Because she’dlovedIleem.
Because she’d made him the gods-damnedEmperor.
Part of her still didn’t believe he’d betrayed her.
Part of her still yearned for his touch, his kiss.
Damn him, damn him, damn him.
She saw again those glimpses of Tuer in the ballroom, his sword dripping blood. Heard Ileem’s voice.“Who do you think guides my hand?”
She forced herself to swing up onto Naia, to ride away from her city and her palace and her home. She urged the mare into a gallop. The world blurred before her, the night wheeled above, and the wind rushed past and stole away her tears.
Behind her, the garrison burned, and her courtiers lay slaughtered in the ballroom.
Her father’s story burst in her mind, as if the gods themselves had reached into her memory and drew it out:The third way is to kill the god.
She burned with rage and a sudden, furious purpose. Tuer had betrayed her twice over, and never honored the terms of their agreement. She would make him pay for that. She would free herself from her useless vow. Somehow, she was going to find Tuer.
And when she did, she was going to kill him.
But first, she would win back her Empire, and she would do it the same way she had the first time: by herself.
Chapter Twenty
THE MARE RAN,HOOVES EATING UP THEmiles, sweat flying off of her like sea foam. Eda pointed her northwest, toward Evalla, the only place in all of Endahr she could go. It was hard to force her mind to plan as she rode. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ileem’s skin shone in the moonlight, up on the rooftop with a bottle of wine in his hand.
She was a fool. She’d given her heart to the first man who’d smiled at her, the first man who kissed her and made her feel needed and told her lies about the gods she so desperately wanted to believe. She wished she could outrun the heat of her fury, the deep wells of her shame. But there wasn’t a horse in the world who could run that fast—not even Naia.
And even Naia began to flag after a while; Eda pulled her to a walk. Moonlight bathed the desert in liquid silver, the scrubby undergrowth and spiny plants that grew between the cracks in the rock-hard earth casting long shadows across the dirt. To the north, the mountains marched stark against the brightness of the moon, and she felt utterly, awfully alone, like the thread of a song spun halfway out and then forgotten.
Just after dawn, she stopped briefly at the herder’s village where Rescarin had held her stone hostage. A quick search garnered her a forgotten packet of dried meat and an empty water skin, which she filled in the central fountain before urging her reluctant mare on.
Naia dragged her feet as the sun rose higher, and Eda’s entire body was coated with a thin sheen of sweat. Dust clung to her, irritating her eyes and making her breaths ragged and gritty. The cut in her neck had scabbed over, but it ached. She wanted so badly for this to be a nightmare, to wake in her bed with Ileem beside her.
But that was the lie, not this. Each of his actions had been calculated, his betrayal built with the stone of promises and moonlight, and mortared with every kiss.
She hated him.
And yet she still wanted him.
A few hours past sunset on the fourth day since she’d fled the palace, the ground began to rise, scrubby desert bushes turning greener and actual trees popping up here and there. The wind blew damp up from the sea. Eda breathed deep.
She hadn’t been back to her childhood home since collecting Niren last year, and that had only been a brief visit. Part of her longed to pick up the threads of her old life: her mother’s gardens and her father’s workshop, the telescope on the balcony all three of them loved looking through. The sheep farm, just down the hill from the house, where Niren and her sisters ran barefoot through the mud and a warm plate of honeyed flatbread was always ready in the tiny kitchen.
But that life had been lost to her long ago.
Her chest tightened when the house came into view, high on the cliffside, Imperial banners snapping bright above its warm sandstone walls and arched towers. The sea crashed below.
There was no sign of the army—not that there would have been; the barracks were situated down in Eron, Evalla’s capital city.
Eda kicked Naia into a run. They clattered up the flagstone path, through the high carved gate and into the courtyard. She reviewed her plans: regather the remnants of Rescarin’s mercenaries and merge them with Evalla’s standing army, then march back to Eddenahr with them at her back and Baron Domin at her side. She would probably have to marry Domin. Her people would mistrust her after Ileem, and a consolidation of power would do much to help win them back.
Eda gritted her teeth as she dismounted. Whatever happened, she was home now. Soon she would have Ileem at her mercy. She would make him kneel. She would make himbeg.
And then she would find Tuer, and make him answer for everything he’d done to her.
A stableboy appeared from around the corner, and Eda handed over Naia’s reins, then strode up to the front doors alone. She ran one hand over the carved ebony. She’d loved the doors when she was little: there were stories cut into the wood, gods and monsters parading endlessly before her, doomed to repeat their tales until time wore them away. She had little love for the carvings now. She rapped loudly on the wood and waited for someone to come and let her in, doing her best to brush the dirt from her ruined gown. There was no time for a bath and a change of clothes, which was a pity. She hated having to look less than her best when she was about to intimidate someone.
