Page 239 of The Cradle of Ice
Cheers of assent greeted those words, drowning out those first tentative murmurs.
“The greater peril to the imperium is in this room.” Mareesh pointed at her. “Standing right there!”
Aalia knew her brother would never back down.
Nor in the end, will he let me live.
He would have to condemn her. She coldly recognized that and accepted it. But she knew Mareesh. If she submitted, he would spare her two brothers.
She turned to Jubayr. He must have read the question in her eye. He stiffened his shoulders and gave a small shake of his head. He touched the clasp at his throat. He refused to hand this cloak over to his faithless brother. Their father had given it to him, and he would not part with it to appease a traitor, not even if it meant his life.
Aalia turned to Rami on her other side.
His exaggerated wounded expression drew a small smile from her. His silent scold was clear. Must you even ask, dear sister?
She nodded and took a step forward and matched the thunder of her brother. “We do not yield! Not for you! Not for anyone.” She lifted a fist high. “Long live the imperium!”
A roar broke across her ranks.
She stepped back, knowing she had sentenced them all to death.
Rami leaned over her throne. “What about Tazar?”
She shook her head, knowing he was outside the palace, with no way to reach them. Still, she remained resolute, content with one small bit of grace.
He will not have to watch me die.
* * *
TAZAR FOLLOWED BEHIND Pratik through the dark tunnels beneath the palace. He prayed the Chaaen knew his way. Tazar searched right and left and ahead, thoroughly lost in this Dresh’ri labyrinth. Behind him, they were followed by a force of Shayn’ra a hundred strong.
Three times along the way, Pratik had Tazar stop and dispatch a smaller group of the Fist out other exits. His second-in-command, Althea, had taken the last group. All were under orders to strike for the Blood’d Tower, where the new empress was supposed to be orchestrating the battle to the north. Worry for Aalia narrowed his vision to a sharply focused point. His heart choked his throat.
A short time ago, Pratik had rushed headlong into the Shayn’ra refuge near the outer walls of the palace, where Tazar was continuing to organize his army. By then, Tazar had already heard the blasts, witnessed the fiery explosions beyond the walls.
Then Pratik had arrived, breathless and with a plan. He clutched a map drawn by Llyra days ago. They had all known that eventually Aalia might need to be defended against those who would oppose her rise. Tykhan’s plan had been to ready an army among the baseborn and lower folk, to be ready to bolster her ascendancy.
No one expected anyone to make a move against Aalia so soon, not while the Hálendiians threatened. Especially with the oaths taken in X’or.
But someone had.
That bastard Mareesh.
It was a cowardly act, to strike while another’s back was turned—especially if that back was his own sister’s.
Fury burned through Tazar’s anxiety. His forces were not prepared. Worse, Llyra was still out in the city, trying to rally and forge her own army to be ready down the line. He had sent a dozen couriers out into Kysalimri to let her know, but no one truly knew where she sheltered. Still, no matter where she hid, she could not have missed the explosions at the palace. He could only hope she understood the threat and would reach here in time with her rabble.
“This way,” Pratik said, raising his lantern toward a narrow stair that spiraled up. “It should take us close to the base of the Blood’d Tower.”
Tazar nodded, waving the Chaaen to lead, praying that Pratik had not confused his way in this subterranean warren. He pictured Althea and his other splintered forces, all aiming for the Blood’d Tower from different directions. He feared they were too few against a palace in revolt. Even any allies up there might misconstrue their arrival. Tazar could end up fighting both sides before he could reach Aalia.
Tazar followed Pratik’s lantern around and around. He grew dizzy from the ascent. Fearful panic shortened his breath. He had not realized how deep they had traveled. Or maybe his worry only made it seem so.
Pratik finally stopped at a door and pressed his ear against it.
Tazar saw little reason for caution or stealth at this point. He moved the Chaaen aside and pulled a lever. A section of wall swung open. He peeked out into a root cellar stocked with crates of potatoes, onions, and tubers of every ilk. A moldy cloy filled his nose, slightly assuaged by the aromatics of drying herbs hanging from the low roof.
He crossed the cellar to steps on the far side. They led up to a door. Behind him, Pratik ushered in as many of the Shayn’ra into the cellar as he could fit. More still waited below.
