Talia followed an attendant down the long white corridors to the royal wing of the palace, her bare feet slapping over the white-and-gold marble floor. She hadn’t had time to call an attendant to fix her hair or line her eyes with kohl, but at least she’d managed a hasty bath.
She’d never been in the royal wing before. Pillars carved with lattice work soared to high domed ceilings, and the walls were covered in mosaics, the brightly colored pieces of glass depicting scenes from mythology. She glimpsed the god of the earth and the god of the sea holding two shining Stars; she saw the Immortal Tree laying on its side as all mankind wept over it.
Talia’s heart belonged in Irsa on her parents’ mountain estate, but she had grown to love Eddenahr too. Maybe it was because her father had always seen adventure around every corner, or because she could feel the weight of history whispering in the corridors of the two-thousand-year-old palace. The royal wing seemed even older than the rest of it.
“This way, Miss Dahl-Saida.” The attendant opened a carved ivory door and ushered her into a small inner courtyard.
For a moment she stood there, blinking, as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. And then she saw the Emperor of Enduena.
He was sitting at a low ebony table, propped up against a dozen pillows, his brown hand shaking as he raised a goblet of wine to his lips. He was not an old man, certainly not above sixty, but he looked as ancient as the earth itself. His eyes were sunken into his face, his skin sagging about him like an oversized shirt. He looked impossibly frail, vastly more ill than the last time Talia had seen him at a court dinner about a week ago.
Tamping down her anxiety, she stepped toward the table and curtsied very low.
It was only then she became aware of her mother, kneeling on a cushion to the Emperor’s left. Her eyes pierced through Talia, instantly disapproving of her unkempt state but just as equally resigned to it. She wore a deep-green sleeveless top and matching mirror-embroidered skirt, with a gauzy blue sash draped over her shoulder and gold threads wound into her beautiful black hair.
“Sit down, my dear,” came the Emperor’s voice, wispy and small and sounding far away.
Talia sank onto a cushion opposite the Emperor, glancing to her mother. Her mother gave her an encouraging smile, but Talia didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her glass. Talia had never known her mother to be nervous.
Sunlight poured into the open courtyard, and a pair of attendants pulled an awning from wall to wall, tying the ends onto waiting hooks. A fountain burbled in the back corner and jasmine vines crawled up the stones, their white star-shaped flowers closed tight until the evening. Talia glimpsed a peacock pecking for bugs by the fountain and wondered idly if it was a descendant of the one she’d chased around the palace.
Attendants poured cardamom tea and spread breakfast onto the table: mangoes and flatbread drizzled with honey, rice cakes and fried bananas, poached duck eggs and spicy lentils. Talia heaped everything onto her plate. She was ravenous from her long ride, but it was disconcerting to be stared at by the Emperor at such a close range, and her anxiety quickly smothered her hunger. She found she could barely touch her food and just sipped her tea, the spicy sweetness sparking on her tongue.
“Well,” said Talia’s mother after a few minutes of agonizing silence, “I suppose it’s time to discuss why we asked you here. Your Imperial Majesty?”
The Emperor blinked at her mother and then turned his gaze to Talia. Spittle clung to the corner of his mouth and dripped in his patchy beard. His hand shook as he set his goblet back on the table, red wine sloshing over the edge. “My health is failing,” he said in that far-away voice. “I must choose an heir.”
He was seized by a coughing fit. He couldn’t seem to stop. An attendant appeared with an etched metal cup and put it to his lips. The Emperor drank, slowly, and his coughing subsided.
Tears leaked from his eyes, and Talia bowed her head, ashamed for him. Once, this man had been young and strong—a war hero, a fearless leader. He’d been the one to abolish the slave trade and unite the mainland provinces, to claim the island of Ryn for the Enduenan Empire, to strengthen relations with the colonies on Od, to demand tribute from Halda, and to establish trade with Ita. He’d defended Enduena from the warriors of Denlahn and driven them back across the sea to their own land. He’d launched countless ships after the Denlahn, determined to absorb them too into the Empire, but the long voyage weakened his soldiers and the Denlahn slaughtered them. It was considered his only failure.
But that was decades ago, long before Talia was born. Now the Emperor was a wasted shell. The Empress had died ten years ago, her health never recovered from bringing a son into the world. The teenage prince had been killed last year in a hunting accident, and the Emperor fell ill shortly afterward. The court pinned silver mourning tokens to their sleeves, whispering that their heartbroken Emperor would never be the same. And they were right.
“You come of age next week,” said her mother, causing Talia to look up again. “His Imperial Majesty will make the announcement at your party.”
Talia glanced from the Emperor to her mother and back again, a confused suspicion darting into her mind. “What announcement?”
The Emperor’s watery eyes focused on Talia’s. “The gods saw fit to give me a daughter,” he whispered, “to keep her safe when my son was gone. An heir to the Empire.”
Talia’s heart raced, thinking of her encounter on the plain. “Do you mean Eda, Your Imperial Majesty?”
A frown pressed between his eyes, and he slowly shook his head. “I mean you, Talia Dahl-Saida. You are my daughter. My heir. A gift from the gods. You will be Empress of Enduena when I am gone.”
Talia started shaking violently, her body understanding the Emperor’s words before her mind did. Before her heart did. A hot wind curled under the awning and whispered across her neck. She sucked in a sharp breath and jerked up from her seat, knocking over her tea. Milky-brown liquid leaked across the ebony table and dripped onto the ground. Her head spun. She forced herself to focus on the Emperor, on her mother, forced the words past her lips: “I don’t understand.”
Her mother’s hand trembled where she gripped her own cup; but for that, she was still. “The Emperor is your father, Talia. You will be the next Empress of Enduena, and at your party he will announce it to the court.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. A rift opened inside of her, a chasm spiraling into yawning dark. Everything narrowed to the Emperor, his sagging face and hollow frame. “I have a father,” she whispered, voice cracking.
Her mother rose from her cushion and attempted to lay a hand on Talia’s arm.
Talia shook her off, seizing onto the one emotion she understood: anger. “I. Have. A father.”
“Talia—”