"Hold out your palm," the winged Saki warrior instructed, his voice deep and unyielding.
Sanni lifted her left hand without hesitation, revealing a slim platinum ring resting on her pointer finger. A single onyx gem adorned the center, shimmering faintly in the sunlight.
The Saki bowed slightly in recognition. "Welcome, Lady Fell. And your… servant?" His sharp gaze flicked to Mirak, narrowing as he took in the Publici shackle on Mirak's wrist and the empty space where his left hand should have been.
Before Mirak could respond, Sanni stepped in smoothly. "No. He is my bodyguard," she said, her tone cool and firm. "Surely his lost hand is proof enough of his merit."
"Forgive my negligence, Lady Fell," the Saki said with a nod. "Since the fall of the wall, security has been tightened. I'll need to see his ring."
"He holds a ring of the third district," Sanni informed him crisply.
Mirak tugged at the white glove on his remaining hand, using his teeth to pull it off. The faint sheen of the golden resin ring, embossed with the Fell insignia, caught the light as he held it up for inspection.
The Saki stepped closer, and Mirak's breath hitched. He recognized the tanned face and crooked nose. It was Vuhmi—the same Saki captain he'd encountered at the wall. The man who had once boasted that Koona would thrive so long as the Saki remained its guardians. Mirak stiffened, fighting to keep his expression neutral.
"Do I know you?" Vuhmi asked, his brow furrowing as he studied Mirak's face. "You seem familiar."
"No," Mirak replied smoothly, though his voice carried a faint edge. "I think I'd remember meeting a Saki."
Vuhmi's eyes lingered on Mirak's shackle and missing hand. "There must be quite a tale behind that injury."
"It was an accident," Mirak said flatly, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed.
Vuhmi's hand shifted discreetly toward the spear strapped to his back. "I'd still like to hear the story. It's not every day you see a man walking around without a limb."
Mirak's jaw tightened, the sharp words rising to his lips before he could stop them. "I've seen plenty of Publici without them."
The air between them grew taut, and Vuhmi opened his mouth to respond, but Sanni cut through the tension like a blade.
"Mirak," she said sharply, "we need to reach the meeting. House Fell is the first to enter, after all."
"My apologies, Lady Fell," Vuhmi said, stepping back with a slight bow. "I was merely curious."
Sanni's gaze turned icy. "Curiosity is a dangerous trait for someone in your position, Captain."
Vuhmi inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Of course, my Lady."
The heavy gates of the Palace groaned as they began to open. Gears ground together, and chains rattled as the massive structure revealed the path ahead—a gleaming bridge of translucent glass stretching across the Shard River. The bridge led to the Palace itself, an architectural marvel perched on an outcrop in the middle of the sea.
Mirak's breath caught as he took in the view.
The Palace was the oldest structure in all of Koona, a testament to the city's wealth and power. Its spires climbed impossibly high, reflecting the sunlight like shards of diamond. The sea below churned violently against jagged crags of rock that jutted out like the teeth of a beast. These natural barriers shielded the Palace from the worst of the coastal winds, but they also made it appear as though the Palace were under siege, perpetually defying the forces of nature.
The gates themselves were crafted from the bones of leviathans—creatures that had once plagued the Shard River. Each rib-like archway was etched with intricate carvings of battles long past, depicting the victories of Koona's first rulers.
Mirak fell into step behind Sanni as they crossed the bridge. Only a handful of nobles walked alongside them, each dressed in satins and resin-lined robes that glittered with wealth. Their attire could have fed entire families for years, yet they strode with an air of entitlement, their noses high in the air.
Despite their finery, none dared approach Sanni. She walked with purpose, her posture regal and unyielding.
Mirak, however, was not spared their attention. Glances were thrown his way—some curious, others scornful. Their eyes lingered on his shackle, his missing hand, the way his boots lacked the polish of noble-born footwear.
Leaning closer to Sanni, Mirak muttered, "Is it just me, or are there more eyes on me than there are on you?"
Sanni raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "You've walked into the seat of power of Koona with a member of House Fell. You wear Publici shackles, yet my brother boldly declared you my protector. Add to that your missing hand, and it's no surprise they're looking at you. To them, you're a new piece on the game board of lords and ladies."
"I never asked to be here," Mirak hissed, tugging at his collar. "Politics aren't what I'm paid for. Words here are needles, and I have no interest in being pricked by every sentence."
Sanni's lips curved into an amused smile. "And yet, you came. Stay close, and I'll shield you from the worst of their words. They won't dare strike while I'm here."
Her tone turned teasing. "Some may even think we're courting."
Mirak nearly tripped over his own feet. "What?" he spluttered. "Anyone who knows Solomon would know better. He'd slaughter anyone who so much as touched his sister."
"True," Sanni said with a shrug. "But perhaps I prefer my men a little more dangerous."
Mirak flushed, pulling at his collar as the breeze from the sea swept over them.
The nobles they passed bowed deeply as Sanni walked by, their gazes flicking briefly to Mirak before returning to her. The bridge's surface shimmered beneath their feet, etched with the crests of Koona's noble houses. Beneath the translucent glass, the waves crashed violently, sending white foam spiraling upward.
"If Solomon spent as much effort honoring our parents' wishes as he does protecting me," Sanni remarked, her voice casual, "he'd be ruling Koona by now."
Mirak glanced at her. "He's just trying to protect what he cares about."
Sanni's eyes flicked toward him. "And you would know? You don't seem like a man in a rush to find his family. If being a servant is anything to go by."
Mirak hesitated, then said quietly, "I had a brother."
Images of Akash flitted through his mind—his brother's bright laughter, the way he'd always helped Mirak up when he fell.
"You speak little of your family," Sanni noted.
"You've never asked," Mirak replied, running a hand through his hair and brushing it away from his eyes.
They walked in silence for a moment before Sanni hummed thoughtfully. "Tell me about them."
Mirak's voice softened as he reminisced. "Where to begin? Akash… he could be annoying and stubborn, but he was always there. If I fell, he'd be the first to place a hand on my shoulder with a smile."
"And your parents?"
"My mother is a seamstress. Her kindness was only matched by her cooking. She'd tell stories late at night, ones that could quiet even the loudest storms."
Sanni smiled faintly, sensing the fondness in his tone. "They sound wonderful."
"They were," Mirak said, the past tense hanging heavy in the air.
Sanni didn't push further, sensing the grief buried in his words. Instead, they walked in silence, the roaring of the sea below filling the space between them.
When the Palace doors loomed before them, Sanni whispered, almost to herself, "If I could, I'd leave all of this behind. I'd travel the world, feel the wind in my hair, and never look back."
Mirak glanced at her. "You should."
Sanni shook her head, her voice resigned. "Maybe when I'm gray and old. For now, I can't turn my back on my house."