Page 86 of Witchshadow
“There is a war on,” she replies, dipping her head toward the dancers. “Yet to look at them, you wouldn’t know that Azmir burns or raiders come this way.”
Henrick grunts, and several seconds drum past with only strings and footsteps to fill them. “You must understand, my Empress, that there is no war here. To these people, it is a distant thing fought by others—and I work hard to keep it that way.”
“So you lie to them?”
“No.” His forehead pinches, the skin reddened by the tightness of his crown. “The nobility are not stupid, and the common folk even less so. But as you will quickly learn, people take emotional cues from their leaders. If we are calm, then they are too.”
It seems too simple, and yet… Safi understands. Vaness’s iron demeanor keeps Marstok unified for years, even when not everyone loves or agrees with her. Meanwhile, tenants and farmers on the Hasstrel estate look to Eron for guidance and find only a broken man who drank too much.
It was all Safi had ever found in him as well… or so she’d thought until two months ago.
“You understand,” Henrick says, and Safi nods.
She also understands that she has severely underestimated the Emperor. His eyes, fixed on her face, are not the vacant eyes of a toad. They are sharp and fathomless, and were Safi to meet him across a taro table, she would not agree to play.
True, true, true.
Suddenly, her new pocket feels aflame. Suddenly, sweat prickles out along her spine. “There are many raiders at the border?” asks, grasping any topic she can to deflect focus off herself.
“Many. And they are not just in the east, but have fortified in Poznin. I will show you on the maps tomorrow.”
Safi bows her head as a thank-you, but when she lifts it again, Henrick still stares.
He knows,she thinks.He knows and he will act.She offers a smile even as her toes curl in her slippers and muscles tense beneath her gown. She will not go down without a fight.
Then his gaze finally breaks, dropping to her Threadstone, visible at her collar alongside the steel chain Vaness made her wear.
“An empress needs better jewelry,” he declares, and he angles his body back toward the dancers.
Safi has to fight to keep her lungs from loosing, her shoulders from drooping. Sweat now slides down her back against the throne, and though she knows it looks strange, she drapes a hand over her Threadstone.
As soon as her fingers touch the ruby, warm from her skin, Iseult’s voice booms into her mind.HE PLANS TO LEAVE, SAFI. PLEASE LISTEN. THERE WILL BE NO WEDDING NIGHT. WHERE ARE YOU, SAFI? HE PLANS TO—
“I’m here.” She whispers the words on a sigh, dipping her head sideways as if tired. As if taking in the view of dancers. But her fingers tighten on the Threadstone, and she mouths, “Explain.”
Henrick has no plans for a wedding night,Iseult says.He has no plans to consummate anything and he will leave the palace after the dancing.
Safi’s stomach drops low. She wants to ask how Iseult knows this, but she dares not speak too much, even silently. Too many people watch her, including the Emperor himself. He glances at her sideways, and she smiles in return.
Iseult seems to understand the question anyway, for she adds,Caden told my guards to expect shift changes tonight because the Emperor is going into town.
Safi’s heel taps, and though she keeps her smile pasted on, her mind is shrieking every swear word she’s ever known. If the Emperor does not have a weddingnight with her, then she cannot execute the final step in their plan. She needs to be alone with him, unguarded. As exposed as a person can possibly be.
“We need a new plan,” she whispers, pretending to yawn and covering her mouth with her free hand. Before she can actually suggest one, though—or wait for Iseult to—Henrick reaches out and rests a hand on her throne’s armrest.
“It is time to go,” he says, and Safi realizes with a jolt in her knees that the music has ended. The dancers have stopped.
She’s out of time, and she does not try to hide her sudden terror. She can feel that her face has drained of blood.
“Already?” she squeaks out.
And his perpetual frown eases into something almost kind. “You need not worry.” He pats the armrest. “I have no intention of bringing you to my bed. A barbaric custom.”
Please do!she screams inwardly.Please take me to your bed!
Aloud, she simply says, “You… do not want an heir?”
“I have one.” Henrick runs his tongue over his teeth. Then: “He is well suited to succeed me and even better trained, so consider yourself free from my bed for the rest of your life.”
