Page 193 of Burn Her They Said
“That is all.” The Queen’s tone is enchanting, and the words resound in my ears long after her lips are sealed.
Varic gestures for my Guards to huddle closer, and I strain to hear as they speak in such low tones I am unable to decipher anything before they straighten. Varic’s expression is pained as he offers me his hand, which I take without question.
He helps me to rise from the throne before leaning in to whisper, “I will only allow this to happen with your consent. And if you agree, I will maintain my shield everywhere except the area of your skin where I will be the one to make the incision, and only with the use of my dagger, so that the blade cannot be laced with anything.”
My chest expands, and I squeeze his hand while he aids me in stepping carefully over the uneven ground. “Thank you for thinking of this. I consent, should they agree to your terms.”
His cheek rises with the smallest of smiles, barely decipherable behind the fabric of his mask. Though it is muted, my magic can still sense the fear and concern riddling his chest. I try to conjure a sense of calm for him when my stomach drops—as mere fragments, only bits and pieces of emotions, sputter within.
Meaning the connection I maintain with our ruler and each of my Guards must require more of my power than I can spare. And yet I cannot quit. I need to know their emotions. It’s too dangerous to be left in the dark and leave them without my support.
My throat bobs as I swallow against the fear of what might happen should I lose connection, as His Majesty’s intrigue comes through rather hazy—a tell-tale sign my magic is weakening. Though my Guards’ emotions are crisp and vibrant, all I can hope is that I do not use too much and faint before everyone.
Queen Celine gestures for me to stand beside her, and I do as she bids while Varic explains his demands. She graciously acquiesces while my Guards surround me, save Varic, who lifts my left hand with one of his own while prying his dagger free with the other.
Moonlight casts down now that the clouds have cleared, allowing an ethereal brightness to illuminate the Queen as she makes her speech, on which I can scarcely focus, seeming like a garbled mess to my ears.
“Are you ready, mei waella?” Varic whispers.
I nod in affirmation. Because it’s him. The one I trust with my whole being.
A tingling sensation rolls down my skin, and I lift my gaze to peer at the bright gray orb with the distinct feeling that my magic has been enlivened. Thrumming while I focus on the magical tether I hold with His Majesty and all of my Guards. Sensing their emotions in bright, vivid colors. Awe strikes me, and I stare at the moon in appreciation, as if it were possible to be empowered by its beauty alone.
“I have chosen to make a concession,” Queen Celine says. “To allow Imperial Lead Guard Varic to do the honor of drawing the blood in place of myself.”
Varic’s nostrils flare at the use of the gruesome description. Then he forces out a breath and parts his shield over the middle of my palm. Warmth disappears from the skin where he is to place the blade over my hand, then my heart constricts when Varic flicks his eyes up to mine in sympathy. I follow as he lowers his gaze, where he studies the indentations made by my nails, each one appearing more prominent with the shadows made by the angle of moonlight. He rubs the pad of his thumb over every crescent-shaped divot before he presses four pulses into my skin—proving he wants me, claims me even, despite my brokenness.
I nod once he raises his dagger in question, then stare down as he places the sharp end of his blade to my hand. His movements are sure, and he makes the cut with careful precision before his eyes flick up to mine in careful assessment. I smile to let him know he did not hurt me. Or at least, not in the way he worries.
He squeezes four more pulses into my flesh before indicating the field behind my back.
I drop my hand to my side and maintain eye contact when I squeeze my hand into a fist, then shudder from the sensation of warm blood seeping from between my fingers.
“All Hail the Queen of the Harvest, who so selflessly gave part of herself for the good of all who inhabit our land,” Her Royal Highness shouts, garnering applause from the crowd as I turn to her in question, hoping this has been enough to appease her.
The crowd parts, and I hold my breath when Prince Auden strides through the opening.
Queen Celine gestures for him to come closer and announces, “Prince Auden will now perform the dressing of your wound.”
I turn to Cirrin and shake my head, communicating the need for him to wait and heal me after this part of the tradition.
Prince Auden smiles at the servant who offers him a strip of gauze before turning to me.
I hold out my bloodied hand to him and look for a bowl of water, as I expect him to wash my wound prior to wrapping it—though Varic would most likely assume it was infused with poison and refuse to allow me to use it. Yet no servants arrive with such, and I force out a breath when Varic holds a hand up to halt us.
“Wait. How do we know this bandage was not treated with any substance?”
“Here.” Cirrin produces a small section of gauze from his leathers.
Prince Auden thanks him and takes it without challenge, suggesting the gauze they intended him to use was perfectly clean. The prince flicks his gaze pointedly at Varic before focusing on his task by taking my hand, as offered. He begins wrapping the bandage, and I stare down to watch his work.
“I hope you are enjoying being the center of attention,” Prince Auden says, folding the end of the gauze under the top layer to secure it before he pats the side to indicate he’s finished.
A buzzing, itchy sensation rises along the skin of my palm and fingers while I thank him, then clasp my hand within the other, confounded by his statement after all he’s learned of me and my situation.
Cirrin places his hand over mine to heal the incision when a servant moves closer.
“I’ll take that for you,” the servant says, holding her hand out while my brow furrows.
