She raised her chin and did not smile in greeting. “Take me to my father.”

Mikah bowed. “Yes, princess.”

The following journey to the palace went by like a blur. She didn’t bother to gaze at the sights her carriage passed—she’d seen them a million times before, and even her long stay in Mytica hadn’t done much to erase them from her memory. One could get bored even with beauty when one was constantly surrounded by it.

Auranians believed their City of Gold was the most beautiful place in the world, but that’s only because they had never been to the Jewel. Here, it wasn’t gaudy gold or cold marble, but rather the brilliant and diverse colors of nature that ruled.

It was evident everywhere one looked that Emperor Cyrus Cortas favored shades of amethyst and emerald. Huge murals depicting the emperor himself adorned the walls of every block in every neighborhood, painted predominantly in those two bold shades. The streets were paved in beautifully complicated patterns of purple and green cobblestones, and so many citizens of the Jewel daily wore purple and green robes and gowns to try to please their ruler that foreign visitors might think it was the country’s official uniform.

The emperor was passionate about nature and insisted that the conditions be made such that it could always flourish, but he also insisted that every shrub, every leaf and blade of grass, was well-tended and tirelessly manicured. He imported rare plants and flowers from conquered lands. An army of gardeners was constantly trimming hedges and trees into precise geometric shapes. Landscape artists were summoned from all over the world to apply their skills to the Kraeshian canvas. The road Amara was traveling on appeared to be a seemingly endless blanket of beauty, which led straight to the royal residence: a massive green tower; an emerald spear piercing the sky. So it was fitting that the structure was known as the Emerald Spear. Most of those who’d ever seen it before called it a miracle of architecture, constructed with angles so impossible there had to have been magic involved.

But nothing was impossible if you had the resources to scout the best and the brightest, those with true vision and expertise, to do the work. The emperor found these artists and architects in kingdoms he’d not yet conquered, and paid them small fortunes for their skills. They always returned home smiling, eager and willing to come back at a moment’s notice to do more. It had taken more than twenty years for the Jewel of the Empire to reach this height of beauty, but Amara’s father was still not satisfied. Just as he did with everything else in his life, he always yearned for more.

After having grown up surrounded by so much manufactured beauty, Amara had come to want something different. Something that wasn’t necessarily beautiful. Something imperfect, interesting, and perhaps even ugly.

But ugly wasn’t allowed in the Jewel.

“Did you have a pleasant trip, princess?” Mikah inquired after a long stretch of silence.

“I did. And now I’m very happy to be home.”

The orb of aquamarine sat heavily in the pocket of her silk cloak. She wrapped her fingers around its cool surface. For days on the ship she’d tried to unlock its secrets and learn how to harness its water magic, but each time she’d failed. Finally, she’d grown so frustrated with it that she’d nearly tossed it overboard.

Amara inhaled slowly and then let out the breath, counting to ten as she did. She needed to stay calm, to ignore all the disappointment or doubt that kept trying to creep in.

Clear mind, sharp sight. Nothing else would help her now.

The Kindred is real. And it is mine.

She repeated this mantra again and again, until the water Kindred felt fully and wholly hers. She would have preferred to stay in Mytica to find the remaining three, but one would have to do for now. All she needed to do was unlock its secrets.

“Your father has been looking forward to your return,” Mikah told her.

“Really?” A smile barely touched her lips. “He missed me that much?”

He raised his dark brow.

Her smile grew, looking more genuine now. “Don’t worry, Mikah. I’m only playing. I know what to expect from my father. He rarely surprises me.”

Mikah had known her long enough to reply to this with only an understanding nod.

They arrived at the Emerald Spear, and Mikah led Amara to the emperor’s map room.

“Wait out here,” she said as Mikah pushed open the heavy door.

He bowed. “Yes, princess.”

The map room was appropriately named. Underneath the vaulted ceilings and taking up the majority of the lofty space was a three-dimensional map of the ever-expanding Kraeshian Empire, which now made up a full third of the known world. Master cartographers made twice-yearly journeys to the Jewel to update the topography to include any kingdoms or tracts of land that had been newly acquired.

Standing opposite her, on the far side of the map amidst a group of guards and advisors, was Amara’s father. He was engrossed in a whispered conversation with her brother Elan, four years older than Amara and at least four inches shorter. Elan was very thin and frail, and tended to cling to their father like a barnacle to a ship. So unlike her oldest brother, Dastan, the first born and heir, who was tall and handsome, who looked so much like Ashur. They could be identical twins, had they not been six years apart in age.

Amara was grateful that Dastan was currently at sea, on his way home after having successfully claimed a new swath of land for the Empire. She didn’t feel ready to see anyone who reminded her so strongly of Ashur just yet.

“Father,” she called out. He didn’t look up from Elan, so she said it louder. “Father!”

The emperor turned his steely gaze on her. “So. You’ve finally returned.”

“I have.” Her heart pounded, so hard she could barely think. There was so much to say and even more to conceal.

The emperor’s advisors eyed her appraisingly, but neither spoke nor smiled. These men always made her nervous; they were like vultures waiting to pick at the remains of the dead.

“Come here.” The emperor gestured toward her. “Let me see my beautiful daughter up close.”

Perhaps what she’d told Mikah about her father wasn’t quite accurate—her father calling her beautiful was a great surprise indeed. He rarely acknowledged her, and especially not in this way. Amara navigated her way around the map, her left hand gliding over its smooth edge.

If only she were free to share all her accomplishments with him, if only he’d listen, she was certain he would be proud of her. Perhaps she hadn’t found all four of the Kindred, but given that they’d been lost for a millennium, it was an incredible victory to acquire even one.

“Sister,” Elan said, the tone of his greeting thin and flat.

“Brother,” she replied with a nod.

The emperor regarded her, his arms folded in front of his dark green robes, intricately embroidered with flecks of gold and violet dragons and phoenixes—the symbols of Kraeshia and the Cortas family. “Tell me, daughter, how was your trip to little Mytica?”

“Eventful.”

“I see you’ve come alone. Does Ashur ever plan to return home? Or will he continue to roam the world, chasing after his magical butterflies?”

In Limeros, Amara had threatened to return to her father and accuse Magnus of slaying Ashur. In that moment of passion, it had seemed a logical choice, but now that she’d had many days to consider her options, she’d decided to hold back—for now.