Hell's Gate

Beside that huge, ancient crag, Windtreader was a child's toy tossed into the sea. The immovable mass of stone caught the westering sunlight with a deep golden glow. Stark black shadows marked the locations of the powerful batteries, their turrets protected by tons of armor plate and reinforced concrete, capable of sending any battleship ever built to the bottom at a distance of over twelve miles.

Two flags snapped and cracked in the wind above that mighty fortress, representing the two nations who shared sovereignty over it to this day. One was the black field and golden lion of Bolakin, rippling and wavering as it streamed out from its staff. The other was the eight-rayed golden sunburst of Ternathia on its deep green field, and as Andrin watched, both of them started down their staffs in perfect unison.

She couldn't have explained to anyone why sudden tears filled her eyes. It wasn't just pride in her people, wasn't just the honor that salute accorded to her father, her family, and all they represented to their people. There was something else. Through some strange alchemy, born of the eerie light of the dying sun and the black shadows that marked those immense guns, of the threat which pulled this ship and its passengers towards a fateful meeting in Tajvana, that simple salute?the dipping of two flags as the Emperor passed by?became something more. Became a reminder of all the ancient Empire had endured … and an ominous portent of what was yet to come.

Men in Ternathian uniform were already on their way to fight. To rescue any survivors, and to prevent the deaths of more i

She could see the men on the fortress walls, waving and cheering, and however hard she tried, she couldn't lift her arm to respond. They would literally go to their deaths, if ordered to do so by her father … or by Andrin, if she ever came to the throne. The terrible prescience, if that was what gripped her, left her chilled and frightened, alone despite her father at her side, despite Lazima chan Zindico at her back. She had never felt smaller, less heroic or less capable, in her life than she did as she contemplated the kinds of decisions an empress would have to make in time of war.

She swallowed once. Twice. And then she made a silent vow?not to Shaylar's shadow, but to the men in that fortress, and to all the other men in uniform scattered across the known universes.

She would do her best?the very utmost best she could?to prepare herself to lead them. And if the time ever came that she must, she would not risk them lightly. She was the daughter and granddaughter and great-great-granddaughter of emperors and empresses. Throughout the mille

The thought burned through her, and then, without warning, Finena launched unexpectedly from her wrist. The silver falcon arrowed skyward, drawing the eye as white wings flashed red in the glowing sunset. She wheeled once, high above the fortress flags, then folded her wings and dove, streaking earthward like a meteor plunging down the sky.

She snapped her wings wide again, fa

The magnificent bird perched there for an endless, breathless moment?a living sculpture, carved from silver and ash-pale ivory, wings spread wide, ready to fly again and strike at a moment's notice. Fierce, proud, defiant, protective . . . The adjectives and emotions tumbled through Andrin, too many and too rapidly to name them all.

Then the wings folded, the head tilted inquiringly up to meet Andrin's shaken gaze, and Finena was just a bird again. Only a falcon, sitting peaceably on Andrin's arm, and no longer an avatar of fate itself.

Andrin drew a single, shallow breath and turned her gaze from her falcon to her father. Her eyes met his, and she recognized the look in them. It was the same look she'd just given the soldiers in the fortress?the look of a man who knew his word would send other men to their deaths on a world so far away the message would travel for days, even at the speed of thought, just to reach it. Men who would go willingly, trusting him to send them for good reason, for a cause that was worthy of their sacrifice. The look of the man who knew the terrible weight of that responsibility … and feared that one day it would be transferred from his shoulders to hers.

Andrin wanted to weep. Then her father looked into her eyes … and did.

"I'm tired, Papa," Andrin murmured, trying to hide how desperately shaken she was. "I'll say goodnight now."

"Of course, 'Drin," he replied.

He kissed her brow, squeezed her hand for a moment, then let her go, and she fled to her cabin, where Lady Merissa was lying in her bunk, pale and asleep, thank all the gods. Andrin settled Finena on her perch, pulled off her own heavy coat and embroidered gown, and wrapped herself in the comforting softness of a silk night dress and a thick robe woven from Ternathian wool and exotic cashmere.

Her head ached fiercely, and she curled up in her own bed. She started to light the lamp as the sun sank toward the sea, but then she changed her mind. Instead, she simply gazed out the scuttle for a long, long time while the sea turned golden and the sun balanced on the rim of the world.

She couldn't actually see the sun slip beneath the waves. The sunset lay astern as Windtreader forged steadily onward, deeper and deeper into the Mbisi. But she watched the light on the water, watched the clouds overhead turn orange and crimson and deep wine-red, then fade into soft shades of purple. The cabin was chilly as the light finally disappeared and the heavens came to life, glittering with thousands upon thousands of autumn stars beyond the drifting ba

It was comforting to simply sit in the darkness, watching the stars and thinking of nothing while the ship moved beneath her and the throb of the powerful engines enveloped her. It was past time for supper, she realized distantly, but her stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food, and she swallowed queasily. Her head ached, and she closed her eyes, thinking longingly about an icepack, not food.