Page 7 of Haunted

“Very well, Your Highness.”

“Tell me how you knew Yorath was going to attack,” she says.

“His emotions were flooding my senses. He was filled with such animosity that I knew exactly when he’d react.”

“You had a lightning-fast reaction.”

“It’s not a moment I care to relive.” I can still feel the blade sliding into my belly.

“Commander Meuric can’t get a read on you.” She says this straightforwardly, as if she hopes to shake me.

I debate what I should divulge. I’m different from other half-emrys. I unlocked secret incantations to block how others perceive me. Unless I wish for death, it’s wise to withhold my secrets from Her Highness. “I have impeccable control, Your Highness.”

She scoffs and turns away. What an audacious move to turn her back on someone who might ultimately harm her! My eyes fall on the cloak that hugs her body. The fabric clings as a lover might, intimately, accentuating her curves and lines. She wears it because, even in this sweltering stronghold, her darkness does not warm her as my light does me. Her darkness leaves a chill that even I feel from a distance.

“So you do.” She angles toward me, in command mode. “I expect you by my side at all councils and receptions.”

I remain impassive. “I’d have it no other way, Your Highness.” No other way.

5

I’m used to my lord holding weekly sessions for his subjects to petition for assistance or for supplemental means. Sometimes Lord Siarl judges disputes between feuding neighbors while I stand by in case he needs my counsel.

None of this is the case at Caer. Personal grievances do not enter the stronghold where Empress Rhianu dwells. Her home is an impenetrable fortress from naysayers. Beds of hardened lava rivers lie in a valley encapsulated by a ring of inactive volcanoes. A journey into the valley is nigh impossible for a mortal unless he’s on a dragon. When selecting boundaries and dividing up the regions in Morvith, the lords stayed away from this area. The land was worthless to them.

That decision was their mistake. The vacancy provided the empress an opportunity to move right in and establish her region while going unchecked. The volcanic beds provided a fireproof breeding ground for her dragons. The empress and her kingdom went unacknowledged until the humans spoke up about the scaly beasts raiding livestock and winter stores going missing.

Instead of the empress admitting her subjects to air grievances, prisoners from the depth of Caer are brought forth one by one.

The day after I’m made chancellor, I find myself standing to the right of her ornamented throne. Her dais is in shadow, except where the empress is draped over the padded arms of her seat. An orb of light, cast by a Half-emrys of Light, hovers to the empress’s left, illuminating her in a foreboding glow. The rest of the hall is a mix of shadows from the sconces on the walls and tall iron stands with flickering tapers. A thick layer of soot blocks what little light comes through the narrow windows. The hall is dismal and gloomy at best.

The empress seems to like the atmosphere.

I sorely miss the bright halls of Elidyr, the capital of Creiddylad, with their impressive expanse of stained-glass windows.

A man in tattered rags kneels before the empress on the floor. His hands are shackled, and he quivers. His verdict is sure. He will die. But the empress drags out his misery.

“You are brave,” the empress muses. “No other mortal dares approach a dragon rider. Tell me, after you sliced through his dragon’s calf, what did you plan to do after that?”

The man defies the empress by making eye contact. “He flew off with two of my sheep. When he returned, I wasn’t going to let him take more.”

The empress is unfazed by the prisoner’s penetrating gaze. “So you thought you’d attack, not fearing for your life?”

“I have three daughters. I have to do what I can to take care of them.”

“You admit you attacked a dragon rider and his dragon.”

The prisoner’s mouth remains closed, pressed into a hard line. He will admit no guilt. Justification comes from him, but it’s dwarfed by his fear.

“Chancellor Caedryn.” The empress doesn’t turn as she speaks.

I do not step forward from the shadows. “Your Highness?”

“Does this man believe he is in the right?”

I’m surprised she consults me, but I speak because she commands it. “He believes he is justified, Your Highness.”

The empress lifts her face to the audience in the room. “But does that mean he’s free from guilt?”

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