But he was followed by about twenty guards.
“Maz,” I breathed, the relief coursing through me.
The emperor would be furious about this. A warlord killed in his palace? He was already having problems quelling the rebellions in the north, he’d have another if they suspected he’d just murdered one of his greatest opponents under the guise of hospitality.
“I was just about to come find you,” I said, gesturing to the body at my feet.
There was certainly no love lost between me and the warlord. “I found him here. He’s dead.”
“Dani.” Maz’s face was a cool mask. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s at the scene of the crime!” Darbaran leapt forward, his scimitar drawn.
Out of reflex I grabbed the hilt of my sword and stepped back.
“See? She moves to attack me! The captain of the palace guards!” His little mongoose face was pinched in fury and I wanted to kick him in it.
“Oh, shut up,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “It’s painfully obvious I had nothing to do with this.”
I turned to Maz with faint amusement, but stopped short when he didn’t return the look. Instead, on his face was the same impassive expression.
Something tugged at the back of my mind, and I felt drawn out of myself, as if I were watching what was happening from far away.
“Maz?” I winced at the sound of my voice—almost pleading.
“You cannot be serious,” sneered Darbaran. “She’s standing over his dead body. The emperor must be told. She’s murdered a warlord under his own roof!”
“Oh, and that’s very convenient for him, considering this warlord leads one of the biggest factions against him,” I snapped.
But the moment I said it, I knew it was wrong.
I’d never had a problem with saying the exact thing that was on my mind and not caring about the results. But now, I recognized that I should have bitten my tongue.
All twenty guards unsheathed their swords and pointed them at me.
Sweat beaded at my forehead. My hands grew damp. I tightened them around the hilt of my sword, because if I didn’t, my entire body might be shaking. But I wasn’t about to let them skewer me without putting up a fight.
I slowly sank into a fighting stance and lifted my own blade.
Mazin was still standing there, frozen.
“Maz,” I forced myself to say calmly, without screaming, even though every fiber of my being was ready to scream this whole palace down. “Dosomething.”
He could command these soldiers. He could stop them from advancing on me.
That seemed to shake him out of whatever trance he was in, and he too reached for his blade.
I shook my head in confusion; why was he arming himself?
Why didn’t he just tell them to stand down?
His face was stone; the only proof I had that he was still listening to me was the slight tick in his jaw.
Rising horror washed over me.
He couldn’t.
Maz couldn’t tell them to let me go. Not with a key warlord from the northern tribes dead at my feet.
