Page 101 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

As High King, it’s solely his right to punish traitors who have committed crimes against the kingdom, and by association, his crown. But even beyond that, it’s his right to avenge his father’s death.

Seemingly satisfied, Savell dips his head, arms falling to his sides. “Good. Let’s be off.”

The next few days are a blur. We barely stop to make camp or rest, even for short periods of time, fearing that if we do, we’ll be too late. In the nearly two months since I left High Keep, we’ve never driven ourselves to the brink of exhaustion the way we do now.

The red-eyed male is fae, I tell myself. Like us, he’ll need to stop for food and rest—even with those gods-forsaken wings of his, though they’re not of this earth. My practical mind knows that to be true. Still, worry claws at my throat, threatening to choke me.

Inhaling, I force myself to clear my mind. I’m in control of the reins, guiding our mount along the mountain road. The pure, mountain air is crisp on my tongue, the breeze cool on my skin, and though neither of us knows what will happen once we reach the city, Asheros’s presence at my back is silent reassurance.

Keeping my eyes on the horizon, I squint into the sunlight. Wide, slanted roofs come into view, glimmering with steel encrusted stone tiles. Illnamoor—the city of falling rivers.

My home.

“We’re here,” I say, my voice heavier than I intended.

Asheros drapes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

Narrowing my eyes, I clench my jaw. We ride closer, approaching the city walls which lie at the highest point of the valley before us. Sprawled across the mountaintops, beginning some distance ahead and continuing high above where we ride, rest elegant buildings crafted from smooth ivory mountain rock with steel-infused paint accenting the graceful arches over windows and doorways in careful strokes. Water rushes beneath artfully designed bridges, the intricately carved structural supports splitting what would be one massive waterfall into five smaller ones.

As a child, I was fascinated by how the entire city had been simultaneously built, both into the mountain and above free flowing water. It seemed that wherever I stepped in this city, the chorus of its many waterfalls always surrounded me.

There were many times when I’d wandered off, following where the sound of the rushing water led, and been late to my lessons. My mouth tightens. Those would have been happy memories if not tainted by my mother’s displeasure. Her look of disappointment was always the same. A stern, hard line at her mouth. That exhale through her nose.

My mother was the kind of mother that would never tell you when she was disappointed in you. She’d leave that for me to decipher from the subtleties she’d lay as hints.

Waves of comfort radiate from the bond, washing away the phantoms of my childhood failures. I lean into Asheros, and he presses a kiss to my head.

When we near the gates, I tug on the reins and slow our horse to a stop.

The guard peers down at us. “Who goes there?”

Angling my head, I give the best impression of the dignitary my mother had always wanted me to be. “Lady Lymseia Wynterliff, second-born daughter of Head of House, Lady Kylantha Wynterliff. I’d like to see my mother at once.”

“Of course, my lady,” the guard stammers. “Right away, my lady.” He turns around. “You! Come on, then, open the gates!”

Closing my eyes in time with my breath, I let Ceren’s words guide me.

“As Captain, half the battle is in that room,” she’d told me, pointing to the throne room, where High King Vorr had waited to hear of my nomination as her successor. “I have trained you well in the art of combat. You are more than skilled with those short swords you have come to claim as your own.” She’d paused, pressing her lips together. “But even in all my years as Captain, I have never mastered the art of demanding respect from those who wear fine clothes, from those who have grown comfortable in their luxury. Not through the use of my words.”

“What do you mean?” I’d asked, absolutely bewildered. “You’re the most highly decorated warrior in the kingdom. There isn’t anyone here that doesn’t revere you.”

“That is because of my feats in battle, my successes in the wars against the Old Gods, not because of anything else,” she’d told me, resignation dampening her words. Then, she looked at me with her eyes ablaze in a way I’d never seen before—a look I’ll never forget as long as I live. “But your mind, Lymseia. Your mind is sharper than any sword. Use it to your advantage, and you will triumph in battles fought with words.”

Exhaling, I open my eyes as the gates swing inward. Gripping the reins, I urge our horse forward though every fiber in my body is telling me to turn back.

“Your mind is sharper than any sword,” I mutter to myself, over and over.

My mind is sharper than any sword.

Ceren believed that.

It’s time I did, too.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The great hall at the Wynterliff Manor is just as I remember it.

Gray-blue walls, so light they reflect sunlight nearly as well as steel metal. Long, arched windows line the far wall, filling the room with natural light though a pristine, shining steel chandelier waits to be used. A long, dignified white oak table sits in the room’s center with rounded chairs neatly pushed in. I don’t have to see the satin chair cushions to know they’re the same sky blue as House Wynterliff’s banners—the very same ones that hang from the ceiling in rows of two, above the table adorned with my family’s rigid, linear insignia.

---