This was a different Solheart. His eyes were not the rich gold of the assassins, but a striking yellow. Platinum blonde hair fell to either side of his face.
He smirked. "You're far from home, aren't you? Tsuyan's good general must be terribly worried."
How did he know who I was? I flexed my wrist, trying to escape to no avail. "Who are you?"
He grabbed my arm and pulled me up. "Oh, Diar. You'll have plenty of time to learn that on the way home."
Fear pulsed in my heart, and I looked back down the road. The assassin lingered at the end, a smudge of darkness againstthe smoke-filled sky. He turned away, disappearing from my life again.
Solhearts killing their Emperor, only to return years later to strike at Aenir's king . . . and monsters wiping out a border fort, all on the same day.
Just what, exactly, had my brother died for?
Chapter 11
Mare
Winter’s Tide spanned two weeks, beginning the day the twin moons started waning, and ending when they settled into their new crescent shapes. Shapes they’d hold until summer arrived and they grew to full orbs again.
Tomorrow, Winter’s Tide would be officially over.
We were supposed to be packing tonight, preparing for Aenir's convoy to head home on the morrow. Last year, too many lords had drunk themselves into a stupor. We'd finally departed Kentoro a full day late.
Life had seemed so simple, then. All the Aenir lords thought the delay was humorous, to the ire of our hosts.
I sat in the corner, wringing my hands together, wishing I were anywhere else. Every lord in the Aenir convoy was gathered around the center of the room, arguing. The discussion had dragged on long into the night.
I'd long stopped trying to listen. Cloaks and tunics in every shade whirled together in a blur, their voices unintelligible to my clouded mind.
Once, the governance of our country had been divided between Tirnanog and the capital of Casaloch. The lords in the king's cabinet had been charged with overseeing important affairs: banks, armies, farms, art. Tirnanog's lords had instead watched over the land, each managing a swath of territory.
After my city's fall, the lords of Aenir had gained new power, taking over the fallen's charges. Women had been booted from their seats in accordance with Forlaith law, their scepters given to their husbands or sons.
Between the panicked chatter, the lords had made one thing clear: the Solhearts of Forlaith would not allow a woman to inherit a Paragon's blade. And so neither would they.
I supposed I didn't blame them. Paragons were warriors. Knights. Leaders. They could fell entire units of men on their lonesome and kill monsters with ease.
Why should anyone trust me to do the same?
Someone dropped into the chair beside me. Startled, I sat upright. Heavy-lidded eyes regarded me, set on a narrow face of light brown skin.
It was only Liam. His wounded arm lay stiff across his lap, tightly bound in layers of bandages.
"How's the arm?" I asked.
"Hurts like sin," he answered, eyes scanning the cluster of nobles. "Have they decided upon anything yet?"
"They can't decide on frivolous matters. Why would they be able to decide on this?"
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Really? I would have thought their answer was obvious."
"Well." I slumped down. "On one thing, at least."
"You're slouching, sister."
I shot him a sour glare and straightened my back. Though my life had given me little reason for it, Ididlike to maintain my dignity.
Liam gave a half-hearted smile. "Better." Sighing, he pulled his dark hair loose from its bond, letting it tumble around his shoulders. "Can you renounce the sword?"
