Page 238 of The Cradle of Ice
The relief that crashed over the man’s face was answer enough. He turned and shouted orders. Their two forces merged.
Angelon pushed Jubayr over to her and Rami. “The Blood’d Tower is compromised. A warship poured forces and fire from on top, forcing us to flee.”
Aalia heard fighting and explosions. “The Sail and the Wing?”
Angelon nodded. “Garryn and Draer are trying to hold them off with a handful of forces.” He pointed to the entrance into the throne room. “We must go.”
They all turned, but before they could cross more than a few steps, the battle broke into the hall, both at the far end and through side galleries. It was not the start of the fight, but the end. The last remaining defenders fell. The bloodied attackers swept together and rushed toward them.
“Back!” Angelon urged.
He tried to retreat to the archway of the Blood’d Tower, only to have Sail Garryn come running out with a handful of wounded men. The Sail wiped blood from his eyes and shook his head.
“Lost,” Garryn wheezed as he stumbled to join them.
“Wing Draer?” Aalia asked.
Garryn placed a fist to his forehead, both in greeting to his empress and as a salute. “Fallen.”
Their group was forced to the pair of thrones and pinned down in the open. There was not even any shelter behind the chairs. Still, Angelon was determined to die serving out his title, to act as her personal shield.
He pushed Aalia between the thrones, standing before her. Jubayr took a post on the other side of one seat, Rami across the other—the emperor’s throne.
My throne, she reminded herself.
Though it might not be for long.
The Paladins and guardsmen closed tight ranks before the dais, forming seven rows, the last walls of the imperium.
The attackers—both in armor and without—rushed to crash against those walls.
Then a piercing whistle cut through the hall, seeming to get louder with every echo. The tide slowed, and a voice called out.
“Hold!”
At the rear, a figure in shining armor appeared, lofting a pair of swords high, crossing them over his head, forming a defiant Klashean Arms.
“Yield and live!” Prince Mareesh shouted, his gaze burning across the tide of silver to the golden thrones—to Aalia.
“I have no wish to shed my siblings’ blood!” Mareesh called to them. “You have been deceived into a traitorous act, so I won’t demand your heads. But fight and I will have no choice!”
Shield Angelon turned to Aalia.
Fury fired her. She shoved the large man aside and strode forward to stand before the two thrones. She glared across at her brother. She noted shadows skulking behind him—and the white robes of the Dresh’ri. It was that bastard Zeng ri Perrin. She didn’t know how much of a hand the man had in swaying Mareesh to this act of betrayal, to break his oath to her. Still, it didn’t matter. She knew it would not have taken much to move her brother to act.
Aalia addressed the greater traitor here.
“Dearest brother,” she shouted over with a mocking tone, “did you fall off the Falcon’s Wing? Or did you abandon your ship and desert the imperial forces to commit this act of betrayal?”
“Fear not, sister! The Falcon’s Wing is already on its way here. Leading others of the Wing who will not stand by this treason within our walls.”
Aalia fought against cringing. How many had been swayed to Mareesh’s side? How many more would? She knew that if this overthrow proved successful, none would support her after this.
“And what of the battle over Tithyn?” she challenged him. “You would weaken us when we need to be strongest. Is that an act of an emperor or a coward?”
A murmur rose among Mareesh’s ranks.
He was not cowed in the least. “We can always defeat the Hálendiians!” he boomed. “They are but ants under our heels. Are they not?”
