It doesn’t matter if they try to stop him.
He’ll kill anyone that stands in his way.
The thought of it fills me with horror and dread, but I don’t dare hold him back. I know what’s at stake. I know what he’s been through.
I know what I want.
And Valdon Duthriss—Emperor of Rahava—isn’t exactly a saint himself.
Neither are the nobility of the Rahavan court.
In fact, they plunder, steal, and kill with surprising regularity.
My father included.
Steeling myself, I nod.
I’m ready.
With great tenderness, Corvan takes me into his arms, and I’m used to it by now; the feeling of weightlessness, of his immense and impossible strength. “I’m sorry, Finley. This is unorthodox, and rather infuriating, I’d imagine, but it’s by far the quickest way for us to move. Consider it an aerial tour of our beautiful country.”
“The calm before the storm,” I say softly. “I’ve never been to Lukiria, so I’m rather intrigued by it all. If it weren’t for the circumstances of our visit, I’d be quite excited.”
“Really? No matter the size of your family’s estate, you’re still a lady of the peerage. I can’t believe you were never afforded the opportunity to visit the capital.”
“You’ve met my father.”
“Fair point.” His brow furrows in consternation. “I should have dismembered a limb, at least. Let me make it up to you. When I’ve brought the empire under control, I’ll take you on a personal tour of the capital and the surrounding regions. I know that place very well. It’s where I grew up, after all. I’m quite certain I can find a few spots that will take your breath away.”
I stare at him in mild disbelief. How is it possible that he can speak of dismembering my father and yet be so sweet within the same sentence?
You’ve already taken my breath away more than once, you know. You infuriating, magnificent man.
“I’ll be content with just the view for now,” I murmur, pressing into his unshakeable form; his familiar, comforting warmth. “When things have settled down, you can take me wherever you want.”
A tiny thrill courses through me as I imagine the possibility of a life without threat; with Corvan at the height of his powers and I, free from the shackles of my past.
Ruen Castle, which once felt so vast, suddenly feels very, very small.
“I’m sorry our first trip away from the castle has to be this, but I’ll make it up to you.” Corvan tightens his arms, making me feel safe against the cold and the whipping wind and the terrible unknown.
Then he leaps up onto the parapet, soundless and light, as if he’s floating in the air.
“Let’s go,” he whispers in my ear, his tone both deep and featherlight, sending a ripple of goosebumps across my skin.
How delicious he is.
How can I be afraid of anything when I’m with this man? When he backs me up with his heart and soul?
And he’s swift and resolute. Always constant. Never wavering.
Together, we step into the frosted, moonlight night.
We’re in the sky, amongst the glittering stars, and the trees are whispering my name.
Could darkness’s embrace feel any more seductive than this? And if the world, lying at our feet, falls away, what would I do?
What could I do?
49
FINLEY
The entire nation of Rahava flows beneath Corvan’s massive leaps. He covers leagues upon leagues in a single jump. We cross forests and rivers, frost-limned fields and tiny hamlets, crude dirt roads and wide paved highways. We fly over villages and townships, patchwork fields lying barren in the winter.
We even pass over Ruen. I recognize the castle from the air, and it is indeed smaller than what I remembered. Compared to Tyron, it’s insignificant.
And I wonder exactly what my father was so proud of all these years. Ruen is barely productive. Aside from its small army and a scattering of wheat and sheep farms, there’s nothing much.
Father just squeezes every last drop of taxes out of the villagers. Season after season, they grow poorer.
Corvan’s feet hit the ground again, but I never feel the impact. He absorbs everything with his strong, inhuman body.
He leaps.
Again and again.
We’ve left Ruen. We’re flying over a vast network of lakes, dotted with islands covered in silver-trunked trees. The onset of spring is earlier here; I can make out tiny buds on the ends of the branches.
We cross a rocky landscape, where the stone formations give way to open pits where they’re digging things out of the ground. Then there are farms. Acres upon acres of farmland, fields ploughed and planted; waiting for the onset of spring. They’re lined by long, straight irrigation channels that stretch as far as the eye can see. There are more houses here, large farms and lands giving way to smaller blocks and narrow streets. Eventually, there’s nothing but buildings and houses.
Corvan drops to a rooftop. And then we’re off again, with a clatter of roof tiles.
Moonlight gives way to artificial light. Tall lamps illuminate the streets, giving off a warm gaslight glow. The streets become straighter. I can see vehicles. Carriages and carts. Horses asleep, tied to their posts for the night.
Occasionally, I even see a person, walking hastily, eyes downturned, coats tightly buttoned, as if they’re trying to ward off the night.
They have no idea of what soars overhead.
We’re ghosts in the sky; mythical things that only exist in fantastical stories.
The houses grow larger, the buildings grander; now they’re made of more substantial materials, wood and tin and reed giving way to stone and tile and brick. There are taller buildings, too, not just one or two, but three, four, even five stories.
We cross a river spanned by four or five bridges, some made of stone and graceful arches, others metal, suspended by an array of metal cables.
I see avenues. Trees. Skeletal branches are budded with the promise of spring. Corvan lands on the street itself. A passerby turns in the darkness, startled by something—a sense of our presence, perhaps—even though Corvan doesn’t make a sound.
And then we’re gone again, before they have a chance to perceive what was right in front of them.
We’re so fast. We’re invisible. The realization is intoxicating.
We can go anywhere.
And all of a sudden, Corvan stops. We’re standing on the rooftop of a four-story tall building, one that gives us a wide, sweeping view of the city.
My breath catches.
Lukiria is magnificent.
It’s a vast sea of glittering lights, almost as dense and infinite as the stars themselves. It’s wide roads and intricate architecture. It’s tree-lined avenues and stately parks. It’s hewn sandstone and smooth marble.
And everything leads upwards. The higher they go, the larger and grander the buildings become.
It’s astounding. Lukiria really is beautiful.
All the wealth in the empire is here, in this city.
And right at the top, on a vast hilltop surrounded by imposing granite walls, topped with parapets and battlements that make Tyron Castle’s defenses look small in comparison, there’s a palace.
The palace.
It’s grander and vaster than anything I could have ever imagined.
It glows, illuminated by powerful lights that form a gradient of light and shadow on the walls.