Chapter Fourteen
Replacement
The creaking of the door pulls me back into consciousness, and I blink to try to clear the sleep from my vision. The energy in the room feels charged with trepidation, weighing heavier than the covers pooling in my lap as I rise to stretch.
I turn to nod in greeting at Hendry when my stomach drops to find Cirrin where my Lead Guard once stood.
Realization dawns over me, like the worst of nightmares come to life, as my remaining Guards stare back at me from where they all linger closer than usual to each of my bedposts, aside from Imperial Guard Roy, who remains near the dark wood doors.
Cirrin hands me a glass of water, which I slowly sip from, then hold it in my lap and look around the chamber, seeking any sign of disturbance where Varic might have hidden the book, having failed to ask for confirmation one way or another last night.
“Did V—” I clear my throat, hoping to distract from nearly dropping Varic’s title with Imperial Guard Roy within earshot. “Did General Varic happen to come back after his meeting?”
“He did not,” Fray says, and my mouth dries.
If he hadn’t removed it from his waistband before he left, what excuse could Varic give if the Emperor were to learn of its existence?
My pulse throbs in my temples, increasing the pressure pounding in my head, with the need to know if Varic is safe, and if he left the book in this room, or if he kept it in his possession.
Drusilla sweeps into the bedchamber, hanging a dress with its matching leather pants on the gold Dragon-shaped hook.
The infamous details adorning the garment stare back at me as my heart jolts, being the most intricately embroidered piece in my closet, only ever worn for the most important ceremonies.
Dragon scales are tooled into the black leather all the way from its high collar to the hem of the skirts, while gold metal scales form plates over the shoulders.
The neckline features golden fang-shaped beads, increasing the menacing intent behind my image.
“Come. Sit,” Drusilla commands. “Emperor Aldritch expects you in the Throne Room soon.” I move as if encased in some magical exoskeleton, all stiff and imposing.
“Is Emperor Aldritch holding court so early?” I ask.
Drusilla sweeps my hair back from my shoulders, then brushes it out, starting from the ends and working her way up my thick brown waves with a wry smile twisting her lips.
“His Majesty will be hosting the Guardian Vow Ceremony.”
My stomach drops, heart stopping until it pounds so loudly it drowns out whatever it is she says next, the reflection showing her lips moving without my hearing a word of it.
“Who has His Majesty appointed to be my new Imperial Lead Guard?”
“You will learn the identity at the ceremony with the rest of the Imperial citizens. Now, stop distracting me from my duty.” She pulls my hair back so hard she jerks my neck.
Lars steps forward, white-knuckling the grip on his sword.
Drusilla ignores his attempt at intimidation with a warning, “We must hurry.”
There isn’t a word strong enough to describe the level of fatigue and lethargy after performing the routine of siphoning my Guards’ feelings, replacing their weariness with focus, concentration, and alertness.
Such a normal activity has drawn on a sense of fear to lance my heart, since holding my head upright takes every bit of focus I have left.
Imperial servants stream in carrying gold trays with assorted fruits, pastries, and sausage links. After they’ve left, Cirrin hands me a black mug filled with steaming hot coffee, while Fray places a plate on the vanity.
Malin and Lars hold their plates before them, remaining upright while their jaws work. Imperial Guard Roy keeps watch over the door while Cirrin and Fray drink their coffee, waiting for their turn to break their fast.
My stomach turns as I stare at the plate Fray made for me. Nothing seems appetizing, and every bite will taste bland, anyway.
“Eat.”
Hendry—
I turn to catch sight of him, then my chest constricts as Malin nods down to my plate.
Tears well as I try to reconcile how similar their voices sound, though I know them apart, and I’ve always been able to tell who was talking. Yet, I suppose when you lose someone, your mind will seek them anywhere. Anytime. Just hoping that you’re wrong and they’ve really been there all along.
Coffee nearly spills over the rim when I grab hold of the handle and bring the mug of scalding liquid up to my lips. Malin catches my eyes in the mirror before flicking his gaze down to my untouched breakfast in a command.
I huff out a breath and force a berry between my teeth, vision glazing over while I will myself to remain upright, exaggerating the movement of my jaw the whole time.
Fray wrinkles his nose at me in the mirror at the sound of my chewing, and I narrow my eyes in response, though a pang of guilt trills through my chest with his playful nature being a balm to my heart.
Once they all finish eating, my Guards each pull their ceremonial masks down over their faces. The Imperial black fabric stretches from beneath their collar to fit flush across the ridge of their nose, leaving only their eyes and above exposed.
A small smile tugs in the corner of my lips as I watch them take turns applying the eyeliner next, holding the gold-plated pencil aloft as they carefully paint the symbolic black lines around each of their eyes intended to intimidate those who gaze upon them—much like my own image.
Drusilla pats a pale concealer beneath each of my eyes, making it appear as if I am more well-rested than the darkened crescents indicate.
Next, she coats my lashes in mascara before painting a thick curved line across both of my eyelids, mirroring the dark lines my Guards wear.
Once my lips and cheeks are given an unnaturally deep rosy hue, she slathers every inch of exposed skin in oil, making sure it glistens when I move.
The empire waist of the ceremonial dress cinches in, accentuating the dramatic curve of my hips, while the extreme cut of the bodice exposes the center of my chest to display the round shape of my breasts.
She gestures for me to lean back as she wraps a gold necklace shaped like a Dragon curling around my neck, and I wince from the chill of her fingers as she fastens its head over the end of its tail.
Teardrop diamonds encrust the scales along its back, while ruby eyes glint back at me from under the lights of the vanity as I stare back at the witch painted to meet His Majesty’s standards.
Heart hammering with fear for whom he has assigned as Hendry’s replacement.
The sorcerer who needs to be on a train headed toward the Minacian border, but whom I expect to greet me on that stage where he would sentence us all to death if his soul allows him to make this vow to me.