The homecoming of the Pearl-Sovereign was not greeted with the celestial fanfare
that had marked my ascent to the throne. There were no pillars of starlight
reaching into the sky, no rhythmic thunder of the earth-pillar to signal our
arrival, and no telepathic choir singing of our victory in the channel. The
ship, its pearlescent hull now streaked with the grey salt of the Silent Fleet
and the ruby residue of the Bordeaux chargers, drifted into the Blood-Crag bay
under a drizzling, slate-colored morning sky.
The sound of our arrival was mundane, almost painfully so. It was the rhythmic,
metallic clang of the iron anchor being dropped into the shallows, the creak of
the wooden gangplank as it was lowered, and the shouting of human voices.
I stood at the railing, Aidan heavy and warm in my arms. My body felt as though
it were made of rusted clockwork. The "Sovereign of the Ash" form had left my
skin sensitive to every shift in the air, and my right arm, where the diamond
