As a noble child, it was not at all uncommon for Minerva to hear unsavory rumors about her parents, seeded by jealous political enemies or unhappy servants. The higher up in authority the target was, the more their rivals worked the rumor mill.

Kovine's enemies worked overtime without pay.

The Empress murders children with poison in their sikhye—venomous snake scales in sweet rice drinks.

Black dragon blood flows through her veins and she's made a pact with an Anakim—perhaps with one of the Three themselves—how could her wielding strength rival a Pyroline's otherwise?

She sacrificed her firstborn and the daughter is a bastard. What kind of monster do you have to be to get rid of your own offspring for power?

When Minerva stepped outside, her limp hands leaked blood onto the stubbly grass. Amarante's shouts of indignation echoed off the mountain face, accompanied by a goat's bleats. The kirukist must keep one for milk.

Morning fog drifted near the cliffs. Minerva inhaled deeply, enjoying the clear air. She wouldn't mind living up here, among the dragons and away from people and the smoky, ashen city.

A rusty red lump shifted from where it rested in the hut's shadow. The manticore stretched in kat-like manner, a low growl issuing with a yawn from her mouth, leathery wings reaching for the sky. Standing, the lioness' head topped Minerva's by a hand.

"Have a nice nap, Mala?" Minerva asked softly, not willing for her voice to be heard. She reached out a hand to scratch behind the manticore's furry, round ears, but stopped when she realized her wounds were still open.

Mala sniffed her outstretched hand and licked it with her scratchy tongue.

"Don't get a taste for my blood now, you hear?" Minerva chuckled.

Manticores weren't so different from kats in appearance ... until you took their size, wings, and stinger tail into account. Mala currently held her tail in its non-combative state, enclosed within a hard shell.

Minerva sighed, dreading the moment when she'd have to walk around the hut's corner to where her mother waited. She'd much rather think of how Mala had been waiting to meet her outside the Academy, ready to fly her up the mountain for this ... lesson, if it could be called that.

"It was more like torture," Minerva mumbled, sinking to the ground between Mala's giant paws.

Mala gave a quick, cheerful purr and nudged Minerva's head.

Tired as she was, the nudge almost toppled Minerva over. "Mhm, of course you would have rushed in to save me," Minerva whispered jokingly, "not like you were asleep or anything like that. What would I do without you?"

Mala's answering yaps proved the sarcasm had gone over her head. Azuki had translated often enough that Minerva recognized this sequence—but he was a hopeless student in the language of passive-aggression as well.

"Without you I'd never sleep," Minerva confirmed. She leaned back into Mala's fur and the lioness wrapped her wings around her like a cocoon.

Following Minerva's involvement in the taking of the Terron stronghold and the massacre of Matsudo's guard, nightmares had plagued her, clinging to her mind like smoke to clothing. Every shadow transformed into an assassin sent to kill her, every sound turned into the whisper of a blade as it pressed a cold kiss to her skin.

At first, Edina had come at her screams and was able to lull her into an uneasy sleep with her embrace. Then, only a few days before she'd taken sick with the Fever, her aunt had given her Mala—still only a cub and dealing with anger and fear of her own.

Mala's mother and trainer hadn't made it through the final battle of the Terron war—the night of blood fire.

Minerva buried her face in Mala's fur and inhaled. The musky scent of the manticore's fur meant safety to her. Only with Mala's wings hugging her could she rest in sleep undisturbed.

"Time to be brave like a lioness," Minerva murmured, stroking Mala's whiskery cheeks.

She pushed herself upright and crunched over the dry grass. Can't second-guess or fear will paralyze you. Minerva rounded the hut's corner, Mala padding along behind.

Her mother stood against the perfect backdrop of mountainside, the brilliant sun fully risen behind her making it look as if her glossy chestnut hair were aflame. A white dragon—Daeun, if Minerva remembered correctly—stalked away with a screaming woman hanging by the shirt from her jaws.

Amarante.

Minerva rushed forward but Kovine's sweeping gaze leveled any intentions to save the kirukist. Instead, Minerva drew as close to her mother as she dared and bowed. With a quick motion of her hand, she signaled for Mala to stand down. The manticore wouldn't move no matter what occurred unless she gave the command.

Looks could be deceiving, she knew, yet the Empress' appearance bespoke of power. If Minerva were told that her mother possessed Pyroline blood, while her father was the mere commoner risen to nobility, she would believe it.

Unlike most nobles, Kovine's simple outfit never varied—traditional cross-collared top tucked into a chima. She always wore red. Always.

Both her blouse and skirt reflected the same hue as the crimson kirukkan stone dangling from the gold chain around her forehead, glistening like a fresh drop of blood. Her left arm sleeve ended short, revealing the smooth kirukkan vambrace permanently fastened to her forearm.

The garments weren't what lent Kovine authority; that came from her bearing. The Empress held herself as if she were Ash incarnate, a goddess among mortals.

Kovine didn't speak and Minerva continued her obeisance, bent over at the waist. Despite her efforts, the blood on her hands now stained her attire. Paired with the blood collecting in her head, she thought she might faint.

"The kirukist is a foolish woman," Kovine said quietly. Her tone might have been kind if it were not so blatantly lacking in emotion. "She is lucky that one with talent such as hers is only born once in a generation, otherwise she'd meet her end at the bottom of the mountain instead of the pond."

Minerva flinched when Kovine placed a single finger under chin and tipped her head up. Amber eyes met amber eyes, and not for the first time did Minerva wish she had the flawless, sun-favored gold of her mother's skin.

"She would have been wise," Kovine whispered, "not to cross us."

Minerva dropped her eyelids in respect. "Very wise," she murmured in agreement.

Kovine tapped Minerva's cheek with her fingers, the metal encasing her fingernails and continuing down her long, tapered fingers cold against Minerva's skin. The Empress smiled. Though Minerva didn't look at her mother's eyes, she knew the light didn't reach them.

Then she stepped back and Minerva shuddered as the tips of Kovine's metal talons scraped the flesh of her face and down her neck. The Empress drew her hand away and inspected her claw, hand flexing and testing the armored joints. Kirukkan never rusted, never dulled.

Never broke.

"There are consequences to every action, every choice." Kovine clasped her hands behind her back and paced in a circle. She stopped beside Minerva and whispered in her ear, "If you're wondering why we're here, it's to give you a choice."

Minerva had been tapped fully into the hollow place, searching for any hint of her mother's intentions and yet—nothing. Her fear would be on full display, but she didn't try to hide it. Kovine already knew and if what she saw first was fear, perhaps there'd be a greater inclination to overlook other attributes.

Perhaps she wouldn't notice the old rage boiling in Minerva's blood, ready to bubble to the surface at a moment's notice.

"I'm honored to be offered such a choice by Her Imperial Majesty," Minerva said. The lies came easily to her lips. She'd killed to keep her hatred a secret and those deaths would mean nothing if she betrayed herself now.

Kovine smirked, the slight puff of air from her nostrils brushing Minerva's neck. "Even one such as you must be aware of the shifting allegiances in this time."

Minerva waited, even though she knew her silence would test the Empress' patience. Then she asked, "If Her Imperial Majesty would enlighten my ignorance?"

Kovine huffed in annoyance and walked a short distance away. "The might of the empire has been halved for too long. It is the foolishness of your ancestors that has kept it so, but we are prepared to remedy that mistake."

No. That can't be what she's saying.

In the days of Korlana, the first Empress, there had only been one empire in the Flamelands. Then her children divided it to keep the peace, though it did not last long when the Imperial War destroyed family relations.

They'd fought over where the dead Dragon Empress' body would be burned with her ashes scattered on the land of all things.

Since then, the Pyro and Draco empires had maintained an uneasy truce at best. Except Kovine—unattached to Pyroline loyalties and without the slightest compunctions for sacrificing her pride to achieve the impossible—had approached the Draco Empress and re-established nonviolent communications. Minerva's father, the rightful Emperor, had long been under his wife's thumb. He'd done nothing to stop her.

Kovine was the reason Tobias Dracova attended Matsudo's academy.

"For a long while we've honored our pact with the Hydros to the north," Kovine said thoughtfully as she stared over the side of the cliff to the city far below. "On the other hand, the raids with the Terrons have never really ended."

Shutting her eyes, Minerva tried to still her quickening breaths.

"For flame's sake, stand up straight, child," Kovine snapped.

Minerva obeyed.

She caught her mother's muttering. "Who would've thought I'd spawn a coward and weakling?"

Don't react.

Kovine sighed. She always tired of their one-way conversations sooner or later. "Dara promises she can smooth negotiations with the Terrons. The empire has suffered in its current state. Our kishuki traders pay ten times the amount a Draco merchant would."

The way Kovine mentioned the Draco Empress' name so casually alerted Minerva to the fact that this idea wasn't newly born. Doubtless, it had been forming within Kovine's mind for years and had reached the ripe point for execution.

A bead of sweat dripped into Minerva's eye. It stung.

"What choice did Her Imperial Majesty wish to give me?" Get to the point.

Minerva had to give her mother credit for one thing—she didn't beat around the bonfire.

The Empress drew herself up to her full height—only a couple inches more than Minerva's, yet it had the intended intimidating effect. "It's time the Pyro Empire breaks its ties with the Hydro Kingdom."

An assassin's heartbeat could've been heard in the following silence.

"The choice ..." Minerva whispered. Sweat and blood slicked her palms, sticky against the hilts of the daggers that she fingered in her sleeves.

Kovine's eyes flicked down and back up. Minerva slowly eased her hands away from the weapons, though she yearned for their comforting weight.

The Empress sniffed. "It has been tradition for every race in Elementon to be allowed entry in the Heir's Tournament. We wish for you to set an example and ban any who wield the Water Talent. That is your choice."

Minerva's first thought shot to Brenna. The Hydro girl's rough laughter—which some called ugly—echoed in Minerva's mind. She knew Brenna looked forward to competing, recalled the confident toss of her silver hair and the spark in blue eyes as she'd dared Minerva to bet on who would win the Champion's Crown.

"Why does Her Imperial Majesty give me this choice?" Minerva asked.

Kovine crossed her arms. "Protocol. Procedure. The tournament is held in your honor and as such, you determine the rules."

In other words, this is a test.

Minerva had hoped she'd get away from the capital without crossing its Empress. She still could. But Brenna ...

Burn me.

"I wish to leave the rules as they are," Minerva said slowly. She'd calculated the risk and taken it. At first glance, only Brenna's happiness appeared to be the wager, but upon further thought, a principle was at stake. She knew what an alliance with the Dracos and the Terrons would drive the empire to.

War with the Hydros.

Minerva shifted on her feet, watching Kovine roll her eyes.

"Did you listen to nothing we discussed earlier?" her mother said with a small laugh.

Minerva felt nothing until her head whipped to the side from the impact of Kovine's hand. Burning lines seared her cheek where kirukkan-plated nails had cut flesh.

She released herself from the hollow place. It- it didn't work again.

Dropping to her knees, Minerva raised a shaking hand to her bleeding face. A weight filled her chest until she thought it'd burst and a whimper escaped from her lips before she could reign it back. She heard it echoed as Mala gave the smallest groan—helpless unless Minerva gave the word she dared not give. Before she cried from pain, she saved herself with a thought:

At least the scars can only make me prettier.

Kovine knelt down and raised Minerva's head up once again—her touch gentle in spite of the crimson marring her fingertips. "Be ready to bear the consequences of your choice," she whispered. Her hand dropped, fingers brushing against each other to produce the melodic tones of kirukkan grazing kirukkan.

Minerva shivered at her next words, a mantra that had been mere whispers in run-down taverns and shady gatherings before.

Something that resembled sorrow shone for a split second in the Empress' eyes. "Remember, blood is thicker than water."

Minerva turned her face away, blood streaming down in rivulets like untouched tears.