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Summary
But the aurora burned on with magnificent indifference, rippling its curtains of green and violet and pale-white fire across the sky above the northernmost capital in the known world, illuminating the palace towers in colors no painter had ever perfectly captured and no poet had ever precisely named. It was an old light. A northern light. A light that predated empire and would outlast it.
Dream had always understood, in some private language he had never needed to speak aloud, that the aurora was not kind.
It was simply vast enough that kindness had never occurred to it.
Or: Everyone believes that Empress Dream is a gentle victim of palace cruelty—but as threats to the legitimate line keep mysteriously disappearing, the family that rules the Eternal North begins to look less like the empire's salvation and more like its most beautiful, most terrifying monster.
Series
- Part 21 of Of Gods and Greens