Free Ghost Sword by Jonathan Moeller

Ghost Sword
    “You are thoughtful today, husband,” said Thalastre, joining Kylon on the balcony.
    “Am I not always?” said Kylon. 
    His wife could command the sorcery of water, and as a consequence she always knew Kylon’s mood. It was just as well he had no secrets from her, since he would not have been able to keep them anyway.
    “What are you thinking about?” said Thalastre. Today she wore a sleeveless stola of blue-green silk, her curly black hair bound with combs of jade. Her bare arms were lean and toned, a result of her preferred recreation of hunting the feral seals that haunted the coasts near New Kyre.
    “The war,” said Kylon.
    “The war is over, husband,” said Thalastre.
    It was. So Kylon of House Kardamnos stood on the balcony and watched as the city of New Kyre rebuilt itself, watched the expanse of ziggurats and canals and the crowded harbor. 
    Though the city had taken no damage in the fighting itself. Most of the war between the Kyracian people and the Empire of Nighmar had been waged between ships, on the endless gray and blue waves of the western sea and the Cyrican sea. Kylon himself had led New Kyre’s seventh fleet to a crushing victory over the western Imperial fleet. 
    But despite their victories at sea, the Kyracians had nearly lost the war. Trade was the city’s lifeblood, and the Empire had strangled it off. At last a peace had been negotiated, and the Emperor himself had traveled to New Kyre to sign the peace.
    And then the Moroaica had opened the burning rift in the sky over the Pyramid of Storm, and the golden dead had risen and nearly destroyed New Kyre. 
    They had nearly destroyed the world. 
    But the city had survived, the golden dead defeated as the Kyracian ashtairoi and the Imperial Guard fought side by side. Caina Amalas of the Ghosts had slain the Moroaica, though her enemies within the Empire had arranged her banishment as a reward for her valor.
    That still left a sour taste in Kylon’s mouth. 
    “Ah,” said Thalastre. “You are thinking of her.” 
    “Some,” said Kylon. Once, Thalastre would have been jealous. That was before the golden fire, before Caina had defeated the Moroaica. “I wish she would have stayed here. We could have sheltered her. We both owe her that much, and much more.”
    “We do,” said Thalastre, “but she has made her choice, and we have our own duties.” 
    “Yes,” said Kylon. “And the war is over, but another one continues.”
    She frowned. “What do you mean?” 
    Kylon waved a hand at the city, at the towering ziggurats of the noble Houses. “We are Kyracian, my love, and the noble Houses of New Kyre have always competed viciously against each other. We held together in the face of the Empire, because to do otherwise meant destruction. But now that the Starfall Straits are open to trade once more, every merchant and every noble in the city is striving to be the first to turn a profit…and to undercut his rivals. Or to seize control of his House.”
    Thalastre laughed. “Surely you do not mean your half-brothers? You are an Archon of the Assembly and the High Seat of a noble House. They are not a threat to you.”
    “Andromache was an Archon of the Assembly and a High Seat of a House,” said Kylon, “and look what happened to her.” 
    His sister had been the most powerful and respected woman in New Kyre…and she had perished in Marsis nonetheless, led to her destruction by the Moroaica. 
    The wheel of fortune never stopped turning.
    And Kylon’s horde of half-brothers might be the one to turn it for him. His father had sired two trueborn children, Andromache and Kylon. Kylon's father had also been quite fond of female company, with over a dozen concubines and mistresses of varying rank, and had sired a score of bastards. Some had no interest in House Kardamnos, and had left New Kyre to make their fortunes elsewhere. Others were older than Kylon, and made no secret of their interest in deposing Kylon and