Chapter 1

"Lord Westergard."

Blaine withheld a sigh at the title, which had been reinserted into the nobility genealogies at Meleri's insistence. He hadn't been a lord in a very long time and much preferred being known as a jarl's husband. Still, he turned to greet the man who'd called out to him, pasting on a polite smile.

Melvin Khaur, of the Khaur bloodline, and his husband, Ezra, strode down the hallway in the Ashion parliament toward him. The Marshal of the Clockwork Brigade wore trousers and a day jacket tailored in the Daijalan style. Blaine didn't mind the bright colors and heavy embroidery, though he knew it made the pair stand out, which was likely the point.

"Mr. Khaur," Blaine said politely.

"Please, Melvin is fine. I'm glad we caught you."

Blaine glanced at the thick folio tucked under the other man's arm, near bursting at the seams with its contents. "I was actually just leaving. I'm not overseeing the council today, but I had some documents to drop off for the queen. I believe Dureau has the gavel this session."

Creating the Council of Reconstruction and Reunification had been one of the first things Caris had done as queen, days after the ink had dried on the treaty of surrender the ranking Daijalan general had signed. Eimarille's heir was five years old, and High General Kote Akina had died in defense of Lisandro during the siege of the palace. No one had been certain at the time who had the authority to sign for Daijal, but an officer out of New Haven had been found once that city surrendered to Ashion forces, backed by Tovanian ship-cities at the shoreline.

Eimarille's death had gone a long way toward breaking Daijal's spirit, too many of the nobility and citizens tired of feeding their sons and daughters to war and the death-defying machines. Surrender had come more quickly than many had anticipated.

Winding down from war took time, though. Just because it was deemed over didn't mean the fighting had stopped. Pockets of Daijalan resistance still cropped up, and Blaine knew further dissent was in their future once Caris formally rescinded Daijal's right to debt slaves and dissolved that country in its entirety. Blaine was glad the Khaur bloodline had survived the nobility purge Eimarille had enacted, but he did hope Melvin didn't stop looking for a knife in the back. The nobles who had immersed themselves in the now disbanded Daijalan court weren't pleased with the demotion of their political power and would look for someone to blame.

"How is Lady Lore faring?" Ezra asked.

"Still more than capable of politicking with the best of them."

Lore needed a cane to get around on her good days and a wheelchair on her bad ones. Her body still hadn't fully recovered from her forced coma while a prisoner of the House of Kimathi. Physical therapy helped, as did medicinal potions concocted by Ksenia, but recovery was slow going. Still, she would recover, and while her body needed assistance sometimes, her mind was as clear and sharp as ever.

As a lady-in-waiting and close confidant to Caris, the duty of taking over their bloodline's parliament seat had fallen to Dureau while Lore acted in their queen's stead when necessary. Lady Brielle and her family had died during the occupation of Amari by Daijal forces. Blaine knew Meleri, Lore, and Dureau mourned the loss deeply.

"I'll pass on your well-wishes," Blaine said, politely finding an excuse to leave.

Melvin, ever keen on such subtle cues, inclined his head out of respect. "Please do."

They parted ways, with Blaine heading toward the entrance to parliament, finally able to extract himself from the building's illustrious halls. The day was overcast and gray, with a sharp wind that smelled of rain that had yet to fall. His kilt twisted around his legs, the heavy plaid wool keeping him warm as he hurried down the wide steps leading to the Ashion parliament.

A motor carriage waited on the street, engine still running. A familiar figure got out from the back seat and held the door open for him. Blaine paused only long enough to brush a kiss over Honovi's cheek before sliding into the back seat.

"I thought you'd be longer," Honovi said as he climbed in beside Blaine.

"I tried not to get waylaid." He didn't mind playing messenger between the palace and parliament, not when it was Caris' personal instructions that needed to be delivered. Despite having control of the capital, they were all still wary of important information getting lost or mishandled. "The Marshal finally made it to Amari."

Honovi reached for Blaine's metal hand, curling his gloved fingers around the metal digits. "What's the latest news out of Daijal?"

"I didn't ask. The Marshal can provide it to Dureau, and he can report to Caris."

Ashion wasn't his country, and Blaine didn't want anyone thinking he was responsible for its reconstruction. He and Honovi had plans to stay through winter to ensure Caris didn't buckle under the weight of ruling as she got her feet under her, as well as to make sure Ashion kept its promises to E'ridia for the aid his country had given.

After that, they would return to E'ridia, where Honovi would focus on his role as jarl in preparation for taking over his father's position on the Comhairle nan Cinnidhean next year. Honovi would be ceann-cinnidh for Clan Storm, and Blaine was looking forward to maybe teaching again.

He and Honovi spoke little on the short drive to the heavily guarded palace, passing bombed-out buildings and patched-over cobblestone streets. War hadn't been kind to the capital, and the scars it had left behind would take months, if not years, to erase. Priority was given to the outer walls, large sections of which had been destroyed from bombing runs by the E'ridian air force. Even with engineers returned to the city, it was a race against time to get the sections rebuilt before winter arrived.

The third week of Thirteenth Month was cold as autumn gave in to the oncoming winter, but it wasn't yet cold enough to freeze the dead. Revenants roamed the continent, more than there had ever been, even after the civil war between Daijal and Ashion. The fall of Rixham had contributed to the hordes, and the trade roads were more dangerous now than ever before.

With the number of wardens less than they had been and many of the tithes killed during Eimarille's attack on the Warden's Island last year, hunting down revenants and cleansing the poison fields would be the work of generations of wardens yet to come. Already, cities and towns were begging the wardens' governor for assistance, but there were only so many of her people that Delani could safely send out.

Wardens still patrolled around the capital and trekked far into the poison fields no one fought in any longer, hunting down revenants. They had a long, hideous task ahead of them, with fewer wardens to take up the much-needed duty. Despite the need for wardens, there was one who could no longer guard a border, and no amount of cajoling could convince him to take up his birthright.

Blaine and Honovi found themselves stepping into yet another spat between Soren and Meleri when they arrived back at the palace. The two paused in the doorway to the private office Caris had claimed. It was really more a large receiving room, but it gave her room to pace when she got antsy, and it had a nice view of the rear gardens.

"We keep having the same argument, and my answer is never going to change," Soren snapped in the trade tongue, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Meleri. "I won't take the Rourke name. It was struck from the royal genealogies once already. Leave it lost."

Meleri frowned, her wan face bearing more wrinkles than Blaine remembered. "You are still Caris' heir?—"

"Not anymore. She's promised to name Lisandro heir."

Meleri turned her head to stare at where Caris was still dutifully signing her name over every piece of paper Lore put before her. "I thought we were going to discuss that?"

"There's no discussion to be had," Caris replied tiredly. "We can't banish Lisandro without making him an enemy down the road. Neither can we allow him to be adopted by a different bloodline for fear of them grooming him to hate us."

"He may very well hate us anyway once he is old enough to understand the truth."

Caris passed a signed paper back to Lore and sighed down at the next, which was placed in front of her. "What would you have me do, Meleri? I won't kill him."

Blaine saw the way Meleri flinched at the flatly given statement. He would never regret a child's life, but he could admit that things would be easier politically if Lisandro had not survived the palace siege.

They'd found Eimarille's son in the safe rooms built beneath the palace, cradled in the arms of his nursemaid, who had nowhere to run. Escaping through the catacombs was impossible, and unlike his mother, who had been spirited away during the Inferno, there had been no one left to see him to safety.

Lisandro would grow up a political prisoner of his mother's name and ambitions. Giving him another name would not stop him from being a Rourke. Caris was living proof of that. Having Caris adopt him rather than another bloodline was the only way forward for two fractured countries.

In the end, Eimarille got what she wanted after all, whether anyone liked it or not. Lisandro would be Caris' heir, and somehow, she and the others would have to learn to love the boy. He would be king one day, and Blaine could only hope the boy wouldn't take after his mother in all the ways that mattered.

"I would never lay the parent's guilt at the feet of a child," Meleri said.

Caris lifted her gaze from the paper, bruises beneath her eyes from too little sleep. "Good. Because the Infernal War was Eimarille's design and hers alone. She turned the living into revenants, tore people's hearts out and replaced them with clockwork metal ones, and sabotaged every government on Maricol. That is a legacy Lisandro will have to face, but I won't let anyone blame him for it."

Blaine winced at the faint catch he heard in Caris' voice when she spoke of clockwork metal hearts. He knew, like everyone else in that room, how deeply she still grieved for Nathaniel. The Klovod who'd caused so much horror had survived Soren's rage during the battle and was being held in the makeshift jail, guarded round the clock by wardens who were also magicians. He would have a trial, eventually, and be found guilty no doubt, then executed for his crimes. It still wouldn't be enough punishment for what he'd done.

"Start him learning from you now. My father did so with me," Honovi said.

"Vanya plans to do the same with Raiah," Soren offered.

Blaine crossed the room to stand by Caris' desk, eyeing the official documents she was signing. "A pity you can't use a press to run these through and stamp your name."

Caris smiled up at him. "Your mechanical prosthetic would come in handy right now."

"Alas, I can't forge your signature." Lore laid the last document in front of her to sign, and once her signature was inked on it, Caris shoved her chair back and stood. The sound her spine made as she stretched made Blaine wince. "That sounds terrible."

"It feels terrible."

He couldn't be sure she wasn't talking about the rank she now held, but Blaine wasn't going to ask. "They're right, you know. Showing Lisandro how to govern from a young age will allow you to mold him into the kind of king you would like him to be."

"He hates me," Caris said quietly. "I don't blame him."

She had denied any and all mind magic to be used on the boy to meddle with his memories or emotions. Blaine had been fiercely pleased with her defense of Lisandro in that way, even if, perhaps, it might have made caring for him easier.

"In ten years, Lisandro will have lived his life with you in it, which will be longer than he'll have lived it with Eimarille. I know what it's like to reach that kind of milestone." Blaine glanced back at where Honovi stood, his husband staring back with only affection in his eyes. "I had a family and a clan that loved me after I lost my parents and bloodline. You can be that for Lisandro, and you will be enough. Love him, no matter how much it hurts."

Caris tipped her head back and blinked rapidly. Blaine politely didn't watch her try to hold back her tears. When she had her emotions back under control, she held out her hands to him, and Blaine took them in his own flesh and metal ones.

"I will miss you when you return to E'ridia," Caris said, voice surprisingly steady. She was learning already how to hide herself, and it made Blaine ache, but he couldn't take her grief or her pain away.

"We won't stay gone forever."

"Besides, we have a few more months before we depart. Our borders are not closed to your country," Honovi said.

Caris let go of Blaine's hands. "Thank you. We're just about to have the midday meal. I hope you two will join us?"

Blaine nodded. "Of course."

It was nice, for once, to share a meal with friends without wondering when the next attack would come. If the laughter was muted and the smiles hard to hold, well, no one ever said living after war was easy.