Abisai
I run my hand over my lower lip. It still tastes of copper — of the blood Zabina had drawn when she bit me during our encounter. That taste wouldn't go away.
I arrive at my chambers and stop in the doorway.
Bamylan is on my bed, covered only by a thin silk sheet that slides slightly over her skin. She sleeps peacefully, her dark hair spread across the pillows.
Damn.
I had completely forgotten about her.
I have no desire to consummate anything tonight. Not after having Zabina against my body — furious, burning and broken. I only want her. Her scent, her rage, the way her body responds to mine despite all the hatred she claims to feel.
I exhale through my nose, exhausted.
I begin removing my clothes almost out of inertia, without taking my eyes off my wife.
I hope she doesn't wake up.
I step into the wide marble bathtub. The warm water envelops my body, but it doesn't manage to erase the memory of Zabina. I close my eyes and try to relax, even if just for a second.
"Can I get in with you?"
I open my eyes.
Bamylan is standing beside the tub, completely naked. Her body is beautiful, slender and perfect, like everything about her. My body reacts immediately, traitorously.
I stand. The water runs down my skin and falls back into the tub with a soft sound.
She lowers her gaze to my erection and a fleeting, satisfied smile crosses her lips.
I move to the edge.
She is my wife.
She must give me heirs. Children I don't want right now. But duty is duty.
I grip her by the nape firmly and kiss her. It wasn't a tender kiss. It was possessive, calculated. My member presses against her flat stomach while water splashes around us. I take her hand and guide it to my erection, making her wrap her fingers around it.
A cold smile forms on my lips as I feel her come undone beneath my touch.
"Let's go to bed…" I murmur against her ear, biting her earlobe lightly. "Wife."

After Zargon's trial the board shifted in my favour.
The wretch didn't kill my father. I know it and Levin knows it, but he was a traitor with real evidence against him and there's a certain dark satisfaction in watching him fall.
Zabelón is furious, red with an indignation he can't express out loud without implicating himself further than he already has. All eyes are on clan Padras now. Let them feel watched. Let them get nervous. Nervous men make mistakes.
What Stema extracted from Thymá's wife would give me enough to sink my uncle right now if I wanted to. But I want more. I want to expose him in front of all the clans, with no possibility of defence or escape. That requires patience, and patience is the one thing the bond hasn't taken from me yet.
I enter the meeting room.
Bamylan is sitting with her father and the general of clan Mordur. The three of them stand when I enter.
"Sit down."
I speak for twenty minutes. I explain everything. All that I need from clan Mordur and all that clan Mordur gains in return. No embellishments, no unnecessary diplomacy.
Faguer listens with attention.
When I finish, the silence lasts exactly as long as it needs to.
Faguer extends his hand.
"You can count on me, Your Highness."
I shake it.
"Levin," I say without turning, "explain everything in detail to the general."
Levin bows and moves away with the Mordur general. The door closes behind them.
"It's quite a bold plan, my lord," says Faguer, with something that isn't entirely disapproval. "It never would have occurred to me to move such pieces."
I pour myself some wine.
"I grew up alongside the imperial general. While my brother was preparing for the throne, I was out on campaigns, strategies and missions beyond the castle walls with the soldiers." I make a vague gesture. "I aspired to be a general one day. But you see how life turns. The crown fell to me." I look at Bamylan. "What does the empress think?"
I offer her the cup. She takes it and slowly touches it to her lips.
"Risky," she says, handing the cup back. "But I trust your judgement, my lord. Although what truly matters now is preparing for what comes after the war. If Mordur can't withstand the silver demons' attack, we need an alternative plan."
Faguer frowns.
I raise an eyebrow.
"What is the empress's idea?"
"Alliances with the human kingdoms. Treaties before they discover us as enemies. If we reach them first, on their own terms, before the breach opens completely, we can control the narrative." Her yellow eyes look at me with that intelligence of hers that keeps surprising me. "Humans fear what they don't understand. But they also covet what they don't have. We are stronger, we live longer, we know this continent better than they do. That has value for an ambitious human king."
Faguer opens his mouth to protest.
I raise my hand.
"Let me think about it."
Because I'm already thinking about it. And the idea has more edge to it than it appears.
I leave the meeting and almost collide with one of Thymá's men in the hallway.
The man gives a quick bow and keeps walking without saying anything.
Too quickly.
I stop and watch him walk away. Andram, at my side, notices it too.
"Do you want me to follow him?"
"No. Let him go." I resume walking. "But I want to know where he goes and who he speaks to before nightfall."
Thymá is moving pieces. Of course he is. After yesterday's meeting and Zargon's trial he knows the board is tilting. A man who has spent years in the shadows doesn't step into the light until he has no other option.
Soon he'll have no other option.

At dawn I'm in the Onyx Pavilion.
The priests work in silence. The silver symbols pulse beneath their instruments as they attempt to copy each mark onto a parchment with a precision that costs them greatly.
"They're more complex than they appear at first glance," murmurs the senior elder. "Each mark contains layers. As if they were writing upon writing."
"How much time do you need?"
"Days. Perhaps a week."
"You have two days."
They look at me.
"Two days," I repeat, fastening my sleeve. "Try to work quickly."
"When will we be able to access the white dragon's symbols?" asks one of the elders with the caution of someone who knows they're treading on delicate ground.
"Tomorrow afternoon. But only one of you. And with absolute discretion."
They nod.
When I leave, Andram is waiting at the entrance.
"How are the expeditions going?"
"Zymei sent the report this morning. Levin has it."
"Good. Tonight I want the Vordimex leader in my study. Alone. Without anyone knowing."
He nods without asking.
"Come on. I can't be late for my father's funeral."

Abdarías's funeral is held with all the solemnity his title demands and all the hypocrisy his court produces.
I stand in front of the coffin with Bamylan at my side and the twelve elders behind me. The clan leaders form a line on either side of the pavilion.
Thymá and Higmer at the back, still, with that calm of those who wait.
Always waiting.
Almost at the end of the ceremony, when the last priest finishes his incantations, I hear a sound among the gathering.
I turn.
Damilis, Agur's widow, has fainted and the handmaidens have rushed to her aid. She comes around and doubles forward and vomits on the pavilion floor.
The silence that follows is absolute.
The healer appears. They carry her inside before the scene grows any larger.
I don't move.
I roll my eyes toward Thymá. He's impassive, but his fingers on his sleeve tighten for a second longer than necessary. I see it. I note it.
"Is it possible she's pregnant?" Bamylan murmurs just for me.
"Agur has been dead two months," I answer in the same tone. "Anything is possible."
"If she has a boy it would be a problem for my husband."
I let out a brief, low laugh.
"Don't worry. If she's pregnant it's not my brother's child." She looks at me. "Agur stopped visiting her when the third girl was born. He focused on his concubines." I pause. "Between us. Let her play her part. We'll see what role she decides to take."
Bamylan smiles.
"I think I'll need to put that woman in her place."
I glance at her sideways.
"Easy, empress."
"Don't worry, my lord." Her eyes gleam. "I know exactly how to deal with women of that kind."
And by the way she says it, I believe her completely.