Page 128 of Burn Her They Said
The rest of my Guards pause their tasks to better observe our interaction.
“I think we all know the answer,” Lars says, as a widened grin breaks across Fray’s pale face, with each of them staring from Varic to myself as they await a response—of which, we offer none. I clear my throat and adjust my neckline as if nothing of importance has just occurred—until my Lead Guard steps closer, and I warn him, “You need to be more careful, Varic.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Court
I know what it feels like to die. That crushing weight on your chest as terror and desperation tug your heart down into your intestines. The way your lungs freeze once air is no longer required, with your very last breath so shallow it may not truly qualify as your existence fades into nothing. Just one last desperate pull, and that’s it. Your heart patters its final beat, and your body stills, drained of all life essence.
Every victim of my magic has sent me this same feeling, beseeching me with the intensity of what they’re experiencing. Pleading for me to end their suffering. To remove my power and put a stop to the torment, of which there is only one option—for the Emperor would never allow them to live once he’s commanded me to ensure their demise.
That same weight—that terror and despair—fills my chest with every step that brings us closer to the Throne Room. Drumbeats fill the space up to the vaulted ceilings. My pulse climbs with the tempo of my entrance song while everything in me screams to run in the opposite direction.
We wait for the acolytes to finish carrying each of our banners, heart sinking with the signet on Varic’s showcasing the value our Empire places on him—lauding his strength and nothing more. Making it known he is meant to please His Majesty in keeping me safe so he might gloat some more about his strongest force sorcerer.
My own banners fly with that eclipsed moon adorned with a single Dragon’s Fury flower, prompting Varic to pull in a deep breath when he sees it. Teeth clenched—perhaps to cage in a scream—as the mystery regarding my signature scent remains unanswered, and it clearly bothers him.
We step onto the stage with the line of citizens streaming through the same wide doorframe where Varic’s silhouette stopped my heart only a few days ago.
My Guards square their shoulders and clasp their hands behind their backs, as we take our places to the heavy thrum of the Emperor’s entrance music.
His Majesty’s cape ripples in his wake as he strides toward his throne, while each of his Guards glance over and regard my own, souring my stomach with every satisfied grin they send in our direction.
Piercing gray eyes pin mine, and ice trickles down my spine as His Majesty makes some gesture with his hand I do not recognize. Furrowing my brow by mistake, I miss the dark gray mist of his force magic until Varic’s force-shield tingles up my skin, protecting me just before the Emperor’s magic slams into my chest so hard I stumble back.
Varic glances from me to the Emperor, my magic detecting the rage building inside his chest. I send him a tendril of wariness, with the need for him to look at me so I can discourage him. My pulse pounds until he finally shifts his attention forward and peers over at me in his periphery. I shake my head as subtly as I can, to which he nods in understanding.
Emperor Aldritch raises his brows at me, and I issue him a shallow bow now that he flicks his gaze over the citizens—whose temperament must not meet his need to be celebrated.
I pull on whatever energy is left in me and draw on the excitement I felt when each of my Guards shouted with joy as we flew through the air on the backs of their respective Dragons—then send wisps of each emotion into the citizens, bypassing the soldiers and witches flanking the sea of standing bodies.
The drums quiet and slow along with my pulse, as the energy required to modify so many citizens is draining me more than I can tolerate. I drop my hand to my side and tap my ring finger to my thumb, signaling to Cirrin, then do the same toward Varic to have him part his shield.
Heat blankets my left arm when Varic turns to assess me, and my pulse pounds heavier as Cirrin’s healing rises up my ankle.
I release a breath and prepare to send out more joy and excitement, then widen my eyes at the glowing tendrils of amber emitting from Varic.
I turn, without thinking, and glance at Danor—hoping he cannot detect this—before turning to inspect the telekinetic soldiers. None of whom react in the way I would expect, allowing me to release a breath.
The citizens all seem to relax once Varic’s magic infiltrates their chests.
Tears prick my lashes as Varic peers out into the crowd with a trill of pride my own power detects as he aids me in this.
My chest constricts at the beautiful sight of his glowing amber tendrils supporting me like this.
His Majesty lowers his hand in command for me to retract my magic, and I tap my ring finger to my thumb by Varic to let him know he has done enough. My heart constricts when he pulls his influence back inside himself, leaving the room with a lighter energy than when we entered.
“Look at all who have come just for an opportunity to speak with your beloved Emperor.” Shouts rise from the crowd with his acknowledgement. “Who would we be if we did not first give glory to our illustrious benefactors, the Dragons!”
“To whom we owe everything!” the rest of us chant after him.
Light blue mist continues to cool my skin as Cirrin sends his magic toward me, seeking every part of me in need of healing, until the cells in my body feel lighter and the heavy blanket of fatigue lifts. Gratitude thrums in my chest and I wish to turn and thank both him and Varic. Though my Lead Guard took a risk he shouldn’t have, I can’t find it in myself to be angry with him.
“And to Ampara Deicra!” the Emperor cries, fist held high.
“Our glorious Empire!” I chant with the crowd.
Acolytes from the Temple of the Dragon pass hammered, gold offering bowls into the crowd, and Imperial Priest Kado steps forward to deliver his speech about the necessities of providing an offering. I swallow back the yawn threatening to break free as he repeats the words I’ve heard countless times before. The acolytes form a circle with their fingers, giving the signal they have collected the required offering in the shape of our sigil.
