A low, vibrating growl rumbled in Malakor’s chest, like a hound scenting wolf-spoor on a winter trail.
The tip of his great sword dipped an inch, the dark steel drinking in the bright sunlight and spitting back thin wisps of black shadow-flame that hissed against the damp volcanic sand.
"Children of ash?" Malakor took a heavy step forward, the crunch of obsidian glass loud under his iron-shod heel. "We broke the Primordial Crown with bare hands and bled across five kingdoms to glue the sky back together. If you think this woman is a thief, step off that floating pebble and try taking the steel from her hand."
The two attendants flanking the silver-eyed woman shifted, their slender wooden staves rising in unison. The polished amethyst orbs at their tips flared with cold violet aether, casting sharp, needle-like beams that cracked the air with the smell of scorched ozone.
Behind them, sixty Vanguard marines stepped forward as one, the iron rims of their shields locking with a concussive boom.
"Stand down," Aurelia’s command was quiet, but it carried the unyielding weight of the Seventh Crown.
She laid a gloved palm against Malakor’s broad shoulder. Through the boiled drake-hide of his tunic, his muscles were bunched like iron cables, coiled to lunge. At her touch, the lethal tension did not dissipate, but it anchored itself, yielding to her will. He slowly eased back half a pace, though his amber eyes never left the throat of the lead Keeper.
Aurelia stepped to the edge of the surf, looking up at the woman hovering on the obsidian stair.
"I did not cross the Glass Shoals to barter for ancient titles," Aurelia said, her silver-violet eyes meeting the stranger's pupilless gaze without wavering. "The Great Seal across the eastern waters broke when the Leviathan rested and Emperor Typhon fell. The Seven Shards reside within my flesh because the world demanded a vessel strong enough to hold them without turning to ash."
The lead Keeper tilted her head, her silver hair spilling over her shoulder like unspooled silk. She studied the faint constellation of glyphs pulsing beneath Aurelia's collarbone.
"Typhon is dead?" the woman asked, a flicker of genuine astonishment rippling across her serene face. "The dragon-son of the First Era... felled by a mortal blade?"
"His head hangs from the bowsprit of my flagship," Aurelia answered flatly. "If you wish to confirm the likeness, you may row out to the channel and ask him."
A soft, breathless murmur passed between the two attendants. The amethyst light atop their staves dimmed, retreating into the polished spheres.
"I am Saphira," the lead Keeper said, stepping off the floating obsidian slab.
Her bare feet touched the black volcanic sand without sinking, leaving not the slightest indentation in the glass granules. Her silver eyes softened, though her posture remained that of an immortal sentinel. "We have guarded the Jade Palisade for nine centuries, waiting for the mists to part. The ancient scrolls foretold that when the seal broke, either a tyrant of dragon-blood would return to claim our spires... or a sovereign of the shattered Veil would come seeking the First Forge."
"The First Forge?" Theron croaked from behind the shield wall, his withered hands gripping his iron cane so tightly the knuckles were white. "The Crucible of the Progenitors? Where the seven divine metals were first alloyed?"
"The same," Saphira replied, her gaze returning to Aurelia. "The Seven Shards inside you are whole, child of the west, but they are raw. They war against your mortal blood with every sunrise. Without the tempering rites of the White City, their light will devour your marrow before the next winter moon."
Malakor’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching toward the pommel of his sword. "She was cleansed in the deep mantle. Her marrow holds."
"It holds today, warlord," Saphira said, her voice sorrowful and calm. "It held against the serpent's poison. But look at her hands when she wakes. Look at the veins in her wrists when the tide turns."
Aurelia did not look down at her wrists, though she knew the truth Saphira spoke. Each dawn, the silver-violet fire pulsed hotter, burning away her mortal sleep, demanding more aether than any living frame could bear indefinitely.
"Take us to the White City," Aurelia said, stepping past the line of her guards.
Saphira bowed her head, turning toward the floating obsidian stairs that wound up into the clouds.
"Follow, Empress of the Broken Veil," the Keeper said. "Let us see if your butcher's devotion can survive the judgment of the Jade Court."