Page 19 of Haunted

She’s hardly winded.

She dances around the yard, as graceful as she is deadly. As she knocks her opponents down, new ones step up. After another hour of play, the half-emrys drop back and Dark Emrys step forward, formidable opponents bearing no light. They’ve earned the title of Dark Emrys. Wicked, abominable half-emrys who have sided with evil and bear its mark. The empress’s warm-up has become a workout.

I can’t take my eyes off her. Her brown irises have darkened, but a strength surges behind them. Her muscles ripple as her energy lashes out and strikes her men. Her coiled hair sits high on her head, and her corset hugs her body. Her attire, her movements, everything about her is seamless with the darkness as it emerges from within her being.

Despite my loathing, I admit she’s a fearsome thing of beauty.

I lean against the wall, as is my usual position, cowering in the shadows, spying on her. The empress hasn’t been a threat to anyone for some time. I’m growing bored. Plans must move forward. There was a rumor of Commander Meuric coming and going in the night several days ago. The empress must have summoned him after I told her his location. But why?

What’s on the move? No armies are assembling. The dragon riders operate as expected, policing the regions. Trade is stable. We are actually at peace.

Neifion enters my mind. Caedryn. He’s been in Creiddylad, checking on Siarl. I don’t like the concern in his voice.

Yes, my brother.

Siarl has fallen ill. He needs a healer.

My chest tightens. What ails him? Neifion opens his memory of Lord Siarl to me. He’s deathly pale. I don’t like to think of Siarl as sick. He’s too frail and too old for his body to handle illness. I should be there with him.

She will let you come.

I wouldn’t count on it. The empress is too unpredictable.

She’ll at least send healers, Neifion says.

I can only hope.

Siarl desires to speak with you.

I straighten. Why? Does he fear he’s dying?

You must convince her to let you come.

Neifion, what are you not telling me? I dislike having Neifion as my only way to communicate with the man I look to as a father. I’ve wasted months with the empress. Why must I be the one to play these games with her?

You know why. You’re the only one who could.

Because I am stuck between worlds. Stuck between loyalties. Had I been born from two half-emrys parents instead of one, I would be enslaved in her army and carrying out her vile deeds of destruction.

But you are not, Neifion says.

“Caedryn.”

I jerk out of the shadows when the empress says my name. During my conversation with Neifion, my sight blurred to the empress and her whereabouts. She calls to me as she strides forward. She’s winded from her scrimmage, and she tips a water goblet to her mouth.

After she quenches her thirst, she holds her hand out and drops the goblet, but a servant, who is close on the empress’s heels, slips a tray under the falling goblet before it crashes to the ground.

I mentally prepare myself for whatever inquiry the empress has, for whatever unpredictable request or duty she would have me fulfill. “Your Highness.”

“You have that look in your eye.”

“A look, Your Highness?”

“I can always tell when you’re talking with your dragon. You become all glassy-eyed. This time something has upset you.”

She cares? I nod in agreement. “Lord Siarl is ill, Your Highness.”

A flicker of compassion crosses her features.

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