Chapter One
Adira
The summons came at dusk, when the light slanted across the palace’s corridors, gilding the marble and precious stones inlaid into the floors.
Adira Sharma had been at her desk, half-buried in the day’s petitions, when the Crown Prince’s steward appeared before her—a tall man in fine red silk who bowed only from the shoulders, as if the motion itself were beneath him.
“The Crown Prince requests your immediate presence in the Hall of Mirrors,” he said.
Adira folded the last letter she had been annotating, slid it into the dispatch pile, and rose. “Now?”
The steward’s eyes flickered over her uniform—a modest saree in indigo silk, and a sash around her arm that was embroidered with the sigil of the diplomatic corps—and his mouth barely moved. “Now.”
There was no room for hesitation in the Empire’s court. Adira straightened the collar of her high-necked blouse, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and followed.
The palace had always unnerved her after dark.
Its beauty was deliberate, excessive—the marble floors reflecting torchlight so cleanly that one could mistake the reflections for hidden passageways.
The Peacock Throne stood at the heart of it, where the Emperor of Sunvaara received his courtiers in the imperial audience hall, or the darshak vilas.
Off to the right of the darshak vilas, the Hall of Mirrors was where every decision of the realm was sealed beneath the gaze of gods and glass.
Each mirror had been cast from enchanted sand drawn from the coasts of the Ellem Isles, and rumor claimed that the elven mirrors remembered every face that had stood before them.
If the Emperor made a declaration from the Peacock Throne, the Hall of Mirrors was where the nobles who actually ran the kingdom turned it into a royal decree.
When the guards opened the doors, the air inside the Hall was cool and perfumed with sandalwood. Crown Prince Sekhar stood at the far end, the emblem of his house glittering at his chest. Behind him, the mirrors stretched endlessly, a thousand versions of him glimmering like captive stars.
“Sushri Sharma,” he greeted her, smiling faintly. He was always polite to a fault, even to his employees, using the formal address—Shri for the men, Sushri for the ladies. But behind his politeness, Adira had always sensed a sharp, calculating—and ruthless—mind.
“You keep your quill sharp, I trust?” The Crown Prince’s voice was a smooth cadence that could charm or wound, depending on his whim.
Adira bowed low. “Always, Your Highness.”
He smiled—that practiced, perfect smile that never reached his eyes. “Good. I have a matter requiring both ink and discretion. Come closer.”
She crossed the marble floor, her reflection trailing her like a ghost in every polished pane.
The Crown Prince held a roll of sealed parchment in his hand—heavy vellum stamped with his personal sigil. The wax shimmered faintly, threaded with enchantment.
“You are to travel to Telluria and deliver this to the Magelord Rindais,” he said. “In person.”
Adira’s breath caught despite her training.
Rindais. The name was a curse whispered in taverns and in the corridors of the foreign ministry alike.
The mage had withdrawn from civilized lands years ago, retreating to the borderlands to pursue ‘research’.
What kind of alliance could the prince want with a man like that?
Crown Prince Sekhar tilted his head, studying her expression. “You’ve heard of him, I see.”
“Of course, Your Highness. But…the borderlands are unstable. Would a message not suffice?”
His smile deepened—polite, gilded, and sharp enough to cut.
“Sushri Sharma, this no matter for a mere courier. You are my voice. The voice of the future Emperor of Sunvaara. A sealed letter from me may be intercepted or misunderstood. A diplomat of your caliber ensures the message is understood exactly as I intend.”
Adira inclined her head. “Then I will ensure your will is carried out with precision, Your Highness.”
“Excellent.” He extended the scroll of parchment to her, and as she reached for it, he did not release it immediately.
“Understand, Sushri Sharma—this is more than a message. This is the beginning of a new age for Sunvaara. Magelord Rindais’s knowledge will help us transcend the petty boundaries of the Four Kingdoms. Progress always demands… sacrifice.”
The word hung in the air, too casual for what it implied.
She kept her face impassive. “If sacrifice serves peace, then it is a cost worth bearing.”
The Crown Prince finally let go of the scroll. “That is why I chose you. You understand what others do not—that loyalty is the truest form of faith.”
Loyalty. Faith. They sounded noble when he said them, but something in his eyes—that hungry gleam she had learned to fear—made her think of chains gilded in gold.
“Your transport will leave before dawn,” he continued.
“You will be escorted to the border by a small detachment. From there, you will travel alone. No one must suspect the purpose of your mission. If anyone asks, say you carry an invitation for trade negotiations.” He paused and held out another scroll, this time marked with his personal seal.
“If you are ever in any danger during this journey, show this to whoever stops you. The security sigils on this combined with the threat of my displeasure should be enough to ensure safe passage for you.”
Adira bowed again. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Crown Prince Sekhar’s tone softened, almost kindly. “You’ve served the court well. Do this, and you will find yourself more than a minor envoy when you return.”
The promise stirred something inside her. It bumped up against the ache of her worth being overlooked all her career. She tamped it down. She knew what answer he expected, what words would please the prince. She had to appear humble, loyal, grateful.
Not ambitious, and never grasping.
“I serve Sunvaara, not myself.”
He laughed, low and amused. “So you say.”
When she turned to leave, she felt his gaze on her back. Heavy, assessing. Watching for cracks in the polished mask she showed to the world.
Outside, the corridors had emptied. The servants moved silently, their soft slippers whispering against the marble. Adira passed through the colonnade toward the west wing where the diplomats’ offices lay. The sealed letter burned faintly in her hand, its magic pulsing like a heartbeat.
The temptation to break the seal gnawed at her. She could claim it was accidental, or for verification of orders—she had done it before, on lesser missions. But this was the Crown Prince. Whatever enchantment protected his letter would not be forgiving.
And yet…what kind of alliance required secrecy so absolute?
Adira exhaled slowly, pushing the thought aside. Her loyalty was not a matter of comfort or curiosity. It was an act of service, one that demanded silence as often as speech.
Still, the unease lingered.
She returned to her chambers in the diplomats’ wing, a narrow set of rooms lined with ledgers, ink bottles, and maps of every kingdom that shared a border with the Empire of Sunvaara.
Her parents’ portraits hung on the far wall, draped in garlands that paid homage to their departed spirits: her father in his magisterial robes, her mother with her hair streaked silver too early from worry.
They had believed that service to the crown was sacred, that integrity was measured by usefulness.
She touched the frame lightly. “I’m trying my best,” she whispered.
The flame of her lamp guttered a little as she touched up the oil.
Beyond the balcony, the city spread in terraces of copper roofs and lanterns, the scent of jasmine mingling with the salt of the distant sea that lay to their south.
Somewhere out there, people toasted the prince’s latest decree.
The court called him a visionary. Adira had once believed it, too.
Now, she wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at his kingdom—people or pawns.
Sleep eluded her. She spent the night drafting contingency plans—letters to the foreign office, another to the Ministry of Trade, each coded to suggest her route without revealing her true destination.
Habit, not rebellion. She would not defy orders, but she could at least ensure that if she vanished, someone would know where to look.
An attack on her would be an attack against the Empire.
The Emperor would not let it pass without reprisal; to do anything else would be to appear weak, and whatever else Emperor Raghoba of the Sunvaara Empire was, he was not weak.
By dawn, the city was washed in silver mist. Adira dressed in travel robes, pinned her diplomat’s crest over her heart, and bound her long, curly hair into a practical braid. When she stepped outside, the guards awaited her with a modest carriage drawn by pale horses.
The captain saluted. “Sharmaji. Orders are to see you to the border. No further.”
“Understood.”
The gates of Kohalghar opened with a groan, and as the carriage rolled forward, Adira looked back once at the palace spires catching the first light of morning.
The royal capital was beautiful. It was also a cage. Her heart beat faster as the wheels picked up pace; it felt like freedom.
Her parents had had her late in their lives, and as such, they’d passed on only a few years after she had started working as a diplomat.
She’d never been in touch with her extended family, and her colleagues had always been more allies than friends.
With no ties to the Empire beyond the loyalty she freely gave to her place of birth, Adira had begun to see her trips to foreign lands as an avenue of escape.
What would this trip bring?
The journey to the east was uneventful for the first day. Fields gave way to scrub, then to the amber plains that marked the edge of the kingdom. Adira kept her thoughts disciplined, reviewing diplomatic phrases in her mind, rehearsing what she might say to a man like Rindais.
The Magelord’s reputation was that of a brilliance that burned too brightly. No one knew where the magelord had come from, rumor said that he had been exiled from his order of mages by jealous colleagues.
But other whispers about the magelord abounded: that he had delved too deep into the gods’ remnants, seeking to create life, rather than master magic.
Adira wasn’t sure it would be good for the Four Kingdoms if two ambitious minds such as the Crown Prince and Magelord Rindias were to form an alliance.
Some of the senior diplomats had told her once, when wine had made their tongues loose, of the Crown Prince’s plans for Sunvaara. They’d hinted at proposals to form alliances with their neighbors, and the Crown Prince’s long-term plan to bring them all under the umbrella of the Empire.
Peace under the Empire of Sunvaara, the diplomats had claimed.
Adira wasn’t so sure. No ruler wanted to be annexed by Sunvaara.
The Four Kingdoms were already holding in an uneasy peace.
A single alliance with a magelord could unravel it.
And yet, Crown Prince Sekhar wanted that alliance.
The last magical war the land had seen had been centuries ago…and it had nearly torn the world apart. Legend whispered that it had killed off races and fractured kingdoms. Adira couldn’t help but feel like her mission was more sinister than she thought.
And it seemed like even the weather agreed with her.
By the second night, at the border of Telluria, the wind shifted. The air thickened with the tang of ozone. Stormlight flickered along the horizon, illuminating distant silhouettes of twisted trees.
Her escort grew restless.
“Bad omen,” one of the guards muttered. “The wind is strange tonight.”
“Superstition,” Adira said, more to herself than to them.
But when the first drop of rain struck the carriage roof, it hissed like acid.
The storm broke faster than natural weather should. The sky tore open with a sound like ripping silk, and the wind howled through the ravine ahead. The driver shouted something she didn’t catch before the horses reared.
Adira clutched the letter under her cloak. The carriage lurched, one wheel striking a hidden rut. Wood splintered.
She forced the door open and leapt into the mud.
A flash of magic blinded her as soon as her feet touched the ground, and she fell back, coughing and blinking.
Some of the guards weren’t so lucky, the blast of magic had knocked them off their feet, with one of them lying unmoving in a puddle of his own blood.
A ward.
Someone had set up the equivalent of a magical booby trap in their path.
And they had walked right into it.
Lightning flared white-blue across the valley, and for an instant she saw them—shapes moving against the light, almost inhumanly fast, like smoke given form.
Bandits.
Magic sparked near her, scorching the wood of her carriage.
The guards drew steel. The first bandit struck—a blur of darkness—and the guard’s cry was cut short.
Horses reared, whinnying in panic, adding to the confusion, mowing down friend and foe alike.
The one guard who was a mage fired off a spell, but his magic was weaker than the bandits’ spells, who were now throwing fireballs and breaking apart the earth beneath their feet, sending the guards falling to their death—
Adira stumbled back as her escort thinned, her heart hammering as she tried to think. Mountains surrounded them, cutting off their escape—the bandits had chosen their point of ambush well.
Think. THINK.
She had to escape.
A shadow landed in front of her.
“You’re coming with me,” he grunted, grabbing for her. She shrieked, pushing him away, scrabbling for the dagger at her side. He cursed as her blade caught him without warning, and backhanded her roughly.
Adira fell to the ground, her dagger up, her senses reeling—
A surge of wind slammed into the clearing. Thunder rolled like a physical blow.
From the ridge above, a figure descended, cloak snapping like a banner.
Lightning limned his outline—tall, lean, eyes glinting silver in the stormlight.
He raised one hand, murmured something she didn’t catch, and the wind obeyed, swirling around him like a living thing.
The guards fell to the ground, and the bandits scattered, some of them being blown away by the sudden storm.
The man’s silver eyes flashed. In the storm’s brief lull, their gazes met.
Adira straightened, mud clinging to her hem, the prince’s letter pressed to her chest.
The stranger—the man in the storm—looked at her as if measuring whether she was another foe to vanquish.
The thunder rolled again, swallowing any words she might have spoken.
And for the first time since she’d left Sunvaara, Adira Sharma wondered if the whisper in her mind—the one that had called the Crown Prince’s command dangerous—had been a presentiment all along.