Talasyn shot him her fiercest, haughtiest glare and he lapsed into a grudging silence, glowering at her retreating back when she turned to make for the nearby swamp on foot. If only it were this easy to shut Alaric Ossinast up—the ass.
She disappeared into the mangrove trees, forging a radiant blade to illuminate her path. The damp smell of brackish water rushed up her nose as she plodded through the wilderness, over mangrove roots tangled together so densely that they formed forest floor, quivering with a variety of soft amphibious things that slithered and slimed and croaked in the gloom.
“Talasyn?”
The whisper cut through the dark swamp. She nearly hurled her light-spun sword at the treetops, but common sense kicked in at the last second and she squinted at the canopy above her. The round face of a young boy squinted back.
“I’ll tell the Amirante that you’re on your way.” He scampered off, hopping from branch to branch until he disappeared in a rustle of leaves.
Talasyn ventured on, over mud and twisted roots and shallow water. The Nautilus and the camp that had sprung up around it were on a natural embankment, while the Summerwind and the other airships were docked a short hike away. Talasyn saw the stormship first, the curve of it glistening in the seven-mooned night like the carcass of a whale that had beached itself within the mangroves. Surrounding it was a collection of bamboo huts on stilts.
As soon as she stepped onto the embankment, Vela came striding out to greet her. Sometimes it was a bit of an event when Talasyn visited, everyone hungry for news from the capital, but sometimes, like now, it was just her and the Amirante, speaking quietly in the evening gloom.
The first time Talasyn visited this hideout in the mangroves, she’d been shocked by the remnant’s collective appearance. Sigwad fell under Niamha’s domain and the Sardovians wore clothes provided to them by House Langsoune, all light cotton tunics and brightly colored breeches and striped wraparound skirts. Including Vela, they looked more Nenavarene than Allfold.
The Amirante had been informed of the marriage treaty and the threat of the Voidfell by the Dominion envoys who brought over the spectral configurations as a precautionary measure. She had either gotten all the upset out of her system or was doing a spectacular job of keeping it under control; the gaze that she fixed on Talasyn was remarkably composed.
“Enough is enough, Talasyn. You have to learn how to stand up for yourself. I know that you think that you’ll be endangering us by doing so, but you don’t have to be a witless pawn in the Dragon Queen’s games. Believe me, she needs your goodwill as much as you need hers. The Dominion has no qualms about deposing an heirless monarch—in fact, they were on the verge of doing so before you showed up. Without you, she risks losing everything. It is time that you remind her. Do you think that you can do that?”
“I don’t know,” Talasyn mumbled. “Everyone’s afraid of her, even my father. I’m alone—”
“You aren’t alone,” said Vela. “You have Ossinast.”
Talasyn blinked, uncomprehending. The ambient sounds of the swamp filled the tense space between words and Vela leaned in closer. “Power is a fluid, ever-shifting thing, dictated by alliances. Right now, it seems that Urduja Silim holds all the cards because she is the Zahiya-lachis. But . . . once you marry the Night Emperor, what does that make you?”
“The Night Empress,” Talasyn whispered.
Vela nodded. “While I can’t say that I’m delighted by it, Alaric being your consort buys us time. And it gives you—opportunities.”
“To spy on Kesath,” Talasyn heard herself saying, despite the odd jitters that coursed through her at Alaric being referred to as her consort. Not only was it easier for her to shift into battle mode now that she was in the company of her commanding officer, but the conversation had also unlocked an epiphany that had been waiting for the right nudge to blossom into wildfire. “To learn their weaknesses. To . . .” She trailed off, hardly daring to give voice to such a thing.
Vela finished the sentence for her. “To find the way to Gaheris.”
“We can cut off the serpent’s head, like we always planned,” Talasyn continued slowly. “Gaheris is the real power behind the Night Empire. We kill him, and it will all come crumbling down. And then we’ll figure out what to do with—”
The name caught in her throat.
“The man who will by then be your husband,” Vela muttered.
Talasyn swallowed. “A minor detail,” she said with rather more confidence than she actually felt.
“We can also learn how they’re making their void cannons,” Vela added. “Alaric brought only one moth coracle back to Kesath. The magic inside it shouldn’t have been enough to power entire ironclads. You have to figure out how they did it, and if there’s any way to take those armaments out of the equation.”
“All right. I will,” Talasyn was quick to say. It was a momentuous undertaking, but she felt better now that there was an actual plan.
Vela rubbed a weary hand over her face. “You’re going to be in so much danger. You have to promise us that you’ll call for an extraction if things go south.”
“I will.” Talasyn thought of Surakwel Mantes. “I know someone I can send if I need help—and when I have important information and can’t meet you myself.”
“You have a difficult road ahead of you,” Vela said gravely. “Right now, there seems to be no alternative other than for you to walk it. Do you think that you are strong enough?”
Talasyn lifted her chin. “I have to be.”
“Very well. Hurry back to Eskaya before your grandmother realizes that you aren’t there.”
Talasyn watched the Amirante walk back to her hut. She couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wished Vela had shown more indignation on her behalf, but it wasn’t Vela’s responsibility to coddle her and Talasyn had to do her duty, just as Vela had to do hers. The future was uncertain; it spread before her like the yawning mouth of some dark cave. And she would face it, the way she had faced everything else thus far.
Keep moving forward.
Chapter Twenty-Nine