Then, without hesitation, he turned to Velthur, his eyes dark with command. Leywani dropped her gaze at once, willing her breath to steady, praying his fury would sweep past her unnoticed.
“Get me Ancharius, Claudius, Numesie, Tarxi—anyone who fought at the Battle of Kendrisia.” The Emperor’s voice was sharp, each name a blade cutting through the tense silence. “Use Romilda if you must to drag them back to Kisra. I want them herenow.”
A shiver ran down Leywani’s spine, her whole body taut with the urge to vanish, to melt into the stone.
But then warm fingers clamped around her chin. A startled cry escaped as the Emperor wrenched her head up, forcing her into the full weight of his piercing stare.
“Do this right,” he murmured, his words meant for Velthur behind her, “and I’ll let you keep the girl. I know how much you enjoy breaking them.”
Nausea churned in her gut, but she forced her features into stillness. Her nails dug into her palms until the sting grounded her. Years of her husband’s threats and cruelty had hardenedher. She’d learned to hide her fear, to bury it so deep that not even monsters like this could see it.
No reaction. No breaking.
Inside, though, she was screaming.
Velthur strode out of the chamber without a backwards glance, but she wasn’t alone for long. Dalmatius approached at once, his intimidating presence a silent warning.
A ripple shuddered across the blackened pool, and a sudden hush fell over the chamber.
Every gaze snapped to the water as movement disturbed its surface, and a breath later, Katell emerged.
She rose from the black waters with eerie stillness, her limbs fluid yet unnatural, as if guided by an unseen force. Dark liquid streamed down her naked body in slow rivulets, pooling at her feet like spilled ink.
But it was her eyes that sent a cold shock through Leywani’s veins.
They were black. Entirely, utterly black.
Behind her, Dalmatius went rigid. His fists clenched, jaw tightening before he turned his face aside, unable—or unwilling—to meet her gaze.
Katell did not blink. Did not speak. She only stood, water trailing from her fingertips, her face blank. The priestesses moved around her without a word, draping her in the same crimson fabric they wore. The deep red clung to her damp skin, and a breath of silence passed.
The Emperor stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over Katell with the same scrutiny Freefolk suitors reserved for their intended brides. “You have the Tears?” he asked.
The priest retrieved a thin vial from his robes, but the Emperor flicked his fingers. “Give them to Dalmatius. He’ll take care of her.”
Dalmatius accepted the vial, his eyes flicking uneasily towards Katell. The Emperor, meanwhile, continued to study her like a newly forged blade. Droplets of black water clung to her skin, catching the torchlight in a ghostly shimmer.
“She will follow whoever holds the Tears. They’ll act as a beacon,” the Emperor declared. “In battle, she will not harm Laran’s followers, but keep the soldiers out of the Makhai’s way.” His sharp gaze snapped to Dalmatius. “Guide her to the enemy using their blood—she will follow it. And once she has them in her sights…” His final words rang with chilling certainty. “She will show no mercy.”
Leywani fought the wave of nausea rising in her throat.
What had they done to her friend?
Dalmatius rotated the vial between his fingers, his features schooled into composure, though Leywani caught the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth. “So, she isn’t the first. How many Chosen have been brought here?”
“Sagar.” The Emperor shifted his attention back to the priest. “How many Chosen have my ancestors submerged in Laran’s Pool of Tears?”
“Only three, Imperator.”
The vial came to a halt, and Dalmatius’ fingers tightened around it. “And how long did they survive?”
“A few months at most,” Sagar admitted. “Never more than half a year. The power is too much for a mortal, and they eventually lose their mind.”
Leywani’s breath caught. A single month was the Rasennan equivalent of a moon cycle. Summer hadn’t even begun, and already it seemed Katell might not live to see its end.
“Then we have no time to waste,” the Emperor snapped. “The legions must be ready to march. Send her to Eluvia, test her strength against those pesky slaves, and then she’ll lead the charge against the Westerners.”
He turned to Dalmatius. “Have her friend clean her up. She’ll set out for battle at first light.”
