Page 217 of Burn Her They Said
My stomach twists with the sense of satisfaction rippling through His Majesty, as he snaps his fingers to call a servant over. “Bring me the nearest young witch or sorcerer?—”
“No,” Varic says in a tone more aggressive than His Majesty would normally allow. “I will drop my shield once you give me your word you will not hurt her.”
The Emperor cackles. “You seem to have confused yourself with the entertainment.” He gestures at the Imperial musicians holding fast to their flutes and string instruments. “You are not here to provide me with song and dance. You are here to comply with my commands.” Dark gray sparks light in the Emperor’s palm as his anger rises, and I choke back a sob while siphoning it all as quickly as possible. “And I command you to drop your shield.”
Varic sends me one last look of sympathy before returning his attention to our ruler, allowing his countenance to relax as he slowly contracts his shield down to conform to my skin.
Malin turns to me, then casts his gaze to his leader and nods in acknowledgment.
Emperor Aldritch’s mood settles now that he seems to believe Varic has complied with his demand. His expression turns jovial as he leans back in his dining throne, curving his lips upward as he sends his dark gray magic to smack my arm.
I flinch and apparently have the desired effect as his cheeks rise in a more devious smile. He steadily raises his wine goblet to tip the remaining wine down his throat, light refracting off the etched sigil in the crystal as he twirls the stem between his fingers. Then we all startle when he slams the vessel down on the dark wood table.
Tiny fragments glint and shimmer until my vision swims and my hearing becomes muffled as I get lost in staring at the reminder of too many recent incidents.
His Majesty demands a new goblet to be brought to him. Black uniforms blur in my periphery as multiple servants scramble to remove all evidence of the Emperor’s tantrum, and I become lost to the grief of it all.
Imperial Army commanders and government officials step back to make a narrow path for His Majesty and his Guards, who lead our procession to the round stage in the War Room.
Varic’s panic pulses through the magical connection I refuse to sever with him. Thrumming harder with every step we take into the confined space, where the very audience allowing him the opportunity to walk mere inches away from me happens to be the same which is causing him to feel claustrophobic.
I poke his arm with my elbow, and he cocks his head to the side with his brow quirked in question. My nostrils flare as I pull a deep breath in, then part my lips wide enough for him to focus on them when I release it. Reminding him he can breathe. He can do this. I’m right here with him.
We turn and face forward as he pulls in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his chest before allowing it to depress with the air coursing out through his mouth.
I draw from memories of when he has comforted me, then condense those emotions into a light blue arc only I can see before sending it to settle within his muscles. I can’t help but mirror his lips when they curve into a subtle smile for me.
The tension in my chest relents, despite the roomful of eyes watching as we move to stand upon the raised stage in the center of the room. Varic releases another heavy breath, and I follow his line of sight to where General Sal narrows his eyes from the crowd. My stomach lurches as I furrow my brow in question, hoping the General will offer me something in response, yet he blinks slowly and casts his attention to our ruler.
The fluttering of tiny wings conjures even more dread as Raki grazes its talon on the edge of my ear as it swoops down. I stifle a shudder as it rises and flies in ominous circles overhead.
His Majesty raises his right hand in salute, commanding the audience to quiet without need for my magic. “You have all been summoned to explain how our Imperial Army has failed to prevent multiple attacks on our Imperial Palace!”
Murmurs rise and fall as the air grows thick with tension, sticking to my throat as their fear increases, and I have no hope of warding against the onslaught of emotions invading my body—not with Varic so near to me. His Majesty seems displeased as he turns to glare at the same time Varic’s eyes flick over to me from his periphery.
My chest heaves as I fail to pull in enough air, gasping—which the Emperor will surely notice, regardless of how angry he is. Fuck. I draw on my magic and prepare to take in the hatred he’s brewing, with the need to decrease his distress before he unleashes a burst of force magic of which we cannot reverse the damage.
The tension of his fury drags me down, like so many ropes tying my limbs to the ground. My skull grows so heavy, my head tips forward, and my pulse pounds with the terror of whatever punishment is to come should the Emperor see how I cannot keep my own head up. I force my gaze ahead when panic pierces my chest.
My heart constricts as amber threads emanate from Varic’s chest—though they don’t course toward me to settle my nerves. Instead, they swerve toward the Emperor.
Cool magic trails up my back as Cirrin sends me his healing, when a purple plume from Malin rises to curve behind and brace my neck. Tears prick my eyes from their compassion.
Emperor Aldritch scowls at me, and my chest constricts with what he might do should I fail him. Tears build as another chill rises up my left arm, and I swallow a sob as the tension releases while Varic stares over at me out of the corner of his eye, drawing my emotions as he takes what I cannot contain. My eyes dart down to where his hands are held clasped behind his back, and I struggle to pull in air as I cannot see whether any sparks emanate from either of his palms, with the hope he has no need to scar his skin the moment my emotions overwhelm him.
Danor shifts his attention to Varic, and I use the energy given to me and tear a sense of confusion from the minds of the Generals standing before us to then feed the pale white threads to Danor. His brows knit together before he turns away. Tears well as I imbue the same within His Majesty—all because my Guards are helping.
“I have summoned you here to explain how our Imperial forces have failed to prevent multiple assassination attempts on our Imperial Grand Witch!” His Majesty screams with a slam of his fist on the diorama before him.
A booming crack echoes off the rounded walls as the wooden model splits straight down the center. Both sides tilt, with the base barely preventing it from slamming to the ground with the damage His Majesty imparted—damage he should not be physically capable of in the absence of his magic.
Everyone seems to share in my terror as we all remain frozen in place. So quiet and still that anyone passing by could easily mistake the scene for a hyperrealistic painting.
Emperor Aldritch glances back at me before yelling, “Now.”
I slam my eyes shut and allow my power to course outward, supported by Varic, Cirrin, and Malin’s magic as I split the blue and white tendrils into hundreds of threads, then force the sensations of calm and peace to fill the chest cavities of those I must manipulate.
Each pulse from my body creates a false sense of trust in the beings he requires to answer his query, pulling too much of my energy as my heartbeat slows—though I don’t dare stop. Not until he’s given the signal that I have done enough.
