Chapter Eighteen
Congratulations
The last thing I feel is celebratory.
Yet I must pretend to accept the fact Hendry’s name has yet to be mentioned or honored for his years of service protecting the Emperor’s pet witch. A role which he performed without complaint, and apparently without respect in death.
Every muscle in my legs cramps and spasms, unable to carry my beleaguered body into the dungeons with my typical air of feigned dignity.
Varic’s constant attention makes the endeavor all the more challenging as he assesses my needs—a discomforting reminder of how weak I have become with my inability to ignore his level of concern transferring to me.
Each step is made up of sheer mental fortitude, and my heart lurches against my ribs the closer we move toward the last room Hendry ever entered.
Sorrow and despair replace every other emotion, weighing me down until it seems the only way for me to remain standing will be to have my Guards strap me to the wall behind us.
Yet I must pretend my mind does not recall how my last interaction with my former Lead Guard was filled with consternation and dread.
The crowd parts ahead of us, drawing my attention to the witch who bore me as she drags my father by the hand to stand at the front of the audience now gathered to gawk at our spectacle.
Her finest black gown hangs from her bones while her long brown hair is perfectly pinned in a style similar to my own, so obviously intended as a nod to our tenuous connection.
She beams at me, the only offspring she has left, after Wyrth failed to save my younger brother in childbirth, suffering the loss only a short time after she sold me to the Emperor.
And while I can empathize, the loss itself cannot remove the resentment I feel from her giving me over to the tyrant, all so she could have a reason to feel important.
Every eye in the room casts to the entrance, where the Emperor and his Guards stream inside, the tiny spy notably missing from his shoulder.
His Majesty sways once he pauses in the middle of the dance floor, with sinister shadows casting over his features.
Mille, His Majesty’s healer, scans our ruler's form with his crystal blue eyes before taking his arm in hand to imbue him with energy in another futile attempt at steadying his balance.
Emperor Aldritch raises his crystal goblet, spilling a thin layer of wine over the lip as he salutes us.
“To my little witch and her newly appointed Imperial Lead Guard Varic!” the Emperor drunkenly slurs before hiding his cough behind a loose fist, proving he has had more than his share of wine in celebration.
Varic bows, despite the lack of proper court decorum from our announcer, as cheers erupt.
I sway to the left, and Malin’s hand snakes around my lower back, preventing me from falling as he takes hold of my hip, his strong fingers curving to pull me into him.
I hazard a quizzical glance up to his hazel eyes, which he fixes forward, uncertain as to why he’s using his body rather than his magic, since the Emperor would never approve of anything which makes me appear weak.
Malin is usually so calculated in his decision-making that he must have some ulterior motive, or else he wouldn’t dare to behave like this.
Especially not as the only telekinetic capable of wielding his power without detection, and who otherwise does not seem to shy away from using it.
“Malin,” Lars whispers, leaning in close to his ear. “What are you doing?”
Varic turns with confusion coursing from his body to mine as he assesses Malin’s unusual posture, carving a trail with the heat of his gaze as it traces everywhere my telekinetic Guard’s body connects with my own.
His ears turn a deep crimson the longer he stares, until a quiet laugh slips past Malin’s lips.
“Are you hurt?” Varic leans in to whisper.
“No, I just—” I begin.
“Why aren’t you using your magic?” Lars bends to admonish Malin under his breath. “His Majesty will rage if he sees you doing this.”
“Release her.” Varic’s voice is stern and low, as light draws my attention down to where amber sparks emit from Varic’s palm. “Now.”
The tingling warmth of his amber shield rises from the bottom of my feet and up my legs to cover me everywhere Malin and I make contact.
“Finally,” Malin sighs, releasing his hold. “I knew you’d catch on.”
Varic furrows his brow before turning to look at me in confusion since I no longer waver on my feet.
“Cirrin, heal her,” Varic commands.
I scoff. “He did.”
“Not enough.”
“If you need more, I have it,” Cirrin says, casting a cool blast of his healing magic over my shoulders—above the place where Varic’s shield still holds me.
“What did you mean I’d catch on?” Varic grits through clenched teeth, flicking his gaze over to Malin, whose slight smile gives him away as having played some ruse on his Leader.
“You finally used your magic to help her.” Amusement coats Malin’s tone.
“What—” I begin to ask, as the Emperor’s voice pulls our collective attention.
“While it is not customary, I’m feeling rather celebra—” the Emperor hiccups, interrupting his speech. “We will have a dance!”
Gratitude swirls throughout my chest now that I will be able to rest while the nobles take a turn around the dance floor.
Wyrth walks by with his own Guards and Imperial Witch trailing behind. The sympathy I feel for Imelda snakes from me before I can catch it, imbuing her with awareness of my perception of her being forced to manage the moods of such a deplorable sorcerer.
Her large brown eyes consider me quickly before returning to fix on her charge as he leans in to the Emperor’s ear, speaking louder than is proper to address him. “Your Majesty, I must recommend you switch to drinking water for the rest of the night.”
“Stop being such a joy-snatcher,” Emperor Aldritch taunts back.
Varic shifts beside me, radiating a discomfort I cannot support him with, now that the Emperor’s eyes have found mine.
“My little witch, Imperial Lead Guard Varic—come!” He gestures for us to meet him.
Varic hesitates, raising his hand as if in offering, before dropping it to his side, apparently having thought the better of it.
Cold mist casts up my back as His Majesty gestures more aggressively.
“I can do this. Cirrin has helped,” I tell Varic under my breath. He nods, and we walk toward His Majesty with the rest of my Guards following behind.
We pause before the Emperor as he leans forward. “Dance!” he shouts.
My heart falls to my stomach when Varic glances over.
A collective gasp rises from the crowd, as they well know the Emperor has never allowed another sorcerer the honor of dancing with the Imperial Grand Witch before this instance.
Dread coils through my organs, and I miss the years when His Majesty’s behavior was easier to predict, back when he held a more strict adherence to tradition.
Yet now he commands me to dance with my new Lead Guard, creating a scandal before the most powerful audience in the Empire, after threatening to enact violence against innocent children should we ever make contact outside of what is required for my safety.
It's impossible to stay two steps ahead when his decisions make even less sense. He could condemn us all if I am unable to get him under control. My whole being burns with the need to protect Varic from becoming collateral should I ever fail to recognize our captor’s designs.
His Majesty stumbles forward, and Varic’s shield rises to protect my skin just before his clammy fingers grab hold of my wrist. He drags me behind him like an overexcited child and my vision swims.
I try to compose myself when a cloud of blue healing magic flows over my back before steadying me—for now, at least.
The crowd closes in, vying to be the closest to witness the first time their Imperial Grand Witch dances with someone other than their ruler. Murmuring fills my ears as I snap my jaw shut to prevent myself from responding.
“Do you think he’ll be able to maintain all those muscles?”
“Of course! Just look at Imperial Guard Lars.”
“Rumor is they train in her quarters at night.”
“Can you imagine! I’d give anything to be her.”
Time slows, and all movement around me casts a sweeping haze as I stare forward, unable to discern any details on the form striding toward me.
My ears ring loud enough to dull all other sounds as Varic’s shield dissipates from where it clings to my skin, feeling weaker by the second, until a breath of nutmeg and clove fills me with comfort.
Heat expands from the center of my chest, and I furrow my brow at the adoration and admiration Varic sends, tinged with a darker amber than I am used to seeing around his emotions.
I try to take a step when the muscles in my legs fail, and I stumble—
Rough, warm hands take hold of my own and squeeze as they help me to straighten. Varic’s bare face stares back at me with unnerving clarity, as if my vision cleared just to allow me to see him, now that the mask which hid him from me is no longer present.
The taut fabric scarcely covering my chest strains with every heavy breath I pull in, and tears spring forth now that all I’ve had to hold in threatens to pour from me under his attention.
His care. Shifting things inside me I cannot name.
Needing everything to be less complicated while he keeps increasing it.
His Majesty storms over to gesticulate at the Imperial Conductor while Cirrin, Fray, Malin, and Lars all step away to give us space.
My eyes scan the crowd, looking for my missing Guard, when it dawns on me—he isn’t here.
Yet I can’t help but seek him when I am so used to him existing in my periphery.
The weight of his absence feels immeasurable.
The sorcerer who has been by my side. The one who was just here. Just last night.
My lips quirk to the side as I stifle the sob threatening now that I can’t seem to stop looking all around for proof that I’m wrong. That he isn’t dead. That I merely dreamed it.