Melaxu turns to the assembled Eleidian Guard. "Did any of you see Teijia's face?"

A few shift uncomfortably, and you know that they suspect the truth. Finally one woman clears her throat. But before she can speak—

"Empress!" It's Lamech the Flamerider, on foot. Their angha just landed on a platform nearby. They pull their mask off and straighten their perfunctory metropolitan-style shroud.

"What is it, Lamech?" Zoriza asks the shroud.

"A ship," they say, their eyes wide and frightened. "A ship from Hazelwood."

People rush to the balcony that overlooks the bay. A ship is passing between the defensive sea towers of Mytele, beneath the three titanic statues. You wonder how the ship eluded the Stormraiders, and then you realize it did not; its hull is fire-blackened, its rigging damaged. There are no rowers, only the one torn sail. It drifts like a plague ship toward the docks.

"Prepare my chariot," King Hyras says.

Next

You and Melaxu ride in a four-wheeled chariot behind the great king, down to the docks, arriving just as the fire-blackened ship drifts into harbor. Mytelean soldiers surround it, mostly to keep early-morning gawkers at bay in case it really is a plague ship. Lamech and the empress are already there.

"It was attacked," Lamech tells the great king. "We await your permission to board."

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Tamur, you notice, is squatting atop a dockside crane, his cape the same color as the wood, his outline lost in the predawn haze. No one else sees him.

The exhausted king nods blearily.

Lamech approaches the dock, flanked by two other Flameriders on foot. They freeze when a satyr climbs into view, takes a few hesitant steps, and falls onto the dock.

"Col?" Empress Zoriza says. She shoves past her Flameriders and cradles the satyr. "Oh gods, Col! We need a philosopher, or a disciple of Faraam, please."

Melaxu does not hesitate. She runs to the fallen satyr and pulls an Oricalchum leaf from her satchel, unrolling it carefully.

"The burns aren't bad," she says. "But this leg wound…he's lost a lot of blood."

The philosopher works in silence for several minutes, then nods to the empress and steps back.

"Little Zoz," Col says weakly.

"Bigger now," Empress Zoriza says. She mouths "search the ship" to her Flameriders, and they get to work.

"You won't find anyone else," Col says. "They destroyed everything."

"What happened, old friend?" King Hyras says, kneeling beside the wounded satyr.

"Hazelwood is gone," Col says.

"Queen Irleia?" King Hyras asks.

"Dead. All her power, all her prayers. She was like nothing. Vankred…he has the dark ax. And it has called to him an army like nothing I have ever seen. Trolls, divs, things without names. They were like flies on a summer carcass. We couldn't even count them. Their philosophers didn't even have to do anything. Vankred just burned everything. Seven ships escaped. Galimar got six of them. Here I am."

"How could the Stormraiders take Hazelwood?" Empress Zoriza asks Col. "Queen Irleia always boasted of her hedge maze. She said that if anyone attacked, she could call her maze up in less than a minute, on land and water. She gave the true path to no one except the three monarchs and their families. Irleia's husband and daughters died in the last war, and I…well, my husband is dead."

"Oh gods," King Hyras says, breaking down. "I knew it was her."

"What?" the empress asks.

"How could I not know her face, though it was a mask of gold?" the great king cries. "It was Hyranni. She told them. They have her. The Stormraiders have my daughter."

We Need to Make Plans