“My orders?” Corien turned to face him. Through the windows, Ostia’s light painted him exquisitely. His cheeks glowed as if he had daubed them with rouge made from stars.

“My orders are to open every door to Vaera Bashta,” he said quietly, his voice making every word shiver. “Every last one of its prisoners will be free to do as they wish. Every house, every body, every bed is theirs to claim. No more cells. No more wardens. I want my white streets to run red in her honor. Clearly this city is filthy in ways I did not realize. It is time to clean it.”

Then he grabbed his coat from the floor and swept out of the room. Simon started after him, but Jessamyn caught his arm as he passed.

“But Remy is still in the Lyceum,” she said, short of breath, her eyes hazy with pain, her braid limp with sweat. “Get him, please, and bring him here before the prison is opened. If he dies before Eliana seals Ostia…”

Simon snatched a syringe full of sedative out of the nearest nurse’s hand and emptied it into Jessamyn’s arm. She went limp on the divan, and he left her with the silent nurses to hurry after Corien through the palace.

27

   Navi

“I know you grieve. I know you look at the life we have lived and what the world has become and feel rage burn in your heart. But think instead of how I love you, and how Nerida loves Tameryn, and how the families we have seen cherish one another as families have always done. Love is the one constant force that no violence or despair can diminish. We must hold onto the light of this truth, Cat, even when the world grows dark. Especially then.”

—Undated letter from Saint Ghovan the Fearless to his sister, Catarina, archived in the Vault of the Ages, in Orline, the capital of Ventera

Over the past month, Navi and her little army had ferried nearly all of their meager supplies and most of their number from their camp in the Kavalian Bog to Ysabet’s hidden cove.

In four days, the ship would be ready to sail. An incredible achievement, and one that had both swamp and cove abuzz with nervous energy.

Navi was not immune. She worked with little rest, hardly allowing her sweat to dry between tasks. Readying bundles of rags, bottled herbs, and canvas tarpaulins; stacking wrapped packets of dried meat, seeds, and rice cakes; boxing sacks of grain and oats. Much of the last month had been spent carefully and quietly visiting a strategically nonsensical pattern of markets on the islands of Hariaca and Laranti, even occasionally venturing back to the port of Algare, where they had first made port after leaving Meridian.

Now, they had a decent supply of their own to add to Ysabet’s, and Navi could breathe more easily, knowing her people wouldn’t be a burden. If she was to lead Ysabet and her crew on a deadly mission across the ocean to Elysium, at least they would all be comfortably fed in the meantime—if the stores didn’t go bad, and if they didn’t lose everything in a storm.

Navi shook those worries from her mind and ducked into her tent, searching for a scrap of paper on which to make notes. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but whenever she tried it, rest came only in fits. They were all feeling the strain—exhaustion and fear and a wild, giddy sort of exhilaration. At last, they would take to the sea, storm the Emperor’s home, and fight for the Sun Queen. They would be legends in whatever world survived. Their names would be whispered at tables, muttered in prayers.

First, of course, they had to figure out how to actually get to Eliana. It would not be a simple task to breach the walls of the Emperor’s city.

Navi laughed to herself, wiping her brow. She desperately needed sleep. And anyway, they had the entire ocean voyage to engineer a plan.

Merry shouts rang out beyond the tent, followed by the drag of boats up the muddy shores of camp. Ysabet’s crew, come for that day’s shipment.

Navi froze, paper in hand. She tried to listen past her suddenly racing heart but could hear only her own eagerness, the hot pulse of it in her blood.

A moment later, the tent flap flew open, and Ysabet strode inside, bringing with her the salty smell of the sea. Damp white hair curled at her chin, and her cheeks were red from the wind.

“All is well,” she said, hands on her hips, sheathed sword hanging from her belt, white sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She surveyed Navi’s neat little tent like it was the deck of her own ship. “We’ll be ready to leave in four days’ time. An evening sail, which is not my preference, but until we’re away from the islands, we’ll have to watch hard for imperial ships. Not that the Queenslight cannot fight for herself—she can, she’s a fierce she-wolf of a boat—but best to avoid battle until we can’t any longer.”

Navi had been moving uselessly about the tent, straightening papers, tucking Hob’s notebook back under his blanket, keeping her face carefully blank. She could not bear to look at Ysabet. For a month now, she had simmered with a longing she had not felt since she first lay with a girl at fourteen. And on the heels of her desire was a terrible fear that Ysabet would laugh in her face if she confessed it. Never mind that she often felt Ysabet’s eyes upon her as they worked together, and that sometimes when their hands touched, it was like tinder catching fire.

But then one of Ysabet’s words fixed itself in Navi’s fretful mind. Queenslight. She straightened to stare at Ysabet, whose smug grin lit up her face.

“You named her,” Navi said faintly, all the air knocked out of her. “You named her after Eliana.”

“It’s a good name, isn’t it?” Ysabet winked. “Have I earned a kiss at last, then?”

A slow warmth spilled down Navi’s limbs. Her eyes filled with tears, and she couldn’t stop looking at Ysabet’s face, hungry for the quickness of it. Her sharp jaw and cheekbones, her lively brown eyes.

Ysabet’s smug expression faltered. “You’re crying. Are they good tears or bad?”

Navi shook her head and rushed at her, and they crashed together as if they had been on that course all their lives. She found Ysabet’s grinning mouth with her own, wrapped her arms around Ysabet’s shoulders.

“Thank God,” Ysabet murmured against Navi’s lips, her hands at her waist, and then there was no air left to speak. Ysabet kissed like she did everything else: with an easy confidence that turned Navi’s knees to liquid. Tender at first, teasing nibbles that left Navi’s lips swollen and buzzing. And then, with a quick heated glance, Ysabet slid her hand around to cup the back of Navi’s head, and Navi stretched up on her toes to meet her, and this was deeper, this was fevered. Navi’s hands clutched at Ysabet’s sleeves, and Ysabet’s tongue teased Navi’s lips until they opened.

With a groan, Ysabet directed her gently toward the small stack of crates in the corner of the tent, and Navi scrambled atop them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. At once, she hooked her legs around Ysabet’s thighs, pulled her close. The heat of her, the strong, warm lines of her body. Ysabet seized Navi’s hips and tugged them closer. Navi let her head fall back as Ysabet’s mouth traveled her throat. She threaded her fingers through Ysabet’s hair, delighted by its softness. She wished to bury her face in it.