Sterling by Emily June Street Read Free Book Online

moonlight penetrated the windows. A sense of wrongness descended over me. The odor was too strong; the room was too dark.
    “Where is Galatien?” Tirienne said. “Where have you brought me?”
    Could I have the wrong room? Costas should be there in his box; the mageglass should have cast a light.
    Tirienne lit the lamp on the wall. “Gods in Amaranth,” she whispered, staring over my shoulder.
    All my instincts warned against following her gaze. My hands went clammy even as I turned. Shattered mageglass littered the red carpet. Tirienne’s lamp gave off a dull light, enough to reveal horrific images.
    Costas Galatien was gone, the mageglass box annihilated, Kyro’s careful spellwork destroyed. Two figures lay motionless amidst the disarray of glass, two figures drowning in blood.
    I could hardly breathe as a panic attack loomed.
    I’d never seen a dead man before. The first man was noticeably dead. He wore a Vhimsantese costume, and he looked young. I did not recognize him. His wide eyes stared straight ahead, his face devoid of expression. He had fallen to his knees as he perished. The cause of his demise: a spear upon which he’d been impaled. The spear held him in an awkward, slightly upright position.
    The second figure did not draw the eyes. Or my eyes refused to look. I could not see his face, but I recognized his bulk. Papa’s body lay there like a mountain, unmoving. I did not need to touch him to know that no life remained inside him. The pool of blood circling his body told me that.
    I hung close to Tirienne Talata, but she made no move towards the men. We both stood there, helpless, staring.
    “We must get help,” she finally whispered.
    She turned, but I couldn’t move. Part of me wanted to run to Papa’s side, to wrap my arms around his fallen form despite the blood mess. The other part of me wanted to flee to my bedroom, stuff my head beneath my pillows, and rub the Emerald Ophira over my upper lip to soothe away the screaming distress that obliterated my mind. This could not be. Papa, dead? Not my father. Not strong, certain Xander Ricknagel. He was as constant as the sunrise. He had been the last thread anchoring me in the world.
    Without Papa, I had no one. No one.
    “Come with me,” Tirienne said sharply. Limned in lamplight, she looked like a ghost.
    I moved towards Papa instead.
    “Sterling Ricknagel!”
    Before she could stop me, I grabbed Papa’s limp left hand, pulled free his signet ring, and shoved it onto the middle finger of my left hand.
    “Now!” Tension laced Tirienne’s voice.
    I shuffled to her side, glad to be commanded.
    “Amatos,” Tirienne muttered as she looked at me. “What am I going to do about you?”
    Her question did not expect an answer. I recognized the declaration in her words; House Talata’s loyalties had lurched. With my father murdered, the Ricknagel rebellion had lost both figurehead and purpose. No one would follow me ; I was no leader.
    In a daze, I walked over to the white cradle, which stood where I’d left it earlier, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was empty. The baby was gone.
    Costas Galatien had escaped with his son, and I could only feel it was my fault. I’d pushed the babe into the room with him, shown him that his son was within his reach. Had this been the final straw that had instigated the escape? Concern for his boy? Tears dripped down my cheeks.
    Costas would reclaim his throne. Already, sands were shifting beneath my feet. Tirienne stood framed in the doorway, glaring at me. I could nearly see the gears of her mind turning. Unless she maneuvered carefully, House Talata would be alone in rebellion; no one but Papa had the men and the support to go against the Galatiens. If Costas reunited with his own forces, Papa’s gains would be lost. The Ricknagel rebellion was in shambles. Tirienne would not stand against Costas without Xander Ricknagel behind her—she wasn’t a fool.
    She would be looking to win back the good graces of