Page 113 of Burn Her They Said
“Hmm,” he says, assessing me with narrowed eyes as he swirls the red wine in his goblet before tipping it back in one swig. I swallow against my gag reflex while folding my hands in front of my lap like a good little witch.
An Imperial servant walks toward us carrying a gold tray with wine goblets, and I force my cheeks into a convincing smile of gratitude when made to take the stem between my fingers. Except what I need is a glass of water, breakfast, a bath, and some rest.
The crystal rim is cold against my parted lips as I appease His Majesty by taking a small sip, then walking with him and his Guards until he comes to a halt in the center of the dance floor. A tingling sound rings through the vast room, and my eyes widen at the dagger repeatedly tapping against the side of the crystal in Emperor Aldritch’s hand.
“To my Imperial Grand Witch and her Imperial Guards!” Forced cheers surround us, and the noise is so intense, a familiar pressure builds inside my head, throbbing so hard it blurs my vision. “Three attacks have been made on Imperial Grand Witch Tasch’s life in as many days, and yet, we have prevailed!” More cheers bring on an incessant ringing in my ears, increasing the pressure in my skull as nausea sets in and auras invade my periphery. The quick onset of dizziness—which I expect to come next—will be the most challenging to hide. Unless the auras overtake my vision.
General Sal stands out in the crowd, as he happens to be the only one glaring at me. I raise my brows in question, to which he rolls his eyes. My heart pounds against the bars of its cage, and I could swear the edges of my vision shrink inward.
“The Imperial Guards I have appointed to best protect our most precious asset have proven their loyalty to the Dragons and Ampara Deicra!”
“Our glorious Empire!” we chant, as he tips the nearly full goblet back, struggling to swallow so much at once.
The cacophony of those lost to their drunken revelry rattles my nerves as the guests spin and skulk, grabbing more wine from the golden trays held aloft by countless Imperial servers, weaving through the crowd as if it is perfectly normal to gather in celebration the morning after our Palace has come under attack—supposedly in an effort to assassinate me.
My gut roils, feeling sickened, yet unfamiliar. It’s unlike anything I have felt before. My body’s way of alerting me to something pivotal changing, something that must have occurred in my absence, stirring my insides with an acidity that neither my magic nor Cirrin’s could alter, while the significance of what’s being communicated is lost on me. It’s like a moment in time is being etched inside my being while I have no way to decipher the language.
“Come!” Emperor Aldritch’s clammy hand grasps my own, pulling me to him as fear spears my limbs with where we are standing—suspecting he may force me to dance in my riding leathers under the watch of the tiny spy on his shoulder.
I’d rather fucking die.
“Dance!” he yells in my face.
Electrical pulses scatter across my palms, sparking in my fingertips until I force my eyes closed, summoning her to take over. The Imperial Grand Witch, who bows to His Majesty, as expected.
He gestures to the musicians quietly setting up their instruments along the far wall, and my heart stills with the somber tone rising from the string section, matching my mood exactly.
The Emperor reaches for my hand as the song picks up in tempo, and he leads us into the first steps of the dance. He takes hold of one of my magically shielded hands in his own before pressing his free hand into the center of my back, forcing our chests to collide in the center. My heart hammers from the effect of his control while a wyvern-hybrid made to spy on me stares from his shoulder.
I scramble internally, needing to pull on memories, desperate to access a sense of calm.
A familiar warmth builds between my breasts, prodding me to look for the impossibly bright brown irises causing it. The Emperor spins us slowly, then my own eyes widen at Varic as he sends a light amber mist filled with healing, when he shouldn’t. And even though the connection of our gaze is fleeting now that His Majesty spins me around the floor with more fervency, his interference cannot take the impact of our eye contact away from me. Knowing Varic read my need. Knowing he really sees me.
“Your Majesty.” I startle and turn to where Danor, the Emperor’s telekinetic Guard, follows as we move across the dance floor, far more gracefully and steadily than I would have guessed possible with the amount of wine in which my captor must have imbibed. “Imperial Lead Guard Varic is using healing magic.”
Time stops along with my heart.
“Nonsense. That’s impossible,” Emperor Aldritch claims.
Varic’s use of unsanctioned magic can be detected by him.
“There’s no denying it,” Danor claims, and I swear all color leaves my face.
“What seems to be the problem?” Malin asks from the opposite side of us, as both telekinetic Guards circle while we spin.
“Your Lead Guard is using unsanctioned magic,” Danor says.
Malin’s dark brows furrow so dramatically, I hope no one else recognizes his confusion is a ruse. “I do not know what you think you are sensing. However, I can assure you I would notice long before you could.”
Danor looks Malin up and down, scoffing. “And you would report him?”
“Before you could blink,” Malin says, with more malice than I knew he was capable of. “For I take the laws of our land seriously and would never follow a leader who was so careless in regard to the same.” My eyes widen past the point I would have guessed possible as every word comes out of his mouth dripping in venom.
“As I said—it is nonsense,” Emperor Aldritch claims. “Now, move along and stop ruining everyone’s view of our dancing.”
Danor bows and does as commanded, though not before serving pointed looks in both Malin’s and Varic’s directions.
His Majesty’s thin lips grow even more so with the widening of his smile, then he screws up his face to cough over his shoulder before returning with amusement, while all I can think of is violence?—
