CHAPTER EIGHT Sev

Piera Sil’Danne. I hadn’t seen her in years, but I knew her in an instant.

She had almost married my brother, in another life. And in that life I had also been in love with her.

We’d grown up together in Ruzi. Her family was one of a small noble court that my father had kept, and despite the gap in our ages—she was five years my senior—she was my best friend, and she was kind, patient, and fiercely intelligent. As I grew older, I began to notice other things: the grace of her neck, the scent of the soap she used to wash her face, the way her voice brushed over my skin. But I was gawky and clumsy and still so young, and she was promised to Callum. Still I flirted, and she tolerated me tripping over my own feet when I asked her to dance. I could make her laugh, and when I did, it felt as though I could do anything.

After the emperor killed my father and brother, I thought I would never see her again. And I was right—save for one night.

I was fourteen. My mother and I had been in hiding for years by then, smuggled between friendly households every few months. But we’d been seen and reported, and had fled without a plan. The Sil’Dannes—a family known to be sympathetic to us, and under the Flame’s surveillance because of it—were a last resort, a bed to sleep in for one night before flying once more into the storm.

We arrived under cover of darkness and were bundled quickly through the servants’ corridor from one room to the next. The door to a hallway opened, and there she was, ringed in light. I hung back, reluctant to let Piera see me reduced to an outcast dressed in rags and covered in travel grime. But she ran toward us, and I was startled to see that she was crying. I was taller than she was now, and I ducked my head as she approached. Before anyone could protest, she raised herself up on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. I turned into a dumbfounded, sweating statue, my skin tingling long after she had been escorted away.

That was the last time I saw her. Two weeks later my mother was murdered. Not long after that I was found by the Dragons.

And sometime between then and now, she had become the empress of Zefed.

I watched her sweep across the floor with the emperor in a graceful dance. To an outside observer, they made an excellent pair. Both objectively attractive, their dark heads in perfect alignment as they turned. He was older than her, but not extremely so. And as she came from one of the disgraced noble families of Ruzi, it was an exceptional match for her.

How could I have been so careless to not have learned more about the empress? I grimaced. I had dug this hole for myself.

I picked up a glass of wine and downed its contents in one swig. Too late I remembered that Faris was watching me. My reaction to the empress would certainly be noted. Ah well, it couldn’t be helped now.

Piera had a son, I knew that much. The emperor’s heir was two years old. I wondered how the match had come to be. She hadn’t needed to marry at all, and indeed, marriage was falling out of fashion among some of the younger nobles. But she had come close to marrying Callum. The emperor must have known that when he’d decided to propose. So why had he done it? And how could she have married him?

A servant refilled my glass, and I drained it again.

I needed to stop. Now. Stop now.

I needed to leave this place, but I could not. I needed to be seen enjoying myself. I was supposed to be a loyal citizen of the empire, loyal servant of Rafael, the Flame of the West.

I left my food at the table, swerved around a peacock, and set foot on the dance floor. The music had changed again, this time to a dance from Kyseal meant to be performed without partners. Lucky for me. I didn’t think I could keep up my mask at close range. Besides, my broken fingers still ached badly enough that I’d rather not have put them in someone else’s hand.

I joined the dance without too much trouble, although a wine-induced haze had fallen between me and the rest of the room. Still, I kept pace well enough, plastering some semblance of a smile onto my face and taking just enough care with my steps.

The song ended, and the room filled with applause. The clapping was loud and jarring, but just as I was turning to go, I felt something press against my side. I turned my head, but there was no one there—just shifting bodies leaving the dance behind.

I kept my expression even as I returned to stand by Faris and discreetly touched my pocket. There was a telltale wrinkle. Someone had slipped me a note, and done so most expertly. I could not read it here—that would have to wait until I was back in my quarters.

The evening wore on, and I danced twice more before the pounding in my head threatened to incapacitate me. Was it possible that the music was getting louder as it grew later? The chamber was still full, but I hadn’t seen the emperor or Piera in some time. I assumed they had retired. I leaned toward Faris. “Can we go now?”

“It’s your decision,” Faris said. “You are a prince, after all.”

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than scowl at her, consequences be hanged. “I’m beginning to think you’ve been employed to annoy me to death,” I said.

The woman had the gall to laugh at me. “Fear not, shadow prince. You’ve stayed long enough.”

The hallway outside was blessedly quiet, the lamps turned down to give the impression of intimacy. I wondered how many assignations had taken place in the alcoves that bordered the hall. And how many people had done so without realizing how exposed they were to observant eyes?

“What next?” I asked as we reached my door. Half-drunk as I might be, I had managed to memorize the way to my own chamber and was fairly confident I could navigate there on my own in the future, not that I would ever be allowed to walk through this palace unaccompanied.

Faris nodded to the two guards stationed outside the door. It was strange that the chamber was guarded even when I wasn’t in it, but perhaps that was to prevent unplanned visits from anyone who might feel too sympathetic to my cause.

One guard opened the door, and I walked inside to find Rafael sitting in the receiving area.

I blinked slowly. This couldn’t be a good sign. “What do you want?” I couldn’t muster the energy—or control, really—to be properly deferential. Besides, he knew exactly how much loyalty I felt toward him.

“Feeling emboldened after the festivities, are you?” the emperor said. He had changed out of his court attire into a simple black tunic and trousers, his crown replaced by the more informal circlet. Here, in reasonable lighting, I could see the dark circles under his eyes and strands of gray hair threaded through the black. He looked tired… or worried. I suppressed a smile at the thought as he leaned back in his chair. “Faris, if you would be so kind,” he said, waving a hand.

Faris placed a hand on my shoulder. A sudden, burning pain ignited in my hand, and I flinched, a short, surprised cry escaping my lips. It felt as though someone had taken hold of my fingers and wrenched them in exactly the same way they had been broken only days earlier. But my hand, when I held it up, appeared unchanged. Somehow, that made it even worse.

Bile rose up in my throat and I sank to my knees—and the pain dissipated abruptly. I fell over onto the floor, my ears ringing. Faris had barely even touched me, but somehow she’d done this?

Rafael rose from his chair and stood over me, resting one boot on top of my injured hand. “You would do well to remember that your continued existence depends entirely on my good will,” he said softly. “You will give me the respect I am due as your emperor. Do you understand?”

He pressed down on my hand, and I clenched my jaw, trying not to cry out again.

The weight increased, and I whimpered. Fire ran up my arm. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, forcing the words out past the pain.

“I didn’t hear that,” he said silkily.

Gods, was he going to crush my entire hand? Spots were hovering in my vision, I was sure I was about to vomit, Tera’s bones, the pain—“Please,” I hissed, “please, Your Illustrious Excellence, benevolent-Flame-of-the-West-father-of-Zefed-please—”

“That’s better,” he said, lifting his foot just enough to free my hand.

I rolled away from him, gasping in relief as I curled around my arm.

“For reasons that escape me, the peasantry have adopted you as the figurehead for their ridiculous demands. Your performance tonight was adequate, but you will have to do more to convince the citizens of Zefed of your loyalty. Tomorrow there will be a parade through Irrad. You will smile and wave to the people. You will make them believe that you’ve renounced your unfortunate upstart ways completely. You will show them unequivocally where your loyalties lie.”

I got slowly to my feet. I was afraid of speaking, but I had to know something. “What about my friends?” I asked quietly. “I agreed to this deal because you promised to keep them out of harm’s way. To pardon them.”

“Did I?” Rafael brushed invisible dirt from his sleeve and looked around the room with distaste, as though he had not specifically chosen this chamber for me. “Well, we’ll see how well you perform tomorrow.”

He swept from the room without another word, leaving me alone with Faris. I let myself fall into the nearest chair. “So you’re a walking torture device,” I said.

She spread her hands but made no apology. “Do you think the emperor would have handed you over to just any Aurat?”

Maren feared the Aurati like no other. She’d been more frightened to walk into Lumina than to thumb her nose at the emperor himself, but she’d done it anyway. My feelings had always been more complicated. The Aurati were an institution of the empire, but they were not necessarily evil. Of course, that had been before I knew that at least some of the terrifying powers they were rumored to have were real.

“You could have been honest about it.”

“And ruin such a good surprise?” She nodded toward the bed. “You’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

I had a feeling that all of my days from now on would be big days. Because every single one would involve walking a tightrope and hoping that I did nothing to offend the emperor. The emperor of Zefed, who was famously erratic and might change his mind at any time, for any reason.

Faris left the room, and I heard the door lock behind her. I waited a few moments, just in case there were to be any more surprises tonight. But after I heard her footsteps retreat from the room, I bent over at the waist, a sob wrenching through my entire body.

I had trained with Brika’s kiss. I had prepared myself for the possibility of torture. I had withstood years of hiding, days of darkness in that dank cell, the guards breaking my fingers, swearing false fealty, the emperor laughing at me like I was an amusing child. But something had snapped when he’d touched me, his boot grinding my hand into the floor. In that instant, I was viscerally reminded that I was no longer living in the dream of revenge. This was reality, my endgame, and I was losing. My adversary no longer existed only in theory—and at any given moment I was one word away from dead.

I had crumbled so easily. I wasn’t worthy of my parents’ name. I certainly wasn’t worthy of the adulation that had been heaped onto the legend of the shadow prince of Ruzi—I was a joke, a pathetic, shaking, crying human body just like the countless others broken before me. Now I was afraid I might give in to anything, anything at all, under enough pressure. I was defeated and utterly alone.

No. I still had Maren and the dragon kit. If they even choose to come for me at all, I thought bitterly. I could not pretend that Maren cared for me in the same way that she loved her heartmate.

After a while my body stopped shaking. Exhausted, I stood up, kicking off my shoes and loosening my clothing before collapsing backward onto the bed.

Something crinkled as I moved—the note in my pocket. The evening’s performance already felt so distant, I’d forgotten all about it. I started to reach for the paper before wondering whether I had actually been correct in my assessment that there were no spy holes in this room.

As a precaution, I got up and staggered into the bathing area. It was an enclosed space—the best I could do, outside of climbing into my wardrobe with a candle. I tried to be nonchalant as I took off my jacket and hunched over, palming the paper out of the pocket. My heart skipped a beat as I studied it.

As children, Piera and I had delighted in making up codes and passwords to keep our correspondence secret, one of which was a particular way of folding paper to form a self-enclosed envelope. Like the one I now held in my hand. The only other person who had ever learned how to do it was Callum.

So Piera had seen me in court. I wanted to tear open the note but restrained myself. If I were to write back, I would need to reuse the paper.

I unfolded it gently and smoothed it out in the candlelight.

Tomorrow. Garden of Hearts, after supper. —P

What did she want? Could this be a trap?

Anything could be a trap… but the emperor already had me, I reasoned. Besides, Piera was the only potential ally I had. Despite the fact that the Dragons supposedly had a presence here at court, none of them had made an attempt to reach out to me today.

Perhaps I was making excuses, but I couldn’t deny that the note had lifted my spirits. I wanted to see her. The only question was how.