Free Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades by Brian Staveley Page B

glass, letting it shatter, the shards bright in the flickering lamplight. “You can pay for it out of your earnings.”
    He cast a cool glance at Juren, the hulking thug Manker employed to keep something resembling order. Juren wasn’t too bright, but he wasn’t about to go toe to toe with a Kettral over a broken glass of wine. The man scowled at the floor, but made no move as Salia scurried to pick up the shattered vessel. Yurl chuckled in disgust, then turned toward the door and left.
    Valyn slowly unclenched his hand, and as he did, Lin released his wrist.
    “Someday,” she said, her voice tight and hard. “But not today.”
    Valyn nodded, hoisted his tankard, and took a long pull. “Not today,” he agreed.
    A few paces away, Salia was weeping quietly as she swept the broken glass into a pan.
    “Salia,” he said, beckoning her over.
    The girl rose unsteadily and approached.
    “How much was the wine?”
    “Eight flames,” she snuffled. “I gave him Manker’s own stock.”
    Eight flames. It was probably as much as the poor girl earned in a week. At least, if you didn’t count the money she made on her back upstairs.
    “Here,” Valyn said, shelling out enough coin to cover his ale plus the spilled wine and broken glass. The Eyrie didn’t pay soldiers much, especially not cadets, but he could afford it more than she could. Besides, the desire to drink had gone out of him.
    “I couldn’t,” she began, though she eyed the coin hungrily.
    “Take it,” Valyn replied. “Someone has to clean up Yurl’s mess.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Salia said, ducking her head as she scooped up the coppers. “Thank you so much. You’re always welcome here at Manker’s, sir, and if you ever need … anything else—” She batted her eyes, suddenly bold. “—you just let me know.”
    “That was gallant,” Lin said with a tight smile after the girl had left.
    “She has a hard life.”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    Valyn snorted. “Good point. Speaking of hard lives, I’m heading back to the barracks—we’re supposed to be running the perimeter before dawn tomorrow, and all this ale isn’t going to be doing my head any favors.”
    Lin chuckled. Then, in her best imitation of Adaman Fane’s gravelly voice, she began, “ Real Kettral embrace adverse circumstances. Real Kettral lust for suffering. ”
    Valyn nodded ruefully. “Six tankards on an empty stomach—all part of the training.”
    As they stepped out of Manker’s, he stopped to watch the sun setting over the sound to the west. In that direction, more than a thousand leagues distant, past the wind-lashed waves of Iron Sea, past the karst peaks of the Broken Bay, past dozens of islands, some too small for names, Annur glittered, tiled roofs, grand palaces, shit-reeking hovels all clustered around Intarra’s Spear, the enormous glowing tower at the heart of the Dawn Palace. Sailors could make out the Spear when they were still two days distant—used it to navigate toward the heart of the empire. It was supposed to be impregnable, that tower, one of the final fortresses of the Csestriim, and yet, it had not protected the Emperor.
    My father is dead, Valyn thought to himself, and for the first time, the words felt real. He turned to Lin, wanting to say something, to thank her for being there, for sharing the ale and the grief, for holding him back when his own anger drove him to strike out. She watched him with those bright, careful eyes, lips pursed as though she were about to speak. Before either of them could break the silence, however, a terrible crack shattered the still evening air.
    Valyn turned, dropping his hand to his belt knife while Lin pivoted to put her back to his, settling into the low ready guard the Kettral used as their standard defensive position. His eyes flicked over the street, the alleys, the rooftops in quick succession, reading terrain and evaluating threat. The garish façades of the rickety structures stared back at him, red, and