Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(90)

If they were siblings, how had they become separated? And why was it all such a secret? Why didn’t Breon know about it himself—unless he’d lied about that, too?

Why wouldn’t the empress simply invite her siblings to a reunion, instead of hunting them across two continents? Of course, there are many reasons a monarch might want to track down siblings. Gerard Montaigne was one example that came to mind—he’d murdered his brothers on his way to the throne.

But why not simply hire an assassin if that was the goal? Celestine had made it plain that she wanted Breon alive and unhurt.

One bit of good news—Breon might be glad to know that he was dressed like a prince because he was one.

The empress was waiting in a small, circular pergola overlooking the sea. She was dressed more simply now, draped in layers of fabric secured by a wide belt, a cowl pulled up over her head. The cowl was the only bit of fancywork—it was elaborately beaded and embroidered. A jeweled, curved blade was jammed into the belt.

Samara bowed to the empress. “Here is Captain Gray, as you commanded, Empress.”

Celestine looked her up and down approvingly. “You look like a capable soldier, Captain,” she said. “I trust the fit is good?”

“Yes,” Lyss said cautiously. “I wondered whether—”

That was when Lyss noticed the chaise parked beside the wall, where its occupant could look out to sea. A familiar mop of hair peeked over the top of it.

“Breon!” Lyss knelt beside him, looking anxiously into his face. He was wrapped in furs, eyes half open but unfocused. He returned a vague smile and absently patted her hand.

“What are you doing out here?”

“He likes to watch the ships,” Celestine said, though the only ships in view were moored at the dock.

Lyss stayed focused on Breon’s face. “Is that true? I was worried about you. I didn’t know what—”

Breon tapped his fingers against his throat and shook his head.

Lyss swung around to face the empress. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I’ve taken his voice for now,” Celestine said.

“What do you mean, you’ve taken his voice?” Lyss’s own voice trembled.

“There is a desert plant we call ‘secret keeper.’ It stills the vocal cords. Unlike cutting out a person’s tongue, the effect is temporary.”

“Why would you do that to your own brother?”

The empress’s eyes narrowed. She looked from Lyss to Samara. “Ah,” she said, and sighed. “Captain Samara has been gossiping again.”

Samara stood frozen, one hand on the hilt of his curved blade, his face a thundercloud.

“Perhaps he’s the one you should be dosing,” Lyss said.

The empress nodded. “Perhaps he is. You are dismissed, Captain Samara. The rest of you as well. Go, and take my brother with you.”

“But . . . your grace . . . you mustn’t risk—”

“Captain Gray is not a mage,” Celestine said. “I hardly think it’s a risk to speak with her in private, as I intend to do.” When he still didn’t move, she waved him away impatiently.

Cheeks flaming, Samara bowed. “As you wish, Empress.” Motioning to the others, he stalked off toward the palace, his back stiff with rage. His men followed behind, herding Breon along like an errant sheep.

“Captain Samara forgets himself sometimes,” Celestine said, when they were out of earshot.

I’ll bet he forgets himself a lot of times, Lyss thought. As often as you’ll let him.

Celestine gestured at the other chair. “Now. Sit.”

Up close, Lyss was surprised at how young Celestine was. If she had to guess, she’d estimate that the empress was not yet twenty. Her coloring was striking, with her purple eyes and tawny skin and silver hair. She was not particularly tall, but she was plush, as Lyss’s father would say.

Celestine was studying Lyss in turn. “You are quite the legend, Captain Gray,” she said. “Are any of the stories I’m hearing true?”

“That depends on what stories you’re hearing,” Lyss said, wishing that Breon hadn’t shared her military name with the empress. “If you’re talking about the incident in the taproom of the Thistle and Crown, that was blown way out of proportion.”

The empress stared at her, then burst out laughing. “You see?” she said to no one in particular. “That’s exactly why I didn’t kill you on the beach. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone around with a modicum of wit. The bloodsworn are so tiresome.”

If you’re looking for some kind of a court jester or pet, keep looking, Lyss thought.

“I can see that there is magic in you. Is it true that you turn into a wolf in the heat of battle? Are you a . . . shape-shifter?”

Clearly the empress had been doing her homework.

Lyss shook her head. “When I go into battle, I’m in it to win. Maybe that’s how that story got started.”

“Ah,” Celestine said, looking disappointed. “I was so looking forward to seeing that. Most stories have a kernel of truth.” She paused, and when Lyss said nothing, continued. “How long have you been fighting for the wetlanders?”

“I took the field when I was twelve,” Lyss said, “after my father was killed.”