Page 32 of Burn Her They Said
Liar
Varic
“What is the meaning of this?” an Imperial Guard shouts as a large group of them enters the annex.
Lars offers me his hand, and I cradle Tasch’s head to my chest as he helps me stand—thankfully without waking her. A garbled moan rumbles from her throat, squeezing my own as I crook an arm beneath her knees and prop her head against my chest.
“A firebomb went off on the balcony,” Fray reports. “It took Hendry.”
All of the blood leaves my upper body, because no matter how Tasch may attempt to assure me, I will always feel responsible for not having made sure he was behind me. For not being the responsible leader in a crisis, like I have been so many times before this.
For failing to save him.
The Imperial Guard leading the group pales behind his freckles, making his curly red hair appear more prominent. “You can’t be serious.” His boots crunch over broken glass as he steps around Cirrin to peer out the open doorway before glancing over at Tasch with sympathy.
Additional Guards stream in, and I retreat, heart pounding as I back away into the adjoining room, while Tasch’s Guards form a semi-circle of protection around us, moving with me the moment His Majesty’s perfectly polished boots storm toward us.
I force my lungs to pace my breathing when his piercing gray eyes lock on mei waella before rising to narrow on mine. I mirror his expression, back at the one who didn’t listen.
Who could have prevented this, had he heeded my warning about Minacia’s attacks growing increasingly erratic, when I implored him to believe my reports of such months ago.
“What happened to her?”
“She is unharmed and sleeping, Your Majesty,” Cirrin reports.
“Where is Imperial Lead Guard Hendry?” he asks, and my heart lurches against my ribs.
“He fell with the balcony,” Lars states. “A search team should?—”
“Yes, yes, that will be handled,” Emperor Aldritch says as he studies me with an unsettling level of interest, while an all-too familiar expression of cunning and determination curves his thin lips upward.
My stomach turns as the hybrid-wyvern creature he ordered Wyrth to create for him flits closer, hovering over Tasch close enough I have to refrain from smacking it to the ground to ensure it does not touch her while the Emperor studies my every movement.
“I will act as her interim force Guard,” I blurt out, heating my ears further.
The Emperor quirks a brow on the same side his cheek rises. “Yes, you will be her interim force Guard until I send Imperial Guard Roy to relieve you—” Force sparks in my palms, stinging my fingertips as I ball my hands into fists, trying to pull it back, to keep from hurting her. “—temporarily, as I require a meeting with you.” I swallow and nod, force magic retreating.
“You will take my little witch to her chambers,” he commands, not seeming to care I am the one holding her after years of calculated attempts at keeping us parted, trudging away with a flick of his hand and his cape fluttering in his wake.
“Follow me,” Lars commands, glancing over at each of her Guards who maintain their proximity.
They each turn and survey our surroundings as we move forward, ensuring no one tries to harm her, as the firebomb must have been intended.
None of them say anything about me being the one to carry her. Not a single one questions why it is I who holds her, and my heart quirks with their apparent acceptance and understanding of what Tasch and I are to each other.
Regardless, I expected more pushback. Especially from Lars or Fray, assuming they would demand I hand her over, requiring their arms be the ones who escort her to safety.
Not me.
Not the mass murderer they’ve been made to respect because of my power and its usefulness to our Emperor.
Slight whimpers escape Tasch’s lips, and my chest constricts with the need to crush her to me and run from this place. To steal her away from this tyrant, ensuring he never sees nor hears from her, except on her terms?—
“I have you, mei meida,” I whisper, pulling her closer as we near the stairwell. “I’m so sorry about Hendry. I know what he meant to you—how his loss will pain you.”
A flash of my own pain descends, bringing a memory with it?—
Jase’s eyes narrow as he laughs, obscuring the mischievous twinkle held within. His hand claps me hard on the shoulder as the black hair he refuses to cut shorter falls over his ears. I send him away with a wave as he leaves for the canteen, claiming we need more provisions when it is he who is always hungry.
