The Sigilmarked Syndicate. Known as sigilkeepers, the Syndicate encompasses twelve of the strongest gold-crowned in the empire—all of them governors of territories within the empire, and all of them vying for more power, more money, moreeverything. I don’t know all their names. But I do know that the Syndicate is led by a gold-crowned named Darius Melus—a man with enough power to blow this entire city away.
Of course, if that happened—if civil war ever erupted across the empire—the vampires would likely do just as much damage to the sigilmarked. They may not be able to kill the most powerful of the gold-crowned, but they could slaughter their sons and daughters. Could wipe out the silvers and bronzes. Could decimate the population of mundanes—who have made the sigilmarked so wealthy. And once the vampires gave into their bloodlust …
Carnage. Pure, unrelenting carnage.
More sigilmarked file in, followed by groups of vampires, who skulk through the room.
The hair rises on the back of my neck. Never could I have imagined I would be in a room filled with the most powerful people in this empire.
Never would I have wanted to.
I had the luxury of ignoring politics in the Thorn. All I cared about was earning enough money to keep my brothers fed. But now? Now I need to learn everything I can about those closest to the emperor so I can be ready to kill him and flee this place.
The Syndicate gather together, the noncrowned sigilmarked positioning themselves close by. The vampires make themselves at home on the other side of the room near the guardants.
Ostensibly, the empire relies on goodwill and collaboration between all the branches of the emperor’s government.
It has only taken a few minutes of time spent in this room for me to understand just how little goodwill there truly is.
Tension fills the room, thick and hot and stifling. Three sigilkeepers seem to be in deep discussion—two men and a woman. I don’t recognize the woman but the man closest to us …
Sigilkeeper Drugov Nistor. The gold-crowned who rules the city wardens. He has a short, stocky build, and his shoulders and arms are slabs of muscle from training with his wardens, his skin slightly dry and blistered around his nose from a sunburn. A vampire at the edge of the room is glowering at Nistor, and I suddenly understand.
Nistor choosing not to have the slight redness healed is a pointed reminder of what the vampires will never have.
The sun.
Even a tiny burn is a power play in this place.
The man next to him is taller, with warm bronze skin and the kind of form Leon calls an “inside body”—well-proportioned but no real muscle to speak of. His dark eyes continually scan the room behind the woman’s shoulder, as if he’s already bored with their conversation.
Surprisingly, I recognize him too. But only because the emperor had his face stamped on some of our coins.
Julius Pirvu. The man responsible for refining our calendar thirteen years ago.
Two guards suddenly step toward the doors, pulling them open once more. And I get my first sight of Vallius Corvus.
The emperor is objectively handsome—tall and broad-shouldered, with thick brown hair, a slim nose, and a narrow mouth. His bones seem almost liquid as he prowls into the room, deep purple robes swirling around his feet. A hammered gold crown encircles his head, and jeweled bangles adorn both wrists.
Three novices trail behind him. Their job is to protect him—by thrusting their body between him and anyone stupid enough to attack.
As if the emperor wouldn’t immediately kill anyone who attempted such a thing.
A lethal, icy rage burns through my veins. If not for this man, I would never have fought in the Sands.
I would be a healer. My brother’s lungs wouldn’t have been damaged.
Kassia would still be breathing.
My aunt wouldn’t have died.
My mother might never have turned to glister.
Oh, the life I could have had.
Power lashes out, burning across my skin. I drop to my knees, conscious of everyone else in the room doing the same, all our heads bowed. I can’t help but risk a single glance as the emperor casts a satisfied look around the room.
The Primus stands on his right, while one of the other imperiums is positioned at his left, several novices following behind them. A woman strolls barefooted behind the guards, her long, black silk gown trailing behind her. Her eyes are blurred, as if she’s heavily drugged.
