Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online Page A

on some errand or another. She ought to have returned by now. She might be dead. That, too, was cause for fear. 
    Claudia knew she ought to fear all those things, but only one thing dominated her thoughts.
    Her child was coming soon.
    It would be any day now. She could feel it in her bones. It had been almost nine months since their journey to Silent Ash Temple to claim the valikon and use it against the Red Huntress, and Claudia knew she had become pregnant either at Drynemet or during the approach to Silent Ash Temple. Certainly she had been pregnant when they had arrived at Silent Ash Temple, when the Emissary of the Living Flame had looked at her and spoken the truth. 
    Right now her life was divided into two halves. The time before her baby came, and the time after. She knew that was not logical, that even after the child came her enemies would still remain.  
    But right now she just wanted to have the baby and get it over with. Maybe then her ankles wouldn’t hurt so much. 
    The rest of the world would not wait upon her, and Claudia had work to do. 
    So she walked through the Cyrican Bazaar, flanked by several Imperial Guards. 
    “I must state again, my lady,” rumbled Dromio, “my objection to this plan.” Her husband’s seneschal was a middle-aged Nighmarian man of common birth, paunchy and bald, clad in sober servant’s black. They had been in Istarinmul for nearly a year, yet Dromio had never lost his suspicion of foreigners, which given the number of spies who had tried to infiltrate the Lord Ambassador’s mansion was probably a good thing. He ran the household with an iron hand, and Claudia had come to find his help invaluable.
    “I agree completely,” said Tylas, the centurion in charge of Martin’s deputation of Imperial Guards. He wore the black plate armor of the Guards, a broadsword at his belt and a massive shield upon his arm. A cloak of Imperial purple hung from his armored shoulders, and a purple plume topped his helmet. Nine other Guards surrounded Claudia, watching the crowds filling the Bazaar with suspicious eyes. 
    “Ah, well,” said Claudia. “When the two of you agree, the world must be coming to an end.”
    The centurion and the seneschal shared a look.
    “I must say, my lady,” said Dromio, “that I have always found Centurion Tylas’s security arrangements to be sensible and prudent.” 
    “And I approve of the orderly way Seneschal Dromio manages Lord Martin’s household,” said Tylas. “The efficiency is almost military.”
    “Thank you, Centurion,” said Dromio.
    Claudia sighed. “I was trying to make a joke. It didn’t work. Besides, we need supplies.” 
    If the civil war began, if Tanzir Shahan assaulted Istarinmul, the city might devolve into chaos. Almost certainly Tanzir and his allies would provide Istarinmul with a better government, one friendlier to the Emperor and more hostile to the Umbarians. Of course, if Erghulan Amirasku heard the slightest hint that the Empire favored the rebels over him, he would expel Martin’s embassy from the city. Or the Grand Wazir would run right into the arms of the Umbarians, which would be a catastrophe. If Istarinmul allied with the Order, the Umbarians would send their fleet through the Starfall Straits to attack Malarae itself, and that would be the end of the Empire.  
    Claudia didn’t know what would happen. Every possible disaster seemed likely. 
    So it was wise to stock up on as much food and water as possible. The Lord Ambassador’s residence was a small but well-fortified mansion in the Emirs’ Quarter, and Martin thought they could hold out there for some time. Martin spent every day with Erghulan Amirasku and the court of nobles and magistrates surrounding the Grand Wazir, making sure Erghulan did not decide to side with the Umbarians. He was having some success, given Cassander Nilas’s extended absence. But the duties of the Lord Ambassador took up the entirety of Martin’s time.
    It fell to