Page 12 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

Princess Nikla has not fled to her quarters. No alarm bells sound.

Instead, she strides down a long hallway toward where I lurk. The massive, carved doors of the state dining room—where she is not supposed to be—are across the hall from me and the ebony staircase I’m waxing.

There are a dozen Martials working in the palace, the Beekeeper told me.You won’t be an anomaly, but keep your head down. I’ll send the wights when Laia has done her part and Nikla’s in her quarters. They’ll take you to her.

When Laia says she’ll do something, she does it. I hope to the skies she’s not dead. The Delphinium Scholars will have my head if anything happens to her.

Besides which, she’s grown on me.

My pocket rustles—the wights bringing me a scroll. I crouch, as if I’ve seen a scratch on the banister, and read the hastily scrawled message.

Keris Veturia in palace.

I hardly have time to comprehend how the Commandant got here—and how Musa’s wights missed it—when the Princess approaches. She halts before the dining room, not ten feet away. Chatter leaks from the closed doors. Once she’s inside with all those courtiers, she won’t emerge for hours.

Do something, Shrike. But what? Kidnap her? Kill her guards? I’m supposed to secure a treaty, not start a war.

Bleeding, burning hells. I told Livia to send a diplomat. Avitas Harper would have been perfect. She could have dispatched him to Marinn andlet me stay in Delphinium. I’d have been able to focus on Grímarr and the Karkauns. And I’d have been free of Harper and the maddening desire that muddles my mind and tangles my words whenever he’s near.

But no.The Mariner royal family needs to speak with someone who fought in Antium, Livia said.Someone who knows what Grímarr is doing there.

Just thinking of it makes my blood boil. Four weeks ago, Grímarr ambushed a supply caravan headed for Delphinium. He replaced the food with Martial and Scholar limbs—those hacked off during his violent blood rites. One of his men hid in the caravan and tried to ambush me, shouting, “Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi!” I gutted him before I got a translation.

When the Paters of Delphinium learned of the incident, they were horrified. Their support wanes, even as the Karkauns wreak havoc on my capital. Weneedthis alliance.

So here I am, standing three yards from the crown princess of Marinn, bold as a Navium dock whore. I have no battle armor. No mask. Just a stolen uniform and my scarred face.

The princess doesn’t enter the room. Instead she stares at the fish and shells and ferns carved in the door as if she’s never seen them before. For an instant, she looks panicked.

The idea of lording over the Martials as an empress—and being subject to the politics and expectations of such a position—makes me ill. Perhaps Nikla feels the same.

One of Nikla’s guards clears her throat. Half of the sentries I’ve seen here are women—something the Empire could use a bit more of. This guard is also female, tall and hawk-faced, with dark skin and a firm voice.

“Your Highness. It has been a long day. Perhaps your steward can make your excuses.”

“You overstep, Lieutenant Eleiba.” Nikla’s shoulders stiffen. “I reinstated you into the guard at my father’s request. Do not—”

Nikla turns as she speaks—and spots me. “You,” she says. “I don’t recognize—”

Don’t kill the bleeding guards, Shrike. Treaty, not war. I rush the princess and she stumbles back, her feet caught in the hem of her dress. Before her defenders can call out, my dagger is in my hand. I ram it, hilt first, into the temple of the first guard, dropping him.

As he falls, I snatch his spear away and spin the butt of it into the face of the guard behind me. A satisfying thump tells me I’ve hit my mark. I jam the spear between the dining room door handles so that the guards and courtiers within cannot get out.

One of the soldiers, Eleiba, rushes away with the princess, screaming for aid. The third guard is on me now, but I disarm her and bash her with the flat of her scim. Before she hits the floor, I have flung a knife at the fleeing Eleiba.

It sinks into her shoulder and she jerks, nearly falling.

“Run, Princess!” she shouts. But I am too fast for them both. I spot a door. According to the map Musa had me memorize, it leads to a small meeting chamber. I herd Nikla and Eleiba toward it.

“In.” I nod to the door. Eleiba growls at me, but I fix my gaze on the princess.

“Do you know who I am?”

She narrows her eyes and nods.

“Then you know that if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. Tell your guard to stand down.”

“Death first,” Eleiba rasps. “Princess—go—”

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