The Spirit War

CHAPTER 14

The Empress stood on the balcony at the top of her war palace, looking over her fleet. It was an impressive sight. Even Nara, who had fielded countless armies in her conquest of the continent that was now her Empire, had never seen its like.

Palace ships filled the bay, packed so close that the sailors could step from one ship to the next without stretching their legs. Overhead, wind spirits kept a smooth inland wind blowing at her command, filling the enormous sails and keeping the ships together against the ocean’s tide. Each palace ship was large enough to fill three blocks in one of her well-ordered cities and as tall as the war palace at Istalirin would be were it perched on the sea instead of a mountain. Square sails as large as wheat fields hung from the tower masts, and each enormous, tar-black, iron-girded wood hull was packed to capacity with men ready to die at her command.

For the first time in many centuries, Nara felt a quickening of the excitement that came before a conquest. She had emptied her garrisons for this day, marched her troops to the bay at Istalirin from all corners of her Empire. Before her lay the largest fleet ever assembled, carrying the largest army she’d ever fielded, the largest army the world had ever seen.

“It’s beautiful,” said a deep voice beside her.

Nara caught herself seconds before she jumped. Excitement turned to cold rage as she turned to face the man who had impertinently joined her on her balcony.

Den wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were locked on the fleet, his face pulled into a wide, white-toothed grin that was more snarl than smile. “I think that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever see.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Nara said sharply. “But I didn’t build it for you.”

“Pity,” Den said with a sigh. “It would be a real challenge to take that army.”

Nara sighed. “That’s an absurd joke, Warlord.”

“I don’t make jokes,” Den said, reaching in his pocket. “Look here, I made you something.”

He pulled out a folded paper and jabbed it at her like a spear. Nara took it gingerly, eyebrows going up in surprise as she shook the paper open. It was a map. A hand-drawn, surprisingly detailed map of lands she did not recognize.

“The western continent,” Den said. “Your maps were a bit sketchy. I filled in the details.”

“My maps were taken from description given by the winds,” Nara said crossly.

“What do winds know of war?” Den said, shrugging. “War is a human enterprise, woman. See here.” He snatched the map back and laid a calloused finger on the long chain of islands just off the continent’s eastern seaboard.

“Osera,” Den said. “We have to take them first or you’ll have their runners on your back the whole campaign. Now, your maps showed only the coastline, but look here.” He moved his finger to the cross-hatching that surrounded the islands. “These are the shallows, the rocks and reefs that guard Osera’s eastern shore. Your big ships run deep. They’ll ground themselves if they get too close.”

“I am well aware of that,” Nara snapped. “You presume too much. Remember, my generals have fought at Osera before.”

“And they let Whitefall and his cronies lure them into the handful of deepwater approaches like idiots,” Den countered. “That one act of stupidity narrowed their fleet, lowered the effectiveness of superior numbers, and lost them the war. If I hadn’t switched sides and taken out Whitefall’s army on the cliffs, your ships would never have made it back here to report their own defeat.”

Nara glared at Den’s weathered finger on the cross-hatched shading marking the dangerous water. “You never did tell me why you turned that day. You were the greatest threat to our soldiers, greater than the wizards or the ships with their clingfire.” She glanced up at his dark eyes. “Tell me, why did you do it?”

Den looked genuinely puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“As your new master, I think it is wise to know what triggers your betrayal.”

Den threw back his head and laughed. He laughed long and loudly, frightening the servants who hovered just out of sight. Nara stayed still, growing angrier with every passing second. Finally, Den’s laughter died away, leaving him grinning at her like a wolf.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “That war was the happiest time of my life. For the first time ever, I could fight as much as I wanted. Strong men literally jumped out of the sea at me. No more wandering looking for a challenge, no more wasting my time. Truly, I’d found paradise. So when your fleet started to lose, it was the natural choice to switch sides and keep my paradise going. It worked for a bit, but then your coward of a general ran home. I considered slaughtering him and what was left of his crew, but I wanted to meet the woman who could start a war without even going to the front herself. I thought if you could start one war, maybe there were others.” His grin widened. “But you should know, Nara, it wasn’t betrayal. Betrayal requires loyalty. I had no loyalty to Whitefall, and I have no loyalty to you. You can call yourself my Empress all you like, but I have no king by myself.”

With that, he started to laugh again, and for a moment, Nara seriously considered killing him. She turned the idea over, toying with how to do it. She could order the air around him to stop moving and suffocate him where he stood. She could open the floor below him and let the fall break him on the rocks. But she did none of these things. Instead, she turned back to her fleet.

“You know I could kill you before you lifted a hand.”

“But you won’t,” Den said. “A woman who’s spent ten lifetimes conquering knows better than to throw away her best weapon.”

Nara stiffened. “And if we start to lose now, will you kill five thousand of my men and join the other side?”

“Five thousand of your men wouldn’t even be a dent,” Den said, grinning down at the endless ships. “But what a fight that would be, eh?”

The Empress shook her head. “Go and take your place, Bloody Den. Take your map to the fleet head and tell him I said to put you on the first-wave flagship.”

Den took his map back, folding it neatly. “Just so long as you promise I won’t die of old age waiting for you to get moving. We’re not all immortal here, Nara.”

“I’ll throw you into war soon enough,” the Empress said. “When this is done, even you might have had your fill of fighting.”

“Impossible,” Den said, laughing as he vanished through the curtained door.

Nara did not watch him go. She watched her fleet, standing still as a gold-plated statue on her balcony until, hours later, the last of her army had finally marched up the plank from the dock to the waiting ships. As the captain called for the plank to be raised, a shiver went through her. Almost, she breathed to herself. Soon, sooner than Den could dream, her fleet would be landing on the far-western shore. Soon she would carve a swath across the world large enough that even Benehime would notice. She would force the Lady to look up from her spoiled boy, and when she did, she would see Nara standing triumphant with the world in her hands, ready at last to shape it to the perfection she’d dreamed of that night in the swamp so many years ago.

Will you, darling girl?

The voice broke over her like a shower of ice water. Nara froze, unable to breathe, unable to think as the thrill of that beloved, beloved tore through her. When she could move again, she turned and fell to her knees before the pure white light.

Benehime sat on the balcony railing like a great white bird, a smile on her perfect, white face. She was glorious, beautiful, and so beloved Nara could barely look at her. Instead, the Empress kept her face down, biting her lip against the overwhelming tide of emotion threatening to capsize her.

Are you crying? Benehime’s voice was cool and soft as her white fingers lay their burning touch against the crown of Nara’s head. Did you think I had forgotten you, Nara?

“No, Lady,” Nara lied, raising her tear-streaked face to kiss the Lady’s fingers.

I could never forget my dashing Empress. Benehime’s voice floated over her mind. Just because you are no longer first in my heart does not mean I do not care for you.

Nara shook with rage. Second. Second. How could she be second? Above her, the Shepherdess put on a hurt face.

Why are you mad, darling?

“How can I not be?” Nara cried. “You love that boy more than me!”

The Shepherdess smiled, stroking Nara’s face with her fingertips. Jealousy becomes you. You were so dull while you were sulking.

Nara flinched, cheeks coloring with shame. “I am through with that,” she said bitterly. “I love you, Lady. More than he ever could.”

Do you? Benehime’s voice was close to laughter.

Nara looked away. Her words sounded so needy, so desperate, even to her. But she could not stop. The Lady’s presence was intoxicating after so long without.

Benehime’s sigh floated over her, and when Nara looked up, the Lady was gone. Panic shot through her, but before she could move, white arms encircled her from behind. Relief so strong it was almost painful hammered her chest, and Nara fell back, letting Benehime’s white beauty engulf her.

There, there, my love, Benehime whispered, pulling Nara into her lap. She kissed the Empress’s forehead, cradling her armored body to her breast. Nara gave herself over, burying her face in the impossibly soft cascade of Benehime’s white hair as she began to weep in earnest, surrendering completely to the burning, beloved feel of her Lady’s touch.

“You forgot me.” Her words were broken to pieces by sobs.

Benehime made a soothing noise. I did not forget you. I simply had others more worthy of my attention. How could I visit you when you had cast yourself into that stinking cave?

“What else was there for me?” Nara whispered. “I was lost without you.” She raised her head, looking into the Lady’s white eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. “I live for you, Lady. I always have, ever since that first night. I will never hide again. I swear it, so please, please come back to me.”

Come back? Benehime’s voice was soft as new snow. How could I come back to you now? What have you done to deserve me?

“I’ll do anything,” Nara whispered, digging her fingers into the white flesh of Benehime’s lovely shoulders.

Benehime bent down, cupping Nara’s chin in her burning fingers as she laid a kiss on Nara’s lips. Nara shuddered, her eyes slamming closed to shut out everything but the feel of the Shepherdess. It was a brief touch, barely more than a flash of heat, but it was enough to bring centuries of memories flooding back. Nara reached out desperately, clinging to the lost time when Benehime loved her best of all. But no matter how tightly she held them, the memories were flat. That time was gone, leaving her alone and forgotten, empty but for one burning desire.

When Nara opened her eyes again, she was no longer crying.

“Lady,” she promised. “I will be your favorite again, or I will die trying.”

Such talk, Nara, Benehime said, stroking her hair. Second in my heart is still beloved. Is that not enough?

“No,” Nara said, sitting up straight. “I know now, life without your attention is no better than death.” She reached out, seizing the Lady’s hand between her own. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered. “How can I make you love me best again?”

Benehime smiled and stood, taking Nara with her as though the Empress weighed nothing. She turned slightly, facing them toward the fleet that spread out across the sea. I always loved you best as a conqueror, she said. Do you remember when I first found you? The wish you made?

“To bring all the world under righteous rule,” Nara said.

Benehime smiled. It was those words that made me love you then. So audacious, so determined. If you want me to love you now as I did then, use the power I gave you to fulfill that wish. Give me the world, Nara. Be the conqueror, the righteous, perfect Empress I saw in you so long ago. Crush all who stand in your way, and maybe I will have reason to love you best again.

Nara leaned back, her hand going to the beautiful sword at her hip. “Watch me, Shepherdess,” she said, her voice firm as stone. “You will see your conqueror in all her glory and terror. I will give you a world made perfect, a world without unfairness or disobedience. A world deserving of you.”

Benehime laughed, a beautiful chime, and leaned in to drop a kiss on the Empress’s forehead.

I’ll be watching. Her whisper thrilled against Nara’s skin. Do not disappoint me, darling star.

And then she was gone, her beautiful whiteness vanishing into the air, leaving only the blinding afterimage of a white line. Nara fell to her knees as the overwhelming feel of the Lady’s presence vanished. She knelt for several moments, clutching herself and trying not to sob at the loss. When she was sure of herself again, she stood and walked to the balcony’s edge, reaching out with her spirit as she did. The war palace answered at once.

“Hail, Empress,” the stones rattled.

“Are the ships loaded?”

“Yes, Empress,” the stone said. “The docks report that the last of your legions and the man called Den are boarded.”

Nara nodded. “Time to go.”

The stone gave a final, sobbing shudder before bowing to her will. “Yes, Empress. As you command.”

As the words faded, the war palace began to shake. The bay rocked as the tremors shot through the ground. She could dimly hear the cries of her men on the ships, but Nara brushed them aside, focusing her attention on the palace around her. She stretched out her spirit, wrapping it through the stone and down to the very roots of the mountain she’d used to form the fortress hundreds of years ago, and then, one by one, she ripped those roots out. The stone screamed every time she pulled one free, yammering in pain as she severed its connection to the world’s foundations.

Nara scowled. Quiet.

The command left her with a stab of her will, and the screaming stopped. After that, the mountain bore the pain in silence as she tore the last of its roots free.

Move, she said, pouring her will into the command.

The stone obeyed. With a great crash, the war palace Istalirin, and the mountain it was attached to, fell into the sea. The stone docks crumbled with a cut-off cry as the mountain fell on top of them, and the ocean rose up in a great wave from the impact, tossing her palace ships like toy boats. Her winds moved the moment she brushed them, tearing down from the sky and forcing themselves between the ships to cushion them as they bumped against each other. Other winds pressed on the water itself, flattening the bay until the sea was as smooth as glass and the war palace floated among the fleet, a true palace ship riding atop a great stone island.

“Empress,” the mountain’s voice was pleading. “I cannot hold, Empress. I will sink.”

“You will not,” the Empress said. She flung out her will, reaching over the bay, over her ships, and out into the ocean. The moment she hit open water, her spirit dove. She plunged into the water, ignoring the mad rush of the water spirits and sinking deep into the black abyss until she found what she wanted. At the bottom of the trench that ran along her continent was a current, one of the great highways of the sea. This current was not a spirit in itself, but a union of the tattered remains of shredded water spirits torn apart by the ocean’s pull. These spirits, no longer large enough to have minds of their own, banded together to flow as one in one direction, operating with a herd mind that had only one purpose: to flow. And that was the purpose Nara took.

She grabbed the current with her will. The water screamed and fought as she pulled it up, too mindless to care that she was a star. But Nara fought harder, crushing the spirits until the water cried out in surrender. When it was pliant in her grip, Nara pulled the current up from the seafloor and into her bay. The deep, cold water flooded into the warm shallows with a scream, lifting her fleet in a great swell before slamming into the gap between her war palace and the seafloor. The palace shook in relief as the current lifted the uprooted mountain, floating it like a cork under Nara’s iron command.

Nara smiled as her palace bobbed and shifted her focus westward. Screaming, the current had no choice but to follow. The blast of water caught the palace ships at once, and her fleet shot out, riding the great wave of water westward toward the unconquered half of the world.

Panting, Nara fell to her knees, clutching the balcony rails to keep herself upright. Even as a star, moving such enormous spirits was exhausting. But it was done. Her fleet and her war palace were racing out of the bay, carried into the sea by the great current that flowed at her command. There was nothing that could stop her now.

Slowly, she stood and drew her sword, raising its gleaming blade to the fading sunlight. “Are you watching, lady?” she cried, holding her sword to the sky. “With this, I begin your war.”

As she spoke, words appeared on the sword’s blade, a single sentence etched in gleaming steel.

Sleepers wake, I am coming.

Nara held her breath. The rushing wind filled her ears, but if she strained, she could hear the Shepherdess’s beautiful laugh at the very edge of her hearing. That was enough. Smiling, Nara sheathed her sword and walked into her palace.

High overhead, those winds who were not yet loyal turned and rushed west to bring word to their master of the star’s coming.

Duke Finley arrived at his town house shortly after sunset. His servants ran out to greet him as the coach pulled to a stop. Finley stepped down, letting the valets take his overcoat while his footmen ran to close the elegant iron gate that separated the mansion from the street. Henry was waiting for him at the door, a glass of wine ready in his hand.

“Welcome home, father,” he said. “How was your day?”

“What you doing here?” Finley said, snatching the glass with enough force to spill half its contents on the marble entry. “You’re supposed to be heading the palace watch tonight.”

“The captain gave me the night off,” Henry said. “She heard about your meeting with our beloved prince and thought you could use the company.”

“Did she?” Finley downed the wine in one gulp and tossed the glass at his manservant, who caught it expertly. “How thoughtful of our dear princess.”

Henry’s smile wavered as he followed his father into the house. Like all high-ranking Oseran nobility, Duke Finley’s mansion was located in the tangle of fine houses just down the mountain from the palace. But though his house was less than a block from the castle, it was worlds away in style. Where the royal palace was a stalwart relic of a lost era, the duke’s home was impeccably modern. The smooth, austere facade presented a clean face to the street while delicate flourishes of carved waves lapped tastefully at the cornerstones. Inside, wide halls paneled with carved slats of imported wood led to rooms filled with windows. Elegant lamps enhanced with crystals hung from the ceilings, and fine rugs covered the floor with rich colors. The furniture was ornate, painted gold and upholstered in silk in the Zarin style.

But for all this modernity, Finley was still the heir to the throne, and was he guarded accordingly. Because of this, the delicate ambiance of his brightly lit stone foyer was marred by a pair of guards in full armor standing at attention. A second pair of guards, scarred veterans, stood at the top of the grand stair where they perpetually got in the way of the servants. A third pair of guards watched the door to the duke’s small garden, their great armored shapes ridiculous against the outline of the delicate fruit trees. Each post saluted the duke as he passed, and the duke saluted back, muttering to himself the whole way up to his study.

“Honestly,” he growled as Henry closed the leather padded study door. “You’d think we were still an island of savage barbarians murdering each other in our beds.”

“The queen cares deeply for your safety, father,” Henry said. “As do we all.”

“Nonsense,” the duke said, sinking into his cushioned chair by the fire. “Theresa may set the guard, but I’m the one who has to pay for it. And you can stop trying to butter me up with that ‘as do we all’ rot, Henry. You’re not going to be king.”

The dutiful look fell off Henry’s face. “What?” he cried.

“He didn’t take the bait,” the duke said, shrugging. “Josef Liechten is determined to stay and get his mother her grandchild whether she’s alive to enjoy the brat or not. You’d think after abandoning every other shred of duty, this would be easy, but no.”

“What are we going to do?” Henry said, sinking into the chair beside his father’s.

“Nothing,” the duke said and snorted, staring into the fire. “We’re going to sit and we’re going to wait. Even if he got her with child last night, the queen won’t live long enough to confirm the pregnancy. Once the old cow is dead and I’m on the throne, no one will care what’s in the princess’s belly.”

“Father,” Henry said delicately, sitting on the edge of his chair. “Aren’t you dismissing Adela too quickly? She’s very popular with the people. We could use that. I—”

“I am well aware of your shameless infatuation with the princess, Henry,” the duke said dryly. “Now, and I’m not going to tell you this again, forget her. She’s nothing but trash who knows how to play a crowd, just like her mother. If you speak of her again, I’ll pull you off the guard and put you on a deepwater patrol boat for the rest of the year. Do you understand?”

Henry bit his lip. “Yes, father.”

“Good,” the duke said, sitting back. “Powers, the way my luck’s been going, you’ll be the one to get the princess pregnant and lose your throne to your own son.”

“Father!” Henry cried.

“You can’t hide things from me, boy,” Finley said, glaring. “Not that you’ve tried. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m working so hard to secure your place in the succession when you seem intent on ruining your reputation, cornering the princess in hallways in sight of anyone who walks by.”

Henry looked away, cheeks scarlet. “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he grumbled. “Everyone’s saying we’re done for now that the clingfire’s up in flames.”

Finley sat up. “Who’s saying that?”

“All the guards, for one,” Henry said. “It’s common talk on the docks, and why not? You could see the smoke from the mainland. Everyone knows that we can’t down the palace ships without clingfire, and if the palace ships don’t go down, the Empress wins.”

“A minor setback,” the duke said dismissively. “I’ll have the crown make a statement tomorrow that we have a backup clingfire stock hidden.”

“But we don’t,” Henry said.

“Well, no one needs to know that, do they?” Finley said. “The last thing we need is a panic. If we are to stand before the Empress, we must be united, and we can’t do that if people are scared.”

“You can’t just lie about things like that,” Henry said.

“I can and I have,” Finley said. “How do you think this island’s been functioning for the last month? We’ve been plagued by setbacks since we heard the Empress was on the move. First there was the queen’s dramatic turn for the worse that put everything in uproar and brought back the idiot prince, and then we had that horrid mess with the tar eating through the wood in the new ships. We had to scrap half a fleet of runners thanks to that one. And there was the dry rot in the corn vault.” The duke shook his head. “Trust me, Henry, this fire was nothing. Just another headache in a long line of bad, bad luck.”

Henry stared at his father. “I didn’t hear about any of that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Finley said. “That’s what it means to keep things secret. Fortunately, we’ve still got time to make up the shortfalls before the Empress arrives. Assuming, of course, nothing else goes wrong.”

Henry paled. “What else can go wrong?”

“Never ask, my boy,” Finley said quietly. “Never ask.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, both lost in their own dark thoughts as they watched the fire burn lower and lower. And then suddenly and without warning, Henry sat bolt upright.

“What was that?” he said. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” the duke grumbled, sinking lower in his chair. “Probably our idiot porter getting into the—”

The sound cut him off before he could finish. It was a soft, rolling thump, followed by a clatter. Finley looked at his son, all tiredness gone, and they stood up together. The duke’s hand dropped down to the old sword at his side as he crept toward the library door.

Just before his hand touched the handle, the door flew open, and a white-faced servant burst into the room.

“My lord!” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “You have to get out!”

“Why?” the duke said. “What’s happened?”

The servant looked over his shoulder at the dark hall. “An intruder, sir.”

“Intruder?” the duke said. “Nonsense, let the guards have him. That’s what I pay them for.”

The servant shook his head, grabbing the duke’s arms. “The back, quick—”

The word ended in a tight gasp. The servant’s mouth was still moving, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide as he crumpled, the back of his neck cut wide open. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The duke jumped back before he realized what was happening, drawing his sword on instinct alone. Now that the servant was out of the way, he could see the guards at the end of the hall. Both men were down, lying in dark pools with the back of their necks cut, spines severed cleanly, just like the servant’s.

Finley grew very still, eyes searching the shadows while his fingers tightened on his sword. But the house was still, silent except for his own ragged breaths and those of his son behind him.

Without taking his eyes from the door, he motioned Henry back to the fireplace. Other than the windows, the room had only one entrance. Finley kept his sword up, watching the shadows for any trace of movement. On the floor, the servant’s blood was seeping into the thick carpet. It was so quiet the duke could hear the liquid spreading through the fibers. Panic began to rise in his stomach, but Finley fought it down. He took a deep breath, ignoring the taste of blood in the air and forcing himself to be calm, to look.

That was when he saw the killer.

The man stood at the corner where the stairs met the hall, less than five steps from the fallen guards. He was so still that the duke’s eyes had a hard time picking his dark clothes out of the shadows. Finley blinked several times, still not sure if his eyes were telling the truth. If the man was standing at the other end of house, there was no way he could have killed the servant, not from that distance. Perhaps there were two intruders? As Finley’s mind scrambled to reconcile the facts, the man began to move. He rushed forward, racing down the hall in a handful of seconds, his padded feet completely silent on the hardwood floor.

Finley gritted his teeth and cursed himself for a fool. He’d just wasted his only chance to escape. Now the man stood in the study door, blocking the only exit with his body.

“What do you want?” Finley said, surprised at how stern and clear his voice was.

The man didn’t answer. Now that he was standing in the well-lit library, the duke could see the intruder was slender and tall. He was wrapped head to toe in dark cloth, and even his eyes were hidden beneath black netting. He had a sword at his hip, the sheath wrapped in black as well, but Finley could tell it was a short blade. The duke hefted his own sword. There was still a chance. He had reach on the assassin, so did Henry. The killer had lost his chance at surprise by running forward, and it was two on one now.

At once, Finley felt his confidence returning. He inched his feet forward, stepping into position. Behind him, he heard Henry follow his lead. Finley licked his lips, getting ready to shout for Henry to begin the attack. But the words died on his lips, for at that moment, the assassin drew his sword.

The sword appeared with a flash of silver. Its blade was heavy, short, and gleaming with its own silver light. Finley sucked in a breath. A man in Osera didn’t go through a lifetime of sword training without learning to recognize an awakened blade. The duke was no wizard, but even he could see the sword’s surface trembling in anticipation as the assassin stepped over the servant’s body.

The blow came before the duke could think to raise his sword. One moment the assassin was facing them, short sword in hand, the next the sword was through him. Finley gasped more in surprise than pain, looking down at the blade through his chest, and then up again at the man still standing in the doorway holding a sword that was no longer short, but long as a spear with its point jutting out Finley’s back.

On the other side of the room, the assassin flicked his hand. The sword flashed like a wave, the steel sliding out of Finley’s body, and Henry began to scream. The duke jerked in surprise and turned to help his son, but his body wasn’t moving anymore. He toppled, falling to the carpet. He turned as he fell, looking back just in time to see the glowing blade snap like a whip as it finished slitting his son’s throat.

The duke could only stare as Henry fell, hitting the carpet with that now-familiar soft thump. Behind him, he heard the hiss of steel on steel, and he rolled his eyes to see the swordsman’s blade shrinking back to its original size, the glowing metal folding into itself until the assassin held a short sword once again. The killer lifted his gleaming weapon and walked to the window, using the duke’s velvet curtains to wipe Henry’s blood from the blade. Finley’s breath was growing scarce now, but he hardly noticed. Rage filled his body in a way life no longer could, and he lunged across the carpet, grabbing the man by the ankle.

“You dare!” he hissed. “Who are you?”

The swordsman turned to face him and slowly raised his hand to the cloth over his face. He unhooked something behind his ear, and the covering fell away. The duke’s hand went limp with surprise, and he collapsed back to the carpet.

“You,” he whispered in disbelief. And then, with his last breath: “Why?”

The question was barely past his lips when the sword swept down, giving Duke Finley the last and only answer he would ever receive.