Page 131 of Burn Her They Said
Chill mist imbues me with energy, coming from both sides of my body, as Varic and Cirrin spare what they can so I might use my magic to manipulate the citizens to keep them from displaying their disappointment.
Danor stops to turn back and stare pointedly at Varic just long enough for us to notice before obediently storming off stage with the Emperor. I pull in a deep breath in his absence and focus on sending threads of satisfaction into the chests of every citizen who traveled far and wide for an opportunity to speak with His Majesty, preventing them from appropriately reacting to their ruler’s abandonment as he leaves them to return home to determine their own solutions without resources.
Chapter Forty-Six
Fog
Servants, soldiers, and nobles all stop to gawk as we descend the stone stairs from the throne room down to the crescent-shaped driveway. Thick fog swirls beneath the gray light of morning in an ominous scene where ten black carriages loom ahead of us. Its eerie gray mist weaves around the legs of servants as they rush past the giant black geldings who make the carriages all seem small by comparison. I release a breath at the large gold sigils emblazoned on the doors, as they will only tell our enemies who rides within, should we encounter any on the road to Annovia.
A chill rolls up my spine as the line of soldiers and witches stare from the tree line, where they shield us from whatever lurks in the pines.
Wheels creak with the amount of servants loading trunks into cargo holds, and I become so distracted by the bustling activity, I nearly collide with Lars’ shoulder when he pauses. My heart aches as I stare up at the way his widened eyes dart between the black geldings secured before every carriage, though I cannot relate to this fear of horses, since all I feel is the urge to walk over and pet them.
I glance from him to the horses known for their stature, and the shine of their onyx coats many claim to be deceptive. The trait which apparently tricks some into believing they should be mild-mannered, while their haughty attitude is apparently less desirable.
Varic turns to Lars and takes his arm in hand before leaning over to share a private message.
I narrow my eyes at them in a question, and Varic does me the favor of whispering in my direction, “Your flower.” He gestures to the fog-covered ground just past the carriages.
My vision blurs and an overwhelming sense of something calls to me when I turn and look where he’s pointing, with something encouraging me to traverse the forest. Some voice chants for me to run away and join them—leaving me with an odd juxtaposition of longing and dread.
I shake my head to clear the message, then my heart leaps when Lars becomes a red blur and speeds off. He stoops before the patch of flowers, and his chest expands with a deep intake of breath just above the nearest Dragon’s Fury. My throat constricts as I scan the soldiers and Guards, hoping no one is witnessing his odd behavior, before he speeds back to us without seeming to have caught anyone’s attention.
He drops his head and pretends to inspect the embroidered design on my shoulder as he pulls in a deep breath near my head. My heart hammers in anticipation of someone whispering behind their hand about the strange way my Guard is behaving, yet they all carry out their commands without sparing us a glance.
“It is the same scent,” Lars says. “I think you’re on to something, Leader.”
I spin to the side and pin Lars’ eyes until he notes my surprise, since I never would have guessed he had it in him to be this amenable to a theory posited by Varic.
“You mean the theory you mentioned?” Fray asks Varic, who nods.
“What I don’t understand is how her scent has been the same since the rest of us were appointed her Guard,” Lars begins. “If someone is infusing this essence with the aim of making her more compliant, I can assure you it has never been effective.”
I narrow my eyes at him in jest, and he mirrors me in protest.
“And if this is being done by someone observing her closely, you’d think they would have modified their strategy. If the essence can influence you by being placed on your skin, perhaps they could up the dose to help make our job a little easier.” He nudges my shoulder, then his face falls with mine. “Sorry. That was unkind of me.”
“You are correct. It would do all of us a lot of good if I were able to shut my mouth more often. Especially around him.” I nod toward Varic, and his ears flame crimson.
Loose gravel crunches underfoot as he pivots to face us. “We will have to investigate further upon our return.” The rest of my Guards nod in agreement. “Now, for the journey. Three of us will keep watch from inside the cabin, while the other two will remain outside, with one on the front and one on the back of the carriage. Every Guard will rotate except for you, Cirrin, as you will serve Tasch best by remaining with her.”
Cirrin nods, and my heart lurches at the sight of His Majesty striding from the Palace. We pause to wait for him to storm before us with his own Guards trailing behind him.
“I trust you will be on your best behavior.” His Majesty nods to me, and Raki flaps its wings. “Won’t you, my little witch?”
I bow as he leans in to whisper, “You will be mindful of your interactions with your Lead Guard.” He straightens to serve me with a pointed expression before glaring at Varic. “Drusilla will ride with you.”
My stomach plummets, and my magic digests Varic’s distress as it grows too vast for him to contain all at once. I siphon his fear and despair, which arise under the threat that Drusilla will report anything she notices to the Emperor. Then his frustration slams into me like a blustering wind the moment His Majesty strides toward his carriage. I release a breath and open my mouth to say something, when the Emperor coughs, drawing our attention as it lasts longer than usual.
Wyrth rushes to his side, and Raki rotates to face me, while the Emperor’s Guards all sneer toward my own before returning to help him through yet another coughing fit.
The muscles in my legs quiver and affect my gait as we move toward our own carriage, which Cirrin must notice, since his healing chills my skin and keeps me from bringing attention to such weakness.
Varic halts before the coach, leaning in closely while speaking in a low tone, “Lars and I will take the first shift guarding from the outside.” Lars nods while his eyes flick over to the horses. “Malin, Fray, and Cirrin, you will ride inside with Tasch and Drusilla.”
A jolt runs through my chest when my name passes his lips, quickly followed by a dose of dread when he names her. Especially now that we will have to be mindful of every expression. Every word.
“You’ll take the front,” Varic says, turning to Lars, who blanches while pulling on his most pitiful, pleading expression.
