Page 142 of The Last One
Shit-shit-shit. I can see him now. Does that mean the emperor’s men can see him, too?
What do we do? What do we—?
Horses!
“Hey.”I call to them in my mind.“Over here, by the fallen trunk.”
Four of the soldiers’ magnificent steeds swivel their heads in my direction.
“What are your names?”I ask.
“Snowfeet,”says the pretty black mare with white ankle hair.
“Essen,”the gray stallion says.
“Jinx,”the orange-brown mare says.
“Orchid,”the wheat-colored mare says.
“These men are a danger to me,”I tell them.“I need you to pretend you’re spooked. Do it, though, when I say.”
Essen flicks his tail and snorts.“Only to be whipped, Lady?”
“I promise you that any rider who lifts a hand to strike you,”I say,“he will lose that hand and will suffer for the rest of his life.”
Essen nods.“Yes, Lady.”
“Of course, Lady.”
“Not one will have any hands, then.”
“Serves them right.”
“You, soldiers,” a man shouts from the line of troops who have passed us. “Shall we move forward, or shall we watch you hold hands for the rest of the day?” He has the crisp diction of an educated man. His words wear spikes.
“Ser…Ser Wake,” the handler stammers, and then, curling his lip, he glares down at Daisy. “Stupid bitch,” he mutters, “always getting me in trouble.”
If he kicks her, I don’t know what I’ll do. That’s not true. I knowexactlywhat I’ll—
Wait, did he sayWake?As inEmperor Wake? Can’t be. Why would someone so important—someone believed to be Supreme as man—be leading this raggedy group of soldiers? Can’t be the emperor.
I twist to look behind me, trying to spot the emperor in the line of soldiers.
“This one right here—Wake. Start with him.”Essen’s voice cuts through my mind.“He uses his whip on poor Morningfire without stop.”
I glower.“He’s a poor horseman, then.”
“What’s he doing over there?” Wake rides over on Morningfire. He has golden hair and fleshy lips. His armor is coated in more copper paint than all the copper ever mined, with no tarnish or scuffmarks. His cloak gleams like silver waves rolling from his back. He looks too young to be the emperor—even if he’s been granted long life. No, he’sSerWake. A son. Is he the son who was betrothed to Olivia? “Why are we stopped?” he asks. “We don’t have all day.”
Wake’s voice is whiny, smug, and high-pitched, like if a peacock could talk. My shoulders shudder, listening to him speak. By the way Jadon is clenching his teeth, by the way his shoulders also hunch to his ears, I’m guessing Wake’s voice hurts him, too. Despite Olivia stealing from me again and again, despite my growing resentment for her, Jadon cared for that thief enough to free her from this man. Even I concede that it must be painful for him to hear Wake’s voice knowing that Olivia is in danger.
My stomach sours in Wake’s presence. The air pulses with strange power. Magic? It must be another enchantment, but one not spun by Veril. Do Philia and Jadon feel this, too?
Daisy’s handler clears his throat. “We stopped, Ser-Ser Wake, because Daisy thought—”
“I don’t really care what Daisythought,” Ser Wake spits. “I care only about what Daisyfinds. And I’d hate to get rid of yet another dog because she’s found nothing but her own tail. Has she picked up a scent this time?”
“Yes, yes, ser. Going toward Pethorp, seems like,” the handler says. “Daisy’s a good tracker. Better than her brothers.”
