Page 41 of Burn Her They Said
“Couldn’t have what?”
“Known that last night would be the final time you would perform this ritual on Hendry.”
His words break through the room, containing all I could not safely express when in Drusilla’s presence. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest, while I greedily breathe in his rich, woody scent. He rubs his hands up and down my back as he leans against the side of the bed.
The rest of my Guards take their designated places around the chamber when Malin’s deep baritone rattles my ribcage as he rocks gently and begins a song meant to help me drift off to sleep—something he used to do far more often, bringing a sense of sentimentality I was not prepared to experience.
He releases his hold on me and continues singing, keeping his voice low as he carries on through the chorus of a common sailor’s song, soothing me until I allow a small smile to form in gratitude as he tips his head and begins the next verse.
Cirrin steps into Hendry’s old place and sets his hand on my shoulder once I drop my head back on the pillow. I pull in a breath made up of Varic’s scent, which subtly remains on the pillowcase, then cast my eyes to the ceiling, where light blue clouds usher me into a dreamless, restless sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Replacement
The creaking of the door pulls me back into consciousness, and I blink to try to clear the sleep from my vision. The energy in the room feels charged with trepidation, weighing heavier than the covers pooling in my lap as I rise to stretch.
I turn to nod in greeting at Hendry when my stomach drops to find Cirrin where my Lead Guard once stood. Realization dawns over me, like the worst of nightmares come to life, as my remaining Guards stare back at me from where they all linger closer than usual to each of my bedposts, aside from Imperial Guard Roy, who remains near the dark wood doors.
Cirrin hands me a glass of water, which I slowly sip from, then hold it in my lap and look around the chamber, seeking any sign of disturbance where Varic might have hidden the book, having failed to ask for confirmation one way or another last night.
“Did V—” I clear my throat, hoping to distract from nearly dropping Varic’s title with Imperial Guard Roy within earshot. “Did General Varic happen to come back after his meeting?”
“He did not,” Fray says, and my mouth dries.
If he hadn’t removed it from his waistband before he left, what excuse could Varic give if the Emperor were to learn of its existence?
My pulse throbs in my temples, increasing the pressure pounding in my head, with the need to know if Varic is safe, and if he left the book in this room, or if he kept it in his possession.
Drusilla sweeps into the bedchamber, hanging a dress with its matching leather pants on the gold Dragon-shaped hook. The infamous details adorning the garment stare back at me as my heart jolts, being the most intricately embroidered piece in my closet, only ever worn for the most important ceremonies. Dragon scales are tooled into the black leather all the way from its high collar to the hem of the skirts, while gold metal scales form plates over the shoulders. The neckline features golden fang-shaped beads, increasing the menacing intent behind my image.
“Come. Sit,” Drusilla commands. “Emperor Aldritch expects you in the Throne Room soon.” I move as if encased in some magical exoskeleton, all stiff and imposing.
“Is Emperor Aldritch holding court so early?” I ask.
Drusilla sweeps my hair back from my shoulders, then brushes it out, starting from the ends and working her way up my thick brown waves with a wry smile twisting her lips.
“His Majesty will be hosting the Guardian Vow Ceremony.”
My stomach drops, heart stopping until it pounds so loudly it drowns out whatever it is she says next, the reflection showing her lips moving without my hearing a word of it.
“Who has His Majesty appointed to be my new Imperial Lead Guard?”
“You will learn the identity at the ceremony with the rest of the Imperial citizens. Now, stop distracting me from my duty.” She pulls my hair back so hard she jerks my neck.
Lars steps forward, white-knuckling the grip on his sword.
Drusilla ignores his attempt at intimidation with a warning, “We must hurry.”
There isn’t a word strong enough to describe the level of fatigue and lethargy after performing the routine of siphoning my Guards’ feelings, replacing their weariness with focus, concentration, and alertness. Such a normal activity has drawn on a sense of fear to lance my heart, since holding my head upright takes every bit of focus I have left.
Imperial servants stream in carrying gold trays with assorted fruits, pastries, and sausage links. After they’ve left, Cirrin hands me a black mug filled with steaming hot coffee, while Fray places a plate on the vanity.
Malin and Lars hold their plates before them, remaining upright while their jaws work. Imperial Guard Roy keeps watch over the door while Cirrin and Fray drink their coffee, waiting for their turn to break their fast.
My stomach turns as I stare at the plate Fray made for me. Nothing seems appetizing, and every bite will taste bland, anyway.
“Eat.”
