Immortal Reign (Falling Kingdoms #6)(53)
KRAESHIA
Amara knew that because of her, a monster was free—one that would destroy the world unless it was stopped. And she’d left the mess behind her for others to clean up.
She’d hoped that the farther she sailed from the shores of Mytica, the freer she’d feel, but the invisible chains tying her to what she’d done did not break even as the Jewel of the Empire finally loomed into view before her.
Her beautiful home would also be destroyed if Kyan wasn’t imprisoned again.
She would have to have faith in Lucia. And in Cleo.
For now, that faith would have to be enough.
Costas, the only member of her guard Amara knew she could trust, remained in Mytica to keep a close watch over the royals. She’d commanded him to send a message of any news, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed.
A celebration awaited her as the ship docked, a crowd of cheering Kraeshians holding up signs proclaiming their love and devotion to their new empress.
“Welcome home, Empress Amara!” they called out to her.
As she disembarked, children and mothers looked upon her with hope in their eyes, hope that she wouldn’t be the same as her father—an emperor who had been focused only on power, conquest, and unlimited fortune.
Amara would be different, these women believed.
Better. Kinder. More benevolent and focused on unity and peace in a way male rulers in the past hadn’t been.
Amara smiled at them all, but found that the tight feeling in her chest wouldn’t ease.
All these people . . . they would all perish at the hands of the Kindred if Lucia failed.
Lucia couldn’t fail.
Amara had confidence in the sorceress’s magic, in her prophecy, in the determination she’d seen in Lucia’s eyes when she’d first entered the compound searching for her brother and father. For a moment, just a moment before the king’s entourage had departed for Auranos, Amara had wanted to ask Lucia if she might heal her broken leg with her earth magic, as a favor.
But she had held her tongue, doubting that the reply would be positive.
“I earned this injury,” she whispered to herself as she leaned against her cane. The pain had eased, but walking was awkward and slow. She shrugged off the assistance of the guards who surrounded her, preferring to hobble along without any help.
She took in the sights of the Jewel on the carriage ride to the Emerald Spear—the royal residence she’d lived in since birth. Sometimes she forgot how beautiful the Jewel was. It hadn’t received its name by accident.
Everywhere she looked, her surroundings literally hummed with life. With lush, green trees bearing flat, waxy leaves, far taller and fuller than anything she’d seen in Mytica. The flowers—mostly shades of purple, which had been the emperor’s favorite color—were each as big as a serving platter.
The air was fresh and fragrant with the smell of the flowers and of the salty sea that surrounded the small island. Amara closed her eyes and tried to focus only on the feel of the humid air on her bare arms, on the intoxicating scents of the Jewel, on the cheers from crowds they passed.
When she opened her eyes again, the palace stretched up into the very clouds like a priceless shard of glittering emerald. It had been her father’s design, built years before she was born. He’d never been happy with it, thought it not high enough, not sharp enough, not impressive enough.
But Amara loved it.
And now it belonged to her and her alone.
And, for a moment, she pushed aside her doubts, her fears, her guilt, and allowed herself to bask in her victory—truly the greatest victory by any woman in history.
The future for all the people who had cheered upon her arrival would be as bright as the ancient scepter she would raise at her public Ascension.
It would be a grand ceremony, much like her father’s had been many years ago, long before her birth, that would live forever through the paintings and sculptures commissioned to document it.
And then all—whether they liked it or not—would have to worship and obey the first empress in mortal history.
Wearing purple robes, her hair arranged into a thick, neat bun at the back of her head, Neela waited for her in the grand, shining entryway to the Spear. The old woman reached her arms out toward her granddaughter. Guards lined the circumference of the palace’s ground floor.
Amara’s cane made a clicking sound on the green metallic floors as she closed the distance between them, then Amara allowed her grandmother to take her into a warm embrace.
“My beautiful dhosha has returned to me,” Neela said.
Amara’s throat tightened, and her eyes stung.
“I’ve missed you, madhosha,” she whispered.
“And I you.”
Amara couldn’t take her eyes off her grandmother. The old woman looked anything but old today. She was vibrant. Her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled. Even her steel-gray hair seemed shinier and fuller.
“You look wonderful, madhosha,” Amara told her. “Clearly, staving off a revolution does wonders for the skin.”
Neela laughed lightly, touching her own smooth, tanned cheeks. “That’s hardly to account for this. My apothecary created a special elixir for me, one that has certainly contributed to my renewed strength. During your stay in little Mytica, I knew I couldn’t allow my age and ailments to slow me down.”