The palace had many names, and while only one of them was official, it was one of its unofficial names that most in the empire knew it by. The Glass Horse Palace. Checking any city map or official document would find the emperor’s main estate marked as Paltivonla, a name fashioned from the first of Aurinon’s kings and his fondness for the white-coated mares of the northern regions, but ask any merchant at his shop or noble browsing wares or child running loose on the streets, it was The Glass Horse bouncing off their tongues instead, which was not to be confused with the capital’s most popular bar.  

Fia currently stared at the reason for this particular name. Standing almost double his height, four crystalline horses looked set to race across the enormous grand foyer of the palace. The lead horse held its head high, nose to the imaginary wind, mane streaming out behind it. Offset at alternating positions to the left and right of the lead horse, the other three charged forward in pursuit, a foreleg lifted on one, the hind limb striking out on another, tails billowing out behind them and heads stretched out. 

When he had entered the palace for the first time, Fia had barely restrained himself from reaching out and placing a hand on the muzzle of the lead horse. So delicately crafted, he could almost imagine the velvety softness, the warmth of its breath. They were beautifully carved examples of the animals he had grown up with, and seeing them there that day, in all their frozen freedom, had woken the loss of his own war-mare with such violence it made his whole chest ache for days after. 

He hadn’t touched the statue then, but he touched it now, as he had so many other times since. Somewhere deep within his heart, that old pain stirred, but like a dog, aged and arthritic, it merely lifted its head, blinked in acknowledgment of its name called, and then fell back asleep with no more than a sigh.

“There are men who have lost a hand for daring such a thing,” Virtan said. 

Fia looked directly at the general, his palm pressed lightly to the horse’s muzzle. Virtan’s words carried more amusement than threat, and the faint arch of his eyebrow suggested he had no intention of pushing around the weight of his words. A comment on potentials and nothing more. 

“Do you wish to remove my hand, General?”

“While it might place you at something of a disadvantage to lose one, I’d have an easier time draining a black-barbed viper of all its venom.” Virtan rolled his wrist as if dismissing the thought entirely and exhaled. "And quite frankly, you’re of more use to the emperor right now with both your hands than with one and here instead of chained up in the Wailer’s Keep.” 

With a snort, Fia dragged his fingertips over the horse’s glass nose. 

Virtan nodded toward the white marble staircase that coiled its way up to the palace's second floor. “I’m sure you will have plenty of riding to do in the coming days.” He opened his palm and swept his arm before him. “Shall we?”

Delay hadn’t been his purpose in touching the horse sculpture, but the pause had allowed him to gather up his thoughts again. Not that he had fallen apart on the walk over here. He hadn’t suffered from any sense of impending dread either. It was more a matter of packaging up a few rogue emotions before they got the better of him. Feelings Fia knew he would never quite control, not with so many things unaccounted for in his life right now, but ones he could strong-arm back into some semblance of discipline.

He dropped his hand to his side and followed the general up the winding stairway with their small entourage of soldiers in tow. Across from him on the opposite side, an exact mimicry of the staircase he now climbed curved its way up from the foyer floor. Both met atop a large landing, all naked marble as well, and just beyond it, a set of oak doors four times Fia’s height. 

Outside on either side of the doorway, a set of two soldiers stood guard, each dressed in the dark green and gold uniform of the emperor’s personal Winter Guard unit. A hallway cut across the front of the doors, leading to the upper east and west wings of the palace. Deep crimson carpets ran the length of each hallway in one long uninterrupted roll, leaving only a small sliver of the white floor visible at the margins, its black marbling as vivid as lightning cracking on a clear sky day. 

Virtan continued forward, purpose heavy in his every step. The nearest of the two guards stationed by the doors rushed to open them before the general was forced to pause. One knocked out a quick but complicated rhythm against the wood as he took hold of the large gold door handle. It took effort to heave them open as the doors were not only grand in their height but also thick-planked, the intricate carvings on their surfaces doing little to cut into their depth.

Had Fia been brought here under different circumstances all those years ago, he might have admired the hunt scenes playing out across the wood, the yawning branches of the trees, the galloping horses with their riders eagerly leaning forward as stag and bear and boar all scattered before them. Seeing it now, however, stirred a far different set of feelings within him.

The doors groaned and opened just enough to let a single body through. Seamlessly, two of the soldiers accompanying Virtan peeled off to stand guard outside with the others. The third one fell into line behind Fia, who in turn marched in Virtan’s shadow. As a single line, they filed into the throne room, silent save for their footfalls echoing across the cavernous chamber. 

Fia didn’t miss the way Virtan’s shoulders drew back and tensed. 

“Ah! You’ve arrived, Pasi!”

The emperor’s voice carried through the hall with an excitement that bordered more on manic than joyous. Fia wanted nothing more than to peel himself away from Virtan’s shadow. But protocols were protocols, and until he was called forward, he was to stay as a loyal dog at his master’s heel until called into service. In the wake of this understanding, an emotion scratched at his heart, and in immediate response, the breath froze in his lungs. Fia forced his thoughts into darkness and recalled the feel of the glass horse’s muzzle beneath his palm instead. He took in a breath. Virtan tipped his head to the side but didn’t look behind him. The pain slowly ebbed from Fia’s lungs. 

“We are here, Your Majesty,” Virtan said as he continued to walk toward the dais at the back of the room. “And I have brought the blood knight as you requested.”

“Good, good...come forward. All the way now. No need to stand on such formality when it’s just us here.” 

As they approached the dais, Fia saw that the emperor wore his standard riding attire in the same green and gold as his guard. He had discarded his jacket, leaving it draped over the arm of the massive throne. His rolled shirt sleeves bared his forearms to the weak sunlight that filtered in through the windows surrounding the dais. If caught at the right time of day, the light crowned the throne and those who sat upon it, a vision Fia had witnessed his first time in the room. Mud splattered the toes of the emperor's riding boots. He looked refreshed, however, without the sheen of sweat that might betray recent vigorous activity, a healthy glow to his cheeks but nothing more vivid than that. When coupled with the sense of agitation that defined his current pacing, though, he painted the perfect image of someone disturbed unexpectedly by whatever cause had sent him calling for Fia in the first place.

News that must have reached the castle this morning.

They stopped several feet from the steps leading up to the throne. Virtan immediately dropped into a low bow. Fia reluctantly took to his knee and dipped his head so that he could stare only at the heels of Virtan’s boots. Behind him, the remaining soldier bowed and then marched off to the side, where he positioned himself against one of the pillars standing large and impassive around the room, ever at the ready. 

“Out at the training grounds, were you, Fia?” the emperor asked. The manic edge to his voice dissipated with each word he spoke, his voice growing smoother and cooler like frost touching the last of summer’s growth. “I trust you weren’t giving my eldest too much trouble. He’s been absolutely insistent on learning from you, you know. All these years, and still he insists.” The emperor heaved a sigh before he continued, “Granted, there’s not one in the empire who couldn’t understand why. It was almost offensive how talented the lot of you were, and that’s not even taking into account all that blood business.” 

Silence held Fia’s tongue. He shifted his gaze to the left and began counting the soldiers stationed along the far walls of the throne room. 

“I interrupted them before they achieved much of anything this morning, Your Majesty,” Virtan replied. “But it is my understanding that their sparring sessions have been going well with continued progression on the prince’s part.”

“I'm glad to hear it, but I’m sure Akseli must be disappointed with this morning’s outcome and will continue to be so unless you can sort this matter out for me before the week is done.”

“And what matter requires Fiarac to intervene on your behalf, Your Majesty?”

“A theft.”

Fia could all but imagine Virtan’s expression at that statement. Or, rather, the expression he would have liked to have made if he had not been standing before the emperor himself. Most certainly bemusement, with that pointed arch of his eyebrow that made you question your very presence before him. Instead, Virtan cautiously cleared his throat.

“Would none of the Winter Guards suffice for this?”

“If this were a matter solely for the Guard, I would have summoned the necessary men for my purposes.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“But, I see what you are getting at, Pasi.” The emperor stopped his pacing. He took two steps and stood at the front of the dais. Fia started counting the flecks of mud splattered over the tips of his boots since that was all his vision could afford him of the man. Silence, heavy though not yet oppressive, settled over the room. After a moment, the emperor shifted his stance and brought both feet perfectly in line with the edge of the last step leading up to the throne. As though weighing each bit of information before doling it out, he inhaled slowly, then exhaled with the same measured breath. “Through great fortune and much luck, a dragon’s egg was found out on the western borders and, having been properly secured, was on its way to the capital to await its hatching.”

Virtan sucked in a breath. “The egg was stolen.”

“The men were overcome while traversing the Glasterkka last night. They remembered nothing of the event and believed they had traveled here unassailed. It wasn’t until the locks were opened and the carriage found empty that they knew anything was amiss.”

“And you are sure they had no hand in its theft?”

“None, Pasi.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Each of those men was woven into the magic cast upon the carriage. Should any of them have opened it at any time, code or no code, it would have also been woven into the fabric of the carriage’s magic as part of its recorded history. Yet according to the carriage’s defense system, it was a bird who unlocked the door.”

“A bird, Your Majesty?” 

Fia barely suppressed his laugh. 

Choosing to ignore Fia’s reaction, the emperor said, “That is what the history script tells us. A bird, your common night swift, undid the locking mechanism and, supposedly, made off with the egg.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Virtan replied, his voice lost to his inner musings, giving it a soft, almost distant quality. The emperor said nothing else. And the reason he kept his tongue still became evident as Virtan gave a small start and looked at Fia. “You need a bloodhound with an appetite for shadow.”

“Fia, up off your knee,” the emperor commanded.

He rose slowly, making sure his head was the last thing to come up, but when it did, Fia set his sight directly on the emperor. Their gazes locked, and he saw nothing of fear, not even a flicker of outrage at the audacity in the emperor’s blue eyes. Only a cutting look of expectation, the expression that of a man used to being challenged but not of tasting loss. It was the look of a man who demanded results and would settle for nothing less than what he demanded. And Fia wanted nothing more than to choke him with his own crown. 

“Don’t think the irony escapes me, Fia. That I would need you, of all the people in my empire, to hunt down a thief and retrieve the egg. None of us have forgotten the blood you spilled when you slew the very last dragon I had under my command.” The emperor smiled, and the breath clotted once more in Fia’s lungs.  “And I’m sure you haven’t forgotten it either.”