The Emperor’s Attack

What Happened Seven Years Earlier

The palace alarms had been sounding for seventeen minutes when Riven realized no one was coming to turn them off.

At first, he had assumed the noise was part of another security exercise.

The palace conducted them several times a year. Doors sealed. Guards appeared in places where guards normally did not stand. His tutor stopped whatever lesson they were having and led him to one of the inner rooms, where he was expected to wait patiently until somebody announced that the danger had passed.

Riven hated security exercises.

They usually happened when he was doing something interesting.

This one had interrupted breakfast.

He sat at the long table in his family's private dining room with half a piece of sweetbread still on his plate and watched the lights along the ceiling change from white to red.

His mother stood beside the window. She had not moved for several minutes. That frightened him more than the alarms.

“Mother?”

She turned.

Riven knew immediately that this was not an exercise.

The queen was wearing the pale gold morning dress she had chosen for breakfast, but someone had fastened a military communication band around her wrist. A thin blue light moved across it every few seconds.

“Come here.”

Riven left the table.

Outside the windows, New Atlantis stretched toward the horizon.

Usually he could see the floating gardens from this room.

They were his favorite part of the city.

Great platforms covered in trees and flowers drifted between the palace district and the old university quarter, supported by technology Riven's tutor insisted was perfectly understandable if he would only pay attention during engineering lessons.

Today, smoke obscured most of them. He could smell it—sharp, acrid, and stinging, causing his eyes to water.

One garden had collapsed. Riven observed the massive platform teetering between two towers, with trees spilling over one side as people fled, fearing it would topple.

Guards rushed through the streets below, firing at something overhead. Riven glanced upward.

Above, dark ships moved across the sky.

They didn't belong to Midros.

“Are those Inimicus's ships?” Riven asked.

His mother looked toward the window. “Yes.”

That name had been mentioned in whispery voices throughout the palace for weeks.

Inimicus. The prisoner from X5. The rebel. The escaped criminal. The man who had gathered other exiles around him and somehow acquired enough ships and weapons to threaten Midros.

Riven had seen his picture.

Everyone had.

Inimicus was difficult to forget.

He was completely bald, like most people born and raised on X5. The prison planet's poisonous atmosphere damaged hair growth over years of exposure, and even those who eventually left rarely recovered their hair. His face was narrow, his cheekbones sharp, and his eyes seemed slightly too large for the rest of him.

Riven had once told his tutor that Inimicus looked like a fox.

His tutor had not found that amusing.

Another explosion shook the palace. The windows darkened instantly as their defensive shielding strengthened.

Riven moved closer to his mother.

“Are we going to the shelter?”

She didn't answer.

“Mother?”

The door opened.

Favir entered first.

Riven knew him well.

Favir had been one of his father's advisers for as long as Riven could remember. He was older than most of the people who attended council meetings, with gray hair and a way of speaking to Riven that made him feel as though being eight years old did not automatically make everything he said foolish.

Roman came behind him.

Roman was responsible for agriculture across much of Midros, although Riven mostly knew him as the man who complained whenever Riven refused vegetables at formal dinners.

Neither man looked prepared for a council meeting now.

Favir's blue tunic was torn near one shoulder.

Roman had blood on his sleeve.

Riven stared.

“You're hurt.”

“Not mine,” Roman said.

That was not reassuring.

Favir crossed directly to the queen.

“The western gate is gone.”

“What about the south?”

“Compromised.”

“The underground routes?”

“One is still secure.”

The queen closed her eyes briefly.

Riven listened.

Adults often forgot children could understand words when they were frightened.

“Where's Father?” he asked.

No one answered.

Riven looked from his mother to Favir.

“Where is he?”

“He's with the defense council,” his mother said.

“Then we should go there.”

“That isn't New York.”

“I want to see him.”

“You will.”

“When?”

Another explosion answered for her.

This one was much closer.

Somewhere beyond the dining room, glass shattered.

Roman moved toward the doorway.

“We have to leave.”

The queen looked at him.

“Has the king given the order?”

Favir didn't answer immediately.

The queen's face changed.

“He has.”

Favir nodded.

Riven looked between them. “What order?”

His mother knelt in front of him.

Riven hated when adults did that. It meant they were about to tell him something terrible while pretending everything was all right.

She took both his hands. Her fingers were cold.

“Riven, I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

“I am.”

“You're going with Favir and Roman.”

“Where?”

“They're taking you out of the palace.”

“Are you coming?”

Her fingers tightened around his.

“I can't.”

Riven pulled his hands away.

“No.”

“Riven.”

“No. You said we're supposed to stay together during an attack.”

“This is different.”

“Why?”

His mother looked toward Favir.

Favir looked away.

Riven's anger rose. “Where is Father?”

The queen stood. “He's trying to keep the city from falling.”

“Then I'll stay here.”

“You can't.”

“Why?”

Roman moved toward the window.

“Ships.”

Favir joined him.

Riven looked.

Three dark vessels descended beyond the palace district. They were sleek and narrow, their hulls almost black against the smoky sky. One fired. A blue-white line struck a defensive tower. The tower disappeared in an explosion bright enough that the windows dimmed automatically.

Riven flinched.

The queen grabbed his shoulders. “This isn't a discussion.”

He stared at her. She had never spoken to him that way.

“You are leaving with Favir and Roman.”

“What about you?”

“I'll stay with your father.”

“And then you'll come?”

Her eyes filled with something Riven did not understand. “Yes.”

He knew she was lying. Children knew when adults lied badly. “You're lying.”

The queen looked shocked.

Riven stepped back. “You always look at my left ear when you lie.”

Roman made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.

The queen glared at him.

Roman immediately became serious again.

“Riven,” she said.

“I won't go.”

The palace shook again.

This time the lights went out.

Red emergency illumination came on almost immediately. Everything turned red. A voice sounded through the room. “Security breach. Eastern palace sector.”

Favir's face drained of color. “They're inside.”

Roman moved to the door. “How?”

“The eastern defenses were still intact.”

“Apparently not.”

The queen looked at Favir. “The traitor.”

Riven heard that. “Who?”

No one answered.

Roman checked the corridor. “Clear.”

“For now,” Favir said.

The queen turned back to Riven. She touched his cheek.

“You have to go.”

“Mother.”

“Listen to Favir.”

“I don't want to.”

“I know.”

“Come with us.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

She kissed his forehead. “Because your father needs me.”

“I need you.” The words escaped before Riven could stop them.

His mother's face briefly crumpled for half a second before she regained her regal composure—straight-backed, calm, and strong.

It made Riven furious.

“I need you too,” she said.

“Then come.”

She looked at Favir. She ordered, “Take him.”

Riven backed away. “No.”

Favir approached.

“No!” Riven grabbed the edge of the table.

Favir stopped. He did not try to drag him away.

Instead, he crouched. “Riven.”

“Don't.”

“Your father gave me an order.”

“I don't care.”

“I do.”

“I order you not to.”

Despite everything, Favir smiled. “You're not king yet.”

“I'll tell Father.”

“You may.”

“I'll have you dismissed.”

“That will be awkward.”

Riven glared at him.

Favir's smile disappeared. “Your father trusts me with the most important thing he has.”

Riven looked toward his mother. “He trusts you with me?”

“Yes.”

Riven swallowed.

Favir held out his hand. “Come.”

Another alarm began. This one sounded different.

Roman swore.

“What?”

Favir turned. “Palace shield failure.”

“How long?”

“Unknown.”

Roman opened the door. “We're out of time.”

Riven looked at his mother.

She nodded.

Slowly, he took Favir's hand.

His mother pulled him against her.

For several seconds, she held him so tightly he could barely breathe.

Then she released him.

“Hide this.”

His mother caught his right hand.

The dragon curled around the base of his forefinger, dark beneath his skin, its tail disappearing between its own jaws.

Riven had seen it every day of his life inside the palace. Sometimes he forgot it was there.

“Look at me,” his mother said.

He did.

“Once you leave the palace, this will disappear.”

Riven glanced at his hand. “Disappear?”

“From sight. Not from you. The palace recognizes the royal line. Our ships do the same. Most places do not. The other planets do not.”

“So nobody will see it?”

“Not unless they know how to look.”

That sounded reassuring until she tightened her grip. “Inimicus will know how to look.”

Riven's stomach tightened.

“Never allow anyone to scan this finger. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“The dragon is proof of who you are. A false name can fool a person. That tattoo will reveal who you are.”

Riven looked down. His father had the same mark. So had his grandfather.

“Everyone knows I'm the prince.”

“Not where you're going.”

Riven frowned. “Where am I going?”

His mother looked at Favir. “Somewhere safe.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“No.” His mother kissed him once more. Then she stepped away.

Favir tugged gently. “Riven.”

He followed. At the doorway, he looked back.

His mother stood alone in the red-lit dining room.

“Wait.”

Favir stopped.

Riven ran back. He wrapped his arms around his mother. “I love you.”

Her hands pressed against his back. “I love you too.”

“You have to come later.”

“I'll try.”

“Promise.”

She didn't.

That frightened him more than anything else.

Favir took his hand again.

This time Riven let him.

They ran.

The Escape Passage

The palace corridors were almost unrecognizable. Furniture had been overturned to make barricades. Security officers rushed in both directions. Servants carried medical equipment.

Some people were crying. Others stared straight ahead as though they had forgotten how.

Riven had walked these halls thousands of times. He had never known there were so many doors.

Favir led them through one concealed behind a ceremonial tapestry. Roman sealed it behind them. A narrow staircase descended.

“How long has this been here?” Riven asked.

“Longer than any of us,” Favir said.

“Does Father know?”

“Yes.”

“Mother?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't I?”

“Because you're eight.”

“I know lots of things.”

“You know enough things to make everyone else's lives difficult.”

Roman looked back. “That is true.”

Riven glared at him.

Roman smiled. “You'll appreciate my honesty someday.”

The staircase ended at a tunnel. Unlike the decorated palace above, the passage was bare stone reinforced with metal ribs. Small lights ran along the floor.

Favir hurried.

Roman followed behind Riven. “Where does this go?”

“Outside the palace,” Favir said.

“Where?”

“A transport station.”

“Then where?”

Favir didn't answer.

Riven stopped.

Roman nearly ran into him. “What now?”

“I want to know where we're going.”

“We don't have time.”

“Then tell me fast.”

Roman looked at Favir.

Favir sighed. “Off-world.”

Riven stared. “No.”

“The king arranged a ship.”

“No.”

“Riven.”

“You said outside the palace.”

“I did.”

“You didn't say off Midros.”

“You didn't ask.”

“That is cheating.”

Roman nodded. “It is.”

Favir glared at him. “What? He's correct.”

Riven crossed his arms. “I won't leave Midros.”

A distant explosion rumbled through the stone. Dust fell from the ceiling.

Favir stepped closer. “If you stay, Inimicus will find you.”

“Then Father can stop him.”

Favir's expression shifted. For the first time, Riven glimpsed something in his face that no adult had let him see all morning: doubt. It was about the king, the palace, and whether anyone could halt what was unfolding.

Riven's stomach hurt. “Father is going to win.”

Favir didn't answer.

“He is.”

Roman looked away.

Riven stared at both men. “He has the army.”

“Yes,” Favir said.

“He has the palace guard.”

“Yes.”

“He's the king.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we running?”

Favir knelt again. “Because sometimes protecting a kingdom means protecting what comes after it.”

Riven didn't understand. “I don't want to be what comes after.”

Favir's face softened. “I know.”

The tunnel lights flickered.

Roman looked behind them. “We need to move.”

Favir stood.

Riven stayed where he was. “Will Father come with us?”

“No.”

“Mother?”

“No.”

Riven felt as though the tunnel had tilted. “So they're staying here.”

“Yes.”

“And you're taking me away.”

“Yes.”

“Forever?”

“No,” Favir answered too quickly.

Riven looked at him. “Left ear.”

Favir blinked. “What?”

“You looked at my left ear.”

Roman actually laughed this time.

Favir sighed. “I have never regretted teaching you to notice people as much as I do today.”

Riven's throat hurt. “Forever?”

“I don't know.” That answer was worse.

Riven looked at the floor.

Favir waited.

Finally, Riven started walking again.

When they reached the end of the passageway, Riven glanced at his tattoo.

The dragon tattoo was fading.

The Underground Train Station

They reached the underground transport station eleven minutes later.

It was chaos.

It seemed the royal family wasn't the only group with an escape plan. Officials, guards, palace workers, and their families gathered on the platform. Children cried, people argued, and security officers barked orders that no one listened to. A train stood ready beside the platform with its doors wide open.

Favir gripped Riven's hand tightly. “Do not let go.”

“I won't.”

Roman moved ahead, clearing a path.

Riven looked at the people around him.

Some recognized him. He saw it happen. A woman's eyes widened. A man bowed his head.

Another person whispered. “The prince.”

Favir pulled Riven's hood up. “Keep your face down.”

Riven obeyed.

They had almost reached the train when someone shouted. “Royal Guard!”

The crowd froze.

Riven looked up.

Six men entered the station from the opposite corridor. They wore palace uniforms.

For one relieved second, Riven thought they were safe.

Then Favir stopped.

Roman did too.

“Those aren't ours,” Roman whispered.

Riven stared.

The uniforms were correct. The insignia was correct. But the men were bald.

Every one of them. He knew what it meant: X5.

Favir shoved Riven behind him. “Run.”

The first weapon fired. The station erupted. People screamed.

Roman grabbed Riven's arm.

Favir drew a small pistol from beneath his tunic.

Riven had never seen him carry one before.

“Go!”

Roman dragged Riven toward the train.

“Favir!”

“He's coming!”

A blast struck the wall beside them.

Riven stumbled.

Roman pulled him upright. “Move!”

Favir fired twice.

One of the false guards fell. Another raised his weapon.

The train doors began closing. Roman shoved Riven through.

Favir sprinted after them. The doors closed less than a second after he crossed.

A blast struck the outside.

Riven dropped to the floor.

The train accelerated.

People screamed again.

Favir leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

Roman stared at him. “You shot someone.”

Favir looked at the pistol as if he'd only just realized he was holding it. “Yes.”

“You're terrible at shooting.”

“I hit him.”

“Lucky shot.”

Riven looked between them. Then he started laughing. He didn't know why, maybe because Roman had just criticized Favir's shooting while enemies were trying to kill them, maybe because the alternative was crying.

Roman looked at him.

Favir did too.

Riven laughed harder. Then the laughter broke. He covered his face.

Favir sat beside him.

Riven pressed his forehead against the old man's shoulder. “Are they going to kill Mother?”

Favir closed his eyes. “I don't know.”

“Father?”

“I don't know.”

“Us?”

Favir wrapped an arm around him. “Not if I can help it.”

The train sped beneath New Atlantis.

Above them, the capital burned.

The Escape Ship

The ship waiting outside the city was small.

Much smaller than anything Riven had imagined when Favir said they were leaving the planet.

“This?” he asked.

Roman looked offended.

“It's an excellent ship.”

“It looks old.”

“It is old.”

“Very old.”

“Older vessels are easier to repair.”

“Can you repair it?”

Roman sighed. “No.”

Favir pushed Riven up the ramp. “Wonderful conversation. Inside.”

The dragon returned the moment Riven stepped aboard.

He stopped.

Dark lines slowly emerged beneath the skin of his forefinger, the curled body of the dragon becoming whole again.

Roman noticed him staring. “The ship knows you.”

Riven wasn't sure whether that made him feel safer.

The ship's engines were already running. Two crew members waited aboard.

Riven didn't recognize either of them. “Who are they?”

“Friends,” Favir said.

“Whose?”

“Ours.”

“Do I trust them?”

Favir looked at him. “No.”

Riven stopped and raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“Trust isn't something you give because someone says they're a friend.”

The two crew members exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Favir ignored them. “You watch. You listen. You decide.”

Riven frowned.

“You always tell me to trust the council.”

“The council had rules.”

“And now?”

Favir looked toward the burning city beyond the open ramp. “Now the rules have changed.”

The ramp closed.

Riven felt the ship lift. He ran to the nearest window. New Atlantis fell away beneath them. The floating gardens burned. One had crashed into the old university district.

Imperial ships filled the sky. Midrosian fighters moved between them like insects.

“Where's the palace?”

Roman pointed.

Riven found it. The royal palace stood above the old city. Smoke surrounded it. The eastern wing was burning. As Riven watched, a dark vessel descended toward the courtyard.

His hand pressed against the glass. “Father.”

No one answered.

The ship climbed.

The city became smaller. The palace disappeared beneath smoke.

Then the curve of his home planet, Midros, appeared.

Riven had seen his planet from orbit before, but never like this. Fires glowed on the night side. Ships surrounded the world. The battle had spread far beyond the city of New Atlantis.

A voice came from the cockpit. “Imperial pursuit craft launching.”

Favir and Roman hurried forward.

Riven stayed at the window. His sleeve had fallen back. The dragon mark was visible. He pulled the fabric down again. Below him lay everything he had ever known: his home, his parents, his room, his books, the floating gardens, and the palace kitchens where people secretly gave him sweets when his tutor wasn't watching. He also remembered the courtyard where his father taught him how to wield a sword.

All of Midros was his home, and it was shrinking beneath him.

Riven pressed his fist against the window.

“I'll come back,” he whispered.

He didn't know whether he meant tomorrow.

Next month.

Or when he was grown.

He only knew he had to believe it.

Behind him, Favir shouted something from the command area.

The ship accelerated.

Stars stretched across the window.

Midros vanished.

Riven kept staring at the place where it had been.

Seven years would pass before Favir and Roman finally ran out of places to hide him.

By that time, Riven would be taller, angrier, and more skilled at detecting lies. He would also be less inclined to think that his status as a prince meant anything in this new world.

But on the day New Atlantis fell, he was eight years old, and all he wanted was to go home.