As Titus struggled to appear interested in the droning vassal before his throne, he thought of what would come after. A goblet of wine fortified with herbs, hopefully a nap, and then he would attempt to impregnate his latest consort. Such a bother. If only his one and only son hadn’t died. But he had and Titus no longer had an heir despite his many marriages and countless concubines, none of whom managed a successful pregnancy. His lack of an heir had his advisors quite agitated. Very little time remained before he died of old age, and, without a child to inherit, his country would most likely splinter, something his advisors and the lords wished to avoid.

As the last petitioner took his leave—after complaining that his well went dry because his neighbor had stolen the water, to which Titus offered to send a dousing witch to seek out a new source—the tired emperor rose from his throne, grimacing at how his aged limbs creaked and protested. “I’m off to rest before doing my duty,” he muttered.

“Not yet, Your Eminence,” murmured Phelgar. “There is still one more case to be heard.”

“But it is midafternoon,” Titus whined, knowing no one would dare point out his petulant tone. The last person overheard murmuring about the emperor’s attitude lost their head. Not on his order, he should add. Phelgar took insults to Titus’ reign quite seriously.

“They paid an impressive sum for a moment of your time,” Phelgar remarked. A rude reminder that their coffers ran low. The once-prosperous Merisu had been hit by a series of unfortunate events. Droughts the last three summers had spawned wildfires which in turn decimated the already sparse crop yields. Hard to collect taxes when no one could earn any coin. It didn’t help the treasury had been paying extra for additional guards to keep a hungry populace from rioting. At least the many executions of instigators made for fewer mouths to feed.

Titus dropped back onto his throne with a sigh. “And what is the verdict I’m to propose?”

“I don’t have one,” Phelgar replied, surprising the emperor. “They only just arrived, bearing a chest of gold.”

A chest? Impressive and intriguing. Especially the part where Phelgar couldn’t tell him in advance what to reply. Titus couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually made a decision on his own. “Their generous contribution pleases me. Let us see what they have to say.”

The guards at the entrance to his throne room flung open the bronze doors, the height of at least two tall men and gleaming from the daily polishing. Through them marched a trio of women, clad head to toe in white robes that included concealing veils. An interesting attire that probably hid hideous countenances. His third consort had to wear one when he bedded her so he didn’t lose his erection.

The three petitioners stopped a pace before the last step of his dais and in unison knelt with bowed heads.

“Rise.” Titus waved a gnarled hand.

They rose as one, and the woman in the center spoke, her voice low and husky. “Oh, mighty emperor of Merisu, thank you for receiving us.”

“Your names,” Phelgar demanded, a quill and parchment ready to take notes.

“I am Klothi and these are my sisters, Kachezi and Karoki.”

Unusual names. “Why do you seek an audience? By your speech, you do not appear to be Merisuan citizens. Are you here as delegates for another country?”

“We have no allegiance to any country, your eminence, for we were chosen to serve a higher purpose.”

The claim arched his brow. Had a new religious sect sprung up? Surprising since Phelgar’s spy network usually stamped out anything that might run counter to his rule.

“There is no higher purpose than serving Merisu,” Phelgar tartly replied.

“What we do is for the betterment of everyone,” Klothi stated.

“And what exactly do you do?” Titus asked.

“We are keepers of knowledge. The sisters who watch. The ones who see what is to come and would prevent it.”

“Grandiose claims that say nothing. Speak plainly,” Phelgar barked. “The emperor’s time is valuable.”

“We are known as the Dracova Guardians and for the longest time have kept ourselves hidden from the world.”

“I’ve never heard of you. What exactly do you guard?” Phelgar showed little patience.

“That is not something that can be revealed to anyone but the emperor,” was Klothi’s cool reply.

Phelgar stiffened. “I am his highest advisor which means all information comes through me.”

“Not this secret. We will divulge it only to your emperor, should he choose to align with our cause.”

“No,” Phelgar spat. “I’ve heard enough. Leave.”

Titus held up a hand. “Let’s not be hasty.” For the first time in a while, he found himself intrigued. “I wish to hear more.” Phelgar’s eyes shot warning daggers, but Titus ignored him and leaned forward. “What do you mean by align?”

“I’m afraid we cannot divulge more until we are in private. But it is understandable that you are leery, hence why we brought a gift, in addition to our offering of gold, to show our good faith.”

A gift? That piqued his interest, but first… “Why have you been hiding?”

“Because the secrets we guard would cause great ill in the wrong hands. There was a time, long ago, when we had shrines on every continent and served our purpose openly. Now, we are all that is left as time and ill luck have eroded our numbers. But that will soon change as the new age is almost upon us.”

“A new age of what?”

“Prosperity. Rebirth. And you, Emperor Titus, have been selected to lead us to that future.”

At the claim, he cackled. “I’m afraid you’ve chosen poorly. I am an old man on the cusp of passing.” He saw no point in denying the obvious.

“We do not make mistakes,” Klothi replied bluntly. “Should you accept our gift of goodwill, age will no longer be a concern of yours.”

“Planning to kill me?” Titus asked.

“On the contrary. We wish you to live, hence the rare and precious offering we’ve brought exclusively for you.”

The woman to Klothi’s left, whom she’d called Kachezi, took a step forward and as her voluminous sleeves retreated, presented a vial. “Drink this elixir and reclaim your youth.”

Laughter erupted from Phelgar and he glanced at Titus. “Do you hear this ridiculousness? Do you think we are stupid?” he scoffed. “The emperor will not drink whatever poison you present.”

“We understand the hesitance. Would you like to see an example of what this elixir can do?” Klothi waved to the woman on her right. “Karoki, if you would be so kind.”

Karoki raised her hands and clasped her veil, tugging it from her head to reveal an old woman, her visage wrinkled like a prune left in the sun too long, her gray hair shorn almost to the scalp. Without hesitation, Karoki held out a hand, the flesh mottled with age, the veins pulsing dark lines visible through the papery skin.

The female holding the vial handed it to her companion. The cloudy eyes stared right at Titus as Karoki removed the cap and took a sip.

Quickly, Kachezi snatched the amphora, and just in time, as Karoki fell to her knees with a gasp. She didn’t remain kneeling for long. As her body began to convulse, she fell to the floor and writhed.

Phelgar’s eyes widened. “You poisoned her! I knew you planned treachery.”

“Watch,” admonished Klothi.

“I’ve heard and seen enough. Arrest this woman!” Phelgar shouted, but Titus held up a hand and, while not a strong bellow, managed to shout, “Belay that order.” Because something strange appeared to be happening to Karoki.

Under his disbelieving gaze, the one who’d drank from the vial shed decades. Her face smoothed, the wrinkles vanishing as her flesh plumped. The spots on her cheeks faded, leaving them pale and smooth with a hint of blush. Dried thin lips filled and regained their reddish color.

The change took only minutes. When done, Karoki stood and faced him, a hint of a smile curving her mouth.

Klothi held her head high as she stated, “As you can see, this isn’t a poison, but rather an elixir that brings back youth. Our gift to you with the hope you’ll join our cause.”

“Give it.” Titus held out his hands, but Phelgar moved to block him. “What sorcery is this? It is not possible to revert the ravages of time.”

“You would deny the evidence before your eyes?”

“It’s a trick. Given there are witches in my family, I am familiar with magic, and there is no elixir of youth,” Phelgar blustered.

“Dracova Guardians are more than mere witches,” Klothi stated in a sneering tone. “We are the last of those trained in the art of magic since birth, privy to secrets your puny mind could not hope to comprehend. Hence why our offer is to your emperor, and not a sniveling coward like you.”

The rebuke almost had Titus snickering, but Phelgar didn’t appreciate it.

“You insolent wench. I am His Eminence’s vizier. I will not stand here and be insulted, nor will I allow you to harm the emperor. Guards, seize them.”

“You overstep yourself, Phelgar. Ignore that order,” Titus called out, standing from his throne.

“But, Your Eminence,” Phelgar said, turning to face him. “Surely you don’t believe this charlatanry. It is most likely an illusion.”

“I am an old man on the cusp of death. Do I really have anything to lose?” Titus asked.

“Your life,” Phelgar bluntly stated.

“A life of aching bones and wheezing breath. I’ve been alive more than seventy years, longer than most.”

“If you die, the country will be in shambles.”

“Because I lack an heir. I’m aware,” was his dry reply. “Do you really think a few more days or months or even years will change that?”

“You’ve had ill luck with infertile women—”

Despite a lifetime of obedience, Titus cut him off. “It’s not them, and you know it, despite how many doctors you parade past me claiming they are barren. Or did you think I wasn’t aware of my wives’ dalliances and their pregnancies with other men? Incidents you caught before the babes could be passed off as my own? Perhaps you should have allowed one of them to be born.”

“As if I’d allow a bastard to sit on the throne,” Phelgar hissed.

“The truth is, my seed refuses to take root, and thus I either die without an heir, or I trust this elixir isn’t an illusion.”

“Once you regain your youth, you won’t need a son. You could rule forever,” Klothi stated loud enough to be heard.

Immortality. It tempted, as did the fact he wouldn’t have to keep pretending interest in the various ladies who showed up in his bed. No more being forced to marry supposedly fertile females whom he couldn’t stand to be around.

“I accept your gift.” Titus descended the dais on legs that protested as he held out a gnarled hand.

Klothi dropped the vial in his palm and Titus eyed the liquid within, a little more than half left. A sniff of the potion wrinkled his nose. “It smells foul.”

“Most cures do,” she softly noted.

True.

Before Titus could shrivel and cower obediently under Phelgar’s disapproving stare, he tilted the vial and dribbled the liquid into his mouth.

It tasted worse than it smelled. Titus almost spat it out. His throat tightened and his stomach clenched as he forced himself to swallow.

The effect proved instant. His muscles cramped, the pain gripping every inch of him. The ampoule fell to the floor and shattered, not that he noticed. He was too busy trying not to scream from the agony scouring his body.

He found himself on the floor and could hear Phelgar shouting, he just couldn’t bring himself to care, seeing as how he was dying.

He’d been wrong.

The poison would kill him.

Here ended his legacy and that of his forefathers stretching a thousand years.

To his surprise, he didn’t die. The seizures and pain eased. He took a deep breath, and it didn’t wheeze. The aches, so long a part of him, were gone. As Titus rose to his feet, staring in wonder at his smooth hands, he heard Phelgar exclaim.

“Your eminence. It worked.” The man sounded so surprised.

Titus was elated. He turned to Klothi and smiled, a charming grin with a hint of conniving as he said, “Whatever you wish from me, you have it.”

“Eminence, shouldn’t you first hear what they want from you?” Phelgar argued.

“Doesn’t matter.” After all, if these witches could keep him young forever and thought he could lead them into a new age, he’d be a fool to refuse.

And so, the three Dracova Guardians joined his court and revealed what was to come, a plan that would be years coming to fruition. Titus didn’t mind the wait. After all, he now had all the time he needed to become emperor of the world.

Chapter 1

The sea voyage from Verlora to Merisu couldn’t end soon enough for Avera. Restricted to a cage in a dark hold, she huddled into a tiny ball, her will to fight gone.

She’d failed her quest.

Gryphon was dead.

The Dracova stones had been stolen from her.

She would never reclaim her throne from that traitor, Benoit, nor could she stop the ancient entity, Zhos, from rising and laying waste to her home.

Instead of victory, she found herself a prisoner aboard the Emperor’s Folly, which sailed for Merisu. Once they arrived, Captain Koonis would hand over Avera and the Dracova stones to his precious emperor—a decrepit tyrant with plans to marry her. To those who might wonder how bad could marrying the ruler of a country be, they’d obviously either never heard or ignored the rumors. Emperor Titus Gugerknaut, age seventy-three, had been married five times. Never divorced, though, because his consorts had a tendency to die. Thrown from a horse, choked on dinner, drowned. One apparently perished in childbirth with the emperor’s heir. As for the most recent, Avera vaguely recalled mention of her flinging herself from a rampart. Probably preferable to enduring the touch of an old man who would one day kill her for not giving him the heir he so desperately wanted.

In a rare moment spent with her shunned youngest child, the previous queen of Daerva—Avera’s mother—had once confided that she didn’t like Emperor Titus. “I would rather see my daughters wed the latrine cleaner than that foul man.”

But Avera wouldn’t have a choice. Supposedly, the emperor planned to marry her, although she had her doubts after her treatment by the captain. True or not, she saw no way to escape. Perhaps she would die before her arrival. The seasickness had returned and seemed determined to finish her off.

She should be so lucky.

It was a miserable trip, days and days of no daylight and rancid food. The gruel brought to her daily held floating chunks of garbage. Literal garbage. Chewed bones. Clumps of hair. Grizzled fat in a broth that smelled slightly of piss.

Needless to say, she didn’t eat and subsisted only on the tepid water they brought every few days—when they remembered.

From princess to wretch. How far she’d fallen. Even sleep was no escape for every time she slumbered, Zhos taunted her. A faceless and shapeless figure whose voice surrounded her at every turn, taunting and threatening. While she didn’t want to admit defeat while awake, her subconscious apparently had lost hope.

When Captain Koonis appeared in front of her cage—strutting in his finery, his blue uniform lined with braided golden cord—to announce, “We’re about to dock,” she could barely muster the strength to lift her head.

At least this torture would soon come to an end. The emperor would have his precious stones, but seeing how Avera had nothing else to offer, she could only hope for a swift death.

She was marched, bedraggled and filthy, from the hold to the main deck where the bright sun after so many days of darkness had her squinting. Despite her watering eyes, the fresh air did much to revive her.

“Keep moving,” Koonis ordered as she paused and wavered on her feet, blinking. A shove to the middle of her back had her bare feet stumbling, and she almost plummeted from the gangplank into the water. It might have improved the smell of her.

She made it onto the dock where a grand entourage waited, comprised of lords and ladies dressed in bright fabrics, the latter hiding their faces behind fans. Soldiers in impressive uniforms that included helms stood arrayed just outside their group, with the largest of them flanking a young man dressed in silken finery who took one look at her and pursed his lips with disapproval. “Is this the Queen of Daerva?”

“Aye, Emperor.” Koonis dropped to a knee and bowed his head. “I’ve brought her, and the stones, as ordered.” He placed the satchel he’d stolen from Avera at the emperor’s feet.

As Avera perused the young fellow, she wondered why she’d not heard about the old emperor’s passing. Then again, it might have been recent. Only it seemed odd no one had mentioned it. Nor the fact he had an heir. The rumors about the emperor had highlighted—often with sneering amusement—how he kept ridding himself of wives due to their inability to conceive.

The young emperor’s lips tightened as he eyed Avera. “Why is she so filthy and starved-looking?”

Interesting. The emperor didn’t sound pleased.

Captain Koonis raised his head, fear in his eyes. “Your Eminence? I simply treated her like I would any other prisoner.”

“She’s not a prisoner, you fool, but my soon-to-be consort.” The words were spat and Koonis turned pale.

The emperor didn’t make a sign, yet a soldier stepped forward. Before the captain could protest, his head went flying. A fascinated Avera watched as it rolled across the dock and plopped into the water, drawing a swarm of fish. The water boiled at their feeding frenzy.

A fitting ending for a wretched man.

To Avera’s surprise, the emperor bowed low in front of her. “Apologies, Majesty, for your mistreatment. I didn’t think I had to explicitly tell the captain that, as my fiancée, you should have been treated like a precious treasure. Let me make it up to you.”

“You could make things right by releasing me to return home,” she stated, her voice raspy from her ordeal.

“Alas, that is the one thing I cannot do.” He sounded genuinely apologetic. “However, I promise the situation is not as dire as you fear.”

“You’re forcing me to marry you.” She saw no point in being demure.

“Being wed to me would be to your advantage.”

“How so?”

“You are currently a queen without a throne. Branded a traitor by the one who stole it.”

Her lips pinched at the reminder. “How does being your consort fix that?”

“You need an army and I happen to have a rather large one, plus a vast fleet of ships to transport them.”

“I don’t wish to kill my people.”

“Who says they’ll die? Sometimes a proper show of force is all that’s needed. I imagine there are many displeased by the situation but lacking the courage to step forward. An army led by their true queen might prove to be a compelling factor.”

The emperor put forth an interesting argument, but she wasn’t about to agree so quickly. “I am too weary to be discussing this right now.”

“Of course you are. My apologies. Let us get you properly situated before we discuss important affairs.” He turned and raised his hand. “I have a palanquin to transport us to the palace.”

Avera eyed the gilded box on poles, the weight of it carried by eight very burly men, their chests bare and gleaming as if oiled, the muscles of their arms and legs thicker than her waist. They set the palanquin down nearby and pulled back a curtain. The displayed enclosed space had her glancing at her ragged attire.

“You might not wish to be in such close proximity to me.”

“It is my fault you arrived in such a state. The late Captain Koonis obviously didn’t clearly grasp your importance to me. Shall we?” He crooked an arm, a courtly gesture that took her aback.

This emperor was nothing as expected. Perhaps the son wasn’t a scoundrel like his father. Not that she intended to marry him. Her grief over Griffon remained a raw, ragged wound on her heart. Just as she’d come to realize her feelings for him, he’d been taken.

She tucked her hand in the crook of the emperor’s elbow and let him lead her to the litter. Upon entering, she was struck by the comfort, from the fat pillows for sitting to the lightly scented brazier that would hopefully mask most of her pungent body aroma.

The emperor sat across from her, a handsome man, she had to admit. His brown hair was thick and long enough to have a slight wave to it, his eyes a piercing gray.

As the palanquin lifted into the air, she sought something to say and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I wasn’t aware Emperor Titus had passed. I am sorry for your loss. I, too, have recently grieved the passing of a parent.”

The statement for some reason made him smile. “My father, Magnus, has been long dead. I am Titus.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry for the mistake. I must have mixed up your names.” Apparently, she should have paid better attention to her lessons on politics.

“Actually, you didn’t. My situation is rather unique. You see, while I might look rather young, in actuality, I am more than seventy years old.”

“Impossible.” The word flew out of her as she recalled what she’d been told when trekking across Verlora with Koonis’ men. They’d claimed that witches used magic to make the emperor young again. Apparently, they’d spoken the truth.

He arched a brow. “Would you call me a liar?”

Careful. Now that she stood on somewhat solid ground, it wouldn’t do to anger the one person who literally held her life in his hands. Especially since thus far he seemed somewhat reasonable.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t understand. How do you appear so young?”

“Magic.” His white teeth flashed as he grinned. “Your confusion is understandable, as is your disbelief. I felt the same when the elixir of youth was presented to me.”

Magic. For a woman who’d grown up believing it was just something put in stories for entertainment, she’d come to realize much she knew needed updating.

“So your youth is a spell? Does it require renewing?”

“In a sense, yes. While the elixir did reverse decades, I am aging once more and will eventually have to imbibe again to remain young.”

“How incredible.”

“Life changing,” he quipped with a wink. “You’ll soon discover many wonderful things once you’ve settled in. I hear you have a curiosity about how things work.”

His spies had done their homework. “I tinker a bit,” was her modest reply. “Although, not much since the passing of my family.”

“I was chagrinned to hear of your mother’s death. She was quite formidable. She impressed me when we met. We bandied around the idea of aligning our families.”

“But obviously didn’t. Why?”

“I was married at the time.” Stated with a wry smile.

“Your wives have an unfortunate habit of dying.” She saw no point in being coy.

“They did, however, not by my hand or decree. My last vizier saw fit to act without my knowledge.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He and the lords were concerned about my lack of heirs and, given their desire for a legitimate successor, kept disposing of wives they deemed faulty.”

“So I can expect the same treatment, I suppose.”

“Phelgar has since been removed from his position. With my renewed vitality, having a child is no longer a priority.”

“Planning to rule forever?” she spoke half jestingly.

“Yes,” he replied quite seriously.

“If you have no need of an heir, why marry at all?”

“Power. Daerva is the second most impressive country after Merisu.”

Debatable. But, then again, she thought Daerva a most wonderful place. “So you would use me?”

“In a sense. But in return, you would use me, as well, to regain your birthright. It could be mutually beneficial.”

“You’ll excuse my skepticism considering the circumstances that brought me here. Kidnapped. Forced into Verlora to retrieve the Dracova stones, then kidnapped again and mistreated. And now you expect me to kindly and obediently agree to your demand.”

“The sequence of events was unfortunate. However, as predicted, you did succeed.”

“Predicted by who?”

“My new viziers, whom you’ll meet shortly.”

“They see the future?”

“Of sorts. They perceive enough to be able to guide to better outcomes.”

Since he appeared willing to speak, she decided to ask, “Why do you want the stones?”

“That is complicated.”

She wondered what he knew of them because what she’d discovered still seemed farfetched. If what Basil—her late father and a scoundrel—revealed was true, then those stones were, in fact, eggs.

Dragon eggs.

And having seen what one unleashed dragon could do, she really hoped Titus didn’t plan to try and hatch another. Not to mention, the stones were needed to keep Zhos in its prison. Until their theft, they’d acted as a shield of sorts that kept Zhos from being able to act. She still didn’t understand how they worked, only that they must have had some kind of magic that nullified Zhos’ efforts.

“They’re dangerous,” she stated.

“Only to the unknowing.” Titus offered a secretive smile. “They will be key in my plans for the future.”

“There won’t be a future if they’re not returned to Fraegus Spire to prevent Zhos’ escape,” she retorted sharply.

“Become my consort and I promise Zhos won’t be a problem.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d alluded to knowing about the entity plaguing Daerva. “You know how to defeat it?”

“I know many things, and as you learn to trust in me, I will reveal those secrets to you.”

Trust? All of her natural intuition—plus all the stories she’d heard of this man—told her she’d be better off putting her faith in a venomous snake. However, in her current situation, she’d best play along with whatever game Titus had drawn her into. If he had information, then she wanted it. If he could help her free Daerva from Benoit and save it from Zhos, it might be worthwhile to listen to what he had to say. Maybe even agree to marry him. After all, Griffon was dead, and she had no one else to turn to.

“We’ve arrived at your new home,” Titus announced, parting the curtain to give her a peek. The palanquin traversed a wide bridge of black, porous stone that led to a massive castle. A palace he called it, and she could see why, given its sprawling grandeur. Unlike her own home, it didn’t have high walls to defend it, but rather lush gardens with spraying fountains.

When their conveyance settled on the ground, Titus exited only to immediately turn around and offer her a helping hand. She emerged into sunlight and beauty. Everything around had been designed to please the eye. Gracefully carved statues stood scattered along garden paths lined with flowering bushes. Minaret towers rose high in the sky, appearing too finely crafted to remain upright. Even the staff appeared happy and well-fed, judging by their rounded cheeks and colorful clothing. They showed obeisance to their emperor, dipping into low bows, but they did so with smiles, chirping, “Afternoon, Eminence.”

“Afternoon, my good people. Do say hello to Queen Avera Voxspira. She will be guesting with us, and you are to treat her as you would me.”

“Yes, Eminence,” they replied in a chorus.

Curious gazes strayed her way and she had to wonder what they must think of the filthy and smelly woman in rags accompanying their ruler. She most certainly didn’t look like a queen.

Once more, Titus offered the crook of his arm as he led her inside, the entrance actually opening right into a massive ballroom with hanging chandeliers and gleaming floors. The pillars holding up the vaulted roof were seemingly too slender for such weight. At the far end of the room massive bronze doors were wide open, giving a peek at a dais of dark stone and the throne that sat atop it.

“Welcome to your new home,” Titus stated. “Should you have need of anything, simply say the word.”

“You’re too kind,” she murmured, her ingrained manners emerging by rote.

“Not kind enough. I must make up for the mistreatment. I don’t know what possessed the captain to treat you so horrendously.”

She didn’t point out that the emperor must have said, or not said, something to instigate the captain’s behavior.

“Prielli.” He waved to one of the women who’d dropped into a deep bow. “Her Highness, the queen of Daerva, has arrived. After an arduous journey, she is in need of some pampering. Please see to it that she is made comfortable in the consort’s tower and provided with anything she requires.”

“Yes, Your Eminence. If Her Highness would follow me.”

Before Avera could follow the maid, Titus said, “If you feel up to it, I hope you’ll join me for the evening repast.”

“Is that a command, Emperor?”

“No. A request, and I see no need for honorifics between us. Call me Titus.”

It seemed only polite to say, “Very well, if I am not indisposed then I shall see you at dinner, Titus.” She took a step from him before adding, “You may call me Avera.”

She took her leave of Titus, somewhat confused by her initial impression of him since it clashed with everything she’d ever learned. As she followed the maid up some stairs that her malnourished body protested, she didn’t have the breath to ask any questions. She could only gaze about at the splendor of his home. Clean. That was the first thing she noticed, which couldn’t be easy given the dark stone everywhere. Yet she saw no dust or cobwebs, nor scuff marks on the floor from boots. Few guards as well, which surprised her.

The maid led her to a second set of stairs set inside a tower, the number of which made Avera inwardly groan. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but she gritted her teeth and forged onward and upward. It proved worth the effort.

Her room turned out to be a suite set on two levels. The first had a receiving chamber with divans, a small library, and even an intimate dining area. Prielli pointed as she named off the amenities.

“Someone will ensure the fireplaces and braziers are lit every evening should you wish to entertain or even relax. If you require anything—food, entertainment, or to summon someone—simply pull that rope.” Prielli indicated a thick, hanging cord of gold that ended in a tassel.

A last set of stairs led to the top floor of the tower and Avera’s bedroom, massive in size, with windows all around giving her the most splendid vista. The city of Tiraus was spread out below, the buildings mostly made of mixed gray and black stone with roofs of light blue tile. The streets were neatly aligned with parallel roads that intersected to create squares, rather than curving all over like those back home.

“Is that a market?” Avera asked, noticing bright awnings running in concentric circles in a wide opening surrounded by structures.

“It’s the Megazaar. If you wish, we can visit.”

She very much did wish, just not today.

Being ensconced in luxury did much to revive Avera. The biggest surprise? When she emerged from the lavish room with the deep soaking tub that washed the grime from her skin, the Dracova stones sat in cloth-covered cradles on the dresser.

The note with them?

Please accept these as a wedding gift and a promise that together we shall stop Zhos from ruining the world.

Perhaps she could still save Daerva. The price?

Marriage to a stranger.