He may enjoy these final years of his life, but they won’t last. I will come for him. And I willdestroyhim. With the other five or not, he will be defeated.
“As pups, we would run around these trees, not knowing what was happening outside.” Naïa’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.
I realize I’ve been staring at her, but I haven’t spoken. Her words hang between us, and she hesitates, studying my expression. How will I ever awaken if I cannot silence this storm inside me?
Our conversation is interrupted by a harsh rustling from the tree line. A nýmphá rushes in my direction. “Your Majesty,” she begins. “A group is approaching. Our warriors but... there is a human with them.”
My heart starts pounding faster. A human?
Another nýmphá steps forward, her voice almost a whisper. “It is the one you spared, Your Majesty.”
The one I— “Gregor?”What is going on?
Why would Gregor be here? After almost two weeks, why would he come back?
Naïa tilts her head. “Who is Gregor?”
Essin wrinkles her snout. “What kind of name is that?”
“Tell the warriors bringing him that I’m waiting. And inform Theron. I need him here.”
The nýmphí bow low before rushing back into the forest where their glowing bodies disappear into the trees. My pulse quickens, but I have to remain calm. We’re in the middle of the first trial, and already things aren’t going as planned.
I turn to Elder Aïna, my voice steady despite the tension building in my chest, and say, “Whatever this is, I need to be prepared.”
She gives me a knowing nod. “And you will be.”
43
THE TSAR’S COURT OF FEAR
“You think this ceremony binds me to you? It binds only your fate to rot beside mine. You will sit on your golden throne, Varyán, and you will drown in the empire you built with my chains.”
—Eyleen Ársa, on her wedding day
Tsar Varyán II
The scent of blue roses fills the grand hall. Golden tapestries bearing my crest—the blue rose, a symbol of power—line the walls. My dark oak and gold throne gleams beneath the light streaming through the high stained-glass windows.
When commoners come to speak to their tsar, they see me asgod. Sitting on the shining throne.
Servants flit along the edges of the hall like shadows, silent as they execute the rituals of the day. Trays of ripe fruit and goblets of dark wine are brought to me on silver platters. The servants must climb seven steps before they reach my seat. I take a sip, letting the bold flavor cling to my tongue as I watch my knights patrol outside the towering windows.
Each man’s hand rests on his sword, and their every step echoes through the stone courtyard. To the untrained eye, it might appear to be a dance.
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Commander Stefan interrupts my thoughts. His armor gleams in the sunlight as he bows.
“They are disciplined,” I say, brushing my beard. “As they should be. Discipline without fear, however, is meaningless. Ensure they understand the consequences of failure, Stefan. Remind them, if necessary.”
Stefan straightens. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. They know you see everything, even when you are not present.”
“Good. Fear is what keeps them loyal. Gold fades, whores get old, but fear... fear stays.”
As Stefan bows once more, my attention shifts to the sound of footsteps echoing in the hall. Commander Larn approaches, flanked by two knights dragging a trembling man between them.
Larn bows deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty, we bring Sir Barric. He disobeyed your orders regarding Noël during the guild’s mission. He allowed Arnold to take her.”
Barric stumbles forward. His knees hit the marble floor with a thud, and his voice cracks as he says, “Your Imperial Majesty, please! I was threatened—Arnold gave me no choice! I swear my loyalty to you, always!”
