“Utter concealment,” Ishan pronounced with all the satisfaction of a job well done. “Completely undetectable.”
Urduja took over. “Envoys were sent to Vela’s forces several hours ago and they are coordinating as we speak,” she told Talasyn. “As long as we position these amplifiers strategically, the shelters and landing grids scattered throughout the isles of Sigwad will be shrouded from sight. From the air, it will look as though the Storm God’s Eye is uninhabited. When Kesath flies over this area, they will see nothing but sand and rock and water. If their troops search the dense mangrove forests, there will be nothing there to find. And this is all assuming that they’ll even notice that the isles of Sigwad exist. I’m certainly not going to tell them.”
“Are you all right?” Talasyn asked Niamha.
“I’m quite fine, Your Grace.” Niamha brushed off Talasyn’s concern. “It didn’t hurt at all. It was like being in a strange room with the lights out. I could move around and talk and breathe normally, even though my surroundings were—insubstantial.”
“Aetherspace is riddled with dimensions such as these,” said Ishan. “Like cells in a honeycomb. Piggybacking on the spectrals’ ability takes us to one type of dimension, which is a fairly neutral, sort of in-between place, and then there are the dimensions of magical energy like the Lightweave and the Shadowgate. Who knows what else is out there?”
“Let’s focus on matters concerning this dimension first,” said Urduja. “As you can see, Alunsina, it is all taken care of. Once Kesath discovers no trace of Sardovia within Dominion borders, Alaric Ossinast will lower his guard. But the work doesn’t end there—you will have to keep on convincing him that you have no idea what has become of your comrades. Every minute of every hour. Carry yourself like you cannot be questioned. Give nothing away.”
Talasyn was as awed as she’d been when she saw the dragons for the first time. This kind of technology had so many possible applications. The Night Empire might have invented the stormships, but it would take them years to catch up to the Dominion’s level of advancement.
It was in this moment, in a burst of sharp clarity, that Talasyn truly understood that the Hurricane Wars weren’t over. With Nenavar on its side, Sardovia could still take back the Northwest Continent. There had to be a way. She would find it. She would figure it out, one day.
Her mind was afire with curiosity. She longed to visit Ahimsa and see for herself what other marvels Ishan and her people were cooking up. But that could wait; she needed to get through Kesath’s sweep and whatever else had to follow first.
Chapter Twenty-Six
One day after another passed without incident, and it spoke volumes about the state of Alaric’s life that he was somewhat shocked by that. With Dominion escorts ever on the alert for signs of trouble, Kesathese forces combed through their assigned sections of the archipelago and reported nothing of note save for the occasional dragon sighting.
Mathire had been correct in her estimations; by the second afternoon of the search, the various teams had all but wrapped up their respective routes. All that was left on the agenda was the Deliverance’s straight shot across Nenavarene airspace, which at this point was more ceremonial than anything else.
While Mathire finished up traipsing through the jungles with her men, Alaric and Sevraim left for his stormship a few hours ahead of Talasyn and her father. Alaric was eager to leave the cloying walls of the Roof of Heaven. The bulk of the would-have-been invasion force had been sent back to Kesath days ago, and only his and Mathire’s fleets remained, and—as his convoy tore away from the Nenavarene coastline, as the hot tropical sun shone on the sight of familiar ironclads proudly bearing the Kesathese chimera hovering above the Eversea—Alaric breathed easy for what felt like the first time in a long, long while.
The Lachis-dalo were on edge as they disembarked from the skerry that had ferried them from the diplomatic schooner to the Deliverance. Talasyn couldn’t say that she blamed her guards. While they were technically not in enemy territory owing to the terms of the agreement, the sight of hordes of Kesathese soldiers assembled in the hangar bay for their arrival was still unsettling. In fact, Talasyn herself had spent most of the schooner voyage from Eskaya running through escape scenarios in her head.
Granted, the dress that Jie had wrangled her into wasn’t particularly conducive to escape. While the saffron-yellow bodice was so liberally embellished with seed pearls and quartz crystals that it could probably deflect an iron crossbow bolt, it was . . . staggeringly low-cut. One sudden move on Talasyn’s part would give the Kesathese fleet the type of eyeful that nobody wanted. The skirt was very stiff, too; it hugged her hips and her thighs, flaring out slightly below her knees, gathered here and there into large fan-shaped pleats. If she tried to run, she’d rip a seam.
Talasyn therefore felt rather constrained and unhappy as she stepped into the hangar bay of Alaric’s stormship. He headed up the vanguard, with Sevraim behind him.
“So many soldiers, Your Majesty,” Prince Elagbi mused as he and Talasyn approached Alaric. “One might think that you don’t trust your allies.”
Alaric ignored the slight. “Welcome aboard, Your Highness, Your Grace.”
He looked at Talasyn, really looked at her, for the first time since her arrival, and—
She didn’t know what happened, exactly. His gray eyes fell on her face first, then drifted lower. His gauntleted fists clenched at his sides and, for the briefest of moments, a look darted across his pale features that put her rather in mind of someone choking to death on their own tongue. But it was gone as quickly as a flash of lightning, as soon as he drew a swift inhale.
Alaric turned on his heel and marched out of the hangar bay. Talasyn and Elagbi were left with no choice but to follow him, trailed by the Lachis-dalo. Talasyn was puzzled by Alaric’s behavior and she made to ask her father about it, but changed her mind. Elagbi, too busy studying his surroundings with awe, had clearly not noticed that anything was amiss. The interior of the Deliverance was nothing compared to the floating castle that was the W’taida, but the Nenavarene prince had never been on a stormship before, and Talasyn supposed that, for him, every inch of the austere space carried a certain novelty.
Sevraim fell into step beside her. His handsome face was hidden by his obsidian helm, but Talasyn could practically hear the unctuous smile in his voice when he said, “How wonderful to have you onboard, Lachis’ka. It certainly livens up this drab old place.”
“I don’t doubt that you are alone in such a sentiment,” Talasyn said archly.
He waved a dismissive hand in Alaric’s direction. “Pay His Cranky Majesty no mind. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“Sevraim,” Alaric warned. “Do not bother Her Grace.”