Page 2 of Haunted

Red burns into my vision. I can’t stop thinking about how red her hair is.

The blood of thousands.

She’s finally won. We shall all concede to her rule.

2

Seven mortal lords and their most trusted men wait in a semi-circle in front of Empress Rhianu’s tent. A table sits in the midst of the group, covered with documents. Fanciful quills dipped in gold stand at attention in their holders, one for each lord who must pledge his loyalty.

The wind is dead, as dead as we feel inside. I wish for a breeze to stir the dark umber locks plastered to my neck from the moisture-thickened air.

I stand beside Lord Siarl as a member of his council. I’m to be ambassador in the empress’s court once the day is done.

I’m to be a spy.

“Caedryn, my stomach turns,” Lord Siarl says under his breath. “I can’t sign my region away.”

“I know, my lord.” I spread my shoulders broader. I will not show defeat. “This will not be the end.”

“I know I can count on you.”

“Always,” I say.

The flaps on the tent part, and the guards hold them open. The empress’s brother, Commander Meuric, ducks out first. His blue eyes scan the crowd, no doubt assessing for danger. His inner light is weak because the darkness rules him, so he almost certainly is not using his dark power to discern the emotions of the men.

I use my internal light to discern their emotions. Three lords down, Lord Grigor stands erect, disappointment rattling him. Lord Rhydderch suppresses indignant outrage. His realm was the most recently attacked after Her Highness’s promised peace. He had funneled resources into a private league of men for an uprising. They mysteriously went missing.

Nothing mysterious about it. The empress’s dragon riders flew in and annihilated them all.

My Lord Siarl remains impassive. I taught him not to feel in a half-emrys’s presence, not to flinch outwardly. A half-emrys carrying light senses emotion. With remarkably good fortune, I’m the most powerful Half-emrys of Light for leagues. Even Commander Meuric’s light is nothing compared to mine, so if my lord were to flicker with emotion, Commander Meuric wouldn’t sense it in time to react or warn his empress—

Who is not light at all.

Because Her Highness has given herself over fully to the dark power.

Lord Yorath, directly on my left, clenches his fist as the empress emerges, dressed in her finery—leather from head to toe, flowing cloak someone meticulously embroidered. Flashes of red fabric and silver blades.

I sense murderous fury. I don’t glance Yorath’s way, but he’s rash. Lord Siarl warned me to be ready should Yorath act on his foolish impulses.

I am ready.

He will act.

I am sure.

We take a knee and bow our heads as the empress steps closer. Several braids twisted with a bronze circlet at her hairline emphasize her high cheekbones.

“My lords, please rise.” The empress’s voice leaves no room for delay. The squeak of leather fills my ears as we stand. No swords clank at our hips.

We were disarmed earlier.

“I’m pleased you agreed to meet. This is a momentous day.” Her lips are pert, and they form mesmerizing ovals. No lord can look away. “As you sign your fealty, you can rest assured there will be peace. You will secure for yourselves the might of my dragon riders. Mortal men united with immortal half-emrys. We shall prosper. Morvith shall be a nation beyond reproach.”

The empress moves to the end of the table, exposed. She should have stayed behind it, but she’s not afraid of us, of what we could do. So she makes herself vulnerable. “Step forward and swear your oath.”

Her vulnerable placement works for my plan though.

“Lord Grigor.” Commander Meuric gestures to the parchment in front of the lord.

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