Page 8 of Haunted

No one responds. The question is not meant to be answered, but I sense flashes of conflicting feelings, from her guards as well as her court of immortal followers. The few who show a trace of compassion and believe he should be freed will never speak up.

“It is unlawful to attack a rider and his dragon.” The empress says. “The penalty is death.”

The prisoner crumples, and his forehead touches the ground. When he doesn’t utter a word in his despair, I admire his courage.

“Caedryn, does he feel remorse?” the empress asks.

Why does she ask me this? The man does not feel remorse, but he most definitely feels sorrow. He’s about to lose his head, for Creator’s sake. The room knows this. Anyone can guess this. The empress does not need my assessment of the wretched man’s feelings.

She’s testing me again.

I swallow, grateful she hasn’t turned to me. If I speak on his behalf, will the empress dare let him go or lessen his punishment? Perhaps imprisonment instead of death? I’m not the only half-emrys in the room who can sense the truth from this man. Do I lift the ax myself? What will the empress’s spies, the men she keeps to sense traitors, say to her about me?

The man does not deserve death.

My words could make a difference.

But my mission is to undo the empress. I must do whatever she asks, whatever is required to gain her trust. She has to believe me completely.

“He is not, Your Highness.” I hate myself as I utter my words.

“Then it is a slow death.” The empress waves the prisoner away.

Two guards hoist the man to his feet. As they drag him from the room, his fear is engulfed by anger, and he screams obscenities.

Logically, my mind lands on outrage. When my duties as chancellor were laid out, nowhere did the empress say I was to implicate prisoners for her. She has other minions who have pronounced verdicts for centuries.

My thoughts are clouded, and I harness all my strength to remain impassive. Another hour passes. I’m vaguely aware of each time the empress includes me in her toying, drawn-out sentences. I answer with a yes, Your Highness, or a no, Your Highness.

She has no right to rule. She is not noble in any form. She’s a monster.

The empress eventually tires of seeing prisoners. I excuse myself from her presence. Once I shut the door to my room, I vomit in the chamber pot.

6

After the midday meal, she runs a seemingly ceaseless number of combatants into the ground. As I stand against the stronghold’s outer wall, I’m amazed by her strength. She doesn’t tire. She outshines her men. Her agility and power are unmatched, as if her might comes from the Creator himself.

The only man to best her is her brother.

Their brawl is intense. He’s the only one who can significantly wound her. As he pulls his sword from her shoulder, he asks, “Have you had enough for today, sister?”

Commander Meuric bleeds from a cut on his temple. Blood oozes from Empress Rhianu’s shoulder. She doesn’t grimace. She makes no move to apply pressure. Pain doesn’t faze either of them.

The empress narrows her eyes. “The real question is if you’ve had enough.”

Meuric whirls his sword in a circle. “I could do this all day.”

The empress scoffs. “It’s too bad I can’t best you. Perhaps tomorrow.”

It’s then that I realize she lets her brother win. He is, after all, the commander of the dragon army. She allows her one weakness to make him appear strong.

The empress strides from the yard, heading toward the healers. “Caedryn, follow.”

I didn’t know she was aware of my presence, but I follow like a loyal dog.

7

“You’re quiet, Caedryn. You lapsed into alternating answers of yes and no this morning.” The empress shrugs out of her cloak, exposing her shoulder to the healer Nesta.

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