Page 20

When Aemyra woke, she was in a feather bed and the pale light shining through the window told her it was sunrise.

Her head was pounding, and there was an odd taste in her mouth. Someone had bathed her and she was lying under the sheets in nothing more than a white slip. Pulling back the covers, she padded across the cold floor and stood in front of the window.

An azure sky stretched over Loch Lorna to the horizon, and although Aemyra gripped the windowpane for support, she didn’t feel dizzy. àird Lasair sprawled in front of her, chipped roof tiles bathed in the weak winter sunlight. She had never seen the city from this angle before.

Everything came flooding back.

Terrea, Lachlann, Orlagh, Pàdraig, Kenna…

Aemyra felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Fiorean had kidnapped her and brought her back to Caisteal Lasair—for what? She had a vague memory of a dark cell, and the dungeons made more sense for a prisoner than the feather bed she had just vacated.

How long had she been unconscious for? Where was her dragon? Why couldn’t she feel the Bond between them? Did her father even know she had been captured?

Aemyra spun from the window to look around the room. She was an idiot. What had she been thinking, running off to seek vengeance alone? She was supposed to be leading her army to overthrow this very city and now she was on the wrong side of the walls.

She hurriedly sought out a chamber pot, her bladder confirming she had been unconscious for far too long.

Running her fingers over her wrists, Aemyra gave thanks to Brigid that she wasn’t in chains—although she vaguely remembered that she had been.

Why hadn’t they killed her yet? Were they waiting to make her execution a public spectacle?

She wrapped one hand around her throat, anticipating how it would feel when an axe sliced through her flesh, separating her head from her shoulders. Perhaps Fiorean would burn her with his dragon too. Surely Evander would see it as justice for her treason.

She had to escape before that happened.

Draevan still had spies within these walls. If Aemyra could find one, they would surely help her.

Fiorean’s location had been a trap. Her family had been executed and she had delivered herself to the enemy as a result of her own recklessness.

Before she could dress herself and make her escape, the doors to her chamber opened and Katherine strode in.

Aemyra froze, her head giving a painful throb.

“Don’t worry. I am with Athair Alfred,” the dowager queen said.

Aemyra refrained from commenting that the presence of the man responsible for polluting Tìr Teine with the word of the Savior only made her more uncomfortable.

Katherine gestured to the tray of food a servant had evidently brought earlier. “You must regain your strength. Please eat.”

Aemyra didn’t move.

“It isn’t poisoned.” Katherine sighed, heels clicking delicately on the floor.

Still, Aemyra refused to move, keeping one eye on the priest, who hovered in the corner of the room. His graying beard made his bald pate more severe as he surveyed Aemyra with extreme distaste.

The feeling was mutual.

Katherine sat in the delicate chair beside the table and pulled a stem of grapes toward her.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Aemyra asked, her voice dry from lack of use.

“Almost three days,” Katherine commented. “That was quite a nasty blow to the head my son inflicted upon you. Combined with your night spent in the cells—well, I suppose we can all be glad that you survived it.”

Aemyra frowned. “Why would you be glad that I survived anything?”

Katherine regarded her with those unsettling eyes. Like a doe. Aemyra knew what lurked behind them was as dark as Alfred’s robes.

“Sir Nairn had you escorted to the dungeons on King Evander’s orders, not mine. It is I who have seen you settled into rooms more appropriate to your station,” Katherine said.

“You are a good deal too merciful, Your Grace,” Athair Alfred interrupted, a disconcerting edge to his voice. “We had already come to an agreement about the princess’s lodgings.”

Aemyra remembered waking briefly in a cold, dank cell. Nausea roiled in her gut as she looked toward the priest who had wanted to leave her there.

“A few weeks ago, you tried to have me murdered in the temple. Why have you brought me back here?” Aemyra eyed the tray. “To fatten me up like a pig for slaughter? I am the queen. ”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

Between the pain in her head and Katherine’s simpering, Aemyra’s temper snapped. She summoned her magic and thrust her hand out toward the dowager queen.

Nothing happened.

Panic clawed its way through Aemyra’s chest as Alfred smiled.

Reflecting inward, searching for the magic that had been part of her since birth, Aemyra felt nothing but a hollowness in her chest. No matter how she searched, she could not summon even one stray ember. It was why the Bond to her dragon was gone. Muted in a way that had nothing to do with distance.

A choked sound left her throat as she clawed at her own chest.

“What did you do?” Aemyra cried, looking between Alfred and Katherine.

Without a single hair out of place, the collar of her mourning gown buttoned up to her neck, Katherine slipped an empty vial out of her pocket.

“Ensured the safety of those residing within these walls. Quite the tonic the Chosen have managed to brew after their experiments in Tìr Uisge. I have Athair Alfred to thank for suggesting we administer it to you,” Katherine said.

Aemyra had to hold on to the bedpost in order to stop herself from falling over. They had slipped something into her while she had been asleep, and it had taken away her magic.

“And you preach purity and honor,” Aemyra spat.

Katherine shrugged, slipping the vial back into the folds of her dress. “You tried to usurp my son. I did what was necessary.”

Aemyra felt suffocated in her own body. She had never before felt so weak, so vulnerable. She had always known that should one of her weapons fail, her fire would save her. She had defined herself by her gifts for her whole life.

She was powerful, she was blessed, she was…

Nothing.

Without her magic she was completely ordinary. Without her dragon…

Thoughts of Terrea interrupted everything else, and Aemyra hastily tried to discern if Katherine or Alfred knew she was Bonded. Sitting down heavily on the end of the bed before her knees gave out, Aemyra endured the panic rushing through her bloodstream and willed herself to think.

She hadn’t used the full extent of her fire to fight Fiorean, nor had she been able to summon any before they had slipped this magic-binding agent down her throat.

The sole thought that Terrea was safe was enough to keep her silent. It was a minor miracle her dragon hadn’t burned the city down to find her.

Katherine smiled smugly, and Aemyra was content to let the dowager queen believe she had the upper hand. So she stared down at her flameless palms, avoiding eye contact.

If she hoped to make it out of àird Lasair alive, and as queen, then she would have to beat Katherine and the leader of the Chosen at whatever game they were playing.

But first she needed to know where the pieces were.

Katherine lifted her eyes from the grapes she was plucking. “How did you come to be in Leuthanach lands? Last reports placed you somewhere along the northern coast.”

Lying smoothly, Aemyra replied, “I accompanied my father and Gealach on a scouting mission. I slipped away from him in search of Prince Fiorean after the news of what he had done to my family reached us.”

Alfred glared at her like he could sense the lie and strode closer to where Katherine sat, looming over her slight frame like a malevolent shadow. Alfred had been as much a part of Haedren’s marriage negotiations as Katherine had been. No doubt the king had thought one Chosen priest in Tìr Teine a small price to pay for the support of the ùir armada.

Aemyra wondered how deep-rooted their loyalty to each other was. From the look of things, Katherine was about as devoted to Alfred as Maeve was to Draevan.

Reverently, Katherine touched her Savior’s pendant, where it rested against her lace-covered clavicle. “I desire to end this war before it even begins. You are your father’s daughter and are a rightful Princess of Penryth. No one will deny that. However, my son has been crowned king and all who reside in àird Lasair have sworn fealty to him. Accept this and no more blood need be shed.”

Katherine’s eyes flickered toward Athair Alfred, some unreadable expression lurking in the depths of those eyes.

Aemyra knew that her father would be furious. Waking up to find her gone, and then Terrea returning without her? If Evander didn’t order her execution, her father and brother would likely be lining up to do the honors themselves.

“Your sons seem to enjoy spilling the blood of innocents,” Aemyra spat.

Nails digging into her palms, Aemyra willed herself not to fall to pieces in front of these two savages and wished she had access to her magic. She had been captured, and had failed to avenge her family. Failed to bring her baby brother’s killer to justice.

As if reading Aemyra’s thoughts, Katherine smoothed her dark dress.

“I suggest you eat. You will need your strength for what is to come.”

Aemyra couldn’t tell if Katherine’s words sounded like a warning or a threat. The priest was looking at her like she needed to be punished, and yet Aemyra couldn’t bring herself to cower before him.

“Why? So I can walk myself to the executioner’s block?” she asked.

Katherine turned, one hand on the doorknob. “There will be no need to slaughter you. You are much more valuable to us alive.”