“He’s alive,” Vaasa said. “And I have a way to get him out. To get everyone out. But Sachia has to work with Roman.”
Reid’s brows slammed together, and his mother stepped away from Vaasa. “Roman?” she asked.
Vaasa nodded. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
Sachia walked into the room then and crossed her arms, standing beneath the doorway. “What do I have to do?” she asked.
Vaasa set her lantern down on the desk, the light illuminating the sharp plane of her face. Her mouth was turned down in a grimace. “That plan we discussed, we need to move it up to tomorrow. Gather your crew and get the black powder. Roman is waiting for you at the Sanctum.”
CHAPTER
35
The city thrummed around her. Vaasa had known this citizenry to be difficult to excite, but today, the streets were filled to capacity.
Their open-top cart hit a pothole, and Vaasa tried not to jolt too obviously. Lord Karev sat at her side, chin held high, and the city roared with each wave of his hand. They had paraded through the streets for two hours, people clogging every direction and alleyway, but as the last hour of sun reigned in the sky, the execution was imminent.
At her side, Lord Karev was the picture of the future emperor, reminding her in many ways of how her father had looked on days such as this. Poised. Immovable. The perfect combinationof aristocracy and violence. His dark hair and bedroom eyes complemented the deep royal blue of his jacket. It was a trick of the gaze, a symmetry between him and the hundreds of city guards who lined the streets. Lord Karev had never served a day of his life as a soldier or guard, had never worn those particular coats, but he wanted to exude the image of someone who had.
The cart rode through large crowds as people ran to feast their eyes upon them. She wanted to cover herself, to hide from their judgmental stares and the circus calls, but Vaasa waved despite her desire to run. Gloves covered her hands and arms in snow-white, the same pure shade swirling up the hem of her Asteryan blue gown. Vaasa squared her shoulders and smiled, wondering if every person around them could see through this foolish facade.
The narrow streets were difficult to navigate with this many onlookers, forcing the carters to direct the horses down the wider ones. The snow falling from the sky picked up in intensity, and Vaasa wiped the cold droplets off her cheeks.
Despite her sweeping cloak, Vaasa shivered.
Their cart arrived just in front of the Sanctum. Sentinels lined the pathway as Lord Karev guided Vaasa from the cart and down the steps that would lead to the first floor. Sentinels opened the doors for them, and they were ushered into the main vestibule, both curving staircases that led to the second floor covered in nobles and their honored guests. The gallery was stuffed to the brim. All around them, each important family mingled, treating the events of today like a celebration. The offices in this building provided the perfect lookouts over the grisly scene.
She hated every person in this room.
Roman and a host of fortress sentinels followed them inside, partnering with the city guard to defend the nobles. Most of them had their own hired mercenaries. At their entrance, all voices went silent, and everybody in the room turned to them.
In tandem, the nobles bowed.
Lord Karev smiled the way any good emperor would, a mix of power and humility pouring from him. His footsteps echoed on the black-and-white marble floors as he guided Vaasa farther into the room by her elbow. Her magic begged to bite the hand that held her. She pictured it then, teeth sinking into Lord Karev’s throat the same way his hands had wound around her neck. She gazed out at the room one more time, her heart thudding with reassurance, not a wisp of hatred leaking onto her smiling lips.
He would regret every moment of this day. They all would.
Ozik approached Vaasa and Lord Karev, dipping his head and interrupting her violent daydreams. She tried not to tremble. The connection between them hummed, and his golden eyes were clear of any red. Her gaze darted to his hand. The raw, jagged black stone winked at her. One-third of a thing, not powerful enough to contain a deity. She wondered how long the two anchors, the ring and necklace in tandem, would have been enough. If that was why Zetyr had never been able to break through during Vaasa’s youth. But surely he had been there, simmering in Ozik’s mind, playing some role in the expansion of Asterya’s empire.
Perhaps when Ozik had given Vaasa’s mother the necklace, it had been the beginning of the end of his control.
“The future emperor and empress!” Ozik exclaimed.
The room erupted in cheers. It was only the Vlacik family who stayed silent, a furious disapproval written in how they glanced among themselves and scowled. Lord Karev stepped forward with one hand raised, and the room quieted. Vaasa forced herself to watch him with the expression of someone taken—someone just as enthralled as the rest of them. His voice boomed through the vestibule. “Today, we put an end to this Icrurian conflict with the rightful execution of the Wolf of Mireh!”
The room erupted once again. She met Ozik’s eyes, which watched her so carefully. Every twitch of her body had to be exact; she was hyperaware of her magic, of keeping it at bay. Lord Karev walked through the crowd, greeting the heads of families, suddenly paying attention to both the Old and New Asteryans. They all groveled at his feet, and then at Vaasa’s, fabricated compliments spewing from their faithless mouths.
The crowd parted, and they ascended the stairs on the right side of the building. They would view the execution from the Emperor’s Suite, a room on the top level of the Sanctum that overlooked the square and the iron execution pole. The suite had sat empty since her father’s death, but Vaasa had watched more than her fair share of executions from that room, sometimes stepping out onto the narrow balcony when the weather permitted. Her father had sometimes addressed the crowds from the space, the width of it only large enough for one, maybe two, bodies. She pictured him there, expressive hands waving as he drew every eye in the square.
When they reached the top floor, Roman used his keys to open the door for them. It was perpetually locked, a small security measure her father had taken.
Only one way in and one way out, and it always required a key.
The Emperor’s Suite was immodestly sized, the wall facing the city square built of glass. She eyed the doors that opened to the small balcony, tracing the blue curtains and long silver ropes that dangled from them. Today, the curtains were wide open, a substantial pile of rope on the floor of either side. She trailed the rope to the mechanism that controlled it at the back of the room. Built of iron, it was sturdy, able to hold far more than the weight of curtains. Dominik had swung from those ropes as an early teenager, immediately eliciting their father’s ire.
Vaasa walked to the windows, running her fingers along the thick glass. Behind her, Lord Karev dismissed Roman from the room.
“I’ll be just outside the door, should you need me,” he told them both.
