Chapter 20
Twenty
“Sorry to interrupt your reading, Princess,” Brevan inclines his head, then looks at the other women who are sitting nearby with books of their own, “ladies.”
I set down my book and look at the open door. “Forget to knock?”
He closes it, then knocks, then opens it. “Better?”
Charlotte giggles.
He’s dressed in a simple tunic and trousers today. The fabric is good quality and they fit well, but he could be a merchant. Why does he look so good in everything? “No armor today?”
“It’s being cleaned and repaired. I’ll have it back tomorrow,” he says.
“The emperor granted your meeting,” he says.
“When?”
“Now.”
Of course it’s right now. I smooth my hair and walk to the door.
“Do you want company?” Katherine asks.
“The emperor said he’d only meet with her,” Brevan says.
Katherine’s shoulders slump.
“He’s not looking for a new mistress yet,” Antonia hisses.
“That’s not why I offered,” Katherine snaps.
I give Antonia a look that makes her return to her embroidery, then follow Brevan into the hall. “Thank you for asking him for me.”
He walks alongside me. “I told you I would.”
“I do think giving gifts is a good idea. A way for the emperor to get back into his people’s good graces.” I glance at Brevan.
He looks skeptical. “I don’t think he sees himself as having fallen from their graces.”
“People are starving. Freezing to death in the winter. Desperate. And they don’t see an emperor who cares for them. They can’t see the wars or the treaties. All they care about is if they can find their next meal.”
“I might not lead with that,” he suggests.
We turn down a hall and walk down a flight of steps.
I note the large painting of a woman holding a banner with the emperor’s crest. Leading the charge in front of the Night Legion against an opposing force, she is meant to be Tela, the goddess of war.
And this painting wants you to believe she leads the emperor’s armies.
I pay attention to every turn and every step. I have to know how to get back here if I’m to kill him. If I ever figure out how to kill an immortal.
Soon, I recognize our route. We’re traveling toward the ballroom. We’ve reached the massive dragon skull and the mural above it when Brevan stops. He presses a panel next to the skull, and a secret door slides open inside the dragon’s jaws.
“We have to walk through its mouth?” I ask.
“Rather dramatic, if you ask me,” he says. “I was terrified to visit him in his quarters when I was a child.”
“I’m terrified now,” I admit.
“Just be the charming woman I know is buried somewhere deep, deep down, and you’ll be fine.” He throws me a cocky grin.
“Thanks for that.” I ball my hands into fists to prevent myself from shoving him into the dragon’s fangs.
We enter into a formal sitting room with a door on each of the other three walls.
The entrance we just used closes, melting into the wall.
I stare at the empty space. It vanished the same way the secret entry in my bathroom did.
Creaking sounds and I turn just as one of the other doors opens, and I catch sight of a bed.
The emperor strides out, dressed in a uniform that is not much different from the rest of the Night Legion.
“Your Highness.” Brevan bows.
I curtsy.
“Please, stand. There’s no need for such formality here,” the emperor says.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness.” I rise.
“You’re welcome, Princess. Have a seat.” He settles into a large overstuffed black chair, and I take a smaller wooden chair with silver cushions.
“Brevan told me you had something to ask about regarding Darkfall traditions?” He stretches his arms out on the back of the chair as if he’s a normal man. It’s such a casual move it startles me. Especially considering how young he appears now.
“Yes,” I say. “I saw there was a tradition where the emperor would gift the citizens in the poorer neighborhoods grain and oil or other things that would help them get through winter.”
“That’s true. I did use to do that.”
My face heats. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the fact that he’s been emperor longer than anyone can remember. How many generations have lived and died under his reign?
“Well, I thought it would be something we could bring back. A way to build loyalty,” I say.
“And why would I be concerned about loyalty?” he asks.
“There have been two rebel attacks here since I’ve arrived.”
He chuckles. “If you can call those attacks, but I do see your point.”
I glance around the room, studying it for later. Were there more hidden doors that could be used to enter? Did he have weapons in here in case the rebels ever found a way inside?
“What would you do if I put you in charge of something like that?” he asks.
I return my focus to the emperor and take a breath while I gather my thoughts.
This feels like a trap, but I have to answer him.
“I would set up several stations around the city to pass out gifts. We’d want them scattered far enough apart that people could only go to one, and we’d need to ensure we have enough of them so that none of them get overrun.
“I would make sure there were more than enough gifts so everyone in line would get some. That would prevent rioting and create trust.”
The emperor moves so his elbows are on his knees, and he leans forward. “That is a good plan, but it’ll take months to set up something like that.”
“I understand,” I say.
“But there may be a way to bring a little piece of the tradition back to the people,” he says.
“Really?”
“I’ll send my legion with bags of grain for each citizen,” he says. “They’ll deliver them the week before Darkfall. A gift of celebration on behalf of our new princess.”
“That’s not necessary. It can be from you,” I say.
“Nonsense. It was your idea. And why shouldn’t the people love their new princess?” He stands. “Now, I have a meeting to prepare for. You can see your way out?”
“Yes.” I stand, then curtsy again. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He nods, then turns and walks back to his bedroom. My stomach twists as I catch sight of the bed again. I was not mistaken. I know exactly where he sleeps. And it’s very easy to find thanks to the dragon skull.
I try to linger to take in more details, but Brevan rushes me out. The door closes behind us just as alarm bells sound. Something explodes with a boom, and dust and debris fly across the hall. Panic rises in me, and I look over at Brevan, wide-eyed.
He quickly presses the wall near the skull, but the entry remains sealed. He runs to the ballroom’s double door. It’s also locked. “Fuck.”
Legionnaires sprint past us. Seconds later, there’s screaming, and more explosions shake the castle walls. Dust falls from overhead, and I shield my eyes.
“Stay behind me.” Brevan isn’t in his armor, but he’s pulled two daggers from holsters on his thighs.
He backs up so we’re moving against the wall. I think he’s trying to hide me, but there’s not any place to hide. We’re in a dead end at the dragon skull. The hallway in front of us leads to the main entrance of the castle and extends beyond to connect to the rest of the castle.
More legionnaires race by. There’s the clashing of metal on metal, grunts and cries, then another explosion. I press against the wall and cover my mouth to keep from crying out. My hands shake and my heart races.
I manage to steady myself when I remember that this has happened before. That the rebels are always met with a swift response. That there’s usually only a few of them.
That’s when a whole mass of people wearing blue and green and red march down the hall, right past our hallway.
Brevan blocks my view, but I can still hear people chanting and shouting and laughing. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but they’re in good spirits. Probably because I watched legionnaires head to attack them but not return.
This isn’t a little group.
“Fuck,” Brevan says.
I move enough so that I can see around him, and my heart drops into my stomach. Six armed men are heading our way.
Brevan doesn’t hesitate to rush toward the group, daggers at his sides. There’s something dangerous about the tensing of his muscles and the way he carries himself. How he doesn’t even so much as flinch as the men surround him. He radiates power.
“What do we have here, boys? A noble playing warrior?” one of the men sneers.
“And a little treat over there,” another says, eyeing me hungrily.
A few others leer at me, their expressions revealing everything they hope to do to me.
“Tell you what, big guy,” the first man drawls, “you give us that little morsel and we’ll let you go.”
A man with a knife in his grip leers at me. “I think that’s the Iskvalandian girl.”
“Look at that hair,” another says. “I wonder if it feels different than ours.”
“I wonder if it’s that color everywhere.” The first man strokes his chin while his gaze travels up and down my body.
Nausea rolls through me. I tighten my hands into fists and glare at the rebels. If they come any closer to me, I will do whatever necessary to defend myself.
For the first time, I understand why the real Sabina took her life. I’d rather die than let these men have me.
“I’m going to give you one chance to turn and run,” Brevan threatens.
They laugh and then the first one charges. He swings his sword, and Brevan moves with feline grace, dodging the blow. He twists, effortlessly slicing his blade across the man’s throat.
The intruder grips at his neck, his eyes wide with terror.
Blood pours from the wound. Gurgling sounds come when he opens and closes his mouth.
He falls to his knees, eyes impossibly wide, then he slumps to the ground.
A puddle of crimson spreads around him. Mouth hanging open, his lifeless eyes stare at nothing.
The other men charge Brevan as a unit, all five of them swinging swords and throwing punches. It’s a tangle of limbs and steel, and I’m getting dizzy just trying to follow the attacks.