I was facing the end as I had lived my life.
Alone.
All my allies turned traitor.
Surrounded by enemies.
Dressed in a sticky layer of artful lies.
From the royal pavilion, a ring of torches burst into flame. A signal that bade the general turn, leering through a waxy grin. He clapped his hands and said, “Shall we begin?”
21
“Lords and Ladies of the North District!” General Tilcot shouted, his voice booming out over the gathered audience without the aid of an amplifier. “Tonight we are honored to host his Royal Majesty Octavius Cicero Tiberius—”
Roaring, the audience welcomed the Emperor’s brother and drowned the rest of the general’s opening statement.
In the royal pavilion, a man stood and waved to his subjects. Hair a shocking mop of unruly white, back still strong and stiff despite his obvious age, he carried himself with the careless ease of a man accustomed to privilege.
Bowing deeply, the general and the captain both paid their respects.
“Welcome, your majesty,” Tilcot continued, then spread his arms in a sweeping arc and addressed the crowd. “Tonight is a night of triumph and celebration! A night to celebrate our promising young elites”—he flung his left hand toward a line of six young men, all pink cheeked and dressed in pristine uniforms—“and to display what marvels the future holds.” Grinning, the general strode forward and wrenched the top off the wooden crate.
The sides fell away in the most theatrical display one could possibly conceive—and revealed the massive weapon Asher had used on the field. The cannon that had left the frontlines a mess of craters and dancing, elite energy.
The very same that had almost killed me once before, now set up to finish the job.
I gasped. Staggering back into the butt of Reese’s weapon.
“I’ll not tell you again, priestess,” he growled and nudged me forward with a hard jab to my lower back.
Flashing my teeth, I turned to confront him. Reaching for the empath, for the banked fury that didn’t want to die at the hands of obedient peasants.
The well was cold.
A cauldron of frost and dust.
Neutralized of all that seething, frothing acid.
Sweat beaded on my brow, the effort for so trivial a result leaving me weak and trembling in the chill evening breeze.
“This is a day of reckoning!” the general boomed, and took the prisoner by the back of his neck. Shaking the pitiful man. “A day of triumph over our enemies!”
A wall of sound crashed down upon us. The Caledonian citizens cheering and screaming with one, insatiable voice as the captive Eloran rebel was forced to his knees.
The thin crackle of a man made to beg broke through the din of the crowd—but onlyjust.Enough that I could hear it. That the sound sent a tsunami of dread spilling down my nape.
Chin tucked, I squeezed my eyes shut, creasing my makeup where Alicia couldn’t fix it. Fingers curled into tight, helpless balls.
And then I prayed.
The Head Priestess took a step, and her palms landed on my collarbones. A familiar grip, but this time, absent the choking haze of priestess magic needed to soothe the beast. “You know nothing of being a priestess,” she murmured, lips against my ear.
“Step back, priestess,” Reese growled. “Hands off the girl—”
“Yes,” she returned, and patted his cheek. “Thank you, Reese. I’m sure you’ve got your orders, but I can assure you, I’m quite safe from Mila. Especially in the state she’s in now.”
Grinding my teeth, I couldn’t argue. Couldn’t so much as feel even a tingle of her enticing spark.
