And the war isn’t waiting. Already our instruments are detecting imperial dreadnoughts skimming the outer edges of our system. Colonel Esperza works fast to capture and turn them. Our fleet is growing steadily, but not quickly enough.
“We can’t afford to stagnate in our first victory,” Iral warns as I settle onto the edge of the head’s cushy chair. I don’t dare sink back into it. I can’t afford to look soft. Can’t be seen enjoying any of the luxuries I’m technically entitled to. I still dress as a soldier, though I’m not sure how much longer that’ll fly once I’m crowned.
“I’m aware,” I reply. “How’s the scouting around Imre?”
Wordlessly he hands me the datapad. Dread bleeds into my bloodstream as I read. Berr sys-Tosa has reined in his resources and made the inner world his fortress. He knows that this revolution won’t be considered a success until we hold the entire system, and he’s determined to make it as difficult as possible. A little cut on my palm is nowhere near what it’ll take to establish my bloodright after years of Umber domination.
We need to crush him, and we need to do it fast.
When I look up from the reports, Iral steeples his fingers. “The Corinthians are wary. The emprex expected to collaborate with us to establish a more democratic power structure, and they’re concerned about the ideas of leadership seven years of Umber rule have impressed on you. And with fears of Umber retaliation also in play, they aren’t supporting us further until we have Tosa System completely secured. The emprex has made it clear we’re on our own until we prove that we can restore the interior.”
“That could take months.”
“Not necessarily.” The general watches me closely as I straighten a fraction. Iral plays the noble warrior, trying to atone for his faults and failures, but I haven’t forgotten the breathless seconds it took for him to kneel. He’s looking for an opportunity to establish himself as the real power here.
So I’m watching him closely in return. “Draw up your strategy,” I tell Iral. “Run it by me when it’s ready.”
“Understood.” Iral pauses, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Speaking of Corinthians—”
I snap my fingers, and he immediately falls silent. “Wen’s doing her job.”
Truthfully, Wen slid into her role as my operative like she was born to play the part. Nobody knows what to make of a half-burned Corinthian girl acting as the hand of the young Archon Empire, but few dare say anything about it.
Iral is one of those few. “The fires from her stunt in the undercity took three days to put out,” he growls, squaring his shoulders.
“And it’ll probably be months before another Umber resistance pocket tries to organize while Trost is under her watch.”
“Whispers around court are already calling her the Flame Knight.”
I have to fight to keep the pleased smile off my face, even though I know how dangerous those whispers are. If Wen gains a reputation that puts her in the same caliber as the suited knights, it will paint a target on her back that Iva emp-Umber won’t be able to resist. But to be a suited knight, she’d need a suit anyway, and General Iral is keen on protecting Torrance con-Rafe’s legacy from anyone he deems unworthy.
“She needs oversight,” Iral continues.
“No, General. You need oversight. All Wen Iffan needs is a target.” I’ve vowed on the blood inside me that this girl is never going to feel useless again, and this time around, I’m a man of my word.
“Then there’s the matter of the coronation.”
If I’m forcing him to drop one subject, of course he’ll bring up the other one I’ve been avoiding. I push up out of the chair and turn back to the sweeping window.
“Your Majesty, it would be the perfect message,” Iral continues. In the glass, I catch the reflection of him rising to his feet. “It reinforces the legitimacy of your ascension, it represents the restoration of power to its rightful blood, it’s an unforgettable way to make your debut to the public—”
“And it’s cruel,” I say quietly. My gaze drops from the distant spires of Trost to the emptiness of the academy base. The Umber military and all of their assets fled on Berr sys-Tosa’s tail. The Archon command is still moving in, and most of our forces are out on the fronts, leaving the base a desolate husk. Nothing is left of the place I once called home.
“It’s effective,” the general counters. “You can’t appear to be lenient with the Umber heir. The relationship between you two was unambiguous, and if you’re to rule—if you’re to win—you need to bury that history decisively. The rest of your advisory is in agreement.”
The skies above the academy are the same as ever. Brisk winds push feathery clouds across the upper atmosphere, and contrails net the air. I know there’s no going back to the way things were. But it hurts to see the vastness and know I’ll probably never be at the controls again.
Gal hasn’t spoken since the moment I stepped into the court. He goes where ordered and doesn’t put up a fight. I freed him from the brass chains and gave them no replacement. I keep him in comfort and watch over him carefully. His rage has gone down to a simmer, barely detectable if you don’t know him.
But I do know him. I can’t un-know him, and the truth’s a heavy burden. If that’s the cost of keeping him safe, I’ll bear it.
I close my eyes, trapping myself in darkness. “Fine,” I say. “Make the arrangements.”
* * *
—
The morning of the coronation dawns bright and passes quickly. Outside the governor’s estate, the noise of the gathered crowd grows from a low murmur to a steady roar, the windows rattling every time a news transport passes over. A platform has been erected in the center of the lawn, and as we make our way out to it, the roar triples in intensity, encouraged by the thundering victory rhythm played on the newly constructed imperial skin drums that line the walk.
I let it sink in. The beat resonating through my chest. These thousands of people cheering for me, for our victory, for the reclamation of the Archon Empire. For everything I’ve done for them and everything I might do.
Gods of all systems, I hope I’m enough.
As I ascend the platform, my legs start trembling. Claiming my legacy to save Gal was one thing. Claiming it to take the reins of a war is something else entirely. The platinum trim on the sleek suit I wear feels far too heavy for my shoulders.
But heavier still is the crown awaiting me. It looks so delicate, with curved metal loops weaving together around emeralds the size of my eyeballs. Gal holds it like it scalds him. His ornamentation is slight—a trim black suit, a brass circlet around his brow, his hair doused in oil and slicked back. Two massive platinum cuffs are locked around his wrists, symbolic reminders of his status within my court, in case the guards behind him didn’t make it clear.