Page 62 of Witchshadow

Henrick sighed, a long exhale that deflated him. He looked overwhelmed, he looked old, and for some reason that Safi did not understand, he seemed to have shed his masks. In fact, she had no doubt that if she could train her Truth-lens on him, the colors within would not change. Even his crown was absent today, though a forehead crease remained from its golden grip.

This was the real Henrick fon Cartorra, leader of the largest empire in the Witchlands, and he was tired.

It reminded Safi of a different imperial leader in a different empire, and against her will, something soft settled around her lungs. Something almost like pity that she desperately wished would go away.

“Do not concern yourself,” he said eventually.

“What if I wish to concern myself? What if I wish to know the state of this empire I’m meant to lead?”

“Hmmm.” His eyes thinned, and something she thought might be respect mingled in them. He did not answer her question, though. Instead, he changed subjects so completely, Safi’s mind could not keep up.

“If you are using methods of preventing pregnancy, you may stop.”

Safi recoiled against her bench. “My… Emperor?” Outside, the slums were fading, replaced by slaughterhouses and the stench of blood.

“If,” Henrick repeated, a bout of usual testiness returning, “you are using methods to prevent pregnancy, stop. There is no reason to avoid it, assuming my nephew is your only lover.”

Safi had no idea what to say to that.Yes, he is my only lover? Or,I am using methods? Or,Why would you want me to stop? Fortunately, she was saved from asking anything by Henrick’s repeated sigh.

And before her eyes, he aged another ten years. The pockmarks on his cheek turned stark and red against his pallid skin. He scratched tiredly at his jaw. “I have spent two decades grooming Leopold to be the perfect emperor, and for all his seeming shallowness… Well, you of all people must know who he really is.”

Safi’s eyebrows lifted.

“My nephew will be an even better emperor than I, and as I have told you before, I have no interest in replacing him.He,however, will need an heir. As it currently stands, he is the last in the Cartorran line.”

“And you… want me to produce that heir?” Safi could not believe she was having this conversation. While she’d known Henrick had no desire to produce children with her, she hadn’t guessed he’d want her to have them with Leopold.

It was strange. It was uncomfortable.

Henrick opened his hands. They trembled in time to the carriage’s bumps and sways. “When I am gone, you will marry Leopold. You love each other, do you not? We are not all so lucky, you know, so why wait to produce his heir?”

Gooseflesh pricked down Safi’s arms.Why, indeed?When Henrick had first claimed her as his betrothed at the Truce Summit ball in Veñaza City, Safi had assumed it was because—like everyone else in the Witchlands—he wanted her Truthwitchery. Even when his soldiers had hunted her, even when his Hell-Bards had eventually caught up to her, Safi had believed Henrick wanted her magic.

Then he had erased her magic two weeks ago, making it clear that her Truthwitchery mattered none.

Andnowhe was making it clear that he wanted her to remain on the throne even after he was gone. He wanted her as Leopold’s wife and the mother of imperial heirs.

“Why,” she asked softly, “did you marry me, my Emperor?”

Henrick scratched again at his jaw. Outside, the city turned to beige-and-pink stone. They had crossed into the wealthier merchants’ district. It would not be long before the carriage reached the imperial palace.

“If,” Safi pressed, “you want me to make heirs with Leopold, then I need to understand why. If you expect me to marry him after you are gone, then I need to understandwhy.”

Still, Henrick said nothing—and now Safi could see the first towers of the palace spiring above the city. They would arrive in minutes.

“My magic marked me the day I was born,” she rushed on. “I have spentmy whole life running, and for what? In the end, I was caught and I was used. Yet you took me with no intention of claiming my magic. I want to know why. Whyme.”

Henrick offered no external reaction, but he was clearly listening. So Safi powered on with her impulsive plea. “I have learned in the last few days that there is freedom in a life without magic—and in freedom, my Emperor, there is power.”

“It is power you seek then?”

“I am certainly tired of being powerless.” She lifted her chin; it was not a lie. “You married me in chains, but if you want me to rule beside you—and continue to rule with Leopold after you are gone—then I need to know why. If it is not my magic you desire, then what is it?”

He wet his lips, leaving them shiny, and drew in a breath as if to speak. Even his throat wobbled, the words clearly building. But then came the groan of iron and the shuttering of light. They had entered the palace gatehouse; their drive was at its end.

Henrick’s breath exhaled, his throat stilled, and Safi knew immediately that her moment had passed. Her chance to learn more was squandered.

The carriage rolled to a stop. The door opened. A footman rushed a stepping-box into place.