Chapter Fifty-Two
Annovia
Three Days Later
The Annovian Castle looms before us, eerily pristine with its expertly planted rows of vibrant green trees, while perfectly trimmed flower bushes surround the gargantuan white stone building.
I stare at every meticulous detail as the carriage curves around the wide, white gravel drive with a large, round pond in the center across from the castle’s entrance.
The grounds here feel surreal in comparison to the Palace, where the only vibrant color comes from the pine trees surrounding our mountainous landscape. Even the innocuous urge to explore the forest feels different here, tinged with curiosity, rather than belonging.
Cirrin retracts the cool mist of his healing now that our carriage has come to a halt, angled with a direct view of the Emperor’s carriage, where his Guards assist him in exiting the coach.
He hunches over with a cough before straightening to peer up at the bright white castle, then he spins to face me with an expression pinched with derision.
His piercing gray eyes find and pin mine, and my body revolts, slamming back against the cushion.
Everyone in the cabin sways as Lars jumps down to open the door, and Fray waits on the opposite side of the stairs, wearing a crooked smile in greeting.
“Are you ready?” Varic asks, to which I nod in response.
His Majesty pointedly watches when I stand, and I force my gaze ahead to prevent my eyes from straying to Varic. Lars offers his hand, and I pull in a breath when he ushers me to the bright world outside.
The air is thick with moisture—far more than we are accustomed to this time of year. My skin sticks and pulls with every movement inside this velvet prison Drusilla insisted on dressing me in.
I stride toward His Majesty, who waits impatiently under the watch of Wyrth and the tiny spy perched over his shoulder. His black cape billows from his squared shoulders while his Guards assess the area with hardened glares.
“We have arrived, my little witch.” The Emperor stares down at me, and Raki points its stinger in my direction.
I bow to His Majesty and send him a tendril of curiosity, then furrow my brow when my magic detects excitement and satisfaction. Emotions he so rarely experiences, aside from actively torturing some unfortunate being.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid when his clammy fingers clamp down on my hand, which he places over the crook of his arm. He pats me before striding forward, and my heart slams against my breastbone the nearer we move toward the white stone castle.
Towering pillars frame a giant triptych of stained-glass windows, through which the mid-morning sun casts a vibrant mosaic on the floor inside the foyer. Its ethereal effect beckons us through the wide doorway where footfalls sound as two rows of Annovian guards march past the grand entrance.
Their bright blue uniforms bear the Annovian sigil over their left side chest—with a silver letter ‘A’, adorned with the same intricate vines and flowers lining the seams of every collar and sleeve.
They halt facing inward, and if this is an Annovian show of force, it is nothing compared to our own.
Though perhaps their infamously clever Queen has staged this as a ruse, intentionally decreasing the number of guards spared for this purpose to prove to our ruler how little threat they perceive in our visit.
Especially since they wield the power to ward us from entering their land, yet deigned to let us in.
Varic’s jaw feathers as he assesses me, while the rest of my Guards follow close, crowding together with the Emperor’s own.
An Annovian page arrives just inside the castle’s entrance.
He raises a fist before his lips and clears his throat, then clasps his hands behind him to announce, “Emperor Aldritch and esteemed guests, I will escort you to the Queen. If you will please follow me.” The page bows before spinning around with a flourish.
His Majesty rushes forward, still holding my arm hostage.
Varic’s nostrils flare, and his wards slam in place, preventing me from receiving his mood directly. Though his rigid posture and tightly clenched jaw communicate it clearly enough.
The sound of our boots is muffled as we march along the blue carpet runner.
While the brilliance and color in this space coalesce in a way it must have been designed to complement the gorgeous lands surrounding it, I cannot help but feel suspicious.
The lightness with which I step is so unnatural, and the jovial strings thrusting out from my heart feel like a manipulation.
As if every vase and assortment of flowers has been set where it is meant to induce exactly this, and my mind cannot help but prickle with unease from the awareness.
For this place, seemingly crafted to disarm all who enter, is doing quite the opposite with the souring of my stomach.
Portraits, still lifes, and lush landscapes hang in gilded silver frames along the corridor, and I allow my eyes to dart to either side in a hurried study of Annovian artistry—until my attention catches on the royal family portrait.
Its near-life-size depiction must be at least twenty years old, as the King, who has long since passed, sits tall in his throne, and the princess and prince were still children.
The age difference between the siblings is obvious, with the prince roughly a foot shorter than his sister, whom we should not meet during our stay, as she is now a queen in another land.
Witnessing how they existed before the King’s mysterious demise brings on a sense of somberness. Until the Queen’s keen brown eyes seem to lock on mine, and a shiver casts down my spine. As if I can sense her presence from the portrait alone, as we draw nearer to the being herself.
We turn the corner to see Annovian guards standing on either of the oversized white doors they hold open.
“The Queen will receive you in the throne room.” The Annovian page gestures inside.
Tall, stained-glass windows rise on either side of the wide room, casting brilliant colors sparkling over the pews, amplifying the brightness of the blue walls and shiny white accents.
Queen Celine leans leisurely on the blue-tufted armrest of her ornate silver throne. Her brown eyes dart over to us from the center of the shallow stage, where she sits between an attendant and two guards.
Her black hair is worn in a style similar to my own, aside from the tendrils Drusilla tends to leave coiling down.
Bright pink eyeliner accentuates her hooded eyelids, matching the shade of her pink dress, which fans out at the hem, apparently eschewing the expectation to wear the color of her land, proving she is a ruler who does as she pleases.
The prince’s throne sits empty beside her, and I release a breath, assuming he would be here were he at the castle.
Tension releases in my shoulders at the prospect of having one less royal to charm, and I can only hope the prince does not return during our stay.
Perhaps he is visiting his sister, or on some other political errand.
His Majesty’s ribs press into my arm as he takes a deep breath, then lets out a cough as we pause before the gleaming white stage. My magic detects and then siphons intimidation invading his chest as the Queen stares him down.
Lorn steps ahead to announce us. “Your Royal Highness, may I present Emperor Aldritch.” He announces my title, while I pull against the Emperor’s grip to dip into a curtsy in adherence to Annovian Court decorum.
Wyrth bows when his own title is announced, and Lorn resumes his place by the Emperor.
Queen Celine leans even further back until she is nearly horizontal, seemingly uninterested as she inspects her shiny pink nails. “Emperor Aldritch, would you care to explain the purpose of your unannounced arrival?”
Anger vibrates His Majesty’s frame, and I pull on as many calming, grounding emotions as I can before sending them in a tight-knit rope. I hold my breath and wait until the tension in his jaw relents.
The queen stares down at me as she plucks a white grape out of a silver bowl. She flicks her gaze to His Majesty when she pops it into her mouth and slowly rises to sit tall in her throne. Her teeth crush the fruit, and she chews it vigorously, all while glaring at our ruler, who has yet to speak.
“There have been multiple failed assassination attempts on Imperial Grand Witch Tasch,” Emperor Aldritch exclaims. “We have traveled to your illustrious lands to learn any information you have as to who may be orchestrating them.”
“I was sorry to hear of the loss of your former Imperial Lead Guard,” the Queen says, squaring her shoulders.
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I say, fully extricating my arm from the Emperor’s hold so I might sink into a low curtsy.
“I would imagine it is devastating to lose someone who was such a constant presence.” My heart stalls as she continues, “Your situation is…unique. I simply cannot fathom what such a loss would be like.”
I blink back tears before dipping into another curtsy, displaying gratitude for her words in the only way His Majesty will allow.
An effervescence fills my chest next, brimming with a deep, amber-tinged pink emotion.
The signature of Varic’s love expels all else, taking up vacancy in my abdomen, and I fail to stifle the tears as my throat tightens with the wish to say something.
To reach out and thank him for recognizing my need in this moment, without either of us having to say a word.
But I do something reckless, and perhaps even sinister.
I allow my love for him to traverse the short distance between our bodies as we stand before the Annovian Court.
His throat bobs noticeably in my periphery, and he swallows loudly enough to be heard.
I am struck with the urge to try to find some way to make contact—to reassure him I sent it.
To ensure he knows I feel this way about him.
That all of it is real and torturous and exhausting and worth it all the same.
The Queen’s eyes narrow at the Emperor. “I am curious why you believe Annovia may be involved in the failed assassination attempts on Imperial Grand Witch Tasch.”
Shame tugs on my stomach from taunting Varic by sending him an emotion I have yet to voice or share with him in this way. It must be confusing, and the guilt of being selfish in doing so gnaws at me.
“The power of deduction, Your Royal Highness,” Emperor Aldritch says. “You see, our Imperial Army keeps constant watch on our border, making it impossible for anyone to have infiltrated our Empire, whereas your border has no need for the same since we are not at war.”
The Queen stares down at her hand, paying closer attention to her nails than any words the Emperor extolls.
“Seeing as it is impossible for any of the other bordering lands to have infiltrated, we seek verification of Annovia’s innocence or involvement. Once you refused our invitation, it was clear we would need to travel here to obtain our answer.”
“And you deigned to bring your pet.” The Queen stares at Raki with contempt, yet Emperor Aldritch turns to look at me when the Queen scoffs, “Your hybrid, Emperor.”
“Raki will pose no risk unless someone should try to harm me, or my—Imperial Grand Witch Tasch.”
“Fine. I presume you seek my permission to conduct an investigation, which will allow you to speak with our government and military councils.” His Majesty nods as she continues, “And in addition, you will require accommodation for your traveling party.”
“We will pay handsomely for your hospitality,” he promises.
Metal hinges screech as two Imperial servants strain while carrying a thick metal chest, with its lid wide open. Gold coins drop and scatter across the ground as the servants struggle to carry it—making a show of the gesture as any of our telekinetic sorcerers could easily set it before her.
A collective gasp sounds from every member of the Annovian court as the chest rises in the air, forcing the servants to release the handle.
The Queen sits up straight with her hand held out before her while she whispers some incantation too low for me to hear.
The heavy object moves through the air with ease, something many telekinetics could not do so smoothly.
“There is no need to compensate us for your stay here, Emperor,” the Queen says, magically setting the chest at her feet.
Her expression remains neutral as she peers down at the unnecessary display of wealth, then waves her hand to slam the lid closed with her magic. We all stare down at the trunk, awestruck as the thick metal lock clamps itself shut.
“We will accept your contribution to the commonwealth of Annovia.” A small smirk rises on one side of her face as she gestures for her guards to remove it from the throne room.
A young blonde witch wearing a form-fitting blue gown glides before us, then bows to the Emperor, Wyrth, and then to me. My muscles strain against the urge to mirror her gesture. Though I cannot chance enraging the Emperor by showing respect to someone he would claim I outrank.
“Your Imperial Highness, my name is Lanska, and I will be showing you to your rooms.” She waves a pale white hand toward the hallway leading in the opposite direction from where we came.
Her smile is kind as she folds the hand that indicated our path over her smaller one held before her lap.
Warmth travels through my limbs at the fact this land does not require her to hide her limb difference.
They do make her work in the shadows, but out in the open, where the act of covering her smaller hand is merely in following decorum.
Tingles light over my skin as I can’t help but wonder what else might be different in the way they treat their citizens.
“You did well, my little witch,” Emperor Aldritch grits beneath a whisper. “Now make sure you maintain the Queen’s attention.” I let out a breath, assuming that was the end of the message, then my heart lurches as he leans in to add, “For the sake of the orphans.”
My pulse thrums heavier until it is all I can hear as Varic draws closer. His eyes cast over me, and I want to discourage him while my own scan our surroundings, seeking a darkened corner to pull him into so we can speak in private. But that’s just another fantasy I must keep from entertaining.
We follow Lanska’s white-blonde hair into the hall where His Majesty storms ahead with his Imperial Guards forming around him, leaving me with the sensation of Wyrth staring at my back.