Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) Read online

  Prodigal Steelwielder

  Third Seal of the Duelists

  Jasmine Giacomo

  Dedication

  For Sensei Kris

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my readers and fans for your outpouring of support! Thanks to my editing team at Red Adept, who helped me turn my story into the best version of itself. Thanks to my husband for his unwavering encouragement. Thanks to the world and everyone in it for being so amazing. I live an inspired life because of the magic I see around me.

  Maps

  Pronunciation Guide

  Bantayan, Dunfarroghan and Shawnash

  All Bantayan terms are pronounced with the basic Latin sounds, with one addition. The “ng” phoneme is always pronounced like the end of the word “sing”, never with a distinct “g” sound. Thus, Balanganam is pronounced as if it rhymes with “a song o’ Tom.”

  Terms in Dunfarroghan and Shawnash are pronounced with the basic Latin sounds.

  Waarden and Raqtaaq

  The Waarden tongue is the official language of the Second Waarden Empire, and all citizens are required to learn it. Though most Waarden would cringe at the idea of their superiority being diluted, their language has been softened from its rough beginnings by the empire’s long inclusion of other cultures and tongues.

  The double A, so common in Waarden and present in its very name, bears a long ahh sound, used in “par,” while single A’s have the short, broad sound found in the word “cat.” The letter J sounds like a Y, as in “yell.” Words ending in “-e” have an extra syllable for that letter, formed of the sound “eh.” Katje’s name is pronounced CAT-yeh, and Lotte is LOT-eh.

  Much to the chagrin of the proud yet defeated Raqtaaq, their language makes as frequent use of the double-A as does the language of their Waarden conquerors. It performs the same sound as well, the long ahh, so that Raqtaaq is pronounced “rack-TOCK.” Their tongue also employs the “ng” blend mentioned in the Bantayan section above. Qivinga is pronounced “ki-VING-ah,” and rhymes with the British or Southern (American) pronunciation of “singer”.

  Akrestan

  Akrestan terms are pronounced like the Greek terms that inspired them, with vowel pairs always being pronounced as two separate sounds.

  Corona

  All Corona terms are pronounced with the basic Latin sounds. The “s” sound is softened to approximate a lisp.

  Prologue

  Tala dug her toes into the warm, golden beach sand, lifted her slender black crystals, and sang. They resonated in their horizontal positions atop twin brass rods, the better to receive the vibrations of her soprano voice. When her song concluded and each crystal resonated with its own final note, a thin ring of white light expanded into existence in the purpling twilight, revealing an arid, breezy land beyond.

  On the far side, Bayan turned with a distracted smile. His dark, shaggy hair seemed to have grown longer already, though his shoulders still seemed burdened with all the cares he had borne since his recent exile. “How’s the weather there in Nambulay today?” He took a deep breath through his nose. “Sea air smells good.”

  “So does your warm Corona air.” Behind him, Tala saw a distant light beaming from the square frame of a window’s sill. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that he’d begun to approach civilization. “Storm’s coming sometime tonight. I can see it building off the shore. It should wash some of the dust from the air.”

  “From your lips to Bhattara’s ear. Too much dust is bad for the crops. What did you bring me tonight? Supper for the locals was hours ago.”

  Tala sang a note into each of her crystals to keep them vibrating, then pressed their stands into the sand and reached for an overloaded plate wrapped in a length of cheesecloth. She handed it through the portal. “Something special this time. I think you’ll recognize the handiwork.”

  Bayan paused mid-sniff and eyed her with alarm. “You didn’t ask Philo to cook, did you? He’s really more of a connoisseur than a chef—”

  “No, try again.” Tala pressed her lips together firmly to keep her smile at bay.

  He breathed deeply of the warm aromas wafting through the cloth. “Ay, Bhattara, am I dreaming? This smells like my mother’s favorite feastday meal!”

  Tala hunched in humble excitement. “I took the chance and introduced myself to her. Your family just got word of your exile—the emperor made sure of that—and I thought it might cheer you all up to share a home-cooked meal. Even if you can’t actually eat it at home.” Bayan hadn’t stopped staring at the plate in his hand. No way am I telling him what I learned Imee and Dakila have set out to do. One of his closest friends trying to come to his rescue and dragging his new betrothed along—and she’s Bayan’s old lovemate? No. Bayan’s choices down in that cavern below campus doomed their venture before they even set out, and that plate’s heaped with enough guilt as it is. “I … hope that was all right.”

  “What? Oh, yes, no, thank you. That was kind.” He picked up the fork and stabbed at the heavily herbed bitter greens. Before stuffing them into his mouth, he asked, “Are things settling down for everyone?”

  Tala tipped her head to the side. “A little. Everybody’s been jumping around like crickets on the hot sand, trying to figure out where all the pieces will fall now that Ignaas’s network is destroyed. Philo has managed to gather most of the fallen pieces so far, and I’ve seen him deep in conversation with the First Singer a few times.”

  Bayan nodded thoughtfully, swallowed, took another large bite, and waved his fork at her in a gesture to continue.

  She glanced behind her to make sure she was still alone. “The First Singer has had me deliver small messages to the emperor a few times. And every time I’ve waited in the anteroom for my audience with him, the place has been an absolute hive. Apparently, some of the nobility are finding fault with the emperor’s action against you. Support is gathering behind your hexmates as if they were folk heroes, and the emperor hasn’t been able to quash it. Your mother told me she’s been approached by an underground group of duelism families, advocating for change. What the emperor did to you, Bayan, it’s hurt him, too.”

  By the time she finished speaking, Bayan had eaten over half of the pork and greens on his plate. “How fitting.”

  It is fitting. Bayan saved his empire for him, and Jaap betrayed and exiled him for it.

  Bayan continued, unaware of her bitter opinion, though she was certain he shared it. “A fitting farewell meal. Since I saw you last night, I’ve found somewhere to stay. A safe place, here in this valio. They’ll even give me a job. Most importantly, they’ll feed me regularly. You don’t have to keep bringing me food. I’ll start eating with my new friends tomorrow.”

  New friends. Bayan’s words bit harder than Tala expected them to. “I see. Are you sure you’ll be safe there? You’re about as much an outsider as anyone can be in the Corona, and from what I hear, even the Tuathi have more in common with them than Balangs like us.”

  A broad, easy smile split Bayan’s sun-browned face, the first full grin she’d seen on him since before he’d done the unthinkable and been forced from the empire’s borders for it. “I’ll be in good company. It hasn’t been easy, deciding to walk away. But I can’t be the loyal dog who keeps returning to the master who beats him. I trust Bhattara, and I don’t trust Emperor Jaap. Not anymore. Please, don’t worry for me. Tell the others, when you see them, that I’m all right now. No rescue necessary.”

  She bent and refreshed the notes in her crystals. He’s not mourning for us anymore. So soon. The others—Calder and Kiwani especially—they’re still mournin
g for him. I can tell they’re jealous that I get to clap eyes on him, even briefly. But they can’t get away from campus even for a second, not with the way the headmaster is watching them. He’s still terrified they’ll blow each other up. “A new home, then? Good for you.”

  “It’s not good. It’s just necessary.”

  The chill in his voice shot shivers up her spine despite the warmth of the sand and tropical breeze. “You know we’d smuggle you home in a heartbeat if we thought we could—”

  His expression softened, and the corners of his eyebrows drooped. “I know. I’m sorry. But you can’t, and I won’t let you risk anything for me. I’m done with risk. I’m officially retired from duelism, thanks to the emperor’s unyielding rules.” He flipped open the cheesecloth, picked up a sliver of pork slathered in savory sauce, and popped it into his mouth. “Time for a new career.”

  A bubble of wry amusement slipped past her lips. “I wish you more luck with it than you had with your first.”

  “I don’t think there’s a third empire anywhere nearby for me to flee to if I completely fail here, so I hope you’re right.” He took another bite. “Mmm, this food is so full of memories. Do you ever wish you could go back and live your life differently? I’d stay forever in Balanganam if I could.”

  If I’d done that, I’d never have met Bayan or his hexmates. Her heart twisted at the thought. “I’ll stick to what I have. It’s what I know best.”

  Bayan licked his thumb and regarded her with a fond tip of his head. “So wise. You’ll make a superb First Singer someday.”

  Tala giggled with embarrassment, unable to picture herself wearing Liselot de Rosen’s long white robes, so heavily embroidered with gold symbols. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Well, either way, I’m glad to have met you.” He stood straighter, lifted his chin, and met her eyes. “And I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I wish you every happiness.” He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, smiled again, and turned to the side, vanishing out of portal view.

  Moments later, the portal sprang shut, its sustaining notes depleted. Caught up in the farewell, Tala blinked in surprise at the sea view before her. Lightning flickered in the distance, closer than before, and a chill wind swept away the lazy warmth that had surrounded her. She needed to portal back to the Temple before she got soaked.

  Yet she stared toward where Bayan had stood. “You’re welcome,” she murmured, picturing the guilt-stricken blond with the scarred cheek and the sassy, sarcastic streak who waited for her to visit his barracks room, to tell him once again that it wasn’t his fault that his best friend had been exiled forever. “But I didn’t do it for you.”

  Everything Costs Me

  A warm breeze wafted through the gauzy curtains on the balcony, bringing trilling birdsong from the aviary below and brushing across Emperor Baltanarmo’s face as he studied his bed companion. She was tall and lithe, but his favorite of her many glorious attributes was her long, cascading hair, so blond it was nearly white. She stood out in every crowd, though not just because of her crowning hair. Zahira was a rare creature in that she instinctively knew what to do with the adoration of thousands. She had been his companion for many years, and he never tired of watching her interact with the people, whether in public—the gloryedas and the armada parades—or discussing her favorite public topics, like legislation or benythicencias. The merchant classes in particular were entirely enamored of her and her policies. She possessed other attributes as well, but the woman was loyal to her higher purpose like no one else the emperor had ever encountered. She was, in a word, incorruptible. Even by his nightly desires.

  She stirred beneath the thin silk cover and faced him with a sleepy smile. “Good morning, my cazan. Are you well rested?”

  The emperor smiled. “As always, you tire me out to the perfect degree. What would I do without your ministrations?”

  The happiness leached out of her expression. He had rarely seen her so, and worry instantly lodged in his throat. “What is it?”

  Zahira sat up, heedless of the silk that slithered down and pooled in her lap. Her magnificent bosom heaved with a preoccupied sigh. She looked across the sleeping chamber, past the gauzy curtains, and seemed to see all the way to the horizon. He had always thought that the blue of her eyes was full of eternal sky. “Something is coming.”

  Baltanarmo sat up, rather more quickly than Zahira had, and leaned closer. “Something bad? Need I call my cetechupes?”

  Her fine tangle of white-blond hair shivered in the negative. “It is an opportunity, Balti. But it will cost you.”

  He leaned back on one hand, resting it against the thick, down-filled mattress, and relaxed. “Everything costs me. Tell me what it will gain me.”

  Her eyes slid to him. She tipped her head in his direction and let a smile spread across her lips. “It will gain you what you already possess. An empire.”

  He felt his brows draw together, pulling on scar tissue that threaded through one of them, a relic of a reckless duel in his youth, before he had realized the vast benefits of objectivity. “If I already possess it, how does it benefit me to gain it again? Are you telling me my empire is in danger?”

  “I did not say you would gain your empire. I said you would gain an empire.” She inclined her head meaningfully toward the western window.

  New understanding blossomed in Baltanarmo’s mind. Any new overtures toward the west could interfere with the negotiations he already had in place, and a single misstep could cost him years of progress. His hand rose to his chin, and his index finger rubbed the stiff, curly beard that descended from it. “I have much at stake already.”

  Zahira nodded serenely. “If you do as I suggest, you will not lose it. But you will still lose something, and it may give you pause.”

  His hand left his beard and tangled firmly in her pale hair, and he gave her head an urgent shake. “Then tell me, woman. What am I to lose? This is no time for your riddles.”

  Zahira’s delicate face tightened to mask the pain of his grip, and he loosened his hold. “You will lose me, Balti. It is a certainty.”

  Instinctively, he reached for her with both hands, pulling her close, holding her warm skin against his. “No. I cannot lose you. You have been with me from the beginning. And earlier, even. I need you. You cannot go. I would not trade the entire Waarden Empire for you.”

  Zahira slipped her strong arms around his muscled back and held him just as tightly as he held her, though it left her breathless. “Let me be more clear, Balti. If I go, you will never see me again. But I will return to you as I once left your father. Do you understand? I must leave, and I must die. But I will never abandon you. I have given you my allegiance. Can you pay the price that is me for the game your father once played with Old Emperor Hedrick? How badly do you desire dominance over lesser men, who know nothing of greatness?”

  Zahira’s eyes dominated his view, wide and electric blue. Her intensity was contagious. He crushed her to him once again and rolled atop the mattress with her, pressing her lips with his own. He broke off the kiss and whispered breathlessly in her ear as she wrapped her legs around him. “I want it. I want it all. But if I must part from you, I will have you one last time.”

  Baltanarmo indulged in his consort’s perfect body as he never had before, his passion laced with the unfamiliar pain of loss. She was beautiful, perfect as always, yet on some level, it hurt that she didn’t seem as desperate to remain with him as he did with her. But is that not the way of the Emperor’s Consort? She has always stood apart. Until this moment, I never understood how apart she must stand to see what she sees.

  Leaving his lover replete and tangled in the sheets, Baltanarmo rose and crossed the cool marble floor barefoot, letting the warm breeze wick the sweat from his skin. He pressed through the gauzy curtains and stepped onto the small, rounded balcony. The delicate, fluted stone arch overhead cast its early-morning shadow sharply westward.

&nb
sp; He rested his hands on the bougainvillea-carved marble railing and studied his vast city far below. Enchamanca, City of Rapture, the flawless ruby at the heart of Valio Sejueno. Streets radiated from his palace hub in all directions like spokes on a wheel. His ancestors had designed the ancient capital with the mighty walls and towers of the Alchazzar as the center of his people’s universe. Slender parapets rose like joyous fountains within the hub of his palace grounds, but none rose so high as his own personal quarters. As it should be. If one is to command the hearts and lives of millions of subjects, one must necessarily see the furthest.

  Baltanarmo heard the woman’s slight footsteps padding across the floor but did not turn. A ring of cool metal settled around his head as Zahira slid the Bloodcrown over his thinning golden hair. The front-heavy weight of the hollow golden sword upon his forehead reminded him of the pain he’d suffered in filling it, year after year.

  Zahira moved to stand beside him, as daringly unclad as he was. Her eyes locked onto the golden sword bearing its liquid burden, and she ran her thumb across its hilt from side to side. “Every year, you bleed for your people, and you wear your sacrifice for all to see. Do you not think it is high time that they bled for you in return?”

  Baltanarmo turned his eyes westward, over the low, rolling hills at the edge of the Caharta Valley, and on to the arid plains beyond. He let the weight of his blood bow his head in assent. “So let it be. I will pay the price that is you. I’ll wager my love against my success, and let the future speak of my winnings.”

  ***

  Vela woke to the tantalizing aroma of licorice rolls wafting in through a broken pane in the window of his rented room, along with the clatter of wagons and hawks of the street sellers below. He lay under his light coverlet—all he needed in the humid night warmth of Kemada—and breathed deeply. So far from home, yet some things never change. Though I’ll not say no to a double handful of those Shawnash rolls the moment I tie my pantilones.