Page 3 of Haunted

Grigor scrawls his signature and steps back.

I step forward with my lord, holding his elbow. Lord Siarl’s health has declined with age, and part of my pretense is to support him so I can move closer to the empress. Lord Siarl signs his paper. He shuffles so slowly as he turns, and as I turn with him, that Lord Yorath has grown impatient and brushes past us.

I sense his urgency and restless need. His hand lifts, and a flash of deadly metal catches my eye.

The pain will be quick.

I planned for this.

Mortals are slow. What takes him a second, I do in one hundredth of the time. I whirl between him and my new empress as he attacks. I actually see the tip of the blade before it sinks into my stomach.

I draw breath and grab the hilt before he can shove the weapon deeper. Though the pain is excruciating, I rip the knife from my stomach and slash it across Yorath’s throat.

His blood spurts. His death is quick. Yorath topples forward as my knees hit the ground.

“Help him,” the empress says. Is she concerned for my well-being?

I’m in a tunnel. Wind whips past my ears.

Red is all I see.

Is it the empress’s hair?

“Take him inside,” a woman says.

The red is from the blood on my palms.

My blood.

3

I groan.

I blink my eyes. There’s black canvas above me.

I’m in a tent. It’s warm. Candles flicker.

I’m not alone.

Movement beside me draws my eye.

“You’re stupid,” the empress says. “I’m immortal.”

“So am I,” I say, unless I’m not healed in time. Half-emrys have that advantage, accelerated healing, which is why I didn’t flinch at stepping in front of a blade.

Just to spare her pain.

The empress leans over the bed—her bed—that I’m lying in. The ornate fabrics around me, the glowing pillars of gold. This is hers, all hers, and she welcomed me inside.

She could kill me.

I could kill her so easily.

I’m sure she’s aware of that.

“Does it hurt much?” she asks.

With great effort, I lift my head.

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