Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

T he Vasilikans were even more terrifying than Cassandra remembered.

The Imperial guards had arrived at the intake tower this morning, black wings on display above raven-head helmets, broadswords clasped within gauntleted hands.

As Cassandra made her way across the yard, she tried to avoid the attention of the female at the head of their formation.

Vicereine Lykan’s ice blond hair glowed in the early morning murk, her pale eyes raking a chilly gaze across the prisoners gathering before her. Her crimson lips twitched upward, and Cassandra fought the urge to cover wings she knew were hidden. She’d knocked back that veiling potion—a large enough dose to last several hours—as soon as she’d spied the first Vasilikan.

The prisoners gathered before the Vicereine, Cassandra flanked on one side by Reena, Ronin a brooding, tattooed wall of muscle on the other. If Cassandra weren’t being watched so carefully, she might have asked where Eamon was.

The Vicereine’s crystalline voice broke the yard’s heavy silence. “You have all been accused of crimes against your Empire. Against your Emperor. The Imperial Council has found you guilty.”

Cassandra bit back a scoff. They’d all been found guilty without any chance of defending themselves. Not that she was surprised.

A cruel smile revealed the Vicereine’s fangs. “And I am here to deliver your sentences.”

“Where’s the Emperor?” A brave prisoner, a burly Beastrunner with shaggy black hair, piped up from the edge of the crowd. “He too cowardly to come here and show his face to his subjects ?”

The Vicereine snapped her fingers and a Vasilikan flashed to the Beastrunner in a supernatural blur, delivering a heavy blow to the male’s stomach. He crumpled forward, clutching his middle, but his sarcastic smile didn’t falter. The Vasilikan rejoined the line with the other guards.

Cassandra glanced at Ronin, who quirked an onyx eyebrow. It was strange that Eamon would miss her sentencing. Perhaps this was just another of his ploys to throw her, prove how ineffectual she was. How unworthy of his presence.

“Matakos,” the Vicereine spat. “You’re up first.”

Ronin clapped Cassandra on the shoulder, then squeezed. A show of solidarity as he sauntered over to the Vicereine.

“Take off your shirt,” she commanded and Ronin obeyed, grasping it at the back of his neck and hauling it over his head. He kept the shirt clenched in his fist as two Vasilikans stepped out of line to wrap their gauntleted hands around his massive upper arms.

The Vicereine studied his bare torso, the aquamarine tattoos swirling across his chest. A mixture of attraction and disdain twisted her sharp features.

Ronin winked at her.

“Ronin Matakos,” she said, upper lip curling, “you stand accused of conspiring against the Empire and undermining the interests of your Emperor with acts of treason. Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Ronin’s answering grin was feral. “He’s not my fucking Emperor.”

“Charming.” The Vicereine’s voice was cloaked in menace and power as she proclaimed, “You are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment within Tartarus.”

A jet of red light burst from several feet behind the Vasilikans, seemingly out of nowhere. From the wards themselves?

It speared into Ronin’s chest, right over his heart. Flesh crackled and popped as the smell of burnt hair and charred skin wafted through the yard.

Ronin sucked heaving breaths through clenched teeth, but to his credit, didn’t make a single sound.

The light dissolved, revealing an angry, V-shaped brand that had burned away a section of Ronin’s tattoos.

The Vicereine traced a hand up his stomach, her fingers rippling over the muscled grooves, then clucked her tongue. “Pity to ruin such a work of art.” She pressed a thumb against Ronin’s burn.

“Fuck you,” he gasped, straining against the Vasilikans. “When I get out of here, I’m going to rip off your wings and feed them to your lover.” He spat, the blood-tinged glob splattering at her feet. “Imperial whore.”

She smiled and cupped his cheek. “Hold on to that anger as long as you can, Matakos. It might even serve you in there.” She ripped the shirt from his hands and shoved it against his chest. “Get dressed and go wait by the gate while we deal with the rest of the dregs.”

Ronin slipped his shirt on, wincing as the gray fabric slid over his wound, then turned to the towering obsidian gate across the yard. What fresh torments awaited the prisoners beyond those mist-shrouded doors?

The Vicereine performed the same show on the remaining prisoners, the wards branding each with a life sentence.

During Reena’s turn, she elongated a claw and swiped it across the Vicereine’s face, drawing a line of blood. Lykan didn’t retaliate, merely offered Reena a crazed smile and made a snide remark about how quickly Tartarus would crush her spirit.

After what seemed like hours, Cassandra was the only prisoner left to receive her sentence. The rest of the group had joined Ronin at the gate, many collapsed, sobbing, in the dirt.

The Vicereine aimed a violent, gleeful grin at Cassandra, who sent back a matching one before the Vicereine crooked her finger, beckoning. “Cassandra Fortin. The Savior Sister. Come forth and receive your sentence.”

Cassandra kept the smile on her face as she approached. She would not be broken by this golden-winged bitch.

The Vasilikans grabbed Cassandra’s arms and held her in place as the Vicereine dipped her head so close that her nose caressed Cassandra’s cheek.

Cassandra tensed, worried that Lykan might be able to scent the veiling potion, sense what Cassandra had become.

But the Vicereine gave no hint she’d uncovered the deception as she whispered, “It’s a rather ironic title, actually. Since all the obliviates you saved have been re-obliviated and sent to the continent.”

Cassandra’s heart spilled a fresh wave of grief. All the work that she, Reena, Hella, and Borea had done to save those poor humans, undone by the monster this female served.

She didn’t dare let anything show as she cast a stony stare past the Vicereine into the barren yard.

“Though you’ve always tried to raise yourself above your station, haven’t you?” The Vicereine’s laughter tickled Cassandra’s cheek. “Thinking yourself worthy of the Exiled Prince. Though I can hardly blame you for trying.” Her lips brushed Cassandra’s ear. “Sometimes even I miss the feeling of him moving inside me. The pleasure he conjured with those skillful hands and that glorious tongue.”

Cassandra’s restraint snapped. She snarled, jerking forward to smash her forehead into Lykan’s face. The Vicereine pulled back before she could manage it, her low chuckle boiling Cassandra’s blood. She couldn’t stop the question that ripped up her throat. “What has Eamon done with him?”

The sting of the Vicereine’s slap did nothing to quell Cassandra’s rage. “Tristan will be punished for his insolence. And do not dare speak of your Emperor so casually.”

The Vicereine’s eye twitched. The smallest of tells.

And the words she’d chosen.

Will be punished. Not has been punished.

The Vicereine grabbed Cassandra’s upper arm, and the memory took over instantaneously.

Eamon Erabis, black wings askew and roaring in frustration as he tore apart an ornate, gilded room—decor Cassandra recognized from the Vicereine’s palace. Lykan watched on helplessly, unable to soothe his anger.

Had Tristan escaped?

Hope blazed through Cassandra’s chest, bright enough to dim the mists curling around the stone gate.

But before she could think on it further, or question how she was able to view the memory from touch alone and without Lykan noticing, the Vicereine ripped off Cassandra’s shirt and tossed it into the dirt. Cassandra dipped her eyes to the bare space above her collarbone where Tristan’s mark was still hidden by the veiling potion.

“Cassandra Fortin,” the Vicereine intoned, “you are hereby sentenced, by order of his Imperial Majesty Eamon Erabis, to death for your crimes.”

Cassandra barely had a second to breathe before the red light bolted from the wards and seared her chest. Her legs buckled, and the two Vasilikans gripped her arms tighter to keep her upright.

A scream sawed past her lips. She didn’t want to give the Vicereine the satisfaction, but she couldn’t help it. Fire tore through her chest and for a moment, she was worried she might pass out from the pain.

The light sucked back into the wards, and Cassandra glanced down at her pink, smoldering skin. At the letter inside the circle bubbling and blistering her flesh.

T. For Than.

Death.

The irony of her impending death—announced seconds after that vision that suggested Tristan might be free—was suddenly the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard.

Peals of uproarious laughter tore up her throat as the Vicereine snatched her chin. “Yes, girl , it is funny, isn’t it? You’ll find out exactly how funny very, very shortly.”

The Vicereine shoved Cassandra toward the gate, and the stone doors groaned open, leaking clouds of night-dark mist.

“Give your executioner my regards,” the Vicereine crooned.

Cassandra snatched up her shirt, then struggled back into it as she joined Ronin and Reena.

“Don’t worry, Cass.” Reena said, her face tight with fear as she looped an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders. Seeing Reena afraid—one of the bravest females with the most I-couldn’t-give-less-of-a-shit attitudes Cassandra had ever known—chilled her to the bone. “We’ll figure it out.”

Cassandra looked to Ronin, who wore a similarly horrified expression, but did his best to affirm Reena’s statement with a stiff nod.

Cassandra tossed a glance over her shoulder, back toward the Vicereine and the Vasilikans. The Vicereine murmured something into the wards before the entire group vanished.

The obsidian gate fully opened, and several prisoners jumped at the boom that echoed across the yard.

While the others hesitated, Cassandra, Reena, and Ronin stepped forward.

They held hands as they crossed the threshold, swallowed by the swirling mists.