Arc 6: Chapter 23: Losses
The sun rose over a quiet city, chasing away the rolling banks of fog and the remnants of the recent storm. A golden dawn touched the coastlands, soon to become a calm blue sky.
The Fulgurkeep flew the anvil of House Forger, the azure circle of the Ardent Round, and the Silvering sun along with half a hundred others, signaling to all that it remained in the Emperor’s hands. What Mistwalker soldiers weren’t slaughtered fled with the scattered fog, their numbers ravaged. Their dark story was done, passed into history.
But not forgotten, and not without scars left behind.
I stood with Markham in his private council chambers. This time we were outside on the balcony, overlooking the lagoon city and the coastlands stretching beyond it. The Emperor hadn’t changed his garments since the failed coup, still wearing his ceremonial armor and filigreed gauntlet. He’d participated in the fighting, and like me still smelled of sweat and blood.
He rested his left hand on the balcony railing, his right hanging limp as though the weight of gold on it was too much to bear. I’d never seen him look so old, or so tired.
“I just spoke with the healers,” I told him softly. “They say she’s going to be alright, but needs rest.”
The Emperor of the Accorded Realms slumped and let out a sigh of deep relief that was very human. “Thank God. And my child?”
Rosanna and some others had been trapped in the upper halls of the palace for hours, locking themselves in a side wing while enemies tried to break in. She’d experienced complications with her pregnancy, making it difficult to move her, and what guards were present decided to make a stand.
Siriks Sontae had been with them. By the account I’d heard, he’d blocked the hall for an hour near single handedly, killing any who tried to pass him.
“Alive,” I said. “They believe he might end up being born early, though. Could be any week now.”
Markham took that in with rigid stoicism, though I saw his jaw set. “Has Ser Kaia tried to quit yet?”