Bieshimma could not, of course, join the boarding party, given what he’d done the last time he’d been in Nenavar. After some discussion, Vela decided that a group of two people was as small and as non-threatening as it could get, and she and Talasyn headed for the grid that contained the carrack’s skiffs—tiny flat-bottomed vessels that were frequently used as shuttles or escape pods.
The crowd of soldiers and refugees parted for them deferentially, but Talasyn was all too aware of their mutterings of unease and their lost, questioning gazes. She couldn’t blame them; they were within range of the dragons, and one good blow from those scaled tails could probably break the Summerwind in half. All eyes were on her as she helped the Amirante into the skiff, fired up the aether hearts, and steered away from the carrack’s decks, toward the shimmering castle in the sky.
The dragons were huge from a distance. Up close, the sheer breadth of them made Talasyn feel about as significant as an ant. Their jewel-toned eyes tracked every movement of the skiff and its passengers, missing nothing. She didn’t breathe until she and the Amirante made it to the landing grid carved into the rock at the base of the castle—and, even then, she didn’t, couldn’t relax.
Elagbi was waiting for them at the threshold of the main entrance, accompanied by the same Lachis-dalo who’d been guarding him on the Belian range. Stock-still at first—nudged forward only by Vela—Talasyn approached the regal figure nervously, having no idea what the standard procedure was for greeting your estranged father on your second meeting. Should she hug him? Gods, she hoped not. Perhaps she was expected to curtsy, since he was a prince, but she was the heir to the throne, wasn’t she? Did she rank above him? Maybe he was the one supposed to curtsy—no, that was wrong, men didn’t—
Elagbi solved her dilemma by clasping her hands in his. “Talasyn,” he said warmly, the gentleness in his dark eyes somewhat at odds with his aristocratic demeanor. “Everything pales before the joy of seeing you once more. I regret that it has to be under such grievous circumstances.”
“I—I’m sorry about—about last time,” Talasyn stammered, inwardly cringing at how very undignified she sounded compared to him. “I had to get back right away—”
“No harm done,” said Elagbi. “We recovered the alindari that you commandeered without any trouble. And you were not the one who left a trail of injured Nenavarene soldiers in your wake.” His expression soured as he uttered this last part, and in that moment Talasyn felt a crystal-clear kinship with him. She was all too familiar with what it was like to have one’s day ruined by Alaric Ossinast.
Talasyn labored through the introductions. Vela inclined her head at the Dominion prince, and Talasyn belatedly noticed that she was standing tall even though the newly stitched wound that raked her from sternum to hip was surely still aching.
“Your Highness.” Vela’s usual flinty tone was somewhat more restrained. “We thank you for granting us an audience.”
Elagbi smiled and bowed, one leg drawn back across the ground, right hand pressed to his abdomen while the left swept out in an elegant flourish. “Amirante. It is my honor. I in turn thank you for taking my daughter in and treating her kindly all these years. Now, if you’ll please follow me . . .”
The Lachis-dalo swarmed around them as they filed into the castle. The winding hallways of the W’taida were every inch as opulent as its exterior suggested. The walls and floors were lined with gold-flecked marble in a muted bronze hue. The metalglass windows were paneled with dark ivory and offered panoramic views of the islands in their bed of turquoise waves, the dragons hovering watchfully above. Talasyn would have been hard-pressed to believe that she was on an airship, if not for the hum of aether hearts beneath her feet.
Elagbi and Vela engaged in quiet, somber conversation as they discussed what had happened, how Sardovia’s last bastions had fallen and why the survivors had set course for Nenavar. Talasyn was grateful that Vela had taken the reins. It felt as if there was no end to the castle and she didn’t think that she was ready to traverse its many long corridors while making small talk with the man she had only recently learned might be her father.
They came to a halt at a set of golden doors covered with intricate carvings. There were two guards stationed on either side and, while Elagbi spoke to them, Vela fell back to murmur to Talasyn, “If I may offer some counsel for our upcoming meeting with the Dragon Queen: it would be best if I do the talking. By which I mean to say—do not let your temper get the best of you. And don’t cuss.”
“I don’t cuss that much,” Talasyn retorted with no small amount of belligerence. “Why do we have to walk on eggshells, anyway?”
“Because, if the old stories are to be believed, it takes a certain kind of woman to hold on to power in the cutthroat nest of political intrigue that is Nenavarene society,” Vela replied. “Queen Urduja would be very much that kind of woman, given how long her house has reigned. We must proceed with care.”
The guards pushed open the doors, and Elagbi summarily ushered Vela and Talasyn into the presence of the Zahiya-lachis.
In contrast to the rest of the W’taida, where the dawn streamed in like rivers, the throne room’s floor-to-ceiling windows were shrouded by opaque drapes of rough navy silk—for privacy, Talasyn supposed. This would have made the large chamber impossibly dark if not for the presence of fire lamps, different from the ones of the Continent in that they gave off a pale and radiant light with a tinge of silver-blue, casting an ethereal gloss over the marble pillars and the celestial-patterned tapestries, over the unmoving silhouettes of the queen’s Lachis-dalo stationed at various ingress points, and over the dais at the end of the hall, upon which perched a stately white throne. The woman sitting on it was too far away for Talasyn to make out her features, but something about her posture called to mind the highly venomous adders that lurked in the grass of the Great Steppe. They would watch from atop gleaming coils when another life-form encroached on their territory and took their time deciding whether the intruder was worth the effort needed to strike.
“This place is normally bustling with courtiers,” Elagbi said as he led Vela and Talasyn deeper into the throne room. “However, due to the sensitive nature of this meeting, my mother and I thought it best to be discreet.”
“Seems to me they could’ve taken a smaller airship, then,” Talasyn mumbled to Vela.
“It’s a show of power,” Vela replied calmly, also keeping her voice low. “Of strength and grandeur. An intimidated opponent is much easier to negotiate with.”