Ambrose pulled her attention from the stranger that reflected back at her and shoved the new thoughts and feelings aside. She tilted her face up to look at the guard. A burly man. Even though his armor covered almostevery inch of him, she could tell he was a beast, his broad chest heaving with each controlled breath. Only a little Mana poured out of him that she could tell, but that didn’t mean power didn’t still radiate off him. Whoever he was, he was incredibly strong.
“Your friend deserved what he got. Probably worse if I’m being honest. It’s what you all deserve.”
Though she could only see his eyes through the slit in the metal of his helmet, the fury that raged behind them was unmistakable.
“You’re trying to bait me, and it won’t work. I won’t end your life in a crime of passion, angered to the point of blind rage.” He stepped forward, as close to the bars as he could and lifted the visor of his helmet so she could clearly see his face. Young, but still older than her by more than a few years. His square jaw was slightly off center as though it had been broken and never healed—at least not with Magick. His skin was rough for his age, thick brows pulled together in loathing. “You killed a guard. Never has a servant killed one of us, and I’m going to watch you burn for it.” He tapped his head with a small spark of his finger. “I’m going to commit your scream to memory so that I can play it again and again… whenever I want. The only thing that will be left of you will be the sounds of your final moments.”
Sound Magick, how poetic.
Ambrose feigned impartiality, her face set into an expression of stone, but behind it, she was terrified. “You mean like your friend? He screamed like a pig when I put his own sword through his chest.”
A growl emanated low in the Enforcer’s chest as he threw a hand between the bars and failed to grab her, his fingers missing her by mere inches and she stuck her tongue out at him with a sneer.
“You missed.”
“They’re coming for you, young mage.”
A door at the end of the hall burst open, wood crashing against stone.
“Soldier! What do you think you’re doing?” Magnus rushed towards them, trailed by four of the Draconian Guard and two other Enforcers. Their steps a shuffle as they marched toward them. “Well? Answer me.”
“I don’t report to you, old mage.” The guard replaced his helmet, nevertaking his eyes off Ambrose. He pulled a key from his belt and unlocked the barred door that separated them. “She’s ready. Take her.”
Magnus made a sound of disapproval as two of the draconians stepped forward on either side of her. Ambrose had only been this close to a draconian a handful of times and the musky smell of old meat and blood choked her the same as it always did. With scaled skin that covered their whole body, their faces showed the hybrid creature they were—offspring of a human and a dragon, draconians were always born male and vicious. Called into service when they came of age, every one of them was brought into the Draconian Guard to serve the empire, no exceptions. They wrapped their clawed fingers around her arms and lifted her off her feet. Magnus looked like he’d be ill all over the floor as they dragged her from the stone room. She tried to catch his eye but it was useless. Magnus wouldn’t look at her no matter how hard she tried. The expression on his face said it all.
She was going to die.
Was this really the end? She should’ve listened to Adym during his lectures. Maybe Ms. Asquith had been right and she didn’t need to be an oracle to see Ambrose’s future to know this had always been her fate.
Ambrose looked to her mentor. “Magnus.Please.” But she knew it was no use. He was more than powerful enough to save her but she could never ask him to go against the empire. He’d never survive it. But she didn’t know what else to do.
Magnus turned his gaze to the ground.
He knew. She knew.
There was no coming back from this. A servant didn’t get to kill a guard and go unpunished. Why would she ever think she had a real chance at escape? No one escaped the empire. Consequences for actions she was forced to take. All because she wouldn’t let that guard do whatever he wanted? And now she deserved to die for it?
It was wrong. Everything was wrong.
She fought and pulled but they hardly noticed as the guards dragged her through the damp stone hallway. Images of all the people she’d seenor heard tortured raced through her mind. Would they torture her first? Sentence her to death and burn her? Would they make it public? She’d seen bodies stuffed into cages filled with starving rats to be eaten alive, magickally bound so they couldn’t move while the creatures devoured them, one small bite at a time. Starved people hung from hooks by their ankles upside down, flogged to near death just to be healed and the process repeated. What kind of punishment was befitting of a guard killer?
She tried to plant her feet and slow the guards down as they pulled her into the Grand Hall. Every higher noble in the palace was gathered together in large rows of seating, animatedly discussing between themselves. Imperial and Draconian Guard mixed together in a circle around the room, up against the walls, and out of sight. A ring of Enforcers spread around the back of the thrones, where the king sat atop his golden seat.
“Kneel.” The guard to her right kicked the back of her leg out from under her and she fell to her knees with a painful thud.
The king glared at her, decorated in his official armor. The fabric of his cloak draped down his shoulders like a waterfall over a cliff, the Eltorian crest proudly displayed across the chest of his armor as it glinted in the firelight. The sword at his side was called Storm Cleaver, one of the ten legendary weapons of the first era and a gift to him from the gods themselves.
A warrior king for a warrior kingdom.
To the right of the king, his brother sat facing away as though so disinterested with the scene unfolding that he would rather be doing anything else and gave her little attention. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his official armor for the trial, but wore the same black leather pants and white loose shirt he always did while he rested his face on the palm of his hand. He lazily glanced her way before looking away again. A mouse in a lion’s den too boring to bother with.
To the left of the king was something curious.
A being taller than the king but smaller in build, sat perched in the queen’s throne. With sharp features that could have been taken handsomely had they not been crafted onto the creature they were. His eyes a bright sinisteremerald as he watched like a crouched panther. His skin pale as though he weren’t even alive with long blond hair that fell gracefully to his waist. It was as though every part of him was crafted by master artists who made a pact with darkness. The king had always been the epitome of power to Ambrose, a power she often wondered if it matched the gods themselves. To see now how naive she had been. Next to the newcomer, the king looked like nothing more than a child. It was clear the unfamiliar man had to be a ruler in his own right. Ambrose wasn’t the only one who noticed the power coming from the being. She’d assumed when they entered, the nobles were talking about her, but now she could clearly see their attention was turned to the man next to the king. They weren’t excited whispers, but nervous ones. They were as terrified of him as she was.
What kind of king could make the warrior king look like a novice in comparison?
The man rose slowly from his seat and cleared his throat. “Lords and ladies of Eltoria, welcome.” No one seemed shocked that he spoke instead of the king, the crowd hushed and collectively held their breath as they waited for him to continue. An icy rush of energy pushed against the room as he spoke again. “My name is Casimir of Naenaros, and today we decide the fate of a criminal of a highest offense.”
