The sun was half-buried behind the horizon when Pirin and Gray found the Dominion landing site.

Which, all things considered, should have been record time. But it still didn’t feel fast enough. If there was truly a massive Dominion army arriving, it lit a fire beneath everyone. Pirin had weighed the options all the way on the flight south.

The Aerdian low-marshal had said the Dominion was sending its army to assail the Dremfell Wall, but it was impossible to know that for sure, and when news of Pirin’s incursion inevitably reached them, they could alter their plans.

Pirin’s army had, at the best estimates, thirty thousand weavelings and another five thousand Sirdian soldiers. An incredible effort, but ultimately, against the Ten Thousand Horn Army, they’d fall short.

They couldn’t meet such a foe on an open field without first enlisting the help of the Aerdian army. They could try to defend a city, but his army would already be weary from taking it in the first place, and Vel Aerdeil wasn’t a fortress. It was a sprawling capital with, as he understood it, a rudimentary curtain wall and an inner keep. Easy for him to take, easy for their enemies to take back.

But if he stalled the Dominion until winter, and the entire Ten Thousand Horn Army bogged down in the Dremfell pass? It didn’t seem such a terrible alternative, save for resulting in the loss of his own army.

And five hundred Flares were nothing to scoff at. Working together, they could no doubt overwhelm him—if he didn’t advance to Wildflame soon.

You’re agitated, Gray said. Your thoughts sound agitated. Your cycling pattern is choppy, and I can feel every time you shift in the saddle.

“I am,” he replied.

Perhaps the sight of the army will be enough to cheer you up?

Pirin rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so, but thanks for thinking of me.”

They’d flown due south, and though the landscape remained largely the same, the coast had swooped inward, bringing its gravel shores westward. Now, Pirin could see the gentle decline of forested hills, blending into shrubland, then dropping off abruptly to a bouldery shore. An effective place to land an army.

To the left, columns of smoke rose high into the sky, and lights glimmered in bowl amidst the hills. The trees had been cleared, grass turned to mulch by boots and hooves, and bushes uprooted, all to make room for a city of white tents, campfires, and siege engines that couldn’t be built onsite.

Pirin exhaled at the sheer scale of it. It was a city. He felt the same way now as he had when he’d looked upon Port Masyne for the first time.

To the right, rowboats still ferried soldiers ashore. Off across the water, near the horizon, was a Dominion transport fleet with a few battleships guarding it. They lingered far from the choppy waves of the coast, though. It wouldn’t be going toe-to-toe with a battle fleet, but it was just for transporting troops.

Worse was the spiritual pressure. Beyond the presence of five-hundred Flares all concentrated in one place—enhanced bodies or not—there were two much stronger presences. Two Wildflames.

The Unbound Lords were here.

Pirin exhaled through clenched teeth, then leaned down. He was about to suggest that they turn back before anyone spotted them—or sensed them—when, at the very far edge of the Dominion camp, he noticed a larger-than-normal lump of white fabric.

An airship.

On its flank was a crest—a gold and brown circle with a spool of rope and a log across it. The Neria Shipbuilding Company’s sigil.

“She’s here,” Pirin whispered. “She’s with them.”

Her airship was in rough shape when we saw her last. Are you sure?

“I…I think she has more than one airship, Gray.”

Gray clicked her beak. Ah, yes. That’d make sense. I, of course, thought that as well. I was…uh, testing you.

“We really need to get out of here, then, before she realizes exactly where we are.”

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I agree. Very much agree. Turning tail and fleeing now!

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_5e221995337243e6a7d4250b55d3aeea~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_280,h_232,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/embercore%20sigil.png]

Lady Neria sat in her study aboard the Chimera’s Dare, holding a porcelain teacup up to her lips, but not yet sipping. She let the steam waft up her nose, the faint herbal smell cleanse her mind, and the sweet air of the honey isolate her thoughts. Alone, she could harden them, and none could tell her what they should be.

Tea gave her body heat. She didn’t have to worry about her own; she could focus on accomplishing what needed doing. Executing with cold efficiency.

Finally, when she felt in the mood to be as strict, as ruthless as possible, she called, “Come in.”

Bowing his head, an ostal messenger entered. “My lady,” he said. “We—”

“Empress.”

“Yes, Empress.” The messenger gulped. “There is a problem. The Sirdians have breached the Western Eldflow delta-gate. I have not received any recent updates, but they have sent a fleet inland, and are penetrating as deeply as they can. Ma’am, it must be a tactic to cause havoc and interrupt our—”

“What is your rank?” Her voice came across softly, and with the light fabric walls of her study, there was nothing to make it echo.

For a few seconds, there was only the soft crackle of a candle within a lantern. It cast flickering shadows across the table and reflected off the sloped lattice windows behind her. Then, finally, the messenger said, “Ma’am?” He turned his shoulder toward her, where, instead of a silver pauldron, he wore a green one with two stripes. Middle marshal, of course, but Neria wanted to hear it from the ostal’s own mouth.

“You heard me.”

“I am a middle marshal, ma’am.”

“Is it your job to give strategy advice to an empress? Do you assume that I cannot infer enemy tactics on my own?”

The messenger opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Apologies, ma’am. I sought not to offend. Just to inform you of a…problem.”

“Is it a problem?” she asked, then, before he could reply, she waved her hand to dismiss him. He bowed and backed out of her room.

She tapped her fingers repeatedly on the table, starting with her pinky finger and rolling to her pointer finger. “Lords.”

Standing against the far wall, veiled in shadow and hidden from sight, were her two Unbound Lords—Two and Three. They both stepped forward into the candlelight, though for Lord Three, it didn’t help much. He still wore his dark cloak, shrouding his body and face. Lord Two wore light, ornamental armour and a magenta cloak, and his scorpion Familiar perched on his shoulder.

“I was wondering when they would try something,” said Lady Neria. She took another sip of her tea. “The Sirdians, that is. They’re pushing for Vel Aerdeil.”

“Is it a concern?” asked Lord Three with confidence. He was the first to turn, and he probably thought it gave him some leeway with her. Truly, it was his abilities that she needed, but she couldn’t let him get too comfortable.

“I said what I said.” She shook her head. “We advance on the Dremfell Wall. Once we breach it, nothing will stand in our way. Sirdia will crumble in a matter of weeks, if not days. They have no wizards, and we do. Weavelings or not, they will fail.”

“There is the issue of the heir,” said Lord Two. “He will be with them.”

“And that means he won’t be able to defend the Wall.” Lady Neria tapped her fingers a touch more aggressively.

“But if he makes the Throne bloom…” Lord Three warned.

“Lord Three. He is a Blaze, and he just advanced. Remind me again how long it takes most to advance from Blaze to Wildflame?”

He exhaled. “For most, decades.”

“And he’s an Embercore. Below average.”

“For most,” Three stressed. “My ancestor, the sitting Lord Three four centuries ago, advanced from Blaze to Wildflame in a matter of days. It’s a matter of spiritual enlightenment and self-understanding, not of raw power.”

Neria scowled. “The likelihood?”

“He is still…barely an adult,” Lord Two spat. “I give it a near zero chance that he advances to Wildflame before you burn Northvel to the ground.”

“And once we destroy Sirdia, nothing he does will matter. Even if he advances to Wildflame, he’ll have only gotten used to his new strength for days, at best. If you defeated Lord One, Three, then you can defeat an elfling.”

“Indeed.”

“So it’s settled.” Neria arose from her seat. “We continue as planned. We breach the wall and eradicate Sirdia, then clean up whatever resistance remains in the south. We must move quickly, gentlemen. He did upset our workings, stealing our army, and the longer we keep such an enormous force away from the Mainland, the higher the likelihood of dissent brewing.”

Lord Two cleared his throat. “Ma’am, there’s one more issue. The letter from Mr. Lireau.”

“Curse that spy,” she snapped under her breath, but still looked him directly in the eyes. “What shall be done?”

“The sprite was with the Red Hand. He…he could help her advance to Wildflame just the same as Nomad with Pirin.”

“I need solutions, not compounding problems.” Neria rammed her hands into the pockets of her white frock coat. “Very well. Lord Three will stay with me. He’ll be more than enough to handle Pirin. You take a scout airship across the Adryss and deal with those two. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both Unbound Lords stated.

No matter how many problems the heir posed, she’d deal with them. She always did.

Empress of the United North. The title rang clearly in her mind. Never before had it been accomplished, but she’d be hailed as the first. And as a mortal, no less.