“Well, well, if it isn’t the high and mighty destroyer of kingdoms herself blessing us lowly, pathetic creatures with her presence.”
Felix Gaebras’s painfully familiar voice made Amara’s shoulders stiffen. She glanced to her left to see that he had been put into a cell with a small barred window in the iron door that showed part of his face, including the black eye patch covering his left eye.
She remembered very clearly when he’d had two eyes that had once gazed at her with desire.
“I would reply, but I won’t waste my breath,” she said.
Felix snorted. “And yet that sounded like a reply. And to one as lowly and pathetic as me. Fortune must smile upon me today.”
His sarcastic tone had once, not so very long ago, been one of his most endearing traits. Now it was only a reminder of her past decisions and the former assassin’s current hatred for her.
He shouldn’t be sarcastic to anyone anymore. Had all gone according to plan, he would have been long dead and not yet another problem for Amara to deal with.
“Show respect to the empress,” Carlos snarled, his heavy arms crossed over his chest. “It’s only by her grace that you haven’t yet been executed.”
“Her grace, is it?” Felix pressed his forehead against the bars and offered her a cold grin. “Aw, perhaps she thinks we can get together again. But sorry, I don’t share my bed with snakes.”
“Let’s move on,” Amara said tightly.
Felix smirked. “Have you heard from your good friend Kyan on when he plans to finish reducing this world to ash with your help? A smoke signal? Anything?”
“Say the word, empress,” Carlos said, “and I will end this murderer’s life myself.”
Felix’s gaze flicked to the guard. “For what it’s worth, she’s the one who poisoned her father and brothers without a single blink of regret from those long eyelashes of hers. But I’m sure you won’t believe me. Tell me, princess, is Carlos the one warming your bed these days? Will you send him to the torture chamber as a diversion for your next crime?”
His words were the only weapons he had left, but he was a talented assassin. Each one left a wound.
“Perhaps your swift execution is best,” Amara said slowly. “I don’t know why I’m prolonging the inevitable.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Guilt?”
She ignored him and, leaning on her cane, began to limp down the hallway to her destination, wishing to leave Felix Gaebras and his accusations far behind her.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you when I get out of here?” Felix called after her. “I’d tell you, but I don’t want to give you nightmares.”
Felix had become like a shard of glass, one that hurt more the deeper it sank into her skin.
Carlos spoke next, breaking the silence. “He has been giving the guards great difficulties. He is violent and unpredictable.”
“I agree.”
“They want to know how you wish to deal with him.”
Amara decided to reserve her nightmares for someone much worthier. “I’ll leave that decision up to you, Carlos.”
“Yes, your grace.”
It was time to remove this shard of glass and cast it away forever.
Amara’s mood had descended further into darkness by the time they reached her destination. The compound’s prison was occupied mostly by rebels. Unlike many Paelsians who embraced Amara’s rule after suffering at the hands of King Gaius, these rebels didn’t want to be ruled by anyone at all.
Ungrateful fools.
She was ready to be done with the lot of them. And with the sorceress’s arrival and Gaius’s release from this very prison, the sooner the better.
Carlos stopped at the end of the hallway and nodded at the nearest guard to unlock the iron door.
“Empress . . .” he began.
“I will speak to my brother alone.”
His expression held uncertainty. “I’m not sure that’s wise, your grace. Even unarmed, your brother is dangerous—every bit as dangerous as the assassin.”
“So am I.”
She opened the front of her cloak to reveal the blade she wore in a holder attached to a leather belt. Her grandmother had given it to her the day she’d wed Gaius Damora. The traditional Kraeshian bridal dagger was meant to be passed down to one’s daughter on her wedding day, a symbol of female strength in a world ruled by men.
Carlos hesitated. “As you command, your grace.”
The guard unlocked the door—this one didn’t have a window like Felix’s—and she slipped inside. The door closed and locked behind her.
Amara’s gaze found her brother’s instantly. Ashur didn’t rise from where he sat in a chair opposite the door. This was a larger cell than Felix’s, at least three times as large, and furnished nearly as beautifully as a room in the royal residence. It had been used, quite obviously, for important prisoners of high status.
“Sister,” Ashur said simply.
She took a moment to fully find her voice. “I’m sure you’re surprised to see me.”
He didn’t reply for a moment. “How is your leg?”
Amara grimaced at the reminder of her injury, not that she needed it. “Broken.”
“It will heal in time.”
“You sound so calm. I would have expected . . .”
“What? Anger? Outrage? Shock that you’d have me imprisoned for a heinous crime of which I had no part?” His voice rose. “What is this? A last visit from the empress before I’m privately executed?”
She shook her head. “Far from it. I mean to release you.”
His gaze held naked disbelief. “Really.”
“There have been several developments since Kyan stole your friend’s body.”
Sudden pain flashed through his blue-gray gaze. “Two days, Amara. I have waited in here for two long days wanting information, but no one’s told me a damn thing.” He inhaled sharply. “Is Nicolo all right?”
“I have no idea.”
Ashur pushed himself up to his feet, and Amara instinctively clutched her dagger tighter. He glanced at it, frowning. “You wish to release me, but clearly you also fear me.”
“I don’t fear you. But your release requires an agreement from you. A very specific agreement.”
“You don’t understand—there’s no time for negotiations,” he said. “I need to be released so I can find the answers I need. There is magic out there, sister, that could possibly help Nicolo. But I can’t find it if I’m stuck in here.”
Familiar frustration welled within Amara. Her brother—rich and handsome and influential—had developed a crush on a meaningless, red-haired former squire to the king of Auranos.
Amara had been one of the few that knew of and wholly accepted Ashur’s romantic preferences over the years, but Nicolo Cassian wasn’t worthy of the affections of her brother.
“You think you can save him, do you?” she asked.
Ashur clenched his fists at his sides. “Not from behind a locked door I can’t.”
“Give it another week, you’ll forget all about him.” She ignored the darkness that slid behind Ashur’s gaze at her claim. “I know you, brother. Something or someone new will draw your interest. In fact, I have something right here that might help.”
Amara held out the parchment toward her brother.