“We are close to the center of power here,” he continued. “I can feel it.”
“Over here”—Mauro indicated a large hole in the ground, about ten paces in circumference, dropping down twenty paces into the dry earth—“is the holding place the chief used for prisoners.”
Amara glanced down into the pit. “How did they get down there?”
“Some were lowered by rope or ladder. Others were simply pushed.” Mauro grimaced. “Apologies if such imagery is unpleasant, your grace.”
She gave him a sharp look. “I assure you, Mauro, there is likely nothing you can tell me of the treatment of prisoners that I would find surprising or unbearable to hear.”
“Of course, your grace. My apologies.”
She grew weary of men and their half-meant apologies. “Carlos, see that my soldiers are given adequate quarters after this long journey.”
“Yes, empress.” Carlos bowed.
“You will be staying here, Empress Amara.” Mauro indicated the three-story building nearby, made of clay and stone, the largest and sturdiest in the entire village. “I can only hope it will be acceptable to you.”
“I’m sure I can make do.”
“I have arranged for a small market to be presented to you later today, to show you the wares of your new Paelsian subjects. Some lovely needlework, for example, might interest you. And some beaded baubles for your beautiful hair. Another vendor travels here from the coast to share the berry stain she’s created that will paint your lips . . .” Mauro faltered as her expression soured. “Is there a problem, your grace?”
“You think I’m interested in needlework, baubles, and berry lip stains?” She waited for his response, but his mouth only moved without any utterance of sound.
From behind her, she heard a snicker.
She turned sharply, her gaze fixing upon the guard—her guard—who had a grin fixed upon his face.
“Do you find that amusing?” she asked.
“Yes, your grace,” the guard replied.
“And why is that?”
He glanced at his compatriots to either side of him, neither of whom met his gaze. “Well, because that’s what women enjoy—ways to look prettier for their men.”
He said it without a moment’s pause, as if it were obvious and not in the least bit offensive.
“My, my,” Kyan breathed into her ear. “That is rather insolent, don’t you think?”
She did indeed.
“Tell me. Do you think I should buy some lip stain to please my husband when he finally returns to me?” she asked.
“I think so,” he responded.
“That is my goal as empress, of course—to please my husband and any other man who happens to glance my way.”
“Yes, your grace,” he replied.
It was the last thing he would ever say. Amara thrust the dagger she kept with her into the guard’s gut, staring into his eyes as they went wide with surprise and pain.
“Disrespect me, any of you,” she said, casting her gaze to the other guards who regarded her with surprise, “and die.”
The guard who’d spoken unwisely fell to the ground. She nodded at Carlos to remove the body, and he did so without hesitation.
“Well done, little empress,” Kyan whispered. “You show me your worth more and more with each day that passes.”
Amara turned a smile toward Mauro, whose expression now held cold fear. “I look forward to the market. It sounds lovely.”
? ? ?
Later that day, accompanied by Mauro and the royal guards, Amara and Nerissa explored the market, which consisted of twenty carefully selected stalls that, as promised, mostly carried frivolous products—specifically beauty and fashion items.
Amara ignored the embroidered scarves and dresses, the lip stain, the creams meant to remove blemishes, and the sticks of coal to ring one’s eyes and tried instead to focus on the vendors themselves—Paelsians, young and old, with weary but hopeful expressions as she approached them.
No fear, no dread—just hope.
How odd to find this in a conquered kingdom, she thought. Then again, the Kraeshian occupation of Mytica had been mostly peaceful so far, especially in Paelsia. Still, Carlos had made her aware of rebel groups who conspired against her, both in Limeros and Auranos.
That caused her no troubles. Rebels were an unavoidable pest, but one that could usually be swatted away easily.
Amara watched as Nerissa moved closer to a stall to inspect a silk scarf the vendor had thrust out toward the young woman.
“I’m pleased to see that you’re settling in nicely,” Kyan whispered warmly in her ear. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.
“I’m trying my best,” she replied quietly.
“I fear I must leave you now for a time as I seek the magic we need to perform the ritual.”
The thought alarmed her. They’d only just arrived! “Now? You’re leaving now?”
“Yes. Soon I will be restored to my full glory, and you will be powerful beyond your belief. But we need the magic to seal this.”
“Lucia’s magic. And her blood.”
“Her blood, yes. But not the sorceress herself. I will find an alternate source of magic. However, we will need sacrifices—blood to seal the magic.”