Chapter Sixty-Six #2
Cirrin merely shrugs and unwinds the gauze from my hand, apparently gleaning her meaning as he removes the bandage with care, folding it to hide the crimson line within before handing it over to the servant.
“You may take your place upon the Harvest Throne,” Her Royal Highness declares.
Cirrin’s hand folds over my own now that the wound is sealed and assists me to the seat in preparation for whatever is to come next.
Varic expands his shield once I am settled, offering me a quick smile before turning to survey the area.
Emperor Aldritch stares over with an unreadable expression while, according to my magic, his mood remains complacent.
“Fuck.” Varic’s voice is stern, while his countenance is distant.
“What is it?” Lars asks.
“Her blood.” Varic’s tone matches the distance in his stare. “I shouldn’t have allowed them to keep the gauze with her blood on it.”
Fray steps forward in alarm. “You think they would use it somehow?”
“It’s possible, and I shouldn’t have been tricked by such a simple ruse.” Varic’s eyes flare back to life as he looks at me with a mix of rage and sorrow rippling behind his irises.
“Do you truly think they would risk such a public display of taking a small sampling of my blood when they could have done something similar in private?” I ask, doubtful.
Varic sighs. “I don’t know. But something about this feels off, and I wish I had thought of it at the time.”
Malin clears his throat. “Well, since the book Her Royal Highness gave Tasch did not mention this ceremony being a part of the Harvest Festival, it’s difficult to say.
Since everyone here seems to be accustomed to this part of the ritual, it does not appear to be a ruse to gain access to her lifeblood. ”
“Shit.” Cirrin surprises me with his cursing. “I shouldn’t have given it to them.”
Varic looks over at Cirrin with sincerity. “I do not blame you. I blame myself.”
“Guards!” The Queen’s voice rings out with urgency, which has my own Guards spinning to look as she twists her hand in a unique gesture.
My eyes widen as the flame from the torches splits before half of the fire flies through the air to hover above her upheld fingers, casting her face in a sinister light as she displays the same spellwork her son exemplified on our ride.
Existing in this field, sparsely lit by fire and moonlight, while surrounded by relative strangers who outnumber us ten to one—this sudden change in her demeanor while using the power our Emperor so famously coveted elicits a sense of dread unlike any I’ve experienced here.
“Fire.” The Queen’s voice carries, as each of the Annovian guards bends one by one to set the torches down on the line where the crops once grew.
A line of fire erupts over the field their ruler and I just bled upon, and she turns to face the flames roving the land, sending the one she wields to the ground where it engulfs the dry roots of the crop they’ve long since reaped.
Deep shades of red, orange, and yellow spread, consuming the dead remnants of plants throughout the enormous field, which rapidly transforms into a rippling sea of flames.
While none of those closest to the heat seem to fear it, they remain just as close as they did before it was set.
Cirrin and Varic glance between the Annovian guards who escorted me here, then over to me before they gaze upon the rising wall of flames, so hot it filters through the magical barrier cast around me.
“Do you want me to use my power to try to sneak the gauze out of the servant's pocket?” Malin asks. “It’s better than taking our chances by leaving it to them, isn’t it?”
Varic nods as Malin’s purple magic ripples across the grass, seeking out the same servant who took the used bandage from my healer.
The crowd turns from the field ahead to gaze back in our direction—though their eyes do not pin me, as expected, but instead seem to focus on my Guards.
Concern sinks its claws in, penetrating deep into my flesh.
I will not let them come to harm.
I summon my magic, thrumming higher, heavier, and stronger than it has in recent memory, to lie in wait, prepared to manipulate anyone should it be necessary.
The crowd parts, starting at the end closest to the castle, then continues to allow a witch with gray hair twisted in a silver clip to approach the Queen without ceremony. The Elder grasps hold of the royal’s blood-soaked hand without a word as she clasps her own around it.
A flash of something white draws my attention, and I squint where the two witches’ hands are connected, refusing to blink as I swear there seems to be something white folded beneath Queen Celine’s thumb.
But my mind could just be playing tricks on me, as it is impossible to tell anything for certain from this distance, and I do not wish to alert my Guards should I be wrong about this.
The apparent healer bows and releases the Queen’s hand to stuff her own in the pockets of her robe.
Then she becomes lost to the crowd, all wearing the same color as her robe.
“Godsdamnit,” Malin says, pocketing something. “I confiscated the wrong one. This gauze is new.” He turns to Cirrin. “Describe what the servant looked like again. I thought I had the right one.”
Cirrin cranes his neck to see better, then shakes his head. “I don’t see them anymore. They must have already left.”
Varic releases a breath. “I’m sure Tasch is right. If they wanted a sampling of her blood, they would have come up with some other way to get even more from her.”
Malin nods, though suspicion ripples through him, and I almost mention that the Queen may have just passed the bit of gauze off to her healer—though I may be mistaken, and I don’t want to worry them.
Prince Auden joins his mother by the now-raging fire. Their lips move in unison until the cloying heat disappears as they bring the fire’s expansion to a halt, with the flames licking up what appears to be an invisible wall conjured by their spellwork.
“Goddess of the Harvest, please accept our sacrifice in consideration of your blessing for a bountiful season this coming year,” Queen Celine shouts with her eyes cast to the sky, and the crowd all respond in kind.
My ears feel as if they’ve been stuffed with cotton, and my neck muscles strain as I try my best to keep this heavy crown steady when it tilts to the side.
Kind brown eyes meet mine while the amber shield lifts by my feet, allowing the light blue mist of Cirrin’s healing to swirl up and imbue my chest. Energy thrums, reinvigorating me as it cools my flushed skin from within.
I smile at Cirrin in appreciation, and he mirrors the expression as he retracts his magic, then nods to Varic to seal the shield again.
“Now it is time to dance!” Prince Auden yells, garnering the loudest cheer of the evening.
The Annovian guards ask Varic for permission before taking hold of the Harvest Throne, and I brace against the armrest as they raise it.
Sharp pain radiates from the top of my skull and down through every vertebra as I contort the muscles in my lower body to compensate.
Because not even Cirrin’s power is enough to keep me from misery when my body has been pushed past its limits.
Purple fog emanates from Malin’s fingers as his telekinetic magic trills up my back where Varic must have lifted his shield to allow it in. It swirls around my skull, where it raises, then holds the crown aloft to relieve the tension in my neck.
I seek and find Malin’s eyes while tears form from the relief he’s offering me.
Malin nods, staring forward, and maintains his magic, so I might lean back with his aid in carrying the weight of this burden.