I looked around, all the Empire’s rulers looked miserable, and though they had their Arkturi beside them, their eyes were moving warily to the armed guard that surrounded them. They were just as much prisoners here as we were. For once, it was good not to be Arkasva. At least I’d gotten some privacy in my room.
At least, I had. Now I was a prisoner as well.
“Lord Tristan,” Emperor Avery said. “Thank you for coming. I require your assistance in a most urgent matter. Follow me.” He rose from his throne and again walked behind the dais through a door that appeared suddenly.
The Bastardmaker urged me ahead. I looked back at everyone else, sweat beading at the back of my neck. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust any of this. Elections couldn’t happen this fast, transitions of power took time. The Emperor’s Second should have been installed as the ruler until a proper election could be held. At least a month should have passed first, a true transition.
But he’d done the same thing months ago in Bamaria. He’d removed Lord Eathan, the rightful replacement of Harren Batavia, and placed Arianna in the Seat of Power. And as I glanced at her, at my country’s Arkasva and High Lady, at my future mother-in-law, I pleaded withher through my eyes. Begged for protection, for safety and amnesty.
But her expression was cold as she stared ahead, acting as if she barely knew me.
We vanished into a long hall that fed back outside the Throne Room. I watched carefully as the Imper—, the Emperor led me around a corner. Before us stood a simple black door.
“Pay attention,” Emperor Avery commanded. “Very few have permission to enter here.”
I nodded, not sure what else to do. He knocked on the door, but not with a normal knock. This had a very specific rhythm. A series of beats.
“It’s the opening beats to the Voladarim. Do you know it?” he asked.
My throat was dried out. “Of course.”
“Musically inclined?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“What?” What in Godsdamned Lumeria was happening right now?
“Just a question. It’s code to enter back into this room. Do you know it?”
Numbly I nodded. “Yes.”
The black door opened, and a soturion stuck their head out. “Your Majesty.” A middle-aged man, completely bald, poked his head out. “Are you ready?”
“One moment. Close the door. I’m having Lord Tristan learn the code. Answer the door, if he gets it right.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” The door slammed shut and the Emperor pushed me forward.
“Well?” he demanded. “Knock.”
I did, playing the song on the black door.
The Emperor scoffed and I stepped back, terrified I’d done it wrong. But the door opened and the same bald soturion gestured for us to enter.
I walked into another hallway, nearly black with darkness save for only a few lamps lit at the end. The further we walked, the narrower the hall grew, and I was forced to walk behind the newly made Emperor.
“We’re doing an interrogation,” he announced. “Obviously, we’ve apprehended my uncle’s killer.”
Galen.
“Of course,” I said neutrally. “Protocol.”
Emperor Avery laughed. “Yes. Protocol.”
He stepped aside, revealing a large, dimly lit room. There were no windows. No furniture. Several mages appeared to be huddled together in a corner. Something about them was strange. They were all thin and wearing blue cloaks with hoods over their heads. Their faces were downcast, and they remained shockingly still. The Emperor reached for a torch and lit a series of lamps that brightened the room at once.
I gasped. It was painted bright yellow.
Too much yellow. Too much yellow.
You’ve birthed evil. You’ll regret it when he grows. When you see inside his soul like I have. When you learn what he is!
