The Emperor clicked his tongue. His black beady eyes narrowed into something dangerous, and predatory. He was a wolf now, more than he’d ever been before, and strung up like this, cut off from my power, I was his prey.
“Tristan,” he shook his head, “you really shouldn’t say such things. Otherwise, one might think you’re not trustworthy. Not capable of keeping your tongue to yourself.”
Galen wheezed, his mouth screwed shut, his shoulders shaking, nostrils flaring. Snot ran down his lips, mixing with the blood already caked there. He was crying. My best friend was crying. I’d never seen him cry before. Not even after Haleika. But instead of his cries, or any kind of words, he was moaning, this strange, wet sound I didn’t recognize.
“Show him,” the Emperor said, jerking his head at his brother. “Show Lord Tristan what happens when traitors don’t keep their mouths shut.”
Galen’s entire body trembled, as his sobs wracked through his chest. The Bastardmaker strode toward him, the giant wolfpelt he always wore on his back bouncing with every step. The grotesque head of the dead wolf, and its lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling as his hand wrapped around Galen’s chin forcing his head up.
“Open your mouth, boy,” the Bastardmaker snarled. And when Galen didn’t comply, he shook him. “Open your Godsdamned lying traitor mouth.”
Galen’s eye closed as the Bastardmaker wrenched his lips apart. The same awful sound exploded, the painful moan, it was louder now, more ragged. He tried to turn his face away, but the foreign sound he was making intensified, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t. Like he was in pain but couldn’t express it.
Behind his lips were his white teeth—a few were missing. But behind them, there was … nothing, just black where there should have been—where there should have been— Bile collected in my throat. And I started to gag.
They’d cut out his tongue. They’d cut out his fucking tongue.
My stomach spasmed, my ribs cracking. And this time it wasn’t bile. Vomit rose up my throat. But I was unable to lean forward. My vomit had nowhere to go. Some of it stopped in my mouth, but the rest went back down, choking me. I heaved. Sweat coating my face. My stomach was on fire.
I threw up again, choking.
“Myself to fucking Moriel,” the Emperor drawled.
Tears blurred my vision, and I could feel myself getting ready to heave once more. The vomit was in my nose now and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fucking breathe.
I was faintly aware of the sound of my chains unclasping. My hands fell at my sides. I collapsed to my knees, just as it came up again. My guts spewed across the ground as the Emperor stepped out of range, keeping his black leather boots clean.
I coughed, and spat, still heaving up everything inside of me. The taste of throw up was coating my tongue, and the horrid scent was plastered inside my nostrils.
The Bastardmaker released Galen’s mouth, and patted him on the cheek. Fresh tears fell from Galen’s eyes, his mouth quivering before he sealed his lips shut.
“Why?” I gasped. “Why would you do that?”
“Tristan, Tristan,” the Emperor said. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“He did what you asked him to. What you wanted.”
“WhatIwanted? Tristan, do we need to go over this again? I did nothing. I am grieving for my uncle. Hold your tongue.”
“Why! Are you going to cut mine out, too?” I asked.
“You didn’t murder my uncle, did you?” he asked. “But I do need to punish you. You’ve really disappointed me these last few days. These last few weeks. After all these years, all the investments I made into training you.” He snapped at the Bastardmaker. “Bring him some water.”
I eyed Galen, terrified. My feet were still shackled. And I was still bound.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed.
Galen shook his head, and looked away.
A silver goblet was shoved into my hand. “Drink,” the Emperor commanded.
I filled my mouth, washing the taste of vomit from it. I spat the first mouthful to the side and then drank deeply, feeling the coolness of the water as it traveled down my burning throat.
I was given a wet towel and used it to wipe my face. Then I blew my nose. Snot and other awful things came out. I coughed again, still feeling sick.
“I thought you’d be my star pupil,” he said. “After all, you were so eager. So open to learning, to being trained. And why wouldn’t you be? You hailed from the educational jewel of theEmpire. You said you wanted to fight alongside me. You told me so yourself as a young boy, you felt called to protect the vulnerable. You wanted to make sure no one suffered again what you had—make sure no one would be torn apart by a rogue, violent vorakh,” he growled. “And what did I do? I taught you. I supported you. I gave you all the tools you needed. And how did you repay me?” he yelled.
I was shaking too hard to answer. I could see myself at nineteen, so eager to learn. Standing in the grass outside of the Grey Villa, watching with intent as the Imperator’s mage showed me how to capture vorakh, how to hunt them down. And all the while, the Imperator watched, a dark gleam in his eyes I hadn’t understood at the time.
