“The materials should be easy enough to procure,” Cecelia said. “Between both Embria and Caberwill, we have access to all the mines and smithies we’ll require. I’ll put in the orders first thing in the morning.”
“The titanium will be the most difficult to obtain,” Maris said, “but I have someone in mind.”
“And the guard towers?” Hanne leaned forward. “We need access to all twenty-four of them. There is no plan without the towers.”
“I believe we can manage,” Lea said. “Those in Ivasland may be difficult, but they will be distracted by the Embrian and Caberwilline armies flanking them. They will be in no position to wonder what a few men are doing at the towers—if they even see them. Only the best will be chosen for this mission.”
“Good.” Hanne turned to Nadine. “You’ve been quiet. What are you thinking?”
Nadine glanced at the obsidian crown, which earlier had been scrubbed clean of rancor blood and gore. Now it sat on a pedestal, the broken tine in the center. “I admit,” Nadine said slowly, “I have some concerns.”
Permit no dispute.
“What concerns?” Hanne wished Nadine had brought this up earlier, in private rather than in front of the other ladies-in-waiting and Sabine. They knew, of course, that none of them would ever replace Nadine as Hanne’s favorite, but it wasn’t like Nadine to offer them ammunition. She must have been thinking on this for a while.
“I can’t help but wonder how this will affect the Malstop,” Nadine said. “It’s already so thin. Surely this will put the entire structure at risk.”
Do not allow her doubts to infect the others.
Hanne’s heart pounded. She needed Nadine to believe in her—to believe in this plan. It had surprised her, too, when Tuluna had first given her their instructions, but then she’d begun to see how it could succeed. It was painful, but necessary.
“The entire structure of the Malstop is already at risk.” Hanne forced patience into her tone. “The pressure is building from inside. It needs to be let out. But it needs to happen in a controlled, intentional way, so we will choose when it happens. We will be prepared to protect Salvation.”
“The army of Caberwill is commanded by King Rune,” Sabine said, “and Her Majesty commands the king. He will take Ivasland for her, and with that, he will take their army, their weapons, and their machines. Soon, the armies of all three kingdoms will be Hanne’s to direct.”
“It will be like lancing a wound,” Hanne said. “Though it will hurt, it will speed the healing process.”
“At Opus’s funeral, you said you would fix the Malstop. This is your plan?” Doubt still shone in Nadine’s eyes.
“None of us want to do this,” Hanne said. “But Salvation must be saved.”
“I know,” Nadine said. “And you have never led us astray before. You have my support.”
Hanne’s shoulders relaxed, now that Nadine was with her. “This will work,” Hanne said. She trusted Tuluna in the same way Nadine trusted her. “It will fix the Malstop.”
Frantic knocking sounded on the door, and Nadine hurried up to answer it.
A messenger stepped inside, breathing heavily. “Your Majesty! There’s been an attack!”
“Another? Where?” Hanne rose. “Speak! Is it another assassin?”
The young man edged backward in proper fearful reverence. “A mal-device detonated in the king’s camp.”
A shiver worked through Hanne. “What did it do?”
“We have only one report so far, but apparently it made”—he frowned—”portals. Hundreds of soldiers have been transported to different locations. One even appeared in Honor’s Keep. In the kitchens. That’s how we know about this calamity.”
Rage filled Hanne’s stomach. Abagail Athelney continued to torment her. “Then the army is gone? Transported to the moon, for all we know?”
“We aren’t certain, Your Majesty. It will take some time to regroup.”
Hanne’s mind whirled with the new information—the threats and the possibilities. Just on the other side of the mountain, there were dozens of portals that led all over Salvation. It was dangerous…but, perhaps, it could be made into an opportunity. Obviously some of these portals were stable. The man in the kitchens had come to no harm.
“First,” Hanne said, “post men in the kitchens. The last thing we need right now is an Ivaslander making war on our dinner. And I want a complete list of where the other portals lead. Any one of them could be strategically useful.”
“There’s more, Your Majesty.” The messenger hesitated. “The man said King Rune—”
“What about King Rune?”
“He was caught in one of the portals. No one knows where he is.” Then, the messenger backed out the door as fast as he could without actually running.
Hanne exchanged a dark look with Nadine. Her position here was not secure; as far as she knew, she was not pregnant. She needed Rune still. If he died without giving her a child, she could lose everything.
“Where could he be?”
45.
NIGHTRENDER
Light erupted, slicing open the red gloom of Daghath Mal’s castle.
Rancor peeled away from the sliver of white illumination, and Nightrender stole the opportunity to attack. Every arc of her obsidian blade sent frost stabbing through her head. Every burst of numinous power made agony blacken her vision. But she couldn’t stop. She had been created for this, and she would do it until she was no longer able.
You are losing this fight.
Of that, she was very aware.
Yet every rancor she killed bought humanity another hour, another day.
What is the point? They will use that time to keep hurting one another, and I will keep rattling the bars of this cage. What will you do when I am free?
Nightrender could not think beyond this moment, lest the weight crush her.
But now that shard of bright light was a beacon, drawing her eyes. From her vantage point atop the thrones, she could see straight into the breach. It was a window to somewhere far away, where flames licked the nighttime sky and panicked soldiers ran and shouted. But that wasn’t what kept her attention. No. It was the figure running toward the window—running through.
Rune Highcrown.
He burst into the throne room with a shout and a swift swing of his sword. A rancor fell, and he immediately moved onto the next.
She’d seen him fight before, just briefly at the malsite, and even then it had been clear that he was skilled. But that had been nothing like this. Something had changed in him. Now he fought with a dancer’s grace, confident from years of practice, every line of his body an artist’s stroke as he cut and blocked and stabbed and turned.