Page 5 of Witchshadow

One of the Emperor’s many simpering attendants rushed forward, the whip-thin man clearly appalled to see Safi still dressed in her green velvet nightgown. Which just reminded her how much she hated him, how much she hated his master, and howfuriousshe was that Henrick had hurt Lev.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” the attendant began, hurrying toward her, “the Emperor would like you to dress for court—”

Safi threw him. So easily. Too easily, really. When he was near enough to reach, his palms raised and beseeching, she smacked up both his arms, braced one leg against his hip, and dumped him to the ground.

“Stay down,” she ordered, pleased when none of the Hell-Bards intervened. Now that she was one of them, they regularly looked the other way when she did things that were…beneathher title.

A second attendant, his eyes bulging, yanked open the door into the Emperor’s quarters. He did not have time to announce Safi before she strode in.

She had entered Henrick’s personal office only once before, prior to having her magic severed away. At that time, the scarlet rugs had shone bright as fresh blood. Now, they were old gashes, left exposed and rotten. Even the bookshelves she had genuinely admired—so many tomes from all over the Witchlands and beyond—now felt oppressive. Too many shades of gray stacked around her.

Behind a broad desk layered thick with papers and ledgers sat the Emperor himself: Henrick fon Cartorra. He was, as Safi was meant to be, dressed for court, in a fine brown velvet suit.

The color did not suit him, and for the hundredth time, Safi was struck by his toad-like visage, his face sagging and mouth too wide. Although, now she understood his looks were carefully cultivated. The waddling and exaggerated underbite, the slouched posture and overindulgence in food, the unkempt nature of his graying brown curls. Even the sallow undertones to his pale skin seemed part of the act. And though he might look like a toad, he had the mind of a taro player—one who knew exactly how to play the tricky Emperor card.

Safi came to a stop before his desk. “If you want me to do something,” she declared, standing at her tallest, “then pullmynoose. Do not hurt the Hell-Bards, do you understand?”

Henrick sniffed, an indulgent sound. “My Empress.” He pushed to his feet with a grunt. “I will hurt whomever I please, and despite your wishes, that will never be you.”

“Then why put this on me?” She yanked at the chain around her neck. “If you do not plan to use it, why bind me to you at all?”

His lips spread with a smile. “That is simply a guarantee.” His one snaggling tooth jutted out above the rest as he shuffled around his desk toward her. “You proved I could not trust you, so I did what I had to do. If you did not want others to suffer at your expense, then you should never have returned to Cartorra. You should have continued running, just as your uncle wanted you to do.”

It was a fist to the stomach, a blow meant to wound—and it did. Safiknew her own mistakes had landed her here. She’d come for marriage to save her uncle. Instead, she’d ended up a Hell-Bard like him.

It had been so inevitable, really. Her magic had cursed her from the day she’d been born, but only when she did not have it had she realized how much her curse had meant to her. She had once told Caden that her Truthwitchery was like living beside the ocean. Hundreds of tiny inconsequential truths and lies, told every day by everyone. The ceaseless waves eventually faded into nothing.

Except that they’d never truly been nothing.Nowshe knew what nothing felt like.Nowshe understood eternal silence she could never escape.

As Henrick turned away to begin pacing and lecturing—one of his favorite activities—Safi stopped listening. It had been so long since she had felt anything, and this heat in her chest, this jittering in her heel, felt good. This was who she was, even with the noose to imprison her. She was recklessness and initiation, she was foolhardy plans with no escape routes. And gods, what she was about to do could explode so badly.

Which was exactly what made it so perfect.

When Henrick reached the next turning point in his pacing, when his toad-like form swiveled around to face her, Safi lunged. It was not an attack meant for damage. It had no finesse like she’d executed in the hall, and the Emperor could easily defend against it—for he was far more agile than he portrayed.

But Safi wanted to see if he would react not with force, but with power. Not with physicality, but with instinct.

And he did.

As Safi slammed into him and he rocked back toward his shelves, his right hand flew toward his belt, toward a golden chain wrapped around it. Safi had noticed that chain before; she’d thought it decorative. It must instead be a main chain to control all others, and more alarming—more incredible—were the two uncut rubies tucked beneath it, wrapped in thread—

Stop.

The command lightninged into Safi’s skull. So powerful, she could not resist. The word lived in her bones, lived in her soul. It froze her with shadows that could not be disobeyed.

And Safi didn’t want to disobey. She’d seen all she needed to see.

So she stopped, dropping to her knees before Henrick, and instantly,the pain—and the command—receded. The shadows cleared. Safi’s bones and soul were her own again.

“Do not,” Henrick snarled, “make me repeat that.” He grabbed her hair and snapped her head upward. His eyes burned with fury; her eyes burned with unwelcome tears. “I will put you in your quarters if I have to. Do you understand,my Empress?”

When she didn’t answer, he yanked at the chain upon his belt once again… and startled cries erupted in the hallway outside.

“Stop,” she croaked. Her heart still thumped too fast from his command. Her muscles still felt like ice had shattered within. She wished such agony on no one.

“I will stop”—Henrick pulled her hair tighter—“when you say you understand. Do you?”

She nodded.