Sovereign to the Skies

Chapter One

A/n: Thank you so much for reading this series! As I've said before, I haven't written a lot of fantasy, although it is a genre I have always wanted to explore as it is my favorite to read. Any feedback will help at all, so please, leave a comment about anything you like - or don't like.

Have a wonderful day!

CHAPTER ONE

The Kartanyans have a saying, "My kingdom for a secret." It comes from a ballad written during one of their many civil wars about a prince and a princess from two warring provinces who end up falling in love. When they first meet, the prince is in disguise, and whispers to the girl, "My kingdom for a secret / who art thou so divine." The irony of the ballad is that he is already fully aware of her identity, and she of his, so his promise rings false: the overly-generous words of a naïve youth who has nothing to give, and nothing to gain.

In later years, the saying developed a more sinister meaning that has all but eclipsed the original: a grim reminder that secrets, like all things, can be dangerous in the wrong hands. That words can cause even a kingdom to fall when wielded by the right hands.

My kingdom for a secret.

Ilarion Velas looks around his spacious quarters aboard The Stormbreaker, then down at the blood seeping through the cloth bandages wrapped around his chest. A sense of irony fills him, tinged with a darker emotion that makes his jaw clench and his aching shoulders tense. There is no equivalent for it in Valador; falling somewhere between "to laugh at death" and "to lose face," it is a feeling of grim amusement that one feels during imminent downfall that carries no hope of redemption.

In his native language, the word for "humor" is very close to the word for "suffering."

He picks up the fresh tunic from the unused bed and slides the white garment over his head. It is clean-smelling, free from the odors of dried earth and old blood. These "routine" visits to the Southern Islands frequently result in both, albeit fewer than the years before. They're either giving up, or they're running out of mages to throw at him and his men.

Even when the Southern Islands fall, we'll still be no closer to challenging Kartanya.

Ilarion knots the heavy, braided leather sash around his waist that bears his scabbard and his money pouch. He is already wearing his breeches, so he pulls on the heavy boots that add an extra inch to his formidable height. Once he fastens the weighted buckle that secures his cloak around his neck and slips on his black leather gloves, he is ready.

A mirror stands against the wall. Reflected within the gilt frame is a man who is only slightly taller than average with unruly black hair and the yellow eyes of a tiger. He has a swarthy complexion capable of becoming quite dark in the sun, though in winter months the color is closer to brown jade. His body is deceptively slim. Beneath the sleeves and high collar of his tunic, his neck and arms are corded with lean muscle.

With gloved hands, he adjusts the buckle and frowns at something that appears to be just beyond the frame, out of sight. He has the kind of mouth that will always look most attractive in a frown, though so few have seen him smile that the comparison is unfair.

I'd better see to the mages and make sure that they're all accounted for. The Emperor will have me flayed alive if any are missing.

None will be, though. None ever have. His almost preternatural sense for finding mages has caused the Emperor to appoint him to most major recovery assignments. Unusual, for one of foreign birth, but that in and of itself is testament to his remarkable abilities.