Chapter 26 · The Six-City Lock

The coffin descended through the command station like a piece of winter falling through smoke.

Its suspension field hummed above the central platform, pale blue light crawling over the transparent shell. Inside lay a man in a black military uniform, his hands folded across his chest. He had Kellan Vey’s jaw, Kellan’s narrow nose, Kellan’s scar above the left eyebrow—but age had sharpened him.

Ten years, perhaps fifteen, had been carved into the stranger’s face. Silver threaded his dark hair. A thin white line ran from his temple to his throat.

The man’s eyes remained open.

Kellan stood beneath him with one hand pressed against the railing. Blood had soaked through the bandage around his ribs. Every breath pulled fire through his side, but he barely felt it. The Crown embedded along his spine had gone cold after the battle, its presence reduced to a dull pressure beneath bone.

Above the coffin, the flagship’s voice repeated through the station speakers.

“RESTORED MARSHAL AUTHORITY CONFIRMED. RETURN THE CROWN TO ITS ORIGINAL COMMANDER.”

Brom Hark spat onto the deck. “It can have the Crown when it grows a pair of hands and comes to take it.