This was the Immortal Empress’s first conquest.
Eight hundred years later, the Immortal Empress treasured this memory. By the time she’d conquered her first kingdom, Benehime had named her favorite, the soul beloved by the Shepherdess above all others. Many joys had followed in the centuries after, but that first night was still dearest in Nara’s heart. Even now, the smell of mud brought a dreamy smile to her face.
“Empress?”
Nara opened her eyes and turned to face her commander. The old man winced, but he did not shrink back. He had been her general for many years before she’d vanished, and he knew her well. Now, however, he looked as though he had something to say, and so, regretfully, she let the memory go and returned to the bitter present.
“Report.”
“Empress,” the man said again, bowing. “Your return could not have come at a better time. The storm has been blowing for weeks now without weakening. Tidal waves have devastated your southern coast. Those who survived the initial flood escaped to higher ground, but they are now stranded and running low on food. I ordered your army to aid in the evacuation, but the storm is too dangerous. Now that you are with us again, however, I am sure—”
He fell silent as the Empress stepped up to the edge of the balcony. They were standing on the observation tower of her southern-most fortress, the one she’d left to remind the desert tribes who had conquered them. That was two hundred years ago now, but the fort was still one of her largest. From its tower, she could see clear across the sandy desert to the coast, miles away, but even if she’d been on the ground, she couldn’t have missed the storm. It loomed off the edge of her continent’s southern coast, a wall of black clouds and forked lightning stretching as far as she could see in any direction. Great winds blew in the smell of rain and sodden mud, and though the smell triggered her memories again, Nara did not smile. The storm chewed at the edge of her lands, destroying everything in its path beneath a rain of lightning and the endless booming thunder she knew too well.
The Empress shook her head. “I cannot banish this storm.”
The general’s eyes widened. “But surely,” he began. “You are queen of everything. The spirits would not dare—”
“You question me?” the Empress said coldly.
The general froze. “No, Empress,” he said, bowing so low that his helmet slipped off. “Forgive me, Empress. Your voice is the only law.”
She nodded and held out her hand, letting the storm-tossed winds sweep over her fingers. When she felt a particularly strong one, she closed her fist. The wind squealed at first but grew still when it realized what will had caught it.
“Hail, Empress,” it whispered.
Nara glanced pointedly at the enormous storm. “What is he doing here?”
“The Lord of Storm is in disgrace,” the wind said, wiggling in her hand.
“I can see that,” the Empress snapped. “He’s been in disgrace for weeks, apparently, and wrecking my shore in the process. What did he do that Benehime would impose such a harsh punishment?”
The wind jerked. Lesser spirits were so obedient that even the mention of the Lady’s name was enough to send them into a fit of reverential terror.
“He raised his blade against the favorite,” it whispered at last. “The Shepherdess’s wrath was swift.”
White-hot fury roared through Nara’s mind and, for a moment, she forgot everything. Forgot the storm, the general standing beside her, even the wind in her hand. Time seemed to flow backward, carrying her back to that hated day when everything in her life had fallen apart. The day the Shepherdess brought that boy into her white world.
She could see him clearly in her mind even now, a skinny, dark-haired thing sitting smugly on Benehime’s beautiful lap as the Lady doted on him. The memory made Nara tremble with rage. That spoiled brat had stolen the Shepherdess’s love from her, and with it everything Nara cared for. All the things that had given her pride—her victories, her legions, her unified country, the fairness and efficiency of the government she had built, the peace she had brought to her people, her loyal spirits, even her great wish of a fair and peaceful world—none of it meant anything when Benehime, her beautiful, beloved Shepherdess, was ignoring her in favor of that hateful, conniving, selfish child.
Nara bared her teeth at the enormous waves washing over the ruins of her sea towns. How could the Shepherdess love that brat enough to punish the Lord of Storms this severely just for raising his blade? He’d raised his sword to Nara several times, and the Lady had never done anything like this. Was she finally sick of his disobedience? Or was it because she loved the boy more than—