The king resumed his pacing. Sejanus watched him, hardly daring to breathe. Randor was devious, devious enough to have Sejanus take the fall for executing a popular noblewoman…a woman who also happened to be related to a powerful sorcerer. Sejanus had no illusions about how disposable he was, if the king needed a scapegoat. Lady Emily was probably the most detested aristocrat in Zangaria, as far as the nobility were concerned, but she was very popular amongst the common folk. They might rise up to avenge her death.
No one would rise in defense of the Crown Princess, he told himself. But they’d fight for a common-born bitch who turned their world upside down.
“Very well,” Randor growled. He sounded as though he’d allowed Sejanus to talk him into it. “We will arrange a public execution. If my daughter shows her face, we will have her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sejanus said.
He wondered, briefly, if he should arrange for Alassa to die while she was being taken into custody. And her wretched husband too. It shouldn’t be that hard to arrange for an accident, then cover his tracks. The king would be furious–he needed Alassa’s child–but he did have a bastard son. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to retroactively legitimize the child. And it would save Sejanus from the threat of Princess Alassa taking the throne and ordering his immediate execution.
Risky, he told himself. If the king found out, Sejanus would lose his head. His entire family would lose their heads. But necessary.
He bowed low, then went to carry out the king’s orders…
…And add a refinement or two of his own.
Chapter Thirty-Four
EMILY WANTED–DESPERATELY–TO RUB HER aching jaw. Randor’s blows had hurt badly, badly enough to worry her. She could taste blood in her mouth, feel one of her teeth slowly coming loose…it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. Randor could have beaten her bloody, or raped her, or…he could have killed her. It might even have been the wisest thing to do. Alassa and the others would be forced to either abandon her or waste a great deal of time searching for her.
And if I died in darkness, no one would be entirely sure I was dead, Emily thought. She shifted, uncomfortably. The manacles were starting to wear on her. I’d be like the Princes in the Tower…no one would really know what had happened to me.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, feeling a surge of bitter helplessness. No matter how she wracked her brain, she couldn’t see any way out. She was chained up, locked in a cell…and she’d bet half her fortune there were plenty of security measures she couldn’t see. A handful of wards would be more than enough to keep her in place without requiring much effort from the guards. She was surprised Matilda hadn’t frozen her in place after the king left. It would have been an extra layer of security that would have cost her nothing and potentially saved a great deal.
She hated, really hated, being helpless. She’d worked hard to make it difficult for anyone to render her helpless. And yet, Randor and his servants had succeeded. She was trapped, unable to escape…utterly at their mercy. The only reason she was alive was Randor wanted–needed–to use her for bait. It wouldn’t be long before she was marched down to the execution ground and beheaded. And anyone who tried to save her was going to die too.
Randor was right, she realized numbly. Void wasn’t going to come to her aid. She wasn’t his real daughter, after all. Perhaps he’d come anyway–she wanted to believe he was going to come anyway–but she didn’t dare hope too much. She had to stand on her own two feet, except…except her feet were chained too. There was no way she could stand on her own.
She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew was someone wiping her face with a cloth. Her eyes sprang open, her body recoiling in horror as she realized the dwarf was cleaning her skin with surprisingly tender motions. How…how had he managed to enter the cell without waking her? She wondered, grimly, if the wards were designed to make it harder for her to hear the guards…or if she was in a worse state than she thought. Her stomach growled, loudly. She flushed as the dwarf stepped back.
“You’re awake,” he said, curtly. “Welcome back.”
Emily glowered at him. The bastard had been touching her while she slept. Who knew what else he’d been doing to her? The dwarf ignored her glare and turned, revealing a small tray lying on the floor behind him. A single bowl of soup sat on the tray, steaming merrily away as the dwarf picked it up. He held a pewter spoon in his other hand.
“Open up,” he said, with mock cheer. “I’ve got orders to feed you.”
“I don’t think you’re meant to feed me like a baby,” Emily said. She wondered what she could do if she managed to get at least one hand free. “I can feed myself.”
“The king has issued specific orders that you are to remain chained at all times,” the dwarf said. “And I cannot disobey his orders.”
He scooped up some soup in the spoon. “Open up.”
Emily felt her stomach churn. The soup didn’t look very tasty at all. It was yellowish, with chunks of fat floating in the hot liquid…she’d seen things in cesspits that looked more appetizing. Randor, it seemed, wasn’t going to allow the condemned girl to have a final meal before she faced the headsman. She was tempted to tell the dwarf to take the soup away, but a grim awareness that she needed to eat stopped her. Who knew? Maybe something would happen that would give her a chance to escape.
She opened her mouth. The dwarf shoved the spoon in, giggling all the while. Emily gagged as she tasted the soup, trying desperately not to spit it out. She had no idea what the cook had been trying to do, but he’d failed. The soup tasted of nothing more than rancid fat, with hints of meat. She didn’t think she wanted to know the details. The dwarf gave her a second spoonful, then a third. Emily tried to ignore his heavy breathing. If he was getting a kick out of forcing her to eat like a baby…
It could be worse, she told herself. Her stomach was churning unpleasantly. They could be making me drink poison.
“I could fetch you something else,” the dwarf said, as he gave her the last spoonful. “But that would require certain considerations…”
He leered at her, his hands going to his crotch. Emily recoiled, suddenly in utterly no doubt what he wanted. His grin told the rest of the story. He didn’t want to force himself on her, even though he could have done it easily; he wanted her to submit of her own free will…she glared at him, revolted. She would sooner die.
“No,” she said. “Go away.”
The dwarf laughed. Despite his diminutive statue, he seemed to loom over her. “Are you sure? I can make it worth your while.”
“Fuck off,” Emily ordered.
“Now, that’s not nice,” the dwarf said. “I…yikes!”
He flew back and crashed into the far wall. Emily blinked, convinced–for one glorious moment–that her magic had returned to her. But…instead, a tall man was standing in front of her. She’d been so focused on the dwarf that she hadn’t even realized someone else had entered the cell, let alone that it was someone she recognized. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen Sir Roger, but he hadn’t changed that much. Only the uniform was new.
“My apologies, Lady Emily,” Sir Roger said. He scooped up the dwarf by the scruff of the neck and tossed him out of the cell. “I hope this scum has not…inconvenienced you.”
Emily swallowed the response that came to mind. “Sir Roger,” she said, instead. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Sir Roger said. He was keeping his eyes averted, a consideration she found herself almost pathetically grateful for. “The king was kind enough to give his blessing.”
“Oh,” Emily said. She felt her heart sink. She’d hoped, just for a second, that Sir Roger had come to free her. They’d met before, in Farrakhan. “I seem to have nothing but time…until tomorrow.”
“Later today,” Sir Roger corrected. “You were asleep for quite some time.”