Chapter Seventy-Seven #3
“Your inability to hide your attraction will only bring you pain, witch,” Wyrth purrs so close to my ear the dampness of his breath adheres to the skin on my neck.
“It is high time you learn your place. You are pushing the Emperor past the point of no return with your overt affections. So heed my warning—put a stop to this at once, or you will not be happy with the result of my next experiment.”
Roy turns with a glare directed at the Philosopher from where he stands to my left, igniting a spark of resolve within me, as I refuse to cower before the snatcher who cost me my brother.
Instead, I collect the fear he has instilled in me and slam it straight down his throat, making him choke and sputter on the sickly sensation until he grunts with discomfort.
I answer the gurgling sound he makes by imbuing him with even more terror, then smile faintly when his weakening pulse causes him to slump forward.
Imelda steps toward him, though her dark brown eyes study me rather than the sorcerer I’m torturing. My magic senses the faint threads of calm and focus she sends him—trying her best to outdo my power. Yet even in my weakened state, her abilities are nothing compared to my own.
“Imperial Grand Philosopher Wyrth, do you see the way the Emperor stares back at us?” I smile down at Wyrth while drawing on my admiration for Varic, then emit an exaggerated giggle until the Emperor’s face falls when I turn to see the effect my ruse is having.
I widen my smile as he glares pointedly at the sorcerer who was most unwise to threaten me.
“I would be careful how you interact with me, Wyrth, or His Majesty might accuse you of having a forbidden affection for the one he so regularly calls his little witch.”
I release him from my magical grip and allow him to straighten before taking a step back.
Satisfaction unfurls in my abdomen, though I am nowhere near finished with him.
“How do you think he would respond to a romance between us? What might he do were someone to convince him it was you who first seduced his virginal witch—a claim my Guards will corroborate. How do you suppose he would react were I to plant this particular doubt in his mind, then amplify the emotion by a thousand times?”
His pupils dilate as he stares down toward the ground.
“We both know I am more than capable. And we both know whom he would be more willing to execute. Especially since your research has yet to find the answer he so desperately seeks—” Fear of a different sort runs along the magical thread I keep tethered to him, drawing the corners of my mouth up in satisfaction.
“And if his recent frustrations with you are accurate, you still have yet to create a hybrid which he approves of deploying to better secure our borders.”
Fray cranes his neck to meet my gaze from where he lies over Sutrea’s back. The Imperial servants tighten the straps on the harness beneath him as her amethyst wings stretch out to the side and very nearly smack against the Imperial servant on her left.
“Align,” Imperial Dragon Master Sonya commands, and the Dragons rise, extending their wings as they brace with their back legs in preparation to push off the ground.
A smile pries my lips apart as I effectively ignore Wyrth. And I can’t help but grin when Fray shouts with joy the moment Sutrea lifts off and into the sky. My stomach lurches when her vibrant purple body turns sharply, shifting her position before she evens out to soar in wide circles overhead.
Maintaining a pleasant outward appearance, I allow my voice to become venomous as I continue to address Wyrth.
“You, however, are replaceable. There are hundreds of trained Philosophers in the citadel alone—many of whom are younger and with more recent education.” He clenches his jaw so hard I can only hope he breaks a molar.
“He has and always will value my magic more than yours, as you merely possess this title due to a lack of ethics and a wealth of scientific knowledge. So, if I am not mistaken, it is you who needs to learn your place, Elver.”
His face blanches at my use of his family name—the one we invoke to call upon shame. My magic pulses with the amount of anger I have induced in him while I send him more fear, no longer detecting any signs of Imelda’s meddling.
“You do not scare me, Galen.”
A sneer curls my upper lip as he invokes my own family’s name with a rush of rage threatening to burst forth as the destroyer of such dares to bring me shame with the use of it.
“I can always claim to require orphans as test subjects in my research.” His cold eyes lock on mine, reveling in the shock I must allow to slip past my figurative mask.
“Utter one more word regarding the harm of innocents, and I will make your death look like a heart attack before you so much as take another breath.”
“You cannot kill me.”
“I most certainly can kill you, and without fear of consequence.” His nostrils flare as he calls my bluff, since any healer would be able to detect that magic was used to stop his heart whenever they were to examine his corpse.
“Perhaps. However, I am the only one who knows how to disarm the escaped hybrids.”
My face falls as my magic thrums without any detectable spike in anxiety, indicating he may be telling the truth for once. “Explain.”
“Three of the most dangerous beings I have ever had the honor of bringing into existence have recently outwitted their guards to escape into the forest surrounding the Palace.”
Three out of how many? Trapped deep within the tunnels for who knows how many years. Nor do we know how large they might be or how dangerous their abilities are. Apparently intelligent enough to break out of the main lab and navigate those winding tunnels without detection.
“Surely any telekinetic or force sorcerer could bring them to heel.”
“Oh, you will not bring Taran to heel without me.”