim, but never one of their higher ranks. Never a Soulbound. He didn’t have a healing Beacon.

And he would never be wearing that relieved smile.

Two alchemists Calder didn’t recognize leaned over him, asking him questions that made no sense to his dazed mind. He only knew they were alchemists from their thick goggles and the aprons hanging down over their clothes.

A second later they were shoved aside by a cloud of frizzy hair.

Petal shoved her face in his, pulling his eyelids open, looking in one eye and then the other. She stared at him for a second like she thought he was an imposter.

Then she wailed and collapsed on his chest.

He thought the movement might open his wound, but once again, he felt less pain from his back than from the rest of his body. Only a slight tenderness, like from a long-healed bruise.

How long had he been out?

Foster gently pulled Petal back, smiling at Calder through his scruffy gray beard. He wore his reading-glasses so that he could see the glass container in his hand with its long fluted straw.

He placed the end of the glass tube into Calder’s mouth, and Calder drank greedily. It felt like it had been a month since he’d last had a taste of water, and he would have emptied the container if Foster hadn’t pulled it away.

With his mouth and throat wet, he tried to speak again. “How long?”

They all started to answer him, but he heard jumbled noise as though he listened from underwater. His ears woke up halfway through, just in time to hear Andel say:

“…before they catch us.”

“But you’ll be able to walk soon!” Petal shouted.

Calder winced at the pain in his ear. “Why are you screaming?”

The others looked at each other, and Calder realized that she had spoken normally. It had just sounded like she was yelling into his ear.

He tried to raise his hand to his ear only to find the cold touch of metal around his wrist. His hands were chained to the bed.

“There’s a good reason for this,” Petal said, but now her voice sounded more like a whisper. “But…stay calm, okay?”

“Take deep breaths, boy,” Foster commanded, but Calder wasn’t listening.

The chains around his wrists were causing him too much panic. What if none of this was real? It could be another dream, and Kelarac had caught him. He had to escape.

With one jerk, he snapped the chain holding his wrist to the bed.

And the metal arm of the bed bent too.

Calder looked at the damaged bed. He looked up at Petal, who gave an apologetic smile instead of looking surprised. Then he moved to Andel.

The quartermaster had regained his normal, impassive look. “Would you like the good news first, or the bad news?”

“How bad can it be?” Calder asked. “I’m not dead.” His voice was starting to improve, which was faster than he’d expected.

“Bad news it is. You’ll be on a tightly controlled regimen of elixirs, potions, and supplements most likely for the rest of your life. Otherwise your bones will snap, your body will fill with cancerous tumors, and your eyeballs will pop like bubbles.”

Petal’s brow furrowed and she looked over to him. “Eyeballs?”

“You can’t say for sure it won’t happen.”

Petal considered for a moment, then shrugged and nodded.

Calder waited for the good news, but when Andel didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, Calder prompted him. “And the good news is that you only restrained me with cheap tin?”

“More bad news first. The bad news is that you’re not technically a Champion.” Andel held up a hand. “I know, it’s outrageous. It’s unfair. They have requirements regarding training and the nature of your Soulbound, none of which you meet.”

The shattered chain dangled from Calder’s wrist. For the first time, he noticed the gold crown symbol on the aprons of the two alchemists busying themselves in the background.

His eyes grew so wide that they actually hurt.

When he remembered Andel’s words about his eyeballs, he blinked rapidly. “So I’m…I mean, this is…”

Petal swiped more tears away. “You almost died. But it worked!”

“The Emperor’s armor kept you on this side of the grave,” Foster explained. “We needed you to be strong enough to survive removing it, and Petal had kept on with her research on borrowing the power of a Champion. We tried a temporary potion, but the armor fought against it. So we went all the way, and Andel healed you up so you survived the process.”

Andel was slipping the silver chain around his neck. “I only had to embrace the power of an organization I abandoned years ago, thus making myself a wanted fugitive of the Luminian Order for the rest of my life. Don’t let my crisis of faith and personal sacrifice cause you any guilt.”

Calder let his eyes close for another moment.

Kelarac had laced his lies with truth. He had almost died, and would have had he not been preserved by the Emperor’s armor.

But his friends and allies had rescued him and were already saving his life.

Kelarac would have woken up in Calder’s body with the addition of superhuman strength. And no one would have suspected a thing.

Calder shivered and opened his eyes.

“You all…”

Tears sprang to his eyes, but he wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

Petal cried with him and Andel smiled slightly. Foster barked out a laugh.

“You’re not a real Champion, remember that. I might not be able to beat you in arm wrestling anymore, but Urzaia would still tie you in knots. Now get some sleep. We’re still a few days out from you walking without a crutch, and if the Regent finds you, the best we can hope for is you ending up in a Palace cell.”

“The Regent…” Calder said aloud.

Of course. Even without his body, if Shera had removed him, the Independents would have taken over the Capital.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

Over the next hour, they filled him in on the situation. They shared with him their plan: they were confident they could get aboard The Testament. It was under heavy guard, for fear of what the Lyathatan would do, but most of the troops defending it were part of the Imperial Guard.

They had transferred their loyalty to Jorin, but not eagerly. Foster was certain they could talk their way through.

And once they were on the ocean…well, the Independents didn’t control much outside the Capital. And the only ones who could catch them on the Aion Sea were fellow Navigators.

Calder wouldn’t be able to do much about the crack in the sky or the fate of the world, but at least he’d be alive and free.

By the end of their explanation, sleep had crept up on Calder. He let himself slip from consciousness clutching on to one thought: he wasn’t going to run.

He had a plan of his own.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Seek not the coming of the darkness which crawls, for his jaws will swallow the sun.

All that lives shall pass away, leaving only the darkness eternal.

His domain is death, and his wisdom is forbidden.

Seek him not.

—SLEEPLESS PROPHECY

PRESENT DAY

JERRI HAD EXPECTED her call to be answered by a handful of Elderspawn that would cause enough chaos that she could find an opportunity to escape.

She had hoped for a more powerful Elder, but she knew those were in short supply. Even the Great Elders didn’t spend their stronger servants lightly.

So when the portal opened in her cell and Kelarac’s steel blindfold regarded her from the other side, she was paralyzed with shock.

She had spent many hours interacting with him without knowing his true identity, but that was no longer true. Jerri dropped to one knee the second her shock allowed.

“Great One, please allow me to—”

“That’s enough,” Kelarac said. He waved one gold-ringed hand. “I have gone to great expense to send you this opportunity. Now come to me. I have a task for you.”

“Gladly!” If Kelarac was speaking to her as an equal, then maybe she could serve as his envoy. He had always favored Calder, but she was more than willing.

“If I may ask, where are we going?”

She stepped into the void, where her feet were supported by a stone. As soon as she did, Kelarac’s image began to fade away like smoke.

“I will remain where I always have. You will be coming to me.”

The void spat Jerri out onto an island in the middle of the Aion Sea.

Perhaps “island” wasn’t the right word. It was more like a barge, a floating collection of debris that looked like it came from a crashed ship bound together by sticky, still-squirming tendons.

She had spent years of her life plotting courses across the Aion, but she couldn’t even guess where she was at the moment. There was nothing but water no matter where she looked. Maybe when the stars came out, she would be able to estimate their location.

But if this was where the image of Kelarac had taken her, she knew what she was waiting for.

And she didn’t have to wait long.

She dropped to a knee again as a shadow approached her from beneath the ocean. The water darkened before her as far as she could see, as though a cloud had passed across the sun.

Her excitement and terror matched each other, reaching a fever pitch so she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. For the second time in her life, she was about to come face-to-face with the true form of a Great Elder.

The air around her shook like a building in an earthquake and her barge slid on uncertain waves. She was terrified in the best, most thrilling way.

When Kelarac finally showed himself, she found herself shivering.

It was like watching an island rise before her eyes. The water bulged upward, sliding off of the bulk that revealed itself from beneath. Water streamed down in deafening waterfalls.

Kelarac’s body was bronze and craggy as though he were an impossibly intricate statue. Moss and barnacles stuck to his sides, and his full shape was so incomprehensibly massive that it took her mind a long time to put together what her eyes were telling her.

What was in front of her was a head seemingly made of dull bronze. Its snout came to a rounded point, and she had to see silvery, triangular teeth before she recognized the shape: she was looking at a shark’s head.

The rest of the silhouette crested the surface, and she saw fins spreading out to the sides. A dorsal fin the size of a tower unfolded from his back; it had been tucked away before so it wouldn’t break the surface, but now it spread over Kelarac like a sail.

Across his eyes, or where his eyes should be, was a blindfold of steel large enough to cover several ships. Spots of rust decorated its surface, and it was pierced through by two iron nails, each driven into where she assumed the eyes would be.

The nails must be bigger than The Testament’s mast, and now that she looked, she could see at least two more, both driven through the pectoral fins and extended deep into the water.

It wasn’t much of a guess to think that there would be three more such nails driven through his body. The seven spikes of the Blackwatch. These might have been the originals.

Jyrine’s heart pounded, and she lowered her head in the presence of the Soul Collector.

His mouth didn’t move as he spoke, but his words shook the water around her barge.

“OUR FIRST PLAN HAS FAILED.”

“I do not mean any disrespect, Great One, but…what happened to Calder?”

Kelarac’s growl was like a roar. “I OFFERED TO SAVE HIM AND HE REFUSED ME.”

To save him?

Regret, grief, and a frustrated anger warred within her.

How had Kelarac attempted to save him? Was he dead?

Why hadn’t he listened to her? He should have at least given Kelarac a chance. It wasn’t as though he had never bargained with the Soul Collector before.

Now he was gone…and with him, their best chance for productive peace with the Elders.

Jerri bowed her head once again. She’d thought she was prepared for this next part, but now that the moment had come, she hoped there was another way.

“I come to serve. Do you require…a vessel?”

She should have enough connection to the Great Ones. She had known for years that they might need to inhabit her body in order to complete their work, but she had never considered it as a real possibility until recently.

No matter how frustrated she was, no matter how disappointed in humanity, it was still difficult to offer herself.

“I DO NOT,” Kelarac said, and she breathed easily again. “THE POWER THAT COMES WITH MANIFESTATION IS NOT WORTH THE VULNERABILITY. NOT TO ME. FROM YOU, I REQUIRE A MORE VALUABLE SERVICE.”

She straightened her back, burning with eager hope.

“THERE IS AN ENEMY BEYOND THIS WORLD WHO SEEKS TO DESTROY IT. I WILL PREVENT HIM, BUT I REQUIRE ASSISTANCE.”

“Give me your instructions, Great One. I am eager to serve.”

“I WILL SEND YOU TO THE CRAWLING SHADOW. YOU WILL AWAKEN HIM.”

With a nauseating twist of space, something popped into being in front of Jerri. It hovered above the ground, a chunk of pulsing gray-green flesh, and it seemed to whisper a song that she could almost hear…

“YOUR YOUNG READER OF MEMORY BARTERED THIS TO ME. I HAVE RESTORED ITS POWER.”

Indeed, the Heart of Nakothi looked healthier than the last time she’d seen it. It swelled with strength like a ripe fruit, and it oozed with dark liquid.

“NOW, THE ESSENCE OF NAKOTHI WILL GIVE US LIFE.”

Jerri took the heart in her hands and bowed, honored by his trust…but there was much she didn’t understand.

If he could bring a Great Elder back to life, why hadn’t he done it himself? Why hadn’t they risen five years ago, shortly after the Emperor had died? Why now?

Sensing her thoughts, he spoke once more. “THIS WAS NOT THE PRIZE I WANTED. FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS, I WORKED TO AVOID THIS.” His teeth flashed, and he twisted in a way a shark shouldn’t be capable of, as though turning to indicate the crack in the sky.

“URG’NAUT IS A DANGEROUS ALLY. HE WILL SEEK THE END.”

Her fingers shook around the wet Heart of Nakothi, but she appreciated even the little explanation she had been given. He had been considerate of her…oddly so.

He valued her. He trusted her.

“Great Kelarac…I will not let you down.”

“YOU MUST DECIDE,” he said gravely. “IF YOU OBEY MY WILL, YOU WILL BRING CHAOS AND DEATH TO YOUR KIND. FOR NOW. BUT IN THE END, YOU WILL INHERIT OUR POWER AND OUR KNOWLEDGE TO REBUILD A GLORIOUS GOLDEN AGE SUCH AS THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN.”

He didn’t just trust her, she realized. He needed her. He needed her to make a decision of her own free will.

There were many theories about Kelarac passed among the Sleepless. Why did he make deals with mortals? Surely he could take whatever he wanted. And how could the possessions of humans tempt him anyway?

Moreover, why did he honor his bargains? His lies would be impossible to discern from the truth.

It was generally agreed that what he sought—or perhaps what he needed—was the willing cooperation of humans. He didn’t want their belongings, he wanted their hearts.

Their souls.

And now he wanted her.

She had prepared for this her entire life, but it was still a heavy choice. She would be knowingly plunging the entire Empire into a second Elder War…but one with only two active Regents and no Emperor.

It would be a massacre.

But afterwards, the Elders would leave. They would be gone from this world, and they would leave her behind to lead in their name.

She could guide the world forward…and everyone would see that she had been right all along. Her father would have died for a purpose. Her life would not have been lived in vain. No, she would be known as a hero that rescued the world from the brink.

The Great One was waiting for her response, so she looked into where his eyes should be. “Sometimes you have to bring pain,” Jerri said. “For their own good.”

“GOOD!” The word was so loud it shook the heavens and the waters.

Her barge drifted up on a column of seawater, remaining surprisingly steady until she floated at eye level. Suddenly, a gleaming emerald light flashed in front of her.

She would recognize the jewel even if her eyes were shut. It was her Soulbound Vessel.

“NOW, I SEND THEE FORTH…MY HIGH PRIESTESS OF THE VOID.”

The green light shot forward, stabbing into her forehead.

The heat spread through her entire body, but it didn’t hurt. It was as though she was being burned down and rebuilt in its flames. Reforged.

Reborn.

The Capital was in such chaos that it was easy for the crew to travel with no one recognizing them.

At least for most of them. Not for Calder.

The former Steward of the entire Empire was packed away in a crate in the back of a small wagon, which came to a stop so often that Calder wished he could get out and pull instead of the mules.

Jorin, it turned out, had ordered an evacuation of the Capital’s citizens. His official explanation suggested that the city was no longer safe and emergency shelters had been prepared in outlying regions.

Calder wasn’t sure he trusted any of that.

Down through the city to the docks took most of the day, and he knew from experience that the Guard would have all exits well-defended. They wouldn’t be stopping people from fleeing, but from boarding a ship where they didn’t belong.

Andel, Petal, and Foster were in charge of driving them all to the guarded checkpoint where they could have a moment with the Guards without being overseen by anyone else.

In the meantime, Calder occupied himself by trying to find the least cramped position in the box, pulling nails from the boards around him and twisting them into shapes with his fingertips, and taking his medication.

Petal had left him with a collection of pills, powders, elixirs, and injections along with a labyrinthine set of instructions in their use. He had to jab a syringe of luminous blue liquid into his thigh twice a day to stop his muscles from seizing up, take a pill before he went to sleep to prevent blindness, and drink a potion to keep his skeleton in place.

Whenever he grew frustrated—or nauseous—he watched how he could squeeze a nail of good iron until it sunk into the cracks of his fingers like putty.

For the price he’d paid, he had at least walked away with a satisfying prize.

Petal or Foster popped their heads in every once in a while to speak to him, but for most of the day, he could hear only their muffled voices over the chaotic noise of the Capital.

He began to suspect they’d found a checkpoint when their wagon stayed stopped for longer than ever before. The others were talking to someone. He couldn’t make out specific words, but Andel’s voice remained calm and soothing.

Finally, Foster pulled the lid off the box, and Calder squinted up.

He had hoped they would give him time to adjust his appearance before revealing him like this—he was supposed to appear dignified and in control, not folded into a container like dried squid. But the orange-eyed woman who stared down on him went white as a cloud when she saw his face.

He cleared his throat from his position within the create. “I apologize, Captain. I was not aware I’d be entertaining guests.”

The Guard captain’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “We’ll need a Reader to verify his identity. Until then, keep him inside the box.”

“You can address me, Captain. I’m right here.”

She visibly struggled to meet his gaze for a moment before she said, “…sorry, sir.”

She fled after that, but it was enough. Checking his identity was a matter of protocol, but she clearly believed he was who he appeared to be. That was more than half the battle; if the Imperial Guard tried to arrest him, then he would have to fight his way out.

Of course, if the Guards had resorted to force, they would have been in for a surprise.

The Reader showed up in a handful of minutes, pulling the lid off Calder’s box. The man was weathered and gray-haired, wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guard, but he had no visible Kameira enhancements.

On sight of Calder, he glanced around briefly, then dipped his head. “Steward. Thank the Emperor that you’re still alive.”

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it. Is it safe for me to leave this box?”

“We have spare Guard uniforms, but…sir Steward, pardon me for questioning you, but we serve Regent Jorin now. You’re not planning on causing trouble, are you?”

Calder couldn’t see Andel, but he heard the quartermaster’s voice clearly. “Trouble is in the other direction.”

“We’re evacuating just like everyone else.” Calder had no reason to trust Jorin, but he had no reason to spend any time with the man either. “If they think I’m still dead, so much the better.”

For now.

The Reader looked visibly relieved, but he glanced at something over the back of the wagon.

“I’m glad to hear it, sir Steward, but just for me…stay out of trouble, will you?”

Calder had no intention of fulfilling that promise.

The second he was back aboard his ship, Calder Read the Intent flowing through the familiar wood. The Testament relaxed in his presence, remembered him, welcomed him home. Ropes tightened, the sails spread like wings, and the boards shivered beneath his feet.

He took a moment to savor the memories within the ship before he allowed his Reading to reach beneath the waves.

To the Lyathatan, the amount of time Calder had been gone was nothing more than a blink. He might not have even noticed Calder’s absence. Calder fully expected to Read the Elder’s impatience through the chains binding it to the hull, perhaps even its frustration with Calder.

Instead, he felt fear.

If he had tried to Read the creature directly, the fear might have overwhelmed his mind and brought him to his knees, but since he was sensing the Intent indirectly through the chains and the mark of Kelarac, he only shivered and clenched his teeth.

As always, the Lyathatan’s Intent was layered in a complex web not meant for human interpretation, but Calder could recognize the overwhelming shock of terror. The Elder felt like a mouse quivering and hoping not to be noticed as an owl passed overhead.

Calder tried to use his own Intent to send a question, but such communication was imprecise at best. He received only the impression of a looming shadow.

In Calder’s experience, that could mean almost anything, but whatever terrified the Lyathatan should worry them all. He sent his orders to the creature through his mark, hoping it would obey, and to his relief it did so. With shocking speed.

The Testament lurched beneath them all, breaking Calder out of his Reader’s trance to clutch at the wheel for support. Petal tumbled to the deck, and Andel gripped the rigging in one hand and his hat in the other.

Their hull cut an arrow in the water headed straight in the direction Calder had indicated.

“What’s lit a fire under you, Captain?” Foster asked.

“Not me.” Calder was frowning at the point beneath them where the Lyathatan lurked, and the rest of the crew followed his gaze.

“I choose to take this as a bad omen,” Andel said.

Petal scrambled to her feet and away from the spot she had been sitting as though she expected the Lyathatan to reach up through the deck.

“Don’t worry, he’s still doing what I tell him to.” Calder raised and arm and flexed. “Maybe he’s scared of me now.”

Foster snorted. Leathery flapping filled the air, and a moment later, a weight landed on Calder’s upraised arm.

Tentacles tickled his cheek and dark eyes stared into Calder’s soul. “SCARED,” Shuffles bellowed, and Calder remembered the drawbacks that came with his enhanced hearing.

Andel clutched his White Sun medallion. “Well, if I wasn’t worried before, I am now.”

Shuffles liked to show up when he believed the crew was in lethal danger, but that didn’t mean it was always correct. And sometimes it came up when it was bored. Or hungry.

“I’m sure they’re afraid of Jorin,” Calder said. “He has free access to the Optasia now; if he manages to use it, he could obliterate all the Elderspawn around the Capital.”

He wondered if the Regent would make contact with Ozriel, and if Ozriel would give the same warning he had given Calder.

“You sure, are you?” Foster asked. He was wearing his shooting glasses and squinting up into the sky.

The clouds had darkened as though a storm were on its way. The temperature had already lowered several degrees.

Just like the shadow that had passed over the stained-glass room in his communication with Ozriel.

Calder forced himself not to shiver. If Urg’naut really had been stirred up, their actions should remain the same. “I still have a plan, everyone,” he assured them.

Shuffles laughed.

For the brief time that Calder had been connected to the Optasia, he had taken in more information than he could digest. Part of that was the nature of the Optasia itself: it was the central hub of a network spread all over the world.

Statues of the Emperor, designed and invested by the man himself to amplify Reading, were spaced out hundreds or thousands of miles apart as part of the Optasia system. The Capital had the highest concentration, with three such statues located in a rough triangle outside the city’s borders.

One of those three had been destroyed in a battle between Elderspawn and the Imperial Guard shortly after the Emperor’s death. Calder had Read as much during his private research on the Optasia, but his brief time in the throne had shown him that the statue still partially functioned.

He could use that fallen image of the Emperor to amplify his own Reading, and from there his options were unlimited.

Certainly, there was still the risk of sensing a Great Elder directly, but it was only a small fraction as dangerous because the broken statue would be limited to the area around the city. At least he wouldn’t be focusing his sight everywhere around the world at once.

Perhaps he could use the device to reach beyond the world and contact Ozriel again. He could tell the Regents how to kill the Elders, assuming they didn’t already know. Failing that, he could use it to find and punish Shera. With his powers magnified, Calder was certain he could stand against even Jorin.

And if all that proved to be too much, at the very least he would learn more than he ever could on his own. That was the primary purpose of Reading, in the end.

They found the small island off the coast of the Capital in a little over an hour, pulled at top speed by the Lyathatan. It was fortified with tall walls of dark stone, a huge chain drawn over the mouth of its harbor.

Once upon a time, this fort would be manned by Watchmen and Imperial Guards, but the Guild War had left its mark even here.

One wall had collapsed from within, chunks of stone sprayed outward as though something inside had exploded. The chain blocked The Testament from entering, but the harbor was empty.

“Did they leave…and then seal off the harbor?” Calder wondered aloud.

“Times as they are, there’s no telling what madness went on here,” Foster said. “Best we get on with it.”

Calder had informed the crew about his plan, inasmuch as he’d told them he planned to use an artifact left behind by the Emperor to try and get even with Shera. He suspected they hadn’t protested only because this meant him leaving the Capital.

He nudged the Lyathatan closer with his Intent. A blue-scaled, six-fingered hand reached out from the water, dragging a chain of its own behind a manacled wrist.

It wrapped around the chain across the harbor and began to pull.

Calder had no doubt that there was significant Intent inside this fortress’ harbor-chain, but it was nothing compared to what bound the Lyathatan to the ship. The Elder tore the links of iron to one side, pulling an entire chunk of the wall away.

The structure started to crumble. Rocks splattered into the water, and the entire tower tilted as though it would crash onto their ship at any second.

Calder eyed the tower, which looked like it would finish leaning and fall on them at the slightest breeze. On his shoulder, Shuffles mimicked the sound of stone crunching.

One tense stretch of sailing later, they made their way into the harbor without anything else collapsing. Under normal circumstances, it would have been an ordeal to reach the Optasia statue, but some gates were torn open while others were missing completely.

As they disembarked and passed through the first broken gate, it looked like they should have a straight shot to the statue. At least, so they hoped.

Deeper and deeper they marched into the fortified complex. They saw no bodies, though they didn’t miss the occasional splash of blood.

With every passing minute, the sky grew darker. Cold wind tore at their clothes, and Calder shivered as he pulled his jacket closer. If this wind was brought by the Elders, he could only help by reaching the statue. If it was just a storm, then it wasn’t worth his concern.

But he did keep himself from Reading anything he didn’t have to. Just in case.

Finally, at the heart of all the walls and layered protection, they found what was left of a room. It had once been ornate, judging by the remaining decorations and shredded curtains they found scattered around. Now it was just a pile of rubble.

The severed head of the Emperor lay in the middle.

A ball of stone bigger than everyone in the crew put together, this was the largest piece of the Emperor’s sculpture that remained intact. Stone eyes gazed expressionlessly into the sky as though surveying the dark crack beyond their world.

Calder took a deep breath and gave Shuffles a pat. The Bellowing Horror was giving off a low vibration, like an ongoing purr. Or maybe a growl.

“Watch for intruders,” Calder instructed. “If I’m interrupted, it could be deadly for all of us. And if I don’t seem like myself…”

He trailed off as he realized all three of his remaining crew members were giving him hard looks.

“I just put you back together,” Petal whispered. Her brows were drawn together in anger.

“Something’s not right here, Captain,” Foster urged. “Not just with this place. There’s a shadow on the wind.”

Andel surveyed the sky, looking concerned. “I thought this was a decent plan, as such things go. But now…Foster’s right. You have to admit, now that we’re here, something feels wrong.”

Calder rapped his knuckles against the Emperor’s white armor, which he had worn ashore. The breastplate had been hastily repaired as best as he and Foster could, so it surely wasn’t as strong as it had been, but it still offered world-class protection. Foster carried the helmet as part of a bundle he had slung over his shoulder.

“I’m as safe as I can be,” he said. “I’ll take it easy.”

With that, he stepped up and rested his hand on the statue.

“‘A foolish king ignores his councilors,’” Andel quoted, “‘but a wise man speaks with the voice of his advisors.’”

Calder stopped with his fingers touching stone. “What did I tell you about turning Sadesthenes against me?”

“I’ll quote anyone you’ll listen to.”

“Would it not have been better to bring up any objections while we were still aboard the ship?”

Andel raised one eyebrow. “Since that time, I have become increasingly concerned about the sun growing dark at midday.”

“It’s just a storm,” Calder said. Even he knew it didn’t sound convincing, and all three of the others looked at him doubtfully.

“Just give it a wait, boy.” Foster grabbed him by the shoulder and began steering him away from the statue.

It wasn’t fair. They had followed him all the way here, and now they were going to take him away?

This was his tool to get back what he’d had. And more.

With this piece of the Optasia, he could stand as an equal to the Regents. He had a real chance at opposing the Elders. He could even get revenge against the woman who had essentially killed him.

He stopped in place and Foster stumbled. The gunner tried to pull him along, but with Calder’s newfound strength, Foster may as well have tried to haul away the Emperor’s statue.

“This is my decision,” Calder said firmly. “If an Elder is on its way, then the hourglass is running out. This may be our one chance to try this, and we have no reason to believe that we should wait. This is clearly the best course.”

Both Petal and Foster looked troubled, but Andel returned to his expressionless mask. He pulled his hat off and swept a deep bow.

“As you wish, Your Imperial Highness.”

Calder’s breath stopped.

He was acting like the Emperor.

The man who believed he knew better than everyone and ignored the opinions of those beneath him. Which, in his eyes, meant everyone.

These three only had his best interests at heart.

What did he know that they didn’t?

Frustration tore at him, pushing him to turn around and Read the statue anyway, so he had to fight that impulse.

He had to, if he was going to listen to his friends.

He plopped down on a boulder of rubble, glaring at his crew. “How long do we wait?”

Petal brightened like a quicklamp. Foster grumbled about Calder hurting his shoulder, and Andel settled his hat back on his head. “I don’t think the Empire will crumble if we give it an hour.”

“Fine.” If this was a storm that passed in an hour, they were all going to feel very silly.

Calder shaded his hand, peeking up a little closer to the sun. They had no real reason to think that the darkening sky was Elder interference. There was nothing supernatural about clouds drifting in front of the sun, and he hadn’t sensed any strange Intent. He had closed himself off to such things, but even so. Maybe this was all mundane.

He glanced off to the west, where the Capital would be, and saw a bank of dark…

…at first glance, he thought they were clouds.

It was like ink spreading through water, a shifting mass of absolute darkness. He climbed onto a nearby boulder, trying to get a better vantage point. Most of the black shape was still concealed by a wall, but he could make out more.

The entire horizon was covered in black.

Andel’s shaky voice came from beside him. “Urg’naut…”

The Creeping Shadow was free.

CHAPTER TWENTY

PRESENT DAY

THE WHITE SUN hanging from Andel’s neck flickered to life. “At least we didn’t have to wait long, Captain.”

Foster rubbed his hands together and stared uneasily into the inky darkness that stained the sky. “We’ve got our answer. We have to run. As far and as fast as we can.”

Urg’naut had been released. The darkness at the end of all things. If Calder wanted to have any chance at striking a Great Elder, he should use this node of the Optasia.

But now he’d missed his chance to do so safely. If he used the device now, he’d be staring straight into the Creeping Shadow.

“Hurry, Captain!” Andel urged him. “We can’t afford to waste a second.”

He ushered Calder over to stand by the Emperor’s nose, but freezing dread piled up with every step. Calder pulled back several inches, and Andel stared at him in open confusion.

Calder’s unease leaked into his voice. “It’s too late, Andel. If I look through, all I’ll see is…him.”

“HIM.” Shuffles hopped on Calder’s shoulder.

Petal curled up and looked to the sky, which was slowly growing darker and darker. She looked to Calder with pleading in her eyes.

“The boy’s right,” Foster said. “First thing they teach you as a Reader: don’t look at the Elders. Especially not with a looking-glass pressed right against them.”

Andel stepped closer to Calder. “Say what you want about the Emperor, but he did everything to protect people from the Elders.”

“And even he stopped using this thing,” Foster pointed out. “Give it up, Andel. Let’s run.”

Calder’s heart was racing, and he stared into the blank gray eyes of the Emperor. He had earned his fame by facing the Great Elders down directly. That was courage, no doubt about it.

But that didn’t mean Calder had to be stupid about it.

“Foster…I’m going in.”

The gunner’s eyes widened. “Captain, no.”

“I don’t plan to reach straight for the Elder. I’m going to amplify the White Sun at Hightower and any other protections I can find in the Capital.”

“It was a gamble before, but now it’s suicide.”

“Not necessarily. I have one more trick to try.” Ozriel was still up there, waiting beyond the world. One Optasia statue might not be enough to reach him, but Calder could try. He might have an ally.

Although he sounded more confident than he really was. His fingers trembled and his eyes sought out anything but the spreading darkness overhead.

“Good luck, Captain,” Andel said softly.

Foster continued protesting, but Calder had to act before his courage failed.

He placed his hand on the Emperor’s forehead.

Emptiness.

Death.

Cold.

The end.

The rush of sensation that crashed over him was nothing compared to the full Optasia, but he still felt himself drowning in an endless shadow. He wasn’t focused on Urg’naut, but the Great Elder’s presence infected everything, choking the life from the entire Capital.

Calder struggled to reach the surface of an icy black ocean. He strained to reach beyond the world, to drag his awareness up and through the crack.

Ozriel was waiting there, and though he had threatened to destroy the entire world, he was still human. Still infinitely preferable to Urg’naut.

Calder’s vision soared up toward the crack in the sky…and stopped. Like he’d reached the end of an invisible tether.

Despair tightened his throat. He felt the presence of death looming behind him, as though Urg’naut lurked over his shoulder. A presence of nightmares waiting for a child to turn around before it would pounce.

Even worse, he could rationally understand that the Great Elder hadn’t even noticed him yet. This was just the passive feeling of his Intent, a distant and alien malice. Every bone in Calder’s body cried out to break his connection to the statue, to flee before the predator caught him.

But he still had work to do. He would have to be quick.

He needed to strike against the Great Elder, maybe get a sense of the situation in the Capital, and then leave. Nothing more.

While searching for Hightower’s power, he noticed something odd. Another source of that same bright, hopeful Intent drifted around the Aion Sea. It was a smaller source than Hightower should be, and it clearly wasn’t a stationary location, but a person.

Loreli, the founder of the Luminian Order. She was close.

Calder forced himself back to the search because he couldn’t afford distractions, but he was actually glad to feel the Regent’s approach. Loreli was well-known as the one who had struck Urg’naut down originally. If he could stall long enough, perhaps she could take over the battle.

He located Hightower quickly. The headquarters of the Luminian Order was in the greater Capital area, well within the reach of the statue, and centuries of faith and dedication had left a protective aura around the place.

The huge white diamond that sat at the top of the central tower still held Loreli’s Intent, a direct opposite of Urg’naut’s. The Creeping Shadow would not have an easy time encroaching on these grounds.

Calder needed it to do more.

He couldn’t Awaken the giant jewel; even Loreli hadn’t been able to do so, and she had a far greater connection to Hightower than Calder ever would. But if he understood the function of the Optasia correctly, he should be able to increase and direct the diamond’s Intent.

Unlike a steady and stable investment, this effect wouldn’t last long, but Calder wouldn’t need it to. He just wanted to save as much of the Capital as he could.

His vision shot toward the gemstone, which shone like a white sun. That light swallowed his vision.

To protect. To illuminate. To bring peace.

The Intent inside the White Sun of Hightower came from too many thousands of different sources for Calder to pick out specific visions, but the whole Intent was spectacularly unified. Its light was cleansing and penetrating.

The diamond yearned to protect people, so Calder helped it achieve that goal. It didn’t even take much energy; Calder felt as though he was merely directing a wave, controlling the Optasia’s power rather than providing any of his own.

Protect the Capital, he commanded, and the White Sun did so eagerly.

A ray of light shot from the top of Hightower over to the city, a sunbeam cutting through the pall of Urg’naut’s darkness. The black clouds flinched back, and Calder heard a distant sound that suggested one scream coming from a thousand throats.

Suddenly he could feel the Capital through the Great Elder’s concealment, and two things caught his attention.

First, the entire city was filled with wards against the Elders. From emblems of the White Sun carved into doorposts to rings of silver to complex glyphs with forgotten histories, they had all been invested by ordinary people that begged these objects to protect them from Elderspawn.

Perhaps they hadn’t even believed in the Elders—at least, not before recent years, when proof had become more and more obvious—but their desperation had focused their Intent. A baker melted her mother’s jewelry down into a chain and hung it over her child’s crib, hoping the residual Intent would protect against harmful influence. An accountant painted images of the Emperor, hanging them on each wall so that nothing could slip through and take his spirit in the night.

Individually, these objects had almost no effect. An Elderspawn might feel a little uncomfortable in their presence, but it was nothing that would save anyone’s life.

But collectively, they could be something truly powerful. A host of candles that could ward off the darkness.

And the Emperor had not left them undefended.

Beneath the city, the Emperor had left seven giant spikes of iron. Calder was reminded immediately of the nails carried by Watchmen…but these were thousands of times larger and thousands of times more powerful.

They were all Awakened, so he couldn’t add to their power, but he found himself surprised that Urg’naut could even approach the Capital. The spikes were not intended to destroy lesser Elderspawn but were aimed straight at the Great Elders themselves.

While Urg’naut was here, perhaps he could be defeated without the great sacrifices that the battle against him had taken in the past.

Which brought Calder’s attention to the second major thing he’d noticed in the Capital.

Jorin Curse-breaker.

A pair of paper wings spread from the Regent’s back, supported on a wooden frame and decorated with Windwatcher feathers. Thanks to the remaining Intent of the Kameira, Jorin could use those wings to float.

He hovered in the air, his black shadeglasses missing. His eyes were silvery pale, and he stared up at the black clouds. His long coat billowed in the wind, alchemy bottles and invested items clinking against one another and his sword—

Calder had to intentionally blind himself to the sword. If he looked at it under the magnification of the Optasia, he would break his connection and vomit.

Tentacles of shadow the breadth of the entire city fell on Jorin, but he met the Great Elder blow for blow, striking back with darkness of his own. The deadly corruption of his sword sliced through the powers of Urg’naut, turning each hit before it could reach the buildings below him.

The Regent was covered in sweat, his every breath a gasp, but his eyes were firm and his Intent solid. When the light from Hightower struck, he did not miss the opportunity to swing on Urg’naut, and now—though he kept deflecting the tendrils of shadow—he occasionally got in a hit of his own.

He hovered alone, a single speck shielding the city below from a sky full of darkness.

Calder may have resented Jorin on a personal level, as the Regent had worked against him at every turn, but he felt nothing but admiration at this sight. Panic emanated from every house in the city like a fog, reflecting the thousands of terrified citizens below, but Jorin faced down a Great Elder as their protector.

The White Sun continued to glare at Urg’naut, and at any second the Great Elder could notice the attention from the Optasia.

So Calder wasted no more time. He dove down into the city, into the ocean of frightened Intent, and began reinforcing those bright points.

Every lucky amulet that warded off bad luck, every silver circle that protected a home from Elderspawn, Calder magnified its Intent a thousandfold. He had to work one at a time, but each object only took an instant, and after about a dozen he started to notice an effect.

A vague light, a hint of heat like a warm breeze, began to press against Urg’naut.

Encouraged, he pushed on, jumping from holy symbol to blessed coin.

Then, like tripping on flat ground, he stumbled across something much more powerful. An Awakened weapon that hungered after Urg’naut. A weapon he recognized. A green dagger.

The city block was covered in a silver fog that clouded even Calder’s vision through the Optasia statue. The same fog she had used to conceal herself when she had stabbed him in the chest.

Intent hung so heavy in the mist that Calder had to resist Reading it. But within, he saw Shera.

Wearing a hooded gray outfit that matched the fog around her, she was kneeling on the ground and driving her emerald dagger into a thick shadow on the street. The spawn of Urg’naut let out a silent scream that resonated with Intent.

The very air rippled with the force of the shadow’s despair, but her expression above her half-mask remained cold. He could almost see the murderous aura around her.

When she had reduced the shadow to nothing more than a shining green ball of power, she hurried off to find another victim. At the moment, they were Elderspawn, but her Soulbound Vessel didn’t appreciate the difference between Elders and humanity.

Did Shera?

It was only at this point that he realized there were other Gardeners around, and their presence was incomparable to anything he’d felt before. He recognized Meia, the woman with the Intent of a dozen Kameira packed inside her body.

She was even more now, her shears shining orange that matched her eyes. In fact…through the senses of the Optasia, they even felt like eyes. They were invested to see through enemies and tear them apart.

Meia had become a Soulbound.

Though it disturbed him that the Consultants would be getting another powerful combatant, he was glad for Meia. As much as he distrusted her Guild, he wished her the best.

There were other Soulbound, but every stray thought brought him too much information to swallow.

He focused on Shera.

He could have his revenge right here, in this moment. She was no Reader; she wouldn’t even feel it coming.

He had tried to make peace with her before. Now he could show her that he wasn’t a victim. He wasn’t a pushover. He was—

The darkness in the sky tightened to one point.

Urg’naut was staring.

Calder froze. It was too late. He’d stayed too long.

…but the Elder wasn’t looking at him.

Suddenly the ink that had covered the horizon slithered down into someone. A person. Calder couldn’t even tell who; the endless Intent of the Creeping Shadow blocked out their identity.

Urg’naut was taking a host.

Jorin’s power surged, and a blade of death descended onto the Great Elder. Chunks of shadow were torn away, and Urg’naut gave a scream that echoed through the minds of everyone in the Capital, but he didn’t stop.

The light from Hightower shone, burning shadow with every second, but the sky-spanning Great Elder continued cramming itself into human skin like a worm burrowing into the ground.

The sky grew lighter and lighter, and Calder roused himself. He had to do something to help. Even Shera was focusing her mist to weaken the Elder, lunging toward him with her daggers at the ready.

Calder tightened his Intent around her like a noose. He had to break his connection to the Optasia very soon, so this was his last chance to execute someone who had rebelled against him.

As though he was Reading his own memory, he saw Jarelys Teach touching Rojric Marten.

The Emperor would not have let a rebel live.

His Intent from his armor and his crown, both of which Calder carried on his person, agreed. Anyone who defied the Emperor was defying the Empire, civilization, humanity itself. They were traitors who deserved no mercy.

Calder would not become him.

He released his grip on Shera and flew back through the Capital, investing more and more into the protective talismans. Now wasn’t the time. If he could reclaim the Steward’s position, or even any other position of influence similar to a Guild Head, he could pursue his grudge against Shera later.

Now was the time to join hands and fight their real enemy.

He turned his focus back to Urg’naut, the

Creeping

Shadow

All is darkness.

There is only the void.

Existence is suffering.

Death is mercy.

Calder drifted on a black sea.

There was no light. He could hardly remember what light was.

Urg’naut had already won. He’d won from the very beginning. He had won before the game began.

How could you avoid the end itself?

Someone lit a match in front of Calder’s eyes, and he screamed.

“You in there, boy?” Foster’s voice.

Calder shuddered and threw up a hand between him and the light. It was too wrong, too out of place, he would see it, he would know…

“Will he recover?” Andel asked.

“That’s up to him. I’ve seen some come out of it in hours. Still had nightmares for the rest of their lives, but they had lives. Seen others…that never did.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Petal whispered.

Foster gave a heavy sigh. “He Read an Elder, girl.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

CALDER COULD SEE NOTHING, hear nothing, feel nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing.

Nothing tasted like ice.

Death pressed in against him, inside him, infecting his mind. He couldn’t close his eyes for fear of the endless darkness, but opening them was worse; he could see the shadows lying over the world. The shadows were Urg’naut, and Urg’naut was the end.

As his crew discussed him, their words were just noise, noise that could attract the Great Elder. His thoughts dashed away from him, handfuls of stars cast into the endless void beyond the world. His mind sought anything that could relieve the darkness.

He still wore the Emperor’s armor. The crown was tucked away inside.

The Emperor’s Intent had pressed in on him for so long now that he had grown used to resisting it as a matter of habit. He longed to Read something, to open himself to existence, but he still hesitated.

He was afraid of the Emperor’s Intent. Giving in to it meant submerging himself in a man he hated.

But on the other hand…

He couldn’t escape Urg’naut. With every breath that passed, the emptiness around him seemed to grow deeper. He was losing himself.

And deep inside, a part of him that had not yet given into the fear refused to go quietly.

The Emperor had Read Elders before.

If Calder could learn something from the Intent the man had left behind, he had to try. There was nothing left to lose.

So Calder threw aside his barriers, opening his Reader’s senses wide. The Emperor’s Intent, which had tried to force its way into his consciousness for so long, now found nothing stopping it.

How do I resist Elder Intent? Calder focused on this question, searching for an answer.

But he got more.

Too much.

The metal warps under his touch. It’s white-hot, and he uses his powers to cause it to hold that color, to be stained white for all time. This armor will be the ultimate shield, and he has seen beyond the heavens. The guardians above this world armor themselves in white.

To him, white is the color of protection.

The Emperor wears the crown and looks down from his public throne.

“I am the first Reader. The Guild of Magisters has no authority over my teachings.”

The Guild Head shivers and bows before him.

The hordes of Othaghor pass over him like waves, claws that can rend iron and pierce minds scratching at his armor.

Bound by his Intent, the white steel remains strong.

He strides through, unharmed.

Sitting alone with his oldest belongings—his armor, his swords, his crown—he layers his memories into the objects. He molds his Intent, kneading it like dough.

If Nakothi intends to corrupt his mind, then he will leave behind a copy of himself to bolster his thoughts. He will be surrounded by his own unstained Intent.

Alone, the Emperor crafts his own ghost.

He stands before the infinite shadow that is Urg’naut. The embodiment of death and absence. A wave of power intends to erase him from existence.

But his armor, the armor that has faced down each of the Great Elders, flows with his Intent. He does not intend to be erased.

For he is the Emperor, and his will is law.

Calder’s mind went from chaos to order in an instant.

His eyes opened and he found himself on the floor, three others discussing him by the light of a dying match.

They did not feel familiar to him. Even his own name sounded wrong in his head.

He smelled an old enemy in the air.

Mentally, he tapped into the crown contained in the pocket of his armor. It provided another source of his Intent, clarifying his thoughts.

Calder reached out and took the matchstick from Foster’s hand. He lifted it in two fingers and felt the faint Intent within. No one had invested much while making it. Even Foster hadn’t been thinking about the match while lighting it.

So Calder invested it now.

Give me light, he commanded.

The fire bloomed into a blaze that should have consumed the stick immediately. The orange light pressed against the darkness and pushed it back, lighting the area like a torch at midnight.

Andel leaned closer to Calder, gripping his White Sun medallion. “Captain?”

Calder handed the match back to Foster, then reached behind the gunner and into his pack. From it he pulled the final piece of armor: his helmet. The most difficult piece to craft; the one that had required the most research in Ach’magut’s library and the most inventive Reading.

With the helmet dangling from his fingers, Calder turned to walk away. “Follow,” he ordered.

He didn’t need to look back to know they would obey.

They emerged from the ruined fort onto a strange world: darkness hung heavy over everything, the sky completely black, but it was still possible to dimly see, as though the world were lit by a distant gray moon. The darkness whispered and slithered around them…

But when the tendrils of Urg’naut touched him, they flinched back.

As they descended from the ruins, he saw The Testament in the dull light. A chunk of wall leaned precariously over the entrance to the harbor.

That couldn’t be allowed. It would threaten the ship as they left.

Calder reached his Intent down, into the ground, investing the cliff.

Do not let go.

The entire island shook as earth moved out from the cliffside like fingers, gripping the slabs of stone tightly. Grass grew among the rocks, binding them together. The wall was lifted up slightly, and the ground echoed its resolve to maintain its hold.

He braced himself for Reader burn. He had never used active Reading before, but he was sure it would exhaust him. It was surprisingly easy. Why couldn’t everyone do this?

No, he had invented active Reading. It was easy because he had centuries of practice.

Reader burn? He hadn’t experienced such a weakness since he was practically a child. Reader burn occurred when one’s ability as a Reader outpaced one’s constitution. With its recent alchemical enhancements, this body was sturdy enough.

He walked down to the ship, not ignoring the others so much as he was focused on sensing his surroundings. Urg’naut was facing down Jorin and a handful of others, but the Regent was on his last legs.

From miles away, Calder felt blood trickle from Jorin’s nose. The Regent’s mind lost focus. His Intent ran out, and his eyes went slack. The nameless sword that had devoured so many curses spilled from Jorin’s hand, and he fell to the ground.

In the body of a man, Urg’naut stood over him. He wore silver armor and his face was a black sun, an endless hole, a radiating hunger that yearned to devour all.

The Great Elder sensed Calder’s attention, and the empty face turned toward him.

Calder focused on Jorin, communicating a simple message with his Intent.

Hold on.

Jorin felt him…but so did Urg’naut. The shadows around the island off the shores of the Capital rolled, and they all whispered with one voice: “You were gone.”

Petal, Andel, and Foster heard the voice. They stopped on the ramp headed up onto The Testament, gripping lights and weapons.

“Stay on the ship,” Calder told them. “He watches.”

Miles away, Urg’naut raised one hand of his new body.

Calder slid the helmet over his face. The glass visor did not inhibit his vision.

“You became nothing,” the Elder whispered. “But they were not thorough. Pieces of you remain. I am sorry I did not correct this mistake sooner.”

“Be gone from my Empire,” Calder said. He raised his own hand to match the Creeping Shadow’s.

For the first time since the Elder War, the full power of a Great Elder lashed out into reality.

Everything between Urg’naut’s palm and Calder’s ceased to exist.

Closer to the Great Elder’s hand, the effect was thinner. A line about the width of a man’s arm was erased from the houses in front of him. It extended down into the ground, a thin canyon revealing layers of cobble, stone, and pipes as though Urg’naut had cut through a cake.

The effect spread wider as it moved outward. Entire homes and the foundations beneath them were erased, scooping out the Capital like a giant shovel.

At the edge of the land, whole city blocks—and all their residents—vanished in a blink.

Water of the Aion Sea and most of the seafloor disappeared, leaving bare stone beneath. For an instant, water hung like walls in a wedge pointing back toward Urg’naut.

The entire half of the island in front of Calder was gone. He now stood on a cliff.

And the Great Elder’s Intent crashed into his hand like a rampaging bull slamming into a single solid post.

He met it with his own will and the power of his armor, and the wall of nonexistence that threatened the entire island was held back.

That invisible wall was marked by a line of water in the harbor. On one side, The Testament floated. Only yards away, the water was completely gone. Water drained into nothingness, creating a current. The Lyathatan strained to pull it away, but the ship was already listing toward the invisible wall that devoured the ocean.

Calder couldn’t help any more than he already was.

In his current state, resisting Urg’naut was all he could take. Sweat squeezed from his pores and his entire body braced itself as he pushed back against the attack. He raised his left hand, focusing with all his power.

In moments, he realized he had reached the end.

The thin veneer of Intent he had taken from the Emperor was not deep. It was draining away, leaving pure Calder beneath.

And he was still terrified. Haunted by the absolute void he had witnessed when he glimpsed Urg’naut.

As Calder came back to the awareness of his own body, he took on more of the burden of resisting the Creeping Shadow’s attack. And he began to shake in fear.

How could he stand up to a Great Elder?

He slid back several feet as the wave of power consumed another pace of ground.

As he pulled his own thoughts back together and the Emperor’s dissipated, Calder could now separate the foreign Intent from his own.

From the Emperor, he sensed boundless resolve. It was the same self-confidence and self-righteousness that had alienated the Emperor from his merely human subjects, but it was still an iron will forged in war. His confidence came from testing himself against every Great Elder and coming out the victor.

While the taste of that conviction still lingered, Calder made it his own.

Urg’naut might beat him, but not by frightening him to death. If he died, he would die on his feet having squeezed every drop of Intent out of himself.

His breaths were coming faster and faster as he resisted the invisible wave of power. His breaths echoed in the Emperor’s helmet, so he tore it off. He could no longer see Urg’naut’s host, just a wedge of bare stone that had once been part of the Capital and a large stretch of ocean.

But he faced that direction and screamed, forcing the last shred of resolve out of his body. At his fingertips, he focused every fiber of his being.

Stop.

When the Great Elder’s attack finally vanished, popping like a soap bubble, Calder almost stumbled off the newly formed cliff.

He staggered backwards, breathing heavily, trying not to drop to the ground. The remainder of the island rumbled and shook, and the air was filled with the rushing sound of a thousand waterfalls at once as the ocean crashed back into place.

The next strike will come soon. Where is my daughter? She can…

Calder shook himself. He didn’t have a daughter. His own identity was creaking like a mast in high wind.

When he had a moment, he needed to spend some time sorting through his own thoughts. He had taken a mental beating today, and he was afraid some of his scars might be here to stay.

He staggered away, back up the hill, looking for the Optasia statue.

He couldn’t sense out to the Capital anymore, and he needed some way to check on Urg’naut. Although he hadn’t used the statue when he reached so far a moment ago, had he?

Which meant it was a question of skill, not power. Yes, he remembered inventing that trick, the same technique that had formed the basis of the Optasia in the first place…

Calder slapped himself.

Shuffles fluttered up and slapped him on the other cheek.

Calder urgently gestured the Bellowing Horror away. “Not now! I’m trying to save us all.”

“NOT,” Shuffles shouted.

Darkness gathered behind them, and Calder turned over his shoulder to look. Urg’naut had withdrawn his shadow into a twisting column over the city. It lifted until there was a black tower connecting the ground and the sky.

More specifically, the crack in the sky.

Calder ran.

When he started, he quickly realized that he hadn’t run flat-out since Petal had enhanced his body. He moved over the crumbling terrain like the wind, vaulting over half-destroyed towers and bursting through collapsed doors. He arrived at the statue’s chamber in seconds.

Half of it was open to the sky, and the head of the Emperor was gone.

He stared blankly at the space where the statue had been. Had Urg’naut’s attack destroyed it, or had it slid off the cliff when half the island had been erased?

Calder walked to the edge and looked down, but the ocean was frothing and churning as it surged to fill in the empty space that the Creeping Shadow had created. He couldn’t see a thing.

Despair gripped his heart as he looked up at the tower of shadow reaching into the sky. Now he couldn’t stop Urg’naut. If the Great Elder decided to unleash one more wave of power like he had a moment before, he could destroy the rest of the Capital.

Like everyone else for miles, Calder was reduced to standing and staring as Urg’naut turned all his attention against the ceiling of the world.

Without the Optasia, Calder was an easy target. All it would take was one more moment of effort from the Great Elder to destroy him and the entire island. But without Calder as a distraction, Urg’naut could focus on breaking free.

So Calder watched with dread as the thin tower of darkness pulsed with power. The sky quaked under the blow.

And more cracks spidered out from the first.

The Elder had withdrawn his shadow from most of the world, focusing his power, so the sky was blue once more instead of black or gray. But now Calder—and everyone in the Aurelian Heartland—was looking up at the inside of an azure bowl that was starting to break.

Through the holes in reality, he glimpsed the void.

Ozriel’s words rang in his memory. “But if they escape, I’ll have to do my job.”

Another pulse of power broke the sky further. This time, some shards of blue dissolved into darkness. Some of the slowly spinning fireflies that dotted the void were visible inside, like restless stars in many colors.

Calder felt a resurgence of the despair that had come when he’d looked directly at Urg’naut: an empty, hopeless dread that the end was coming and there was nothing to do to stop it.

He had failed. Every living human on the planet had failed.

What good was the throne now?

A third surge of dark power. The sky shattered.

Shards of blue fell like rain, dissolving long before they hit the ground. A few pieces still hung above, chunks of sapphire stained glass, and clouds still drifted below undisturbed.

But those were only a few remnants of their former world. The void was their sky now.

The infinite darkness could almost fool him into thinking it was the night sky, but these lights could not be mistaken for natural stars. They shone in fuzzy balls of red, green, purple, and they twisted in lazy orbits. They were of many sizes; some only pinpricks, while two or three looked about the size of the moon.

And only now could Calder see them clearly.

Those lights weren’t just stars. Nor were they planets.

A yellow light peeled back an eyelid, glancing into their world in the few seconds before it spun out of view. One of the green lights was a shining emerald tree locked into a transparent glass globe. From the shape of an orange spot, Calder suspected that it was a blazing flame carried on the back of a beetle that swam through the infinite black.

It was madness and darkness. The home of the Elders.

And now Urg’naut was free.

But there was one more thing in the void, and Calder’s eyes were drawn magnetically toward it.

A disc of pure, bright azure blue shone down like the sun. It wasn’t a remaining piece of sky; it was too vivid for that, too many different shades of blue layered on one another.

A man stood between that disc and the planet below. He was so far away that Calder shouldn’t have been able to make him out, but somehow he had no trouble. As though distance had less meaning than it once did.

His white hair hung behind him, his armor glistened black, and he carried a dark scythe the size of his body in a one-handed grip. With a cold expression, he looked down on the newcomer that rose from Calder’s world.

Dressed in silvered steel, the faceless man drifted into the void. Now that he was free, Urg’naut’s shadow stretched far beyond his host body. It blocked out the colored lights behind him, so Calder could make out the shadow’s shape only in silhouette, but it resembled a seething nest of twisting serpents.

Urg’naut and Ozriel regarded one another for a moment across the abyss.

Then the entire sky flashed.

Calder screamed and looked away, blinded for an instant. He saw it as a burst of white light, but he was certain that was only because his eyes couldn’t comprehend the battle between two celestial beings.

He blinked his vision clear, hurrying back down to The Testament. Every few seconds, light flashed from overhead like a thousand lightning bolts at once. Instead of thunder, he heard crackling, like a forest of trees burning. The air buzzed and trembled with each blow.

The ground shuddered and pitched like the sea in storm as the world ended around him.

He filled himself with a goal: he had to get to his ship.

He could see only one hope. They needed to get the two remaining Regents together with as many Guild Heads as they could call. Together, they needed to keep the remaining Great Elders sealed.

He knew where to find Loreli, but she was at least a day away on the Aion Sea.

Fortunately, he had the fastest ship in the world.

Just as he thought so, he reached the end of the path heading down to the harbor and saw The Testament running away.

Beneath the void-blackened sky, the Lyathatan waded through the ocean. It dragged the ship behind as though an afterthought, leaving the vessel to rock chaotically in the water like a toy.

The Elder had decided its contract was up.

Calder’s heart fell lower than he thought possible. How could things get worse after the world crumbled to pieces?

‘When all is lost, that is the worst time to give up. After all, you have nothing left to lose.’

Loreli, the original strategist.

He slid his helmet back onto his head. He adjusted the saber in his sheath and patted Shuffles lightly. The Bellowing Horror preened and chuckled as though it were having the time of its life.

Calder sprinted for the edge of the cliff.

The Lyathatan had just cleared the harbor, so it wasn’t out of reach of the island yet. Calder pushed his new body to its limits and found the world blurring past. As the Great Elder and the divine executioner clashed overhead, Calder ran.

When he reached the crumbled section of wall still gripped by the cliff, he leaped onto the blocks of masonry without slowing down. The wall tilted over the ocean, and he ran out to the very edge.

Whatever the merits of the Emperor’s armor, it wasn’t meant for swimming. If he landed in the water, he would die to mundane drowning before the Elders or Gardeners could get to him.

In the split second before he kicked off from the edge of the cliff, Calder looked beneath him and saw that he was directly over the stretch of ocean between the Lyathatan and the ship.

He adjusted his angle the last moment, kicking off. His sword blazed orange in the unsteady light.

“FIRE!” he shouted in midair.

“FIRE,” Shuffles repeated. The Horror matched his speed, flapping its stubby wings as they fell together.

Foster stood behind a cannon, shooting-glasses perched on his nose. His gray hair and beard were soaked with spray from the churning ocean around him.

The Lyathatan heard Calder and turned to look over its blue-green shoulder. The row of three black eyes on one side of its head regarded the falling Calder, and it bared fishy lips to reveal the teeth of a shark. Spines rose from the Lyathatan’s back as it raised its fin, and it lifted one hand to seize Calder.

The cannon blast happened to coincide with another blow from the battle overhead, so the detonation came at the same time as the world was filled with the crackling sound of dead twigs.

Dark blood sprayed from the Lyathatan’s side and it staggered, windmilling one arm to keep balance.

Only then did Calder land on the Elder’s shoulder.

Sword-down.

The power of the Awakened blade corroded Elders, dissolving Elderspawn immediately, but it couldn’t contend against those of a higher rank. Kelarac had warned Calder about that from the beginning, telling him it couldn’t slay a Handmaiden of Nakothi.

But that didn’t make it worthless.

The wound in the Lyathatan’s shoulder turned black, and the creature hissed in pain right into Calder’s face. From only a few feet away, that hiss sprayed Calder from head to toe in foul-smelling seawater. The Lyathatan’s black eyes were filled with malice, and from this close he could see how big its teeth really were. More than large enough to shred him to pieces.

The Elder swatted at him.

Without his enhanced reactions, Calder would have been crushed into paste. Instead, he vaulted off the Lyathatan’s shoulder.

And seized a link of the chain running from the Elder’s wrist.

Reading the Lyathatan was nothing in comparison to his glimpse of Urg’naut. How could he worry about looking into a quicklamp once he’d already stared directly at the sun?

He even had the mark of Kelarac, which filtered his will and helped him sense and communicate to Elders.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had already strained his mind to its breaking point twice today. The dread and horror of Urg’naut lurked beneath his every thought, ready to overtake him if he gave it too much attention. He couldn’t push himself any further.

So he Read the Intent in the chain.

The Lyathatan’s Intent is a tangled nest of rage and patience, malice and pragmatism, hunger and desires too inhuman for Calder to grasp. But today it feels like it has completed a long journey sooner than expected. There are tinges of regret here, and surprise, among other emotions that he has no name for.

Its deal with Kell’arack comes to an end when this world does. All its bargains are now fulfilled. It must reach Kelarac in time to return home.

It cannot break the chains under its own power, but the Great One will do so. It is in his nature to see that bargains are completed.

Then the Lyathatan will be free. It is a shark trapped in a well. Now its time to return to the ocean is nigh.

The Lyathatan’s Intent was the outer layer of the chain, the easiest to Read, but there were others. The Intent binding the Elder to the ship. The Intent of Bliss, and the Blackwatch, and Calder, and Calder’s mother.

Serve us, the chains said. Carry us in our service to humanity.

The chains had been Awakened along with the ship itself. They couldn’t take on new Intent, but Calder could align his voice with what was already there.

The world is still here. We are still here. You still serve me.

The Lyathatan’s hand stopped on its way to crush Calder. It struggled, rage growing stronger among the emotions flowing through the chain. Its eyes flashed with anger, and Calder was certain that the Elder meant to kill him before he could enforce the contract.

His saber was still embedded in the creature’s shoulder while he dangled from the chain nearby. Could he reach it in time?

A pure light began to shine brighter and brighter from the deck of The Testament. Andel stood at the edge, one hand holding onto the rigging and the other clasping his White Sun medallion. Even as flashes of light and sound came from the heavens, this light stayed steady, and he kept his eyes on the Elder.

The Lyathatan flinched back, shielding itself from the light with its hand. Its Intent grew weaker.

And weaker still.

The creature’s knees buckled slightly before it caught itself, and Calder looked back to The Testament.

There, a grinning Foster hefted a red-painted cannonball as Petal shivered behind him. Redshot was filled with alchemy, usually a sedative, and used to bring down huge Kameira. It had taken a little time for the solution to work, but whatever cocktail Petal had devised, it was flowing through the Lyathatan now.

Through the visor of the Emperor’s helmet, Calder looked into the Lyathatan’s eyes.

“It seems your life is in my hands,” Calder said, letting his Intent flow through the chains as he spoke. Though he suspected the Elder could understand him regardless. “Shall we renegotiate?”

The Elder’s fury at the indignity warred with its pragmatic understanding of the situation.

Shuffles fluttered up until it was in between the Lyathatan’s eyes. “LIFE IN MY HANDS!”

Intent flowed back through the chains, and Calder interpreted the message into words. The Great One allows no one to steal from him.

Calder’s will blazed like molten iron, and he couldn’t tell if it was from a lingering shred of the Emperor’s Intent or if it was his own.

“You’re not his anymore,” he said. “You’re mine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

There is a law beyond this world. We are apart from it, against it…but we are not above it. It binds even our kind.

—Kelarac

PRESENT DAY

WITHOUT LORELI AT HIS SIDE, Calder would never have made it into the Imperial Palace.

Between the half-complete evacuation, the attack from Urg’naut, the shattering of the sky, and the still-thundering battle that shook the heavens, the Capital had descended into complete madness. The streets were choked with panicking people fleeing, fighting, or shattering windows to snatch whatever was within.

He’d thought the Guild War had pushed the Capital to its limits, but the end of the world had removed those limits entirely.

So he was glad he had taken the time to rescue the Regent.

She had been traveling aboard another Navigator’s ship—Captain Marstrom’s Heart of the Aion—and they had been virtually stranded on the storm-tossed ocean. The arrival of The Testament had been a godsend, and the Regent had gratefully accepted his offer of a ride.

Though she had demanded that he rescue all of Captain Marstrom’s crew as well. Not that he minded.

Loreli could never be nondescript in her trademark silver-and-white armor, and surely someone would have recognized her if not for the blinders of terror. However, as they disembarked, she began to radiate such an aura of peace and tranquility that even Calder felt the shadow of Urg’naut in his mind begin to recede.

Red-faced men with overflowing trunks stuffed under their arms came stumbling to a halt when they got close enough to the Regent, blinking rationality back into their eyes. The mob filling the streets slowed its actions, fading from manic fear to a more controlled dread.

Loreli carried a small bag—the only luggage she had brought with her from her ship. From within it, she pulled a captain’s horn and raised it to her lips.

“Fear not,” she announced. Magnified by the Intent in the horn, her voice carried up and down the street. “I have come to resolve this. Stay in your homes and wait. We will keep you as safe as we are able.”

A crackling wholly unlike thunder shook the air along with a flash more alien than lightning. Calder thought the effect might undermine her words, but the crowd began to filter away as though they had been controlled by the Emperor’s crown.

“I can’t do this all the way to the Palace,” Loreli said. She tucked the horn back into her pack. “We’ll have to hurry.”

She continued projecting her aura of peace as she leaned down into a sprinter’s crouch, then kicked off and dashed up the street into the city.

Calder followed her, certain that he would overtake her in seconds. He had just taken another potion to stabilize himself, and as far as he had ever learned, Loreli was no Champion.

He ran through crowds that were just being struck by her calming aura, and he leaped over the heads of puzzled people who had just begun to lower bloody weapons. Several blocks down, however, and he still hadn’t caught her.

He never did, reaching the gate of the Imperial Palace on her heels.

Either her armor enhanced her physical abilities or she had been alchemically augmented at least as much as he had. The Emperor’s armor, which he was still wearing, did nothing to empower him. Only to protect him.

Even so, he was surprised at her speed. He supposed he shouldn’t have been. It would be almost impossible for anyone to survive direct combat with a Great Elder without an enhanced body.

Darkness stabbed through his thoughts as he remembered Urg’naut raising an arm and striking at him from across the water. He had stared annihilation in the face, and it had missed him by inches. How fragile life was, even now.

He gripped himself tighter as Loreli commanded her way through both the Imperial Guards and the Luminian knights on patrol. Some of the latter glared at him as he walked in, but he was wearing his helmet, so they might not be sure who he was.

On their way to Jorin, they marched past a particular building, and he found himself moving in front of the Regent. “I know we’re short on time, but would you mind stopping here first? Someone needs your help.”

Loreli’s braids shook as she looked from him to the building and then into the sky. “General Teach of the Imperial Guard,” she said. “Wounded by Jorin’s blade.”

Though he tried to prepare himself, he shuddered as she turned her dark eyes on him and asked a question. “What happened when I left?”

“Negotiations broke down,” Calder said. “But we need everyone we can get right now.” He was glad that his armor covered the mark of Kelarac on his arm, and doubly glad that Estyr was dead. Jorin would tell Loreli what happened, and after that the remaining two Regents would be his enemies.

At least Estyr Six wouldn’t be among them.

“Hurry,” Loreli said. The Guards weren’t standing at their posts so much as they were cowering by the doors, shooting terrified glances up at the broken sky, but they could not have been more eager to open up for Loreli.

They reached Teach’s bedside in moments. Her transformation had progressed.

Her hair spilled behind her in long navy waves, her cheekbones stood out sharply, and her skin had a purple tinge. Her limbs even looked slightly longer, though that could have been an illusion caused by her sprawl across the bed.

Her breathing was labored and rough, and she tossed in her sleep. Loreli pulled off a gauntlet and pressed the back of her hand to Teach’s forehead. “Her temperature’s high, but there is no sweat.” She moved her fingers to press against the Guild Head’s throat. “Pulse is loud and strong. She has the heart of a Bonereaver?”

“She does.”

“The original purpose of the heart is to strengthen her body against Tyrfang’s intrusive Intent. When Jorin struck her with a greater amount of similar Intent but failed to kill her, the heart overreacted, transforming her to increase the compatibility between her Kameira graft and the rest of her.”

Loreli waved her hand and a soft white-gold light surrounded Teach. “I can easily remove the hostile power remaining in her body, and she will awaken in moments. However, the transformation is quite advanced. She may no longer be herself. She may even be a liability in combat.”

Teach’s eyes snapped open, flickering restlessly across the ceiling. Her icy blue irises were now spotted with flecks of silver. She leaped out of bed, scuttling on all fours into the corner and then resting on her haunches, growling at them like a dog.

Loreli had a hand lightly resting on the pommel of her sword. “Jarelys Teach. Can you hear me?”

A wave of Intent washed out from the Regent, and Calder could feel her wish for Teach to recover and see the world clearly.

Light flashed outside one of the windows, and the air crackled again. In that moment, Calder sensed some more of Loreli’s intentions. Not through his power as a Reader, but through pure intuition.

Every second she wasted meant a step closer to the end of the world. She had been willing to risk this detour for the possibility of restoring a rare warrior who could fight against a Great Elder, but her time was too valuable.

That all made Calder certain: if the Guild Head didn’t recover immediately, Loreli was going to kill her. There was no time to wait and see what happened.

When her Intent washed over Teach, there was no visible effect. The Guild Head continued to snarl, her loose patient’s robe flapping open and revealing muscles corded with tension.

Gently, the Regent’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword.

Calder moved his back in front of her, keeping his eyes on Teach. He felt a chill down his spine at the thought of having Loreli’s sword behind him, but he focused entirely on the Guild Head.

“General Teach, please. I need your help.”

She snarled, slashing at him, but he ducked back. Her nails left red-and-black streaks lingering in the air for a moment, echoes of Tyrfang’s power.

“The Empire needs you.”

She hissed at him.

In desperation, he tightened his mind, focusing on every word he spoke, hoping the Emperor’s armor would hold up if both women attacked with him in the middle.

“Don’t let the Emperor down.”

He didn’t know if those were the words that got through to her or if Loreli’s healing finally kicked in, but the wild look in Teach’s eyes dimmed. She blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

Calder seized on the moment. “He entrusted the world to us, and we’re failing him.” He hated that there was actually some truth in his words, but he pushed on. “Please. Help us stop the Elders before the Empire falls apart.”

Teach’s muscles loosened. One knee hit the ground, then the other.

She bowed her head.

“Regent,” she said. Her voice rasped with disuse. “Steward. How…long?”

The entire building shook with the crackling overhead, and her silver-and-blue eyes flicked to the window. “Never mind. Situation?”

“Urg’naut took human form and escaped,” Calder told her. “Kelarac is alive and we think he’s coming here. The sky is…wide open.”

Teach closed her eyes. Her expression trembled, but she slowly rose to her feet. She really did seem taller. “Light and life,” she whispered. “Emperor hold and protect us all…”

Then she raised her voice to a shout. “Guards! My armor!”

Loreli gave her a kind smile. “Glad to have you, General. Time is of the essence, so meet us in the throne room as soon as you can. Jorin is already there.”

Calder had more he wanted to say, but the Regent had already taken off down the hallway. He had debated several speeches over the weeks since Teach had passed into her transformative coma, but he settled on the simplest one.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said.

She grunted. “Try to be worth it.”

Jorin was indeed waiting for them in the Emperor’s throne room, as was most of the Empire’s remaining leadership.

The Regent wasn’t visibly injured from his fight against Urg’naut. He stood at the foot of the throne, his long pocket-filled jacket hanging around him, shadeglasses over his eyes, and wide-brimmed hat providing further shade. But he leaned on a nearby pillar with one hand, and he trembled where he stood.

Cheska Bennett had her red hair tied back in a bandana and she wore clothes that looked like they had been stolen from the poorest deckhand in the Guild, and she gave a one-eyed scowl into the distance. Her other eye was covered by a ragged black eyepatch.

Had she injured it? Lost it? He would ask her later.

Bliss looked like she was in equally bad temper, but her ire was clearly directed toward a person. Her hands were in the pocket of her Blackwatch coat, and she threw a razor-edged stare across the room at Bareius.

The Head of the Alchemist’s Guild seemed…the same as ever. His hair was immaculate, the rims of his glasses polished, and he smiled at no one in particular as he flipped through reports. He was the only one sitting, resting on a stool with his papers sitting on a collapsible table he must have brought himself.

Shera was missing. So was Loreli.

A thought flitted briefly through his mind: Jorin was weakened and unarmed, so once Teach arrived, the Imperialist side would have an overwhelming advantage in combat. If they struck without warning…

The thought didn’t feel like his own, and for one dizzy moment he teetered on the edge of forgetting who he was once more.

This wasn’t the time for infighting. They had a world to save.

He withdrew a wax-paper packet from the satchel that Petal had sent him, pulling out two capsules and popping them into his mouth. Bareius noticed and started to speak, but Jorin beat him to it.

“I can’t say it’s all peaches and roses to see you awake, paper Emperor, but Loreli left you breathing. We are a matter of hours away from being devoured by Elders. If she’s willing to vouch for you, I’m willing to keep you in one piece. So long as you’re pointing your sword in the right direction.”

He eyed all the former Imperialists. “And that goes for all of you.”

Calder forced a broad smile. “Aye, Captain.”

“I don’t stay at the table after I’ve already lost,” Cheska said.

“It is only out of respect for you that I have not turned Nathanael Bareius into a handbag.” Bliss was still glaring at the alchemist. “Do you think he will be useful to us in the coming battle?”

“More so than a handbag,” Jorin said wearily.

“Very well, then I will wait.”

Teach strode in with Tyrfang over one shoulder, and she looked more savage than she ever had. Brutal. Almost unrecognizable.

Until she saluted Jorin and spoke. “What is the plan, sir?”

Calder found himself relieved, which was itself a surprise. She had personally executed his father…though she had also stepped between him and certain death.

“We’re still waiting on the last cards in our hand.” Jorin turned to the back of the room, and Calder thought he saw a light flash behind the man’s dark glasses. “Fortunately, we don’t have to wait long.”

Calder followed the Regent’s gaze…and his breath stuck in his throat. Dread crept over him again, and it brought him back to Urg’naut’s infinite void.

Shera prowled into the room, the lower half of her face covered by her mask of gray cloth. Her hood was down, leaving only her short black hair, and she stared at him with frigid hate. Her hands crept back to her daggers.

And she walked next to someone worse.

Estyr Six marched side-by-side with the Consultant, and her scowl held such a weight of Intent that it drowned out Shera’s. Three Hydra skulls floated around her cloud of blonde hair and she had her hands tucked into the pockets of her black cloak.

She was still alive.

She was going to kill him.

Estyr lifted one hand as though gripping something…and Calder instantly figured out what she was gripping. His throat.

An invisible hand seized him around the neck, cutting off his breath and lifting him until his feet left the floor. He scrambled, clawing at his throat on instinct, but of course there was nothing to grab.

“What’s Kelarac’s bilge-boy doing here?” Estyr asked, jerking her chin at Calder.

Calder tried to speak, to say something, to take even the smallest breath, but of course he could do nothing.

“I’m not so certain myself,” Jorin said lazily. “Loreli?”

Calder forced his eyes down to catch a glimpse of the third woman who had entered the room. The Luminian Regent walked out from behind Estyr, but before she could respond, two other people did first.

“Let him down!” Cheska shouted. She moved closer to Estyr, but her steps were frozen in an instant.

Calder appreciated the sentiment, but he did wish she had been more polite. There was nothing she could do to force Estyr Six into anything.

Bliss, on the other hand…

She dipped her hand into her coat, still scowling. She pulled out the Spear of Tharlos one foot at a time. As usual, it should never have fit into her pocket.

“You should put him down so we can hear the charges against him. Otherwise I will be forced into combat against you.”

Bliss might really be able to threaten a Regent, and he hoped it worked, because Calder’s vision was starting to be replaced by black spots. He kicked his legs, trying to find purchase to stand.

“He is tied to Kelarac,” Loreli said, and Calder heard his death in those words. “…but he isn’t controlled. I investigated him closely.”

Calder felt a brief spark of hope, but it was quickly drowned out by the panicked agony of being completely unable to breathe.

The air crackled as another blow tore the heavens, a flash filling the room even though there were no windows. Estyr’s expression hardened. “Kelarac has fooled us before. I’m at least locking him up.”

“I am certain,” Loreli said calmly. “I have thoroughly Read him, his ship, his crew, and his possessions. I will vouch that he is not a puppet, only a fool.”

Calder would take any insult if it meant he could breathe.

“Impossible,” Shera said, and Calder wanted to cry. “I killed him myself. He was dead.”

Loreli shook her head. “There is no time to explain, but I assure you he was not brought back to life by a Great Elder. He is himself. Now, Estyr, would you please release him?”

Darkness encroached on Calder’s vision. He was beginning to see Urg’naut again, that emptiness that now lurked behind his every thought. It was somehow an even more primal fear than choking to death.

Until the grip left his throat.

He fell to the ground, coughing and hacking and choking down oxygen. He took the longest, sweetest breath he could remember since the last time he’d almost drowned.

The grip around his jaw loosened as Estyr spoke again. “Fine, but why is he here?”

Loreli glanced up at the ceiling. “Kelarac is on his way—”

Jorin lifted a hand. “And possibly the others. Five, if you count Ach’magut.”

“We don’t,” Estyr said. “The Emperor dealt with him only a handful of years ago. He can’t pull himself together, even now.”

Loreli fiddled with one of her braids, staring into the floor. “We know Kelarac is coming. Nakothi, Kthanikahr, Tharlos, and Othaghor are unknowns. With their prison weakened, any or all of them may have manifested earlier than they should have been able to. However, we have two advantages. First, as they have not fully recovered, they will be weaker than they were in our day.”

“Unless they enter human vessels,” Bliss pointed out, forcing down a sudden lump in her coat.

“Which brings me to our second advantage: we know their objective. They can’t possess just anyone, as we saw in the last war, and they must leave our world from this location. I thought that may have changed when the sky broke, but if that were the case, Kelarac would no longer be coming for us.

“They have to come here, and they will head straight for the human with the strongest connection to them. When we know who that is, we have a significant opportunity.”

Calder finally choked out some words, his voice rough. “When they’re in human form, we can strike them down. For good.”

No one looked as surprised as he thought they should have, which confirmed his suspicions. So they had gotten his messages after all.

One of Estyr’s eyebrows lifted. “And how do you know that?”

Bliss and Cheska looked confused, but everyone else turned to regard him.

“I told you. I sent messages. I sent messages to all of you!”

“He told us quite a while ago,” Bliss agreed.

Jorin adjusted his shadeglasses. “Easy to blame silence on a missing messenger. I suppose you learned as much from Kelarac, did you?”

Calder looked around in disbelief before pointing a finger upward. “From him! The man in the sky! I spoke to him!”

The Regents exchanged glances, and Shera’s scowl—still locked on him—deepened.

“You really didn’t hear?” Calder asked.

In their silence, he heard the truth.

His heart sank.

All of his messages had been waylaid. All of them. He was so sure it hadn’t been true.

What else could he have done? Could he have spoken to Shera when she attacked him? Burned Ozriel’s message into the streets of the Capital?

No, he had been trying to keep his knowledge secret from the Elders. If they knew that he knew their weakness, his elimination would have become their top priority.

Light split the room and not-thunder shook the air. Estyr passed a hand over her face. “Only one way to find out. We corner Kelarac. And we keep a tight grip on his host body.”

Once again, everyone in the room was looking at Calder.

He didn’t like the look in Shera’s eye.

“We should get rid of him now,” she said without a blink. “Take him away from Kelarac.”

His fist slowly clenched. She had no idea that he could have crushed her with the Optasia and chosen not to. And she certainly didn’t know that he could crush her now, even without it.

Cheska gave her a sneer. “Look at you, so eager to sacrifice someone else.”

Shera lifted her eyebrows. “If a Great Elder wants me, kill me.”

“Easy for—”

“Shut up,” Estyr said. She didn’t raise her voice, but everyone shut up. “Kelarac’s coming here. He is…very close. Perhaps a day away. We can use that against him, but none of the others are close enough for me to detect.”

Jorin tilted his hat to one side to scratch at the side of his head. “Kthanikahr and Othaghor will be harder to host than a Champion dance party. No human wants to give up their body to those grave-bugs. Nakothi, I’m sure, has choices from here to Axciss.”

“And we know Kelarac will have a backup plan,” Loreli added. “Most likely a series of them. As for Tharlos…”

Bliss calmly pushed down a rising lump in her coat again. “If Tharlos has a better host than me, I would be very surprised. And I do not like surprises.”

“With a coordinated, unified assault, I believe we could defeat any Great Elder alone in their current state,” Loreli said, but she didn’t sound confident. “We know where they’re headed, and we have to assume they’re all moving with urgency as Kelarac is.”

The air crackled again, and the world flashed. Calder shuddered, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

How long would the battle above last? He thought he knew who would win, if the demonstration of power Ozriel had given him was any indication, but that wasn’t necessarily any better than Urg’naut winning.

With a jolt, he realized that the others didn’t know that they were living on borrowed time. Even the Regents might not know.

Then again, they had known about how to kill the Great Elders. Maybe they also knew that their Outsider, Ozriel, planned on killing everyone.

Loreli was still speaking. “If they take their time, they could easily move together and defeat us, but their history and our circumstances suggest they won’t. So we prepare for Kelarac.”

Estyr smoothly took over. “We’ll fight him on the sea. Our battle with Kelarac last time destroyed a chain of islands. If we fight him in the Capital, there won’t be a city left afterwards. Fortunately, he should be weaker this time. We face him with our combined might, get rid of him quickly, and then regroup in case we have to face another fight.”

“Pardon the interruption, Regents,” Teach said, “but what happens to us afterwards? The sky is still open.”

The three Regents exchanged glances.

“When the air is as clear of Elder Intent as we can make it, I will sit in the Optasia and try to talk to him myself,” Estyr declared. “Defeating the Elders will make it safer for me and will show him we can take care of ourselves.”

Jorin sounded uncertain. “Kiss a penny and make a wish, but we think it might be an advantage to beat them first. Someone up there is fighting Urg’naut, and we’re hoping they might decide to reach in and help us out.”

“Don’t count on it,” Calder said heavily.

He was still choosing his next words when Shera examined his expression and spoke for him.

“He’s here to put us down, isn’t he?”

A chill passed through the room, and Calder wasn’t sure if it was an effect of the battle in the heavens or if it was the fear and dread in their collective Intent.

He gave a single nod. “He says that if it looks like the Great Elders are going to escape, he’ll destroy everything. The entire world.”

A heavy silence settled onto the group.

Bliss tilted her head to one side. “Urg’naut already made it out. Do you think it’s too late?”

“We can do nothing but hope it isn’t,” Estyr responded firmly. “We beat Kelarac, then if the air is clear enough, we use the Optasia. If not, we keep beating down Elders until it works.”

Bareius had said almost nothing the entire time, shuffling through a stack of papers and occasionally writing a note. When Estyr finished, he looked up into the pause.

“So we sail off into the sea to fight…all four remaining Great Elders?”

“Only Kelarac for certain,” Loreli said.

“Do you think that’s a winning strategy?”

She met his gaze and spoke very calmly. “We will fight until we can no longer lift our arms, and then we will pick up swords in our teeth and continue fighting. To our last breath and beyond, we will give no ground to the Elders.”

“To our last breath,” Jorin and Estyr murmured together.

To Calder’s own surprise, he found that he had said the words along with them.

With the words came a memory.

A fleet of dozens of ships and hundreds of Kameira tore each other apart on the waves and in the skies above the seas until the ocean was dark with blood. Kelarac, an ocean creature large enough to blot out the sun, summoned weapon after weapon from the void.

Calder looked down on the scene from above. He stood on a floating platform tied on the back of a bird Kameira, and his own hand—clad in the same white armor that he wore in real life—flicked out and swatted aside a spear. Then he picked up a spear of his own.

His Intent was deeper and heavier than a mountain. He hurled the spear and it tore through the air with a crack of thunder, slamming into a shield that Kelarac summoned.

As the battle continued, he felt the Intent of the dying men that had given up any hope of survival. Their last words drifted up to him: “To our last breath.”

Suddenly Calder remembered where he was, but the emptiness of Urg’naut threatened to swallow him. No matter which way he looked, there was only death.

The Regents were giving him strange looks, and he let his words drop like bricks from his mouth. “Even if we beat him now…he’ll come back.”

“That’s the fight,” Estyr said.

“But there is a way out.” He looked to everyone in the room in turn, and everyone reacted with either surprise or fear when they saw the expression in his eyes. Everyone except Shera, who looked as impassive as ever.

“When the battle begins,” he said to Shera, “stay next to me.”

She nodded. As expected, she had understood him immediately.

Cheska moved around him so she could see into his face. “What stupid plan is this?”

Bliss had already grabbed his arm. “I don’t like what you’re saying. Say something else.”

“The next time Kelarac offers me a deal, I’m going to accept.”

It was surprising how quickly the Regents could gather the Guilds.

Everyone was on edge after Urg’naut’s attack, and most of the survivors had gathered in the Imperial Palace. With the three Regents gathering people together, the Guilds were organized and ready for battle in a matter of a few short hours.

Cheska Bennett had sent out the call for all remaining Navigators already, when she intended to stage a protest of some kind against Jorin Maze-walker.

Now, those preparations were put to use.

Every Navigator in the Guild was loaded up with passengers. They made a fleet the likes of which the world hadn’t seen since the Elder War.

Only The Testament had no passengers. No one but crew.

Andel leaned over the deck, clapping his hat down against the wind that came down from the heavenly battle overhead. “Do you ever think that we sail the ugliest ship in the fleet?”

Foster grunted. “Doesn’t compare to The Eternal. A ship that burns water…now that’s a real sight.

“I like it,” Petal protested. “It’s ours.”

“OURS!” Shuffles shouted in Calder’s ear.

He didn’t join in. He was extending his Intent down through the mark on his arm, touching the Lyathatan’s current state.

Careful steering was necessary here. A ship with fins instead of oars or sails overtook him on the port side, and he was almost scraping hulls with one that had the spines of a sea urchin.

Behind them sailed Bastion’s Shadow. The ship of the Consultants with a yellowed Elder eye instead of a crow’s nest.

He imagined he could feel that eye piercing him.

They were the reason why he had no passengers. If Kelarac took him over—or even tried to do so—anyone on the ship would be in danger.

The Consultants had promised to kill him alone, if at all possible. But if it wasn’t, they’d sink The Testament.

No one had wanted more collateral damage than necessary.

“Cheska will find room for you on The Eternal,” Calder said. “It’s not too late.”

The others exchanged looks.

“TOO LATE,” Shuffles bellowed.

Calder looked up. “That goes for all of you!” he called.

Bliss was tucked away in the rigging overhead.

She had insisted on riding to battle in The Testament. The rest of the Blackwatch had tried to talk her into sailing with them, but she had remained firm.

Only Alsa Grayweather, Calder’s mother, had looked as though she understood. She had hugged both of them—Bliss and Calder—good-bye, and told them to be safe.

That last part she said only to Calder.

Once aboard, Bliss had ignored him, leading him to wonder why she’d chosen The Testament in the first place. She stayed silently looking ahead to their destination.

Foster clapped him on the shoulder. “Why would we leave you now, boy? If we’ve stuck it out this long, you’d better believe we’re here to the end.”

Calder’s eyes watered, and he blinked to clear them. “…humid today,” he muttered.

“That’s twice we’ve moved you to tears recently,” Andel pointed out. “I hope this leads to some kind of raise. I left a lucrative position to save your life.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Like captain, like crew,” Foster said.

Calder gave them a once-over. Foster wore his shooting-glasses and was examining the rest of the fleet as though looking for flaws. Andel, blank-faced, had looked down to a list of their stores. Petal gave him an encouraging smile that shook with nerves.

The wind played over his bare head.

The real crown was too much for him; he was too afraid to wear it anymore, especially while he had the Emperor’s armor on. But with nothing on his head, he felt exposed.

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Say…what happened to my hat?”

Bliss clung to the ropes of The Testament, watched the ships around her, and wondered why she was in such a bad mood.

She didn’t like “moods” in general. Involuntarily changing her emotional state felt too much like something Tharlos would do.

Of course, the world was falling apart. Cracking like an egg. That should be enough to put anyone off-kilter.

But…no, this didn’t feel too far distant from what she usually did. If she failed to stop the Elders, reality would break, but she had always known that. Better than anyone else, she suspected.

The Spear of Tharlos turned into a muskrat and started scrambling out of her pocket, but she used her Soulbound power to shove it back into shape.

She thought she could trace her dissatisfaction back to two sources.

First, Calder Marten.

Bliss approved of risking one’s life for the Elders. That was the right thing to do.

But knowingly giving up your own life was not a risk. Handing money to another person was not gambling.

At her core, she supposed it was because she felt his plan would not work. The Regents were willing to try it, but they did not consider Calder a valuable piece to lose.

Bliss could not bring herself to believe that they were catching Kelarac off-guard with their plan. She suspected this was exactly what the Soul Collector had always wanted.

So she perched in the rigging of The Testament, watching over him.

She wouldn’t be able to watch him any further once the fight started, she knew that. Her power would be needed elsewhere.

Now, she could watch. She wasn’t even sure what she was watching for, but doing so made her marginally less irritated, so she kept doing it.

He shifted as though he could feel her eyes on the back of his head, glancing up in discomfort every once in a while, but that didn’t bother her.

Which brought her to the second thing that did.

She didn’t like it when other people had plans for her that she didn’t understand. That reminded her of the Elders.

Before she left, the Consultants had passed her a note.

It had contained precise instructions detailing a time and location that she should check if she wanted revenge on Nathanael Bareius.

The location was a longboat drifting alone at the back of the fleet.

And the time was…

She reached into her coat and found that the Spear had turned her pocketwatch into a small wheel of cheese. She checked it anyway. The current time was etched into its soft surface.

Bliss slipped the cheese back into her pocket and scowled. She did not like being led around by bait, but that didn’t mean she could resist. Fish probably hated being so easily lured, but that didn’t mean they could avoid biting hooks.

She gripped the Spear of Tharlos and prepared to shift her location.

This was always easier to do when she was unobserved. She could transform things physically with any number of people watching, but changing locations was always easier when no one could see her departure or her arrival.

The rules made sense to her, but not in any way she could put into words.

Currently, no one on The Testament was looking up, so she imagined a longboat she couldn’t really see and allowed her location to change.

If this didn’t get her revenge on Nathanael Bareius, she was going to have words with the Consultant’s Guild.

A moment later, she was standing on the back of a small boat as a man in a rumpled suit panted and worked a pair of oars. His hair had once been tidy and slicked back, his glasses were askew, and his wiry arms trembled as they moved.

Bliss felt her eyes go wide.

“It’s all right,” Bareius muttered to himself. “Not so bad, is it? Made it out in one piece. Regroup…rebuild…let the Regents handle the Elders. At least it’s a nice day.”

The longboat tossed on choppy waves. The void yawned overhead, and the air flashed and crackled with another blow from the combatants overhead that her merely human mind couldn’t process.

Bliss imagined this was how a child felt when they received a present so far beyond their expectations that they couldn’t believe it was real.

Bareius happened to glance behind him.

When he saw her looming over him, he shrieked and scrambled backwards, almost tipping over the boat.

She had no trouble keeping her balance.

“Bliss! My…my girl, it’s…wonderful to see you, it really is. I have long wanted the opportunity to, ah, correct the misunderstandings that have cropped up between us. Why don’t we have a nice talk, father and daughter, hmmm?”

He was sweating harder now than he had while working the oars.

Bliss withdrew the Spear of Tharlos slowly, so he could see every inch.

“You’re not my father.”

The weapon of yellowed bone was taller than she was, and as she swiveled it around to point at his chest, she could feel its joy at being unleashed. It was ready to change.

“You’re my…handbag.”

Before she transformed him forever, she allowed Nathanael Bareius one last scream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

PRESENT DAY

UNDER THE BROKEN SKY, the sea boiled.

A mass of aquatic Elderspawn seethed just beneath the surface. Fins cut the water, teeth gnashed the waves, and eyes flashed yellow from the surf. The school of nightmares stretched as far as Calder could see, churning the ocean white.

Among the lesser spawn, more powerful Elders rose like towers.

One appeared to be nothing more than a circular mouth big enough to swallow The Testament, filled with teeth on all sides. Another could have been the Lyathatan’s cousin: a six-fingered humanoid fish giant with spines running down its back. Dark green tentacles rose from a different shadow in the water, plucking Elderspawn up and holding them for a moment of consideration before taking them beneath to devour.

There were human ships among the enemy as well—not any he recognized from the Navigator’s Guild, fortunately. They looked like regular ships. But there were a dozen of them, each bristling with men.

He was surprised to see humans fighting for a Great Elder, but he supposed he shouldn’t be. The Sleepless had never lacked members, and Kelarac had spent his entire existence making deals for servitude.

The Elder army toed an invisible boundary, waiting for orders as they stared down their enemies.

The Navigator fleet bore down on them.

Cheska’s ship, The Eternal, blazed a line of fire across the waves to the port side of The Testament. The others sailed behind, dozens of them, each Awakened with Elder power of its own. One ship’s sails were like parchment filled with text in a strange language, the characters constantly shifting. Another was covered in black feathers, and still another rowed itself through the water on insectoid living oars.

Jorin and Loreli stood at the helms of different ships, each clutching a sheathed sword. Loreli knelt and murmured as her Beacon glowed, so presumably she was praying. Jorin cradled his bandaged blade and looked like he was trying to stay balanced on the deck.

Estyr flew overhead. He only knew it was Estyr because of the three skulls floating around her and the fact that she was levitating unaided. She wore a set of armor that looked identical to the Emperor’s, only black instead of white. Her face was hidden behind a full-face helmet with a darkened glass visor.

But that wasn’t the only ancient weapon she’d unearthed for this fight.

Seven rough spikes of iron big enough to impale apartment buildings flew in her wake, casting shadows on the ships below. He had sensed them buried beneath the Capital, and though Calder hadn’t personally seen her take them, he shuddered as he imagined her tearing them up through the Capital streets.

Bliss hadn’t said a word since boarding The Testament, staying curled up in the rigging. Mostly, she stared into the battle that spanned the void.

He recalled what she had once told him: “For untold thousands of years, the Great Elders have bickered and jockeyed with one another, but in the end they all have the same goal. To be free of this prison.”

Finally, the day they had been waiting for had come. No matter what it took, they had to be stopped. Even if it cost everything.

Worst of all, no one had been able to find his hat.

As Calder firmed his resolve, his forearm began to burn.

He yelped, grabbing his right arm with his left, but he seized only the Emperor’s armor. His skin blazed without relief.

He wished he could have gone without the armor. He had been forced to hide it as best he could from the Regents, but now that he was wearing it out in the open, they would surely take it from him after the battle. This was a priceless treasure, and they weren’t blind.

In the meantime, the handprint on his arm continued to burn.

From the wheel, Calder shouted behind him, “He’s coming!”

Andel stepped up to his right, bracing his own hat against the wind of their passage. Foster stood on his left…and a moment later, Petal crept up between them, shivering and looking as though she might bolt at any second.

Shuffles rode on the railing, chuckling and letting the wind flow through its wings.

Bliss dropped down in front of the wheel, her pale hair falling into place behind her. “The spawn part for their master.”

The white water split as the Elders made room.

And a deeper, darker shadow rose from the depths of the Aion Sea.

Kelarac’s fin broke the surface first, and his skin resembled an ancient stone wall. It was dark and pockmarked with age, dotted irregularly with lichen and barnacles.

His back rose next, covered in the same rocky skin, and the sound of water sloughing off him to either side was like thunder. It looked as though adding every other Elder present together would not match his bulk.

In shape, he reminded Calder of a shark. Especially when his head crested the waves.

He was like a shark, one with a heavy brow and blunted snout. A vast blindfold of rust-stained steel wrapped around his eyes, held in place by silver-colored nails driven into his flesh. His teeth were bared in a predatory grin, each tooth triangular and yellowed and as large as a ship’s sail.

A familiar voice echoed in the ears and minds of everyone present. “YOU WILL BE DEFEATED.”

It echoed over them as a declaration of certainty, a fact.

“YOU WILL BE BROKEN.”

Calder saw himself broken, beaten, collapsing to the deck of his ship.

“IN THE END, WHEN YOU BEG TO OFFER YOURSELVES TO ME, YOU WILL KNOW THAT I AM KELL’ARACK. YOUR MASTER. THE COLLECTOR OF SOULS.”

The name carried such weight of Intent that it seemed to dwarf Calder entirely. He felt tiny, insignificant, unworthy even to stand.

But he had faced Kelarac before.

Mentally, Calder ordered the Lyathatan to slow, but the Elder had already stopped and begun hauling the ship back. It would hold to its deal, but part of the plan involved The Testament falling back deeper into formation. Several of the Navigators overtook Calder, moving to the front.

Kelarac’s words shook Calder more than he cared to think about, bringing up fresh memories of Urg’naut’s emptiness.

But instead of himself, he focused on those around him.

He shook Andel, gave Petal a smile, and kicked Foster in the shin. One by one, they blinked themselves out of the spell the Great Elder had cast over them with his words.

And why not? They were headed for victory.

They would defeat Kelarac in battle. If they didn’t, Calder could give himself over to the Great Elder, and Shera would kill him.

Either way, they won.

It’s a sure bet, he told himself. Whether or not I get to see us collect on it.

Briefly, he wondered if the Unknown God would take a prayer from him.

Estyr’s response was just as loud and clear as Kelarac’s had been. “Instead of your eyes, I should have taken your tongue.”

One of the spikes behind her shot through the air, kicking up a hurricane wind that pushed back several of the Navigator ships.

A ghostly chain, even thicker than the spike, rose from the ocean. They met with the ring of metal on metal, striking sparks, just as a flash from heaven lit up the void-torn sky.

Then the battle began.

Elders rushed to clash with the front ranks of Navigator ships and were met with a wave of gunfire, tame Kameira, and shining Soulbound powers.

“Prepare for battle!” Calder shouted. He readied his orange-spotted saber in one hand and his helmet in the other. “We only have to endure.”

Bliss turned and gave him an odd look. She was holding a small leather bag that he hadn’t seen her board with; it looked new.

“I am going to fight. Don’t let yourself die before I get back.”

“Why would I let myself die?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she gripped her handbag tightly. “I will be very upset with you if you die without informing me first.”

“Duly noted, Guild Head.”

She nodded sharply and then let herself fall from the edge of the ship. He didn’t hear a splash.

“How did she…” Petal’s question trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Calder said. “I never know.”

Andel’s White Sun glimmered on his chest as he glanced around. “You know, speaking of your death, I don’t see the Consultants around here.”

Calder kept one nervous eye on the battlefront, as he expected Elderspawn to boil up beneath them at any second, but he looked around at the Navigator fleet as much as he could afford. Bastion’s Shadow was supposed to stay behind him, but it was missing from its position.

Where were the Consultants?

A blazing white-gold thunderbolt interrupted his thoughts: Loreli, falling from the sky sword-first, slamming her weapon down. Before she reached Kelarac, she was met by a bronze shield that flashed into existence out of nowhere. It exploded into a red light as it met her weapon.

In the meantime, a host of swords fought Jorin, floating in the air, while Kelarac and his ghostly chains exchanged titanic blows with Estyr and her seven spikes. Their battle whipped up the ocean like a storm, so The Testament rolled up one wave and down the other side.

As they tilted on their way down, Calder found himself staring into a host of yellow eyes before hundreds of Elderspawn surged up the hull of his ship.

They were like fanged fish with clawed, stubby legs and arms. Their crooked teeth barely fit into their mouths, their eyes gleamed dirty gold, and they hissed as they flooded onto the deck. A less experienced crew would have panicked at the nightmare assault.

But The Testament had weathered such attacks before.

Andel closed his eyes, gripped his medallion, and a soft white light surrounded the four of them. It didn’t stop the Elderspawn as Calder had hoped, but it clearly slowed and disoriented them.

Foster gripped what looked like a sharpened fire poker in both hands, impaling any he could reach. Petal had an alchemical sprayer: a glass tube with a rubber bulb on the end. Whenever she squeezed the bulb, she sprayed out a cloud of acid that dissolved Elderspawn flesh in seconds.

Calder started off by taking his usual place in the formation: covering gaps the others missed with quick flicks of his saber. His Awakened blade and Andel’s new Soulbound powers made them more effective than ever, as each cut from his orange-spotted sword melted an Elderspawn to black goo.

But it was like crushing ants from a hive one at a time. There were always more.

And after only a few seconds, Calder realized he wasn’t doing all he could. He swung his sword faster, slicing the fish-creatures in half if they even looked like they might slip through.

I can go faster.

With his left hand, he slipped his helmet on. Then he left the safety of Andel’s light.

Breaking formation should have been more than suicide. Not only would he get overwhelmed and killed, but the others would be swarmed as soon as he left a gap.

But he had no need to defend himself. The Elderspawn who tried to bite into the Emperor’s armor tasted only broken teeth.

Now, Calder was free to move.

He cut every fish in front of him, but he knew there would be more behind. He ran around the circle, pushing himself faster and faster, moving his arm more and more, until it looked like everyone else was standing still.

A few moments later—how many, he couldn’t be sure—his muscles twinged in pain.

Reluctantly, he slowed down.

Bucketfuls of black sludge that had once been Elderspawn splattered to the deck.

Petal called his name, but he was lost in a trance that reminded him of Reading. As he focused on himself, on the fight, everything else fell away. The cosmic battle overhead, the glimpse of Urg’naut that still threatened to devour his thoughts, his own uncertain fate.

He was left with nothing but himself.

And he could push harder.

He extended his senses through the mark of Kelarac on his arm and he felt another wave of Elderspawn crashing into them. He could kill them with his sword…but he remembered what he had done with the Emperor’s Intent. He had stopped a blow from Urg’naut. He had changed the shape of an island.

The Emperor had carried both blade and raw Intent into battle.

Calder Marten, Captain of The Testament, reached deep into his Soulbound Vessel.

Ropes shot out and seized Elderspawn while they were still in the air, grabbing them and tossing them back into the ocean. The seamless wood of the deck rippled and launched creatures away from the crew.

He didn’t even need to look to pinpoint the Elderspawn. He felt them, his sword flashing orange and destroying fish-creatures before he turned his head. He Read their slimy, alien Intent, the mark of Kelarac protecting him from their inhuman nature.

He reached deeper, straining the protection of the mark, until gibbering terror threatened to spill up from some primal part of his brain. He was Reading these Elders too directly.

But he didn’t want them. He wanted something inanimate. Something he could Awaken.

He seized the water droplets on their skin.

Water was notoriously difficult to invest. Intent held to the form of an object, so liquid was a poor medium. But he didn’t need it to hold Intent for very long.

Active Reading, he’d learned, was like forcing an Awakening and abandoning it halfway through. It was a violent transformation good for little but destruction.

Destruction was exactly what he wanted.

The water droplets on the skin of the Elderspawn all exploded at once like tiny alchemical bombs. Dark blue Elder blood splattered the ship and body chunks fell to the wood.

“Calder!” Petal called. She pulled on his elbow.

He was swaying on his feet and he saw three Petals overlaying one another, but his thoughts were still clear. He knew he needed whatever help she was about to give him, but he also knew there was no time.

Dark tentacles rose overhead, blotting out the light from the remaining shards of sky. A true Elder of Kelarac had arrived.

Which meant the Lyathatan was shirking its duties.

Calder’s Intent filtered through the mark of Kelarac and flowed down into the chains binding the creature to his ship. The Elder reacted. In a human, Calder would have called it a flinch.

It had been hoping that Calder would die before compelling it to fight against Kelarac.

Too bad, Calder thought. Not dead yet.

With a roar of frustration, the Lyathatan broke the surface. Its hands pried two tentacles away from the ship, and it roared again as more tentacles wrapped around its muscled back.

The clash of the two monsters jerked the ship one way, then the other. Petal seized onto Calder for balance.

Calder held her up, though he felt like falling himself. “Sorry, Petal. I don’t—”

She jammed the lip of a potion bottle against his helmet. “Take it off!” she screamed. “Take it off, take it off, take it off!”

He couldn’t resist without hurting her, so he had to give in.

He tore off the helmet and she jammed the lip of the bottle into his mouth. The shining red liquid tasted like alchemical cleaner, and he sputtered some of it up, but she continued tilting it down his throat. As the deck shifted and tossed beneath them, she stood on her tiptoes to make sure he drank every drop.

Finally, she relaxed with the empty bottle as he choked and tried to swallow.

“Could that…pffft....not have waited…two seconds?”

She shook her head vigorously, then pointed to her nose.

Calder raised a hand to his own nose. The tips of his armored fingers came away speckled with blood.

Maybe it had been urgent after all.

He fell to the deck as he gave the potion time to work. Soon his head and vision cleared, and he reached up to steady Petal. “Thank you. Hold on to me.”

She clung to his armor as he stood and took stock of the others. Foster was mopping sweat from his forehead and holding a smoking gun while Andel was seated on the deck with his hat missing.

Calder returned his attention to the battle.

The fight between the Lyathatan and the kraken Elder endured, though it had become quieter. The Lyathatan was holding its opponent underwater with both hands, and if he didn’t know better, Calder would have said it was drowning the enemy.

Beyond that, he saw the flaming wreckage of several enemy ships. The water was dark with Elderspawn corpses, and he saw two Navigator ships listing and taking on water as others approached ready to help.

A black-and-red streak in the distance showed him that General Teach had joined the battle. An Elder that looked like a living mass of coral exploded from the inside out, dying with a furious bestial roar.

All in all, the forces of the Empire looked as though they had things well in hand.

Still further, the battle between Kelarac and the Regents had gone into the distance. Estyr was levitating Jorin and Loreli as well, and every wave of dark energy from Jorin or blow from Estyr’s spikes kicked up ripples across the water. But they had the Great Elder on the defensive.

He could feel Kelarac’s rage pressing in on him, which gave him both relief and a sense of smug satisfaction.

“Kelarac is weaker than ever,” he called to his crew. “I think we have him.”

This was several orders of magnitude less than the might he’d seen from the embodied Urg’naut. Maybe the world wasn’t doomed after all.

For the first time, he felt like he saw the light.

But only for a moment.

On the deck of his ship, the air tore open, revealing the void only a few feet away. Spots of color danced in the darkness, and between Calder and those spots, another wave of Elderspawn poured out.

This time, they were not fish with legs. They were worms.

The spawn of Kthanikahr.

He sliced them and sliced them, reducing them to sludge, but they kept pouring out. His panic rose as he realized the Elderspawn would make it past him and to his crew.

This was the difference between him and a Champion. Urzaia could have stemmed the flow of giant worms all day and laughed while doing it.

A familiar voice paralyzed every muscle in his body.

“Calder,” Jerri said. “They’re not here to hurt you, just restrain you.”

She strode out of the void in a flawless golden dress. Her hair was in a neat braid that reached all the way down behind her, she looked clean and well-fed, and she wore the same reckless smile that he remembered. It was the hint of fear, the vulnerability in her brown eyes, that convinced her that it was really her and not an Elder husk in her skin.

There was another difference between now and the last time he’d seen her: the shining emerald that she had once worn in her ear was now embedded into the crown of her forehead.

A few of the worms slithered past him and he remembered himself enough to slash at them, but he found that they didn’t attack him. Or anyone. They slithered around him and…stopped.

Jerri gave a wave to the others. “Hey everybody. Sorry about meeting you like…this.”

“Nakothi take your corpse,” Foster said. He spat on the deck.

Andel jerked a thumb at him. “What he said.”

Petal gave a hesitant look at the two of them, but she waved back.

Jerri sighed. “Thank you, Petal. Why don’t you all head below? I’d like a moment with my…uh, the Captain.”

The worms had left a clear path for them to leave, but all three looked to Calder.

Petal looked fearful, Foster defiant, and Andel…Calder couldn’t call the expression on his face anything but sympathetic.

“Head below,” he said. “If anything happens to you, I’ll come down there immediately.”

“You think we were worried about something happening to us?” Foster grumbled.

But he went.

Which left Calder alone on a deck with Jerri and about a thousand squirming Elder worms.

Neither of them knew what to say.

She gazed upward, flinching when another heavenly blow lit up the void. “You know, I didn’t want anything to happen the way it did.”

“You’ve said that before. You could have avoided it all by telling me the truth.”

“Not too late for that.” She spread her hands. “We know each other now. No secrets. And this is the truth: if no one stops the Outsider, he’s going to destroy everything.”

The Outsider. She didn’t know Ozriel’s name.

Well, if she didn’t know him, he wasn’t going to tell her. It may have been petty revenge, but he would take what he could get.

“The Elders don’t want to destroy us, they just want to escape. He is the real threat.” She reached out to him in sympathy, and he allowed her to rest a hand on his arm. “You know Kelarac needs you.”

…and that was as long as he could stomach her touch.

He pulled away, taking three steps back and crushing a worm beneath his heel. “You’re telling me to let him possess me?”

“I didn’t want that,” she said softly. “I wanted you on the throne as his peer. Now, it’s the only move left. But!” She brightened. “It’s not just possession! He showed me what happened with Urg’naut. It’s more like a…mixing of two people. A blend. Equal parts you and Kelarac.”

“I’d say I’ll believe Kelarac taking an equal deal when the sky falls,” Calder said, “but the sky has fallen and I still don’t believe it.”

“The division depends on the strength of your Intent. If you’re strong enough, you could possess Kelarac.” Her eyes glimmered at the thought.

“I’ll decline. I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re winning.”

She looked at him with pity. “No, you’re not.”

Jerri gestured, and a worm slithered into their cabin. A moment later, it emerged carrying a spyglass. Calder’s invested spyglass.

With its head, it tilted the spyglass to him. He shuddered with disgust and took it.

She pointed to a spot on the horizon, and he looked.

The sight almost brought up his breakfast.

A pale, bald, bloated corpse waded through the ocean as though through a puddle. Its ribs were bent open and exposed, a network of organs and tendons stretching from the gaping wound. Much of its pink flesh was gray-green and diseased, and its head was tilted so far back that he could see nothing of its face.

Nonetheless, he knew what it was.

Nakothi’s body had risen.

The Dead Mother was coming.

“How long do you think it will take her to get here?” Jerri mused. “An hour?”

“I get it,” Calder said hoarsely.

His mind whirled. Jerri likely didn’t know what he was capable of, so he could lunge and probably kill her. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea, and how would it help? As far as he knew, he would only be getting rid of one Soulbound. The situation wouldn’t change.

There was only one way he could help.

The emptiness of death yawned in his memory and he shuddered. He couldn’t give in to Kelarac yet anyway. He didn’t know where the Consultants were.

No sooner had he thought of them than silver mist billowed out, covering the entire battlefield.

Jerri straightened her spine, Vessel gleaming green and an emerald fireball appearing in her palm. The sounds of battle were soon muffled, and he could barely see anything beyond the deck of his ship.

In his heart, he gave up.

This was his only option left. The mist meant Shera was nearby, and if she was in position, then he had no better choice. Another Great Elder was going to arrive ahead of schedule, so the faster they resolved this fight, the more lives would be spared.

At least his life could stop Kelarac.

She saw something in his eyes and softened. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are,” she said gently. “Harder than anyone knows. But I saw you. I was with you every step of the way, and I’ll stay with you now. You can do this.”

He gave a dull nod, walking to the edge of the deck. He knew how to make a deal with Kelarac. He had done it often enough.

One more time…

“This is the best thing a king can do for his people,” she continued. “Even the Emperor gave up his life rather than losing a battle to the Elders. You can do the same.”

Calder leaned out over the water.

With a flapping of leather, a weight landed on his shoulder.

“GAVE UP,” Shuffles screamed into his ear.

Calder stopped.

Had he really tried everything? Or was he just…giving up?

“Shuffles,” Jerri said, “get over here.” A spark of fire kindled on her fingers.

Unafraid, Shuffles leaped from Calder’s shoulder and fluttered in Jerri’s face. “GAVE UP!”

“The wise man plans for his death, but does not plan to die.” Sadesthenes.

“To our last breath.” The battle-cry of doomed troops.

He hadn’t taken his last breath yet.

Calder pulled his boot back onto the deck and turned to face Jerri. “I don’t plan to die here.”

She swatted at Shuffles, who ducked her swipe and landed on the railing nearby. “I’m sorry, Calder,” she said sadly. “You don’t really have another choice.”

She flicked her wrist and green fire crashed into his breastplate.

Heat scorched the bottom of his chin, but it would take a while for her to drill through armor reinforced by centuries of the Emperor’s Intent.

She clearly knew that; she was trying to strip him of his protection. Whittle him down a piece at a time.

Which meant she thought his power came from the armor.

Despite the heat, he met her eyes. “This time, I have a secret from you.”

He covered the distance between them in a blink. A worm wrapped around his arm and he tore it apart like paper.

She stumbled back, horrified and covered in worm blood. Another wave of Kthanikahr’s spawn flooded over him, instantly tying him like hundreds of ropes. Meanwhile, she conjured a green fireball in each hand.

Calder marched forward, snapping Elderspawn with every inch. He pushed the Emperor’s helmet down over his head.

Fire splattered on him like water on a rock.

In his mind’s eye, he saw her honest grin when she was a girl opening presents for her birthday.

Inside the helmet, he closed his eyes as his punch broke her ribs.

He saw her lying next to him in the dawn light, her hair a mess, as The Testament rocked beneath them.

Blindly, he stabbed her. He felt the sword pierce flesh.

To deceive a Reader, she would have had to control her own Intent so as not to leave behind any memories he could access. She had dedicated her life to deceiving him.

Every one of those memories was a lie. An Elder-spawned creature mimicking his wife.

He had to remind himself of that as she shouted his name.

He slashed her this time. Though his eyes were opened, he couldn’t look at her directly. He saw only the blood spatter the deck.

Her scream was wordless and filled with pain. In spite of himself, he caught a glimpse of her ruined face; he had caught her from the chin all the way up to her Soulbound Vessel.

She stumbled to the edge of the deck, backing away from him, and he had to choke back the agony in his own chest. She looked up with tears in her eyes, desperate for the pain to end.

One hand was pressed to her bleeding face, but the other was leaning on the railing for support. He saw her lying against the wood.

She had come here to kill him. Worse than kill him. To sell him to Elders.

He let that truth run through him as he clenched his heart.

And stomped her through the railing.

The wood shattered, exploding into splinters. Her body fell.

He heard her splash into the sea, but he didn’t look.

For a long moment, he stood staring. Harsh breath echoed too loudly in the Emperor’s helmet.

Idly, he realized that this was the exact spot where Shera had pushed her overboard. That seemed so long ago.

If only he had never chased after her.

He fell to sit on the stairs and began to sob. Painful, ugly cries that seemed to tear their way from his chest. He didn’t even fully understand why; his wife should have been dead to him ever since he’d found she was one of the Sleepless.

But now…

“Light and life,” Andel whispered.

Calder saw the three crew members stepping onto the deck. The ship was covered by worm pieces; he must have killed far more than he’d realized.

Foster moved over to the edge of the deck, looking down through the broken hole in the railing. Whatever he saw, he gave a low whistle. “Well, she won’t be crawling back this time. She’s gone down to…” He glanced back at Calder and coughed.

Calder’s breath stopped.

He strangled his own tears and shot to his feet.

In his head, he completed the saying.

She’s gone down to…

Kelarac.

“Please no,” he whispered.

A deep voice echoed in their minds again. No words this time.

Just laughter.

Kelarac laughed and laughed.

The water beneath The Testament began to swirl until it was like they floated on top of a whirlpool, except the ship stayed in place. With every revolution, the water turned a brighter and brighter green.

Familiar Intent filled the air, growing stronger and stronger until Calder could barely breathe. Intent of greed. Intent to possess, to own and collect everyone and everything until all things that ever existed or would exist belonged to him.

The power of Kelarac soared, and Jerri rose from the Aion Sea.

Her eyes were covered in a blindfold of steel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The quality of mercy is among the rarest of virtues, and rarest of all in killers and kings.

—SADESTHENES

PRESENT DAY

IN JERRI’S BODY, Kelarac rose into the air.

Her gold dress grew out, becoming longer and more elaborate. Jeweled necklaces shimmered into existence hanging against her chest and rings appeared on each of her fingers. All her wounds were gone. Her face was covered from the nose up in a plate of shining steel with bolts screwing it to her face. Her emerald Soulbound Vessel shone from its new steel mount at the center of her forehead.

She smiled, revealing triangular razor-sharp teeth of yellowed bone.

“This body barely passes muster…but any port in a storm, as they say. And neither of us are willing to let you go.”

Before Calder could shiver, half of a broken ship slammed into Kelarac.

The mass of wood crashed into The Testament, and the sudden damage to Calder’s Vessel knocked the breath from his lungs. His ship rocked, the crew losing their footing under the impact.

Kelarac never lost Jerri’s smile.

Green fire flared into a shield around him, and he burned through the wooden ship with just a thought. Two charred halves of the wreck slid off into the ocean.

The armored Estyr hovered over The Testament, tracking the ship she’d used as a missile. A giant iron spike stabbed down onto Kelarac.

He gestured and a massive bronze hand rose from the depths.

It seized the nail, holding it in place, as a humanoid figure lifted itself from the ocean floor. The bronze statue dwarfed the Lyathatan, and it was only when Calder saw the skulls carved into its crown that he realized it was a statue of Estyr herself.

“You would be amazed,” Kelarac said, “what mankind will trade away, given enough time.”

Overwhelming Intent blinded Calder as another statue rose, this one wearing a hat and darkened glasses. Then another, in armor and dozens of braids. Finally, a squat man carrying a staff taller than he was.

The four Regents, cast in bronze, stood guard over Kelarac.

They couldn’t have been waiting under this spot. He must have moved them in from elsewhere; Calder had already seen him summon other treasures. The Soul Collector was ready to spend the last of his collection.

And now Calder couldn’t even sacrifice himself. Kelarac had taken a host. Their final trump card had been taken away.

He realized he could see the bronze statue clearly. Bastion’s Veil had thinned almost to nothing. Either something had happened to Shera or the mist couldn’t stand up to the full power of the Great Elder.

The game was over. They’d lost.

But that was no reason to give up.

He jammed his helmet back into place and readied his sword.

To our last breath.

With all the strength he could squeeze out, he ran into Kelarac, thrusting his blade. His armor could handle Jerri’s flame long enough for him to run her body through.

A jeweled dagger appeared in her hand. Kelarac turned Calder’s blow with ease.

Overhead, Alagaeus’ bronze staff swept through the mist and into Estyr. It smashed The Testament’s mast on the way, sending green-veined sails tumbling. Calder’s gut churned and his head shook with the blow.

A gunshot cracked and Calder looked back to see Foster pulling the trigger again. And again.

His weapon was a work of art more than a gun. It was covered in green hide that looked as though it had grown there, and the end of its barrel looked like the mouth of a hungry beast.

His Awakened gun, the one he didn’t even like to talk about.

Oath to Eternity.

Kelarac swatted each bullet from the air, then caught the last one between his teeth.

Petal screamed as she threw a glass bottle overhand. It contained a thick pink liquid…which splattered all over the deck at Kelarac’s feet.

His shark’s smile grew wider. “We always liked you, Petal. We’ll keep—”

The pink liquid erupted into a gel a thousand times bigger than the bottle could have possible contained. It swallowed half of Jerri’s body, locking Kelarac in place.

Calder was still dazed from the blow to his ship, but he stumbled forward to take the opportunity.

Green flame shone through pink as Kelarac burned his way out.

Andel stepped forward, white light projecting from his outstretched hand. It bathed the Great Elder, but Calder couldn’t tell if it was doing any good.

Calder reached down into the ship. Through the chains.

Get rid of him, Calder sent.

“Loyalty” meant something very different to Elders.

The Lyathatan burst from the Aion Sea, its six black eyes gleaming. It slammed one fist down onto Jerri’s body. Chunks of hardened pink gel skittered over the deck.

Half a second later, the Elder’s huge blue hand exploded into emerald flame.

The Lyathatan screamed, stumbling back. One of its shackles slid off its charred stump.

Kelarac drifted up. A glossy brown braid streamed behind him and his yellowed shark smile was untouched.

But Calder had never expected that to work. He was moving his strongest piece into place: himself.

The second Kelarac destroyed the Lyathatan’s hand, Calder was already there. He drove the orange-spotted sword through Jerri’s midsection.

He felt it pierce through flesh and emerge from the other side. For a second, he dared to hope.

Kelarac’s smiling face tilted down to the wound, then back up to Calder’s face.

“We both want you,” Kelarac said. He wrapped a thin caramel-skinned hand around the blade. “You will be our toy until time has worn you to dust.”

With one moment of effort, he crushed the Awakened sword to pieces.

Calder backed up. He let the hilt slip from his fingers.

Kelarac had gifted him that sword. He had even told Calder that it was made to use against Elderspawn. Calder should have known it would never work.

The clash between the Regents and their bronze effigies still raged, but the sound was muted. Silver mist surrounded them, so that Calder could believe the entire world was just him and the Great Elder.

Until Andel marched in.

A bright light emanated from the White Sun hanging against his chest. “I never liked you,” Andel said.

Kelarac tilted his head slightly.

“Either of you,” he clarified. He focused his light on Kelarac.

The Great Elder’s power wavered, his body dipping in the air.

Calder took the opportunity. Between Bastion’s Veil and the light of a Beacon, both of which had the Intent to suppress Elders, Kelarac might be weakened enough. In full armor, Calder leaped onto the Great Elder in the body of his wife. He seized her with both hands, wrestling her down.

Kelarac gave an annoyed huff. “That’s en—”

For the second time, he was cut off. This time by a gunshot.

Foster wore his shooting-glasses, holding a musket up to his shoulder. He tossed it aside, pulled Oath to Eternity, and fired once more into Kelarac’s chest. Calder felt the impact shudder through Jerri’s body, but he was in no danger. It wouldn’t penetrate the Emperor’s plate.

“Get away from my captain,” Foster snarled. He slid open the chamber, loaded more rounds in, and snapped it closed.

Then green fire exploded at his feet.

His body tumbled across the deck.

Andel dashed for him, but a worm opened a mouth full of teeth and bit a corner of Foster’s jacket. It dragged him over to the side and dropped his body into the ocean.

There would be no bringing Foster back.

Calder’s breath left him…but he couldn’t stop fighting.

He tightened his limbs, wrestling Kelarac down with every ounce of his strength, and this time he was able to knock one arm aside as the Great Elder unleashed fire at Andel. The emerald flame brushed Andel’s side, and the man screamed and stumbled backwards into the mist.

Leaving just Calder and Kelarac.

The Great Elder casually pried Calder off him, suddenly demonstrating strength many times greater than he had shown before.

Or maybe Calder was getting weaker…his hands were definitely growing numb.

“It’s harder than you think, capturing a prize without breaking it,” Kelarac mused. “It has to be preserved so that you can break it slowly. One piece at a time. For years.”

Green fire erupted in the joints of Calder’s armor, and he screamed as skin was seared all over his body. Smoke rose into his nose as his clothes and flesh were burned through.

One plate at a time, the Emperor’s armor crashed down to the deck. Finally, Kelarac pulled the helmet away from Calder’s face.

Calder glared into Jerri’s eyes, hidden behind a steel blindfold. Tears of anger, and grief, and pain clouded his vision.

“I will see you dead,” Calder spat. “I will look on your body and I will laugh. I will laugh because you could have escaped your prison, but you decided to stay and die among your toys.”

Jerri’s head tilted quizzically, and then Kelarac laughed. It was a horrible, layered abomination that fused his voice and hers.

“You think you will be the one to bring me to my end, fallen King?”

Calder forced the biggest smile he could.

“Not me.”

How long had it been since Calder had been able to see the bronze statues fighting the Regents? He couldn’t be sure.

They were hidden by Bastion’s Veil.

A green dagger plunged into Kelarac’s back.

The mist resolved into a gray figure. Shera, hooded and masked, held her silver-blue dagger in her right hand. Her left-hand dagger was plunged into Jerri’s heart from behind.

Kelarac stiffened. His mouth fell open.

And a blinding green light spilled from him like blood.

The impact of that geyser of exploding power blinded Calder’s Reader senses, overwhelming him with Intent. He blanked out for a moment.

Energy erupted from Kelarac like an endless volcano. Calder was battered, blinded, confused.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw Shera standing over him.

She looked the same, but she felt like…more. As though she had crammed a thousand people’s worth of Intent into herself and now her skin was straining to contain it.

She even shivered.

Through clenched teeth, she said, “Why did you have to warn him?”

“If he had turned to look at you, I would have done something.”

“What?”

It was a good question. He could barely move his limbs.

“…something.”

They met each other’s eyes for a moment, and Calder wasn’t sure what to say. Considering the circumstances, he wasn’t sure there was anything he could say.

But he didn’t expect her to break the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Shera said at last. Her eyes still reminded him of a shark’s, and the words were blunt, but they caught him off guard.

“For what?” he asked. Surely not for killing Kelarac.

“For failing to kill Naberius Clayborn.”

Calder was sorry for that too. Sorry that he had ever taken on the contract and sorry that he hadn’t just let Shera kill the man.

But he couldn’t let Shera out-do him, not even in apologies. He forced himself up into a sitting position. “I’m sorry I let Lucan die. I didn’t want that to happen.”

Shera nodded once. “That account is settled.”

That it was.

Whether Kelarac had truly been erased or not, Jerri was certainly dead.

A dwindling green light still raged in the mist and the clouds overhead, but the body was gone. He didn’t know what happened when a Great Elder was killed, but from the feel of it, that Intent would slowly dissipate over a long time.

The mist, by contrast, blew away in an instant.

He supposed that was Shera’s doing.

It took a moment for everyone among the Navigator fleet to spot each other and comprehend what had happened. The water was littered with burning wreckage and corpses. The Lyathatan was still snarling and cupping its missing hand, and screams came from wounded everywhere.

But the Regents were all still floating in the air and the four bronze statues were gone. Since no one could see them or Kelarac, a ragged cheer went up from all the ships at once. It was weak, but it cut through the lapping waves and the silent world.

The cheer died out when everyone seemed to realize at once: the silence.

There was no battle overhead.

The cracks in the sky, which had once shone onto a void filled with multi-colored lights, now showed pure darkness.

With trembling fear in his heart, Calder extended his Reader’s senses.

“Urg’naut won,” Shera said, looking into the sky.

Calder shook his head. This was not the pure nonexistence Urg’naut sought. It was ocean-deep, all-consuming Intent to destroy.

The will of an executioner.

“No,” Calder said. “He lost. And now it’s over anyway.”

In the wake of his words, a song began to drift over the battlefield.

Come, my children…come to me…rise once more and taste perfection.

The pieces of worm scattered over the deck began to scoot together. Their flesh knotted back into one. The water boiled as pieces of Elderspawn and human corpses started stitching themselves together in horrific configurations.

Shera waved to the pieces, and orbs of green light drifted up to hang in midair over them. The same thing that had happened when she’d killed Urzaia.

At least the pieces were still.

Calder swallowed his nausea at the sight. “Thank you.”

“Don’t…thank me…yet…”

Shera spoke through a tight jaw, and Calder thought he saw lime-green light leaking through her teeth.

Nakothi was wading toward them, looking even more gruesome than she had through the spyglass. “Can you help with her?” Calder asked.

Shera nodded.

“Then I think…” He looked up, tasting the deadly Intent in the air. If no one did anything, all of existence was going to be erased. “…I think there’s one last thing I can do.”

Though it was clearly difficult for her, Shera spoke again. “One…last…thing.”

Reaching deep into the ship, Calder asked the Lyathatan for a final favor.

Candle Bay was close. They reached it in minutes.

The Elder practically flung them into the docks, then tore the shackles from its wrists. It did not wait around or waste a second; it was free. It swam out to sea without delay, and Calder found himself reaching through the mark of Kelarac, feeling it leave.

He had hoped to sense something like fondness or regret, but all he felt was the Elder equivalent of joy. Satisfaction, fading rage, and a resolve to follow its own instincts. By the time its fin disappeared beneath the waves, it never looked back.

Once on the dock, Calder gave The Testament a once-over.

The ship was, charitably, half a wreck. Its mast was destroyed, its sales missing, much of its hull splintered. The words on the side were closer to spelling “The Test,” which he supposed might have been an even more accurate name.

With love and care and attention, he’d be able to repair his Soulbound Vessel.

But he would never get the chance.

“Do you think there’s a world out there where everything worked out perfectly?” Calder asked. Petal and Andel stood at his sides; the last of his crew. “Where we just…kept sailing. All seven of us.”

Petal nodded furiously, her cheeks tracked with tears.

“Seven?” Andel asked.

Shuffles hopped up onto Calder’s shoulder. “SEVEN!” he shouted into Calder’s ear.

Andel nodded and returned his gaze to The Testament. “My mistake.”

Calder wanted to stay a little longer. He didn’t want to move at all.

But the darkness above was crackling with sapphire lightning. He knew nothing about the lives of worlds or what their ends looked like, but he knew blue lightning in a broken sky couldn’t be good.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

The march to the Imperial Palace had never passed so quickly.

The people all cowered inside. Some of them huddled under boxes in the middle of the street.

No one recognized him on the street, with his charred clothes and his wounds. Or if they did, they said nothing.

Most of the Imperial Guards would be on one of the Navigator vessels out there fighting, but the gate was still guarded. At least they recognized him, saluting on sight.

Now came the moment he had been dreading the most. Even more than the end.

“Guards,” Calder said, “one last request from me: take these two into custody.”

Petal gasped, but Andel showed as little reaction on his face as ever. He held out a hand.

“It’s been an honor sailing with you, Captain.”

Calder shook his hand firmly and then turned to Petal. She threw her arms around him.

“I worked…really hard to keep you alive,” she said into his chest.

“Yes, you did.” She had gone further than he had any right to expect.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said.

Then he pried Petal off and walked deeper into the Palace, Shuffles on his shoulder.

He had prepared all sorts of excuses to talk him past the Guards and to the Optasia, but none were necessary. The battle with Kelarac and the end of the world had suspended all sorts of security protocols.

Some had wanted to take Shuffles, but the Horror bellowed at them until Calder convinced them he was harmless.

Sooner than he wanted, Calder stood once again in front of the Optasia.

The twisted mesh of silver bars and wires filled him with nausea. His memory of seeing Urg’naut was too fresh. When he tried to reach out and touch it, his fingertips rebelled.

In Reading, there was a much-debated concept called “significance.” It was more difficult to quantify than Intent, and many scholars believed they were related or subsets of the same thing, but significance was one of the primary factors in whether something could be Awakened or not.

If the object was significant to both the Reader and the owner of the object, Awakening would be much more likely to succeed.

Any Reader could try to Read an Imperial relic only to be overwhelmed by the Emperor’s Intent.

But Calder had been the owner of the Emperor’s crown.

He had been the second human being to sit on the throne of the Aurelian Empire.

So he placed the golden crown on his head, opening himself to the Emperor’s Intent. And instead of using the Optasia to magnify his Reading, he Read the Optasia itself.

The Emperor swallowed him in a vision…but it didn’t fight him for control, as it had before.

Instead, he felt the Emperor’s personality blow over him like a cool breeze. Confidence, grief, triumph, arrogance, and pure willpower moved over Calder in a powerful and familiar wave.

When it passed, the Emperor stood before him.

This was no accident. The Emperor had left such a clear, comprehensive Intent in this device in order to create an echo of his personality. A pure, unstained version of him that could bolster his will when Nakothi tried to corrupt him.

Calder had never heard of such a technique and wouldn’t have been able to identify it, but the Emperor knew, and therefore so did Calder. Their knowledge bled all over one another like two colors of spilled paint.

The Emperor, clothed in voluminous purple, looked him up and down. Calder got the impression that he was looking inside him too.

“So, child.” Absolute certainty billowed off the Emperor like waves of heat off a sand dune. “You thought you could do better than I did.”

“I was naïve,” Calder confessed. “And I was young. But I was right about one thing: you are as arrogant as I thought you were.”

The Emperor nodded as though conceding the point. “And what about you?”

Suddenly Calder could feel his own Intent as though from the outside. Arrogance threaded through him as surely as through the Emperor.

Calder stopped arguing and thought.

He had always considered himself motivated by a desire to make the Empire better.

But that wasn’t really it, was it?

It was much easier to see himself now, in a quiet space to do so. Especially when he could borrow the perspective of an outsider. It was like a mirror to the soul.

“Am I so similar to you?” Calder asked. “That’s…perhaps the worst thing I can imagine.”

From the outside, the Emperor’s Intent looked like a more mature, fleshed-out version of Calder’s. Like the Emperor was a living human being while Calder was just a skeleton.

“Really? You should be flattered.”

“I should have listened to my tutors. ‘The wisest king is the humblest servant of his people.’”

“Sadesthenes.” The Emperor gave a small, fond smile. “It’s been a long time since I used that name.”

A moment passed before Calder realized what he meant.

Another passed as he digested it.

But he couldn’t accept it. “…Sadesthenes was the self-educated son of a wine merchant!”

“A false persona lives or dies in the personal details.”

“He criticized you for years!”

“I have long been aware of my weaknesses. Alas, awareness of one’s flaws is not the same as overcoming them.”

Calder could feel the Emperor’s honesty. It shook him.

And it gave him an opening.

“Then let’s overcome them together,” Calder said.

Kelarac was gone, but at least Nakothi was still out there. Perhaps the others as well. Ozriel was poised to destroy the entire world.

If Calder was willing to give his life, how could he refuse to work with the Emperor?

The Emperor considered for a moment, and Calder could feel the man considering all possibilities. Even his echo was a force to be reckoned with, and Calder’s well-seasoned hatred was tempered by the realization of how powerful the man truly was.

Then he disappeared.

He had made the same choice.

Calder and the Emperor woke in the same body. As one, they sank down into the Optasia.

But while the Emperor focused his attention through the device, Calder allowed himself a moment to smile.

He had taken in the Intent of the most powerful Reader of all time without thought of what it would do to him. He was giving up his life, his future, and his identity for his subjects.

For the first time, he really felt like a king.

Then the Optasia took over, and he crashed into the Great Elders like a ship crashing full-speed into a cliff.

The Great Elders are awake.

They have not returned to full strength, but still they scramble at the opportunity to leave the world in which they are imprisoned.

Kthanikahr is decay. The impermanence of flesh. Calder wants to scream, wants to tear himself out of the rotting flesh-suit in which he is trapped. He almost loses himself in the pure, simple mind of a worm.

Othaghor is worse.

He is endless, disgusting biology, a cycle of breeding and consumption and mutation that sickens him. A human is nothing more than a puppet of meat and nerves, a puppet that could so easily be improved.

Nakothi is the third point of a triangle, blurring the lines between life and death until the very logic of Calder’s thoughts unravels.

The Emperor’s remaining Intent is no more suited to this than Calder’s. He had given his life rather than use the Optasia again, and his echo is certainly no match for the Great Elders.

But he and Calder are together.

Even as they forget their own identities, they can remind each other of their shared purpose: they need to fix the sky.

They see Ozriel. He wears his black armor, pale hair streaming behind him. His scythe crackles against a blue membrane over their reality, and the shield that protects existence is ready to break at any second.

There is great significance to that action, much to learn, but they can’t recognize it. They are blind to everything but their purpose. All other thoughts are sacrificed at the altar of focus.

The cracks in the sky aren’t really “cracks.” They are rifts held open by the power of the Great Elders.

Calder follows threads of power down to the three awakened Great Elders.

No…the two.

Nakothi’s thread is a shadow of its former self, fading from existence. It remains at all because she always exists in that incomprehensible state between life and death.

Calder focuses on the two other threads, the power of Othaghor and Kthanikahr. They tremble to hold the void open, and he senses desperation in that action.

He doesn’t remember why he’s doing this. He doesn’t even remember who “Calder” is.

But he knows those threads must break.

Nothing else in the world matters but the threads.

They must break.

His awareness spreads to the statues, hundreds of statues, all across the world at once. He sees through all their eyes and his thoughts splinter further.

He knows only when the statues explode, overloaded beyond their original purpose.

The threads snap.

The rifts fade.

The sky returns.

The sky…

He lies on his back in the middle of a destroyed room. His body is filled with pain and he is trapped in twisted metal, but he stares up at the sky.

His remaining thoughts drift upwards, into the endless blue.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

“…AND THAT’S HOW I SURVIVED,” Foster said to the group of dockside children. “If not for my beard, I would never have made it.”

He sat on the ground against a fence, his wooden peg leg crossed over his remaining leg of flesh.

Andel watched him and shook his head.

His story changed every time, but it never failed to draw a crowd. After all, only a relative handful had participated in the battle against Kelarac, so the survivors had guaranteed celebrity status. Especially those, like Foster, who had clear battle-wounds.

There were now several names for that battle. The news-sheets had called it the Second Elder War for a while, but as the first Elder War had gone on for decades, that name hadn’t stuck. Others called it Kelarac’s War or the Battle of Candle Bay, though it hadn’t taken place anywhere close to the bay.

Andel preferred the Last Battle of the Empire.

After the sky had returned, the three Regents had officially declared the end of the Aurelian Empire. Their new government, the optimistically named Aurelian Alliance, was pushing its way through a host of new problems.

It was effectively a loose agreement between the regional governors and the Guilds, so to no one’s surprise, the jockeying for power had begun immediately.

That was the problem with not having a single, centralized source of authority.

Andel shook his head as he loaded another box aboard his ship. He couldn’t imagine what the Regents were thinking.

They must have some sort of plan, but to him, the Alliance seemed doomed to fail.

“Why didn’t…Kelarac…kill you?” one older child asked, still whispering the Great Elder’s name.

With his voice grave, Foster launched into a completely outlandish explanation, but it was a good question.

Andel and Foster had spent many nights in speculation on that very topic. They had even consulted Magisters and done some research themselves.

None of it gave them a conclusive answer.

How he had really survived was actually very simple: when he lost consciousness, his Soulbound Vessel had taken over.

His tools had pulled him from the surface of the Aion Sea and cobbled together a raft for him, keeping him afloat and alive until help arrived. It was a shocking story of the independence that Awakened objects could demonstrate, and Andel was almost willing to leave it at that.

Almost.

But when Urg’naut had possessed a human body, he had erased ten percent of the Capital and several miles of ocean in a blink.

Some researchers studying the Last Battle of the Empire claimed that Kelarac didn’t obliterate the entire fleet because of the suppressive effect of Bastion’s Veil combined with Andel’s own Beacon. Those powers, combined with the energy it must have taken to animate the statues and battle the Regents, had left him weakened to an almost human level.

Still others suggested that Kelarac had never used the same destructive force as Urg’naut, even in the Elder War. Force had never been his tactic of choice.

Sometimes Andel leaned toward one explanation, sometimes another. But scholars also suggested that the human manifestation of a Great Elder was a blend between the Elder and the human host. And Kelarac had attacked both Andel and Foster with her Soulbound power, and both times failed to kill them.

Maybe Jerri had been holding back.

Andel shook himself and returned to work. More likely, that was just wishful thinking. Kelarac had effectively been fighting all three Regents at the same time, and he had expressed a desire to keep Calder and the crew as toys.

Pointless to stay stuck on questions that couldn’t be answered.

He had grabbed another box when he saw that Petal had joined the crowd around Foster. Walking up to her, he nudged her with the toe of his shoe.

“Do you want to miss the tide?”

Petal hid behind her hair to avoid meeting his eyes, but she pointed to the porters Andel had hired. “That’s their job.”

She wasn’t wrong.

She sighed and stood up to join him anyway. It wasn’t as though her help was necessary, but it would be good exercise for her. And each second they delayed was a second wasted, in Andel’s mind.

He just wanted to be gone. The Capital didn’t feel like home anymore.

He wanted to be on deck with waves all around him.

Cheska Bennett had offered all three of them positions with another Navigator crew, but they had refused. Somehow, it just felt wrong.

Instead, they had used the reward money they had received for their participation in the Last Battle to hire a crew and buy a ship of their own. Not a Navigator ship—this one would be limited to the shallow Aion.

They called it The Woodsman.

It had been a long time.

Shuffles did not feel time in the same way that the humans did, but it knew what a long time was.

The humans kept it in a covered cage in the same room as its pet human. But its pet human hadn’t moved since the day the Great One ended.

Shuffles was growing impatient. A pet that never moved was no fun.

A frightening human was in the room now. A human who carried around a piece of a Great One.

“I have found more cases in which the subject emerges from a coma,” the frightening human said. “So you see, there is evidence.”

“Maybe, Guild Head, maybe! If the Emperor wills it so. But there are thirty cases where they don’t for every one where they do,” an uninteresting human responded.

“One in thirty are not terrible odds. Though I suppose it depends on how many tries you get, doesn’t it?”

“I…suppose so.” The uninteresting human smelled confused, but uninteresting humans often did.

“My shift is now up. I will return for tomorrow’s shift.”

“I must protest again, Guild Head. I will send for you the instant anything changes, but we have no reason to expect that. There is no need for your shifts.”

“By tomorrow’s shift,” the frightening human continued, “I will have found another reason to believe he will awaken.”

The frightening human left. The uninteresting human stayed a little longer, fed Shuffles some boring fish, and then left.

Shuffles tasted the meaning of their words and selected the one it liked the best.

With the tentacles on its mouth, it reached through the bars and unlatched the cage. It could do this at any time, but the humans seemed not to realize it.

It hopped down from its cage, fluttering over to where its pet human lay unresponsive on the bed. Its eyes staring unseeing. Occasionally blinking.

The pet human did not smell like itself. It smelled like it had gone a long way away, even though it was right here.

Shuffles had waited for too long. Now it had the right word to bring the human back.

It held the word, savoring it, until it had built up enough power.

Then Shuffles bellowed, “AWAKEN.”

The human’s fingers twitched.

THE END

OF THE ELDER EMPIRE, LAST SEA

OF KINGS AND KILLERS

BLOOPERS

IN THE STAINED-GLASS room floating in the void, Ozriel leaned back on his couch.

“I can tell you the three ways to be rid of the creatures you call Great Elders. You should listen well, Lindon.”

Calder blinked. “My name isn’t Lindon.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

Ozriel swallowed hard. “Oh no…I’m in the wrong world.”

Calder spun back to help Andel...just in time to see the frog-like Elder swallow his quartermaster whole.

Calder let out a breath of relief and sheathed his cutlass.

Jerri hurried up and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? We have to rescue Andel before he dies!”

“No, Andel’s fine. He was swallowed whole. Nobody who gets swallowed whole ever dies. Now, if he’d fallen off a cliff into a never-ending abyss, then I might have been worried.”

Long ago, a tutor for the Alchemist Guild walked into a cell where a disturbing little girl was stacking up bones like blocks.

The girl was pale. Creepy. She didn’t blink enough.

The tutor immediately decided to skip the day’s lesson. He could report to Bareius that everything had gone perfectly, and no one would ever know that he’d shirked his duties.

He glanced at his lesson plan. Why did anyone need an entire lesson on personal boundaries?

The tutor tossed the lesson plan into the trash bin.

Twenty years later, Calder Marten threw open his bedroom wardrobe.

To find Bliss staring at him from inside.

“He is not controlled,” Loreli said. “I am certain. I have thoroughly Read him, his ship, his crew, and his possessions. I will vouch that he is not a puppet, only a fool. A moron. A chump. A sucker. An idiot, some might call him. Relentlessly selfish, you could say. Shortsighted. Arrogant. Childish, even. There are those who might suggest that his emotional growth was stunted in childhood, and I can’t say I disagree.”

Estyr released her psychic grip on Calder’s throat, letting him spill to the floor, coughing.

“If you say so, Loreli, I’ll let him go.”

Calder waved a hand. “No, never mind. Just…just strangle me.”

Calder stood and moved to the window. He reached out to see if he could touch the illusion that Kelarac was showing him.

His hand tapped against the glass.

Instantly the vision changed. He saw inside a dark room, where a man hunched in front of a brightly lit screen, his fingers working furiously.

Everything from the clothes the man wore to the decorations in the room were strange to Calder. “What is this?” he asked.

“I can tell you what it isn’t,” Kelarac responded. “Cradle.”

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

AM’HARANAI – The ancient order of spies and assassins that would eventually become the Consultant’s Guild. Some formal documents still refer to the Consultant’s Guild in this way.

Architect – One type of Consultant. The Architects mostly stay in one place, ruling over Guild business and deciding general strategy. They include alchemists, surgeons, Readers, strategists, and specialists of all types.

Awaken – A Reader can Awaken an object by bringing out its latent powers of Intent. An Awakened object is very powerful, but it gains a measure of self-awareness. Also, it can never be invested again.

Jarelys Teach, the Head of the Imperial Guard, carries an ancient executioner’s blade that has been Awakened. It now bears the power of all the lives it took, and is lethal even at a distance.

All Soulbound Vessels are Awakened.

Children of the Dead Mother – Elderspawn created by the power of Nakothi out of human corpses.

Consultant – A member of the Consultants Guild, also known as the Am’haranai. Mercenary spies and covert agents that specialize in gathering and manipulating information for their clients.

Consultants come in five basic varieties: Architects, Gardeners, Masons, Miners, and Shepherds.

For more, see the Guild Guide.

Dead Mother, The – See: Nakothi.

Elder – Any member of the various races that ruled the world in ancient days, keeping humanity as slaves. The most powerful among them are known as Great Elders, and their lesser are often called Elderspawn.

Gardener – One type of Consultant. The Gardeners kill people for hire.

Intent – The power of focused will that all humans possess. Whenever you use an object intentionally, for a specific purpose, you are investing your Intent into that object. The power of your Intent builds up in that object over time, making it better at a given task.

Every human being uses their Intent, but most people do so blindly; only Readers can sense what they’re doing.

See also: “Invest,” “Reader.”

Invest – Besides its usual financial implications, to “invest” means to imbue an object with one’s Intent. By intentionally using an object, you invest that object with a measure of your Intent, which makes it better at performing that specific task.

So a pair of scissors used by a barber every day for years become progressively better and better at cutting hair. After a few years, the scissors will cut cleanly through even the thickest strands of tangled hair, slicing through with practically no effort. A razor used by a serial killer will become more and more lethal with time. A razor used by a serial-killing barber will be very confused.

Kameira – A collective term for any natural creature with unexplainable powers. Cloudseeker Hydras can move objects without touching them, Windwatchers can change and detect air currents, and Deepstriders control water. There are many different types of Kameira…though, seemingly, not as many as in the past. The Guild of Greenwardens is dedicated to studying and restoring Kameira populations.

Humans can borrow the miraculous powers of Kameira by creating Vessels from their body parts, and then bonding with those Vessels to become Soulbound.

Mason – One type of Consultant. Masons are craftsmen and professionals in a particular trade, covertly sending back information to their Guild. There are Masons undercover in every industry and business throughout the Empire.

Miner – One type of Consultant. This secretive order is in charge of the Consultants’ vast library, sorting and disseminating information to serve the Guild’s various clients.

Nakothi, the Dead Mother – A Great Elder who died in the Aion Sea. Her power kills humans and remakes their bodies into hideous servants.

Navigator – A member of the Navigator’s Guild. The Navigators are the only ones capable of sailing the deadly Aion Sea, delivering goods and passengers from one continent to the other.

For more, see the Guild Guide.

Reader – A person who can read and manipulate the Intent of objects. Every human being invests their Intent subconsciously by using ordinary objects. However, Readers can do so with a greater degree of focus and clarity, thanks to their special senses.

Readers often receive visions of an object’s past.

Shepherd – One type of Consultant. The Shepherds are observers, thieves, and saboteurs that specialize in infiltrating a location and leaving unnoticed.

Soulbound – A human who can channel the power of an Elder or a Kameira. These powers are contained in a Vessel, which is bound to a person during the Awakening process. Soulbound are rare and powerful because they combine the focus of human Intent with the miraculous power of inhuman beings.

Bliss, the Guild Head of the Blackwatch, is a Soulbound with the Spear of Tharlos as her Vessel. Therefore, she can borrow the reality-warping powers of the Great Elder known as Tharlos, the Formless Legion.

A person becomes a Soulbound by having a personally significant object Awakened. If the object has a strong connection to an Elder or Kameira, and if it is significant enough, then it can become a Soulbound Vessel.

See also: Vessel.

Vessel – An Awakened object that becomes the source of a Soulbound’s power. Not all Awakened items become Soulbound Vessels, but all Vessels are Awakened.

In order to become a person’s Vessel, an item must fulfill two criteria: it must be personally linked to the individual, and it must be invested with the power of a Kameira or an Elder.

1.) Personal link: A ring that you bought at a pawnshop three weeks ago could not become your Soulbound Vessel. It has not absorbed enough of your Intent, it is not significant to you, and it is not bound to you in any way. A wedding ring that you’ve worn for fifteen years and is significant to you for some reason—perhaps you pried it off your spouse’s bloody corpse—could indeed become your Vessel, assuming it fulfills the second criteria as well.

2.) Power: A spear made of an Elder’s bone could allow one to use that Elder’s power of illusion and madness. If you bonded with a necklace of Deepstrider scales, you might be able to sense and control the ocean’s currents as that Kameira does.

See also: Soulbound.

Watchman – A member of the Blackwatch Guild.

For more, see the Guild Guide.

GUILD GUIDE

A BRIEF GUIDE to the Ten Imperial Guilds of the Aurelian Empire, written by a licensed Witness for your edification and betterment!

The Am’haranai: Commonly known as Consultants, the members of this mysterious brotherhood work behind the scenes for the good of the Empire…or for anyone with enough gold to pay them. Consultants are more than willing to provide strategic advice, tactical support, and information to the Empire’s rich and elite, so long as it doesn't destabilize the government they've worked so hard to build.

Believe it or not, the Am'haranai were the first Imperial Guild, having existed in one form or another since long before the birth of the Empire. The next time you walk by the local chapter house of the Consultants, know that you're in the presence of true Imperial History.

The Consultants' local Guild Representative would not give us a definitive response to the less savory rumors surrounding this particular Guild. Juicy speculation suggests that—for the right price—the Consultants will provide a number of darker services, including espionage, sabotage, and even assassination. We can neither confirm nor refute such rumors at this time.

Consultants in the field are known to refer to each other by code names, to conceal their true identities.

Shepherds are their expert scouts, trained to watch, remember, and report.

Architects are the leaders of the Am’haranai, and typically do not leave their island fortress. They’re the strategists, alchemists, tacticians, and Readers that make the work of the Consultants possible.

Masons are a truly terrifying order, though once again the Guild Representative put off most of my questions. They go undercover as everyday folk like you or me, living ordinary lives for months or years, and then providing information to their Architect leaders. Your best friend, your neighbor, that street alchemist across from your house…any of them could be a Mason secretly watching you!

Other, less credible reports suggest the existence of a fourth brand of Consultant: the Gardeners. The job of a Gardener is to “remove weeds.” They are the black operatives, the pure assassins, the knives in the dark.

The Guild Representative had this to say on the matter: “There is not now, and never has been, an order of the Am’haranai known as the Gardeners. That’s simple speculation based on our Guild crest, which is actually derived from our origin as humble farmers. Having said that, if you do have someone interfering with your business, it is possible that we could help you bring the situation to a satisfactory conclusion…for an appropriate level of compensation, of course.”

Since the Emperor’s death (may his soul fly free), I have no doubt that business has been very good indeed for this particular Guild.

Guild Head: The Council of Architects. No one knows much about the leadership of the Consultants, but it seems that the Architects collectively vote on Guild policy, coming to decisions through careful deliberation and long experience.

Crest: Gardening Shears

The Blackwatch:

Thanks to generations of legends and misinformation perpetuated by the Luminians, many of you have certain preconceived notions about the Blackwatch. They’re hated by many, feared by all, and I urge you not to heed the rumors. Every Watchman I’ve ever met has been professional, focused, and inquisitive--very few of them actually worship the Elders.

Let me put a few of your unfounded fears to rest: no, they do not eat human flesh for power. No, they do not conduct dark rituals involving blood sacrifice. No, they do not kidnap babies from their cradles.

Yes, they do use certain powers and techniques of the Elders. That’s no reason to treat them like cultists.

The Blackwatch was originally founded by the Emperor for two purposes: watching over the graves of the Great Elders, and studying the Elder Races to twist their great powers for the good of the Empire. It is thanks to the Blackwatch that Urg’Naut or the Dead Mother have not risen and devoured our living world.

Members of this Guild are known as Watchmen. They respond to calls for help and reports of Elder activity. Each Watchman carries seven long, black nails invested with the power to bind Lesser Elders for vivisection and study.

The goals of the Blackwatch often bring them into conflict with Knights and Pilgrims of the Luminian Order, who hunt down Lesser Elders with the goal of destroying them completely.

If the two would only work together, it’s possible that Aurelian lands would never be troubled by Elder attacks again.

Guild Head: The current head of the Blackwatch is a young-seeming woman known only as Bliss. Her origins are shrouded in mystery, though tenuous evidence suggests that she was born in a Kanatalia research facility.

Like every Blackwatch Head before her, she carries the Spear of Tharlos, a weapon supposedly carved from the bone of a Great Elder. I have never interviewed anyone who witnessed the Spear in battle and survived with their sanity intact.

Crest: the Elder’s Eyes (six eyes on a mass of tentacles)

The Champions:

I doubt there is a single child in any corner of the Aurelian Empire who does not know some story of the Champion’s Guild, but I will still labor to separate fact from romantic fiction.

The Champions as we know them today rose out of an old Izyrian tradition. In ancient days, before the Empire, the continent of Izyria was divided into a thousand clans. When two clans had a dispute, instead of going to war, they would send two representatives into a formal duel. The winner’s clan, of course, won the dispute. These clan champions were often Soulbound, strengthened by some secret alchemical technique, and highly skilled fighters.

When the Emperor (may his soul fly free) originally crossed the Aion Sea with the aim of enfolding Izyria into his fledgling Empire, he created his own collection of duelists to defeat the natives at their own cultural game.

Thus, the Champions were born.

Champions became, as we have all seen, the best fighters in the Empire. They singlehandedly quell rebellions, reinforce Imperial troops in the field, and put down dangerous Kameira. And sometimes, when the Empire still needed to fight its own duels, the existence of this Guild ensured that the Emperor never lost.

Since the death of the Emperor, this Guild has become—dare I say it—a dangerous liability. Each Champion has largely gone his or her own way. The Guild still trains initiates according to the old traditions, but it doesn’t have the organizational stability or control it once did.

Guild Head: Baldezar Kern, an undefeated duelist and the man who singlehandedly pacified the South Sea Revolutionary Army. Though he is known as a gentle man with an easy sense of humor, when he straps on his trademark horned helmet, he becomes a force of carnage on the battlefield like none I have ever seen. I had the opportunity to witness Kern on the warpath almost fifteen years ago, and the sight of this man in battle will haunt me until the day of my death.

Crest: the Golden Crown

The Consultants: See “The Am’haranai.”

The Greenwardens:

While the Greenwardens do protect us from wild Kameira and keep the Imperial Parks that we all know and enjoy, you may not be aware that they were originally intended to save the world.

The Guild of Greenwardens was founded at a time in our history when alchemy was first coming into its own, and we were afraid that a combination of alchemy, then-modern weaponry such as the cannon, and unregulated human Intent would tear the world apart.

Greenwardens were created to preserve Kameira, preventing us from driving them extinct, and to monitor and repair the effects of alchemical and gunpowder weapons on the environment. They each carry an Awakened talisman, which for some has become their Soulbound Vessel: a shining green jewel that they use to heal wounds and promote the growth of plants.

Guild Head: Tomas Stillwell is a practicing physician and a fully inducted Magister of the Vey Illai as well as the Guild Head of the Greenwardens, proving that no physical infirmity can prevent you from contributing to your Empire. Though he lost his legs in a childhood encounter with a wild Kameira, he never let that experience make him bitter. Instead, it drove him to study Kameira, their habits, and how they function. He is now one of the most famous natural scientists in the Empire, and he has done much to prevent the extinction of species such as the stormwing and the shadowrider.

Crest: the Emerald

The Imperial Guard:

I trust that all of you understand the purpose of the Imperial Guard: to protect the Emperor’s person, and to shield him from attack and unwanted attention. Some suggest that they failed, that the death of the Emperor proves that the Guard were unequal to their task.

I can assure you that this is not the case.

Through a secret alchemical process known only to the Guild of Alchemists, the Imperial Guard replaces some of their original body parts with those of Kameira. Some Guardsmen have patches of armored Nightwyrm hide grafted onto their skin, or their eyes substituted with those of a Cloud Eagle. The process is said to be long and unbearably painful, and it results in guardians with the appearance of monsters.

However, in the twelve hundred years that the Emperor reigned, not a single assassination attempt reached his person. We owe that fact solely to the power and extraordinary sensitivity of the Imperial Guard.

I know that many outside the Capital are wondering what the Guard are up to, now that they have no Emperor to guard. Well, in the words of their Guild Head, “We may no longer have an Emperor, but we have an Empire. That, we will preserve until the sun rises in the west.”

The resolve of a true patriot, gentle readers.

Guild Head: Jarelys Teach, a General in the Emperor’s military and Head of his Imperial Guard, does not at first strike you as an imposing woman. I have met her on many occasions, and found her to be singularly devoted to her job. Popular legend says that she swallowed the blood of a Nightwraith, thereby absorbing its powers, but that’s little more than speculation. It’s a matter of Imperial record that she carries Tyrfang, the Awakened blade used to execute the Emperor’s rivals over a thousand years ago.

Crest: the Aurelian Shield (a shield bearing the sun-and-moon symbol of the Aurelian Empire)

Kanatalia, the Guild of Alchemists:

As I write this guide, I sip a glass of enhanced wine that slowly shifts flavor from cherry to apple to lemon. A cart rumbles by my house, with a hawker loudly announcing his remedies for sale. A quicklamp provides my light, glowing a steady blue, never smoking or flickering like a candle.

Truly, one cannot escape the advances of alchemy in our modern society.

Though alchemists have existed since long before the Empire, Kanatalia is one of the more recent additions to the Ten Guilds. It was the first organization to unify the previously contentious brotherhood of alchemists, allowing them to collectively achieve what they never could separately.

Matches, quicklamps, potions, invested alloys, healing salves, enhanced soldiers, vaccines…practically every scientific advance in the past century, including the advance of science itself, can be traced back to Kanatalia’s door.

Just don’t ask too many questions. A true Kanatalian alchemist can be very protective of his secrets, and you might find yourself a drooling vegetable if you get on the wrong side of an experienced potion-maker.

Guild Head: Nathanael Bareius did not become one of the richest men in the Empire by relaxing on his inheritance. After receiving a substantial fortune from his late father, Lord Bareius went on to receive a full education at the Aurelian National Academy. He graduated as a licensed Imperial alchemist and a member of Kanatalia. At that point, he wagered all of his capital on a single risky investment: alchemy. He opened his vaults, spending every bit he had to make sure that every corner and crevice of the Empire had a licensed Kanatalian alchemist there to provide illumination, potions, medical care, and Guild-approved recreational substances.

Lord Bareius has personally earned back triple his initial investment over the past ten years, and is now poised as the most prominent leader in the Capital. Even more significantly, he seems to have won the battle of public opinion—I haven’t seen a street in the Capital unlit by alchemical lanterns, and no one has died of dysentery or plague since before the Emperor’s death. No matter what you think of his politics, Nathanael Bareius has made great strides in moving our Empire forward into this new century.

Crest: the Bottled Flame

The Luminian Order:

Ah, the Luminians. A more versatile Guild you won’t find anywhere: they’re responsible for building cathedrals, policing Imperial roads, hunting down Elders, and generally acting heroic.

Luminian Knights, the martial arm of the Order, march around in their powerfully invested steel armor, fighting deadly monsters chest-to-chest. Their swords are bound with light so they reflect the sun even in the dead of night, burning through creatures of darkness.

The trademark representatives of the Luminian Order are Pilgrims, humble wanderers in simple robes. They are each Readers—some of them Soulbound—charged to remove harmful Intent and the maddening influence of the Elders.

The Luminian Order and the Blackwatch have each held a knife to the other’s back for hundreds of years, arguing over the best way to protect the populace, to prevent the rise of the Great Elders, and to keep the Empire whole. Perhaps if one of them would learn to compromise, we would all feel safer after midnight.

Guild Head: Father Jameson Allbright is an old man, but his vigilance has never dimmed in the fight against darkness. He is one of the oldest Soulbound on record, wielding his shining Vessel to bring the purifying light to Elder worshipers and malicious Readers alike.

Crest: the White Sun (usually on a red banner)

The Magisters:

Magisters are the most accomplished and educated Readers in the world. You probably grew up with a local Reader, who invested your knives and cleansed your graveyard of harmful Intent. Most small-town Readers are powerful and possibly even quite skilled.

But they aren’t Magisters.

A Magister is a Reader who has received an extensive education inside the Vey Illai, an extensive forest in the Aurelian heartland, inside what was once the original Imperial Academy. They can use their Intent with a degree of focus, subtlety, and precision that an ordinary Reader could barely comprehend.

Magisters are in charge of regulating Readers and the use of human Intent, in much the same way that a father is in charge of preventing his children from misbehaving.

It’s impossible for all Readers to study at the Vey Illai and become Magisters, because there are too many people with a talent for Reading. And of course everyone invests their Intent into objects, to one degree or another.

But the best and most powerful are called Magisters.

Guild Head: Professor Mekendi Maxeus, one of the most distinguished researchers at the Aurelian National Academy, retired from his lecture tour to the “relaxing” position as head of one of the largest Imperial Guilds. He isn’t seen outside much these days, having received several disfiguring facial scars in the Inheritance Conflict five years ago, but he still lends his overwhelming power of Intent to the construction of new public monuments in the Capital. He carries a black staff, and I have personally witnessed him use it to blast a collapsed building off a pair of trapped children. I have met few heroes in my career, but this man is among them.

Crest: the Open Book

The Navigators:

When I call the Navigators a Guild, I use the term loosely.

Navigators are the only sailors who can cross the deadly, shifting ocean at the heart of our Empire: the Aion Sea. We therefore rely on them for communication, trade, exploration, and transport between the eastern continent of Aurelia and the western continent, Izyria.

It’s too bad that they’re the most shifty and unreliable collection of pirates, confidence artists, mercenaries, and outright criminals the Empire has ever seen.

No one knows how they cross the Aion, with its hundreds of deadly Kameira, its disappearing islands, its unpredictable weather, and its host of lurking Elders, but anyone else who sails far enough out into the ocean either vanishes or returns insane.

The best way to recognize a real Navigator from a faker is to ask to see their Guild license, which is unmistakable and cannot be reproduced. Unfortunately, that only tells you which sailor is truly able to cross the Aion: not whether he can be trusted.

Guild Head: Captain Cheska Bennett is one of the few reliable Navigators left in this world. She owns The Eternal, a most striking ship with billowing red sails and a wake that trails flame. She commands truly shocking prices for her services, but if you hire her, you can be certain that every splinter of your cargo will remain secure between one continent and the other.

Crest: the Navigator’s Wheel (a ship’s wheel with a single eye at the center)

The Witnesses:

I am proud to count myself among the honorable Guild of Witnesses, the final entry on this written tour of Imperial history. Witnesses are the official record-keepers of the Empire, having chronicled the entirety of the Empire’s history since our inception. We also observe momentous events, record battles, produce educational reading materials for the general public, and notarize official documents.

As Sadesthenes once said, “The Witnesses are the grease that allow the wheels of Empire to turn.”

Generally speaking, Witnesses travel in pairs:

As a Chronicler, I am a Reader with the ability to store my memories inside a special alchemically created candle. I burn the candle while I write, and as the memories flow out, I can record my thoughts without any margin of error even years after the events I have witnessed.

Always, I am accompanied by my Silent One, a trained warrior and my bodyguard. Silent Ones bind their mouths to symbolize their inability to betray secret or sensitive events, but contrary to popular belief, we do not remove their tongues. We’re not barbarians. They are capable of speech, they are simply discouraged from speaking in the presence of outsiders.

Guild Head: The Heads of my own Guild are the twin sisters Azea and Calazan Farstrider, natives of exotic Izyria. Though they are young, having risen to prominence after the Emperor’s untimely demise, I have never met anyone so dedicated to accuracy and neutrality. Azea works as a Chronicler, and Calazan as her attendant Silent One, though I can personally confirm that either sister can perform either role. Azea is a remarkable fighter in her own right, and Calazan a skilled Reader and clerk.

Crest: the Quill and Candle

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Will Wight lives in Florida, among the citrus fruits and slithering sea creatures. He’s the author of the Amazon best-selling Traveler’s Gate Trilogy, The Elder Empire (which cleverly offers twice the fun and twice the work), and his series of mythical martial arts magic: Cradle.

He graduated from the University of Central Florida in 2013, earning a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and a flute of dragon’s bone. He is also, apparently, invisible to cameras.

He also claims that WillWight.com is the best source for book updates, new stories, fresh coriander, and miracle cures for all your aches and pains!

ALSO BY WILL WIGHT

Cradle

Unsouled

Soulsmith

Blackflame

Skysworn

Ghostwater

Underlord

Uncrowned

Cradle: Foundation

The Traveler’s Gate Trilogy

House of Blades

The Crimson Vault

City of Light

The Traveler’s Gate Chronicles

The Elder Empire

Of Sea & Shadow

Of Dawn & Darkness

Of Kings & Killers

Of Shadow & Sea

Of Darkness & Dawn

Of Killers & Kings

For the most up-to-date bibliography, please visit WillWight.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Bloopers

Glossary of Terms

Guild Guide

About the Author

Also by Will Wight