Rachel Aaron: Spirit’s End

He was close enough to walking as it was. The advisers weren’t even talking to him, just yelling at each other over his head about what must be done. Apparently, there were a lot of musts. Disgusted, Josef turned and looked out the crushed wall of the throne room. Through the large hole the war spirit had left, he could see the whole of the royal city, or what was left of it.

The stylish stone buildings and narrow lanes that had once covered the western slope of Osera were now little more than blackened piles of rubble. Entire blocks had shattered when the war spirits fired from the Empress’s palace ships had landed, leaving craters of blasted, burned dirt where houses and shops had once stood. The Spiritualists had managed to get most of the fires under control, but a few stray lines of smoke were still rising from the docks, and, of course, there were the war spirits themselves. Their corpses were everywhere. After Eli had done… whatever it was he’d done and the Empress’s fleet had vanished, the war spirits had toppled over and gone cold. They hadn’t moved since, but the damage was done. Everywhere Josef looked, Osera was destroyed, and try as he might to remember that his island had rebuilt before, it was hard to feel any kind of hope.

Josef sighed and rested his chin on his fist. Eli’s eternal optimism usually grated on him, but he could have really used some right now. How long did the useless thief mean to disappear for, anyway?

“Sire?”

Josef flinched and glanced up. All the old men were staring at him. Powers, he’d missed something again, hadn’t he?

Seeing his panicked look, the oldest of the ministers, a man Josef remembered seeing with his mother in court as a child, though he couldn’t remember the old bastard’s name now to save his life, repeated the question.

“Minister Archly was asking your opinion on how we should prioritize our emergency response. Should we focus on evacuation or should we concentrate our attention on saving what we can of our remaining structures?”

“We must do all we can to help the people, of course,” put in another minster, whom Josef could only guess was Archly. “But our infrastructure is Osera’s most valuable asset. We should—”

“Can’t have infrastructure without people,” Josef said, glad of a simple question. “Our first priority is to make sure we save as many people as possible. We’ve given the Empress too many Oseran lives as it is. I’ll not give her any more.”

“Of course, sire,” the old minister said, his voice strained. “But what about—”

“Figure it out,” Josef growled, standing up. The old men all started talking at once then, but Josef just pushed past them, stalking off toward the blown-out doors.

The Oseran palace had been as hard hit as the rest of the city, but, remarkably, the royal wing was still intact. Josef stomped through the empty corridors. He’d sent the servants to help with the recovery, and so far he didn’t miss them. After all the noise and chaos of the last two days, the silence in the empty halls was much more comforting than having someone around to make his fire. Josef jogged down the hall and quietly opened the door to his chambers, tiptoeing through the parlor and into his bedroom, where he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

Nico lay in his bed, a dark shape buried beneath the covers. He’d carried her here himself when they’d cleared the survivors off the storm wall. She’d been awake then, but was sleeping now. Josef let out a breath. Seeing the steady rise and fall of her chest calmed him better than anything else.

Walking to the bed, Josef eased himself down to the mattress. He kept his eyes on Nico to make sure the motion didn’t disturb her, but Nico didn’t stir. Smiling, Josef leaned against the heavy headboard and closed his eyes against his own tiredness.

He hadn’t slept since the night before last, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Adela. Now that he was sitting, he could feel the tiredness in his marrow. Even the Heart on his back felt heavy. He wanted more than anything to lie down beside Nico and let her calm breaths lull him to sleep, but there were still fires in the city below. People were still digging their families out of the rubble, and all the ministers wanted to do was argue over infrastructure.

Josef gritted his teeth. He should have sent the old men down to dig through the broken houses themselves. That would have taught them. But, of course, he’d never do that. He could chop a palace ship in two, but Oseran politicians still made him feel like a stumbling boy. They’d probably taken his “Figure it out” command as a chance to do whatever they liked, but Josef wasn’t really sure he cared. After all, they knew more about running a country than he did. Maybe it was for the best if he just stayed out of things.

He must have drifted off in the dark room. One moment he was looking at Nico; the next he was jerked awake by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Stiff and more tired than ever, Josef forced himself to his feet. He walked quietly to the door and opened it a fraction to see one of the guardsmen who’d stood with him on the storm wall.

The young man had bandages on his face and arms, but he was standing, and he bowed when he saw Josef. “Sire,” he said, “you’re needed in the square.”

“What’s happened?” Josef said, slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door so their voices wouldn’t disturb Nico.

The guard grinned far as the bandage across his jaw would allow. “Wouldn’t you know it, sire? The reinforcements have finally arrived.”

“About bleeding time,” Josef said, motioning for the guard to lead the way.

Since most of the palace meeting rooms had been either burned or crushed in the attack, the palace guards, those who were left anyway, had brought the newcomers to a hastily set up tent in the stable yard. A dozen soldiers in Council white stood crammed into the narrow space. Josef wasn’t surprised to see Sara there as well. The Council wizard was talking animatedly to a large, middle-aged man in an ornate military coat who seemed to be the troop’s leader. So far, the only Oserans present were a few bandaged guards. They saluted as Josef approached, and he saluted back, keeping his eyes on the Council man and Sara as he entered the tent.

“Shall I fetch your advisers, sire?” whispered the guard who’d brought him.

“No,” Josef said. The last thing he needed when he was dealing with the Council were old men making him feel like a tongue-tied teenager. “They have their jobs already. I’ll fill them in later.”

The guardsman nodded and moved to take up position behind his king. Meanwhile, Josef himself took a seat on the folding stool, leaning forward so he could rest his weight on his knees. Sara arched an eyebrow at this, but the man in the military jacket looked almost ill with insult.

“You’re the new Eisenlowe?” he said at last, looking Josef up and down, his eyes lingering on the rips in Josef’s shirt and the bloodstains on the bandages beneath.

“I am,” Josef said. “Who are you?”

The man pulled himself straight. “Myron Whitefall, Commander of the United Council Forces, come to offer Osera the Council’s aid against the Empress.”

“You’re a little late for that,” Josef said. “The Empress is gone, but if you’d like to stay and help clean up, you’re welcome to.”

“As much as we’d like to help, the Merchant Prince gathered the Council army to march against the Empress, not to act as janitors,” Myron said testily. “You have our thanks and admiration for turning back her initial assault, King Josef. You should rest and regather your armies. We will take up position on the coast for her next attack.”