She had absolutely nothing on her person. No food, no water, nodrachas.Nothing but a Typhon-steel dagger as she marched into the city where she had not a single friend.
Other than the one she’d made this morning.
As she began her trek to Ohan Stolia’s headquarters, the wind off the Sea of Thetis pushed at her back.
As if the High Gods themselves were urging her on to her next chapter.
Cael was wrong. Sometimes, life wasexactlylike her stories.
She held her head high, a fierce princess embarking on an adventure into an unknown land to rescue her scarred prince.
CHAPTERFIFTY
The crowd swarming the expansive plain in front of the Vicereine’s palace grew restless.
Cassandra couldn’t blame them. There’d been little excitement over the past hour as they awaited the Emperor and the speech he’d called the entire city of Thalenn here to witness.
Well, little excitement other than the spectacle of several red-jacketed, gold-helmeted Empire soldiers brandishing stun pistols to eject a band of human protesters. The shouts had since quieted to a hushed murmur.
Cassandra fidgeted in her seat. Behind her, a metal fence lined with soldiers held the crowd at bay. Tristan had secured her seat so that she didn’t have to brave the mob. He’d wanted her up on stage with him, but Eamon had refused. Said it wouldn’t jive with the theme of his speech to have mortals joining him on stage.
The comment had set Cassandra on edge.
She tried not to think on it as she surveyed her seatmates, Thalenn’s mortal councilors. A bland, forgettable party outside of Alcander Pagonis, from whom she’d purposefully sat as far as possible.
A podium bearing the Empire’s sigil awaited Eamon’s presence at center stage, Tristan to its right while Vicereine Lykan and Ronin Matakos occupied the two seats to the left.
At the back of the stage, three Vasilikans perched sedate and statuesque in their carved-feather uniforms.
Black and gold banners bearing the Empire’s sigil sliced through the white palace walls, unmoving in the stagnant air. There was no hint of a breeze beneath the woolly gray clouds, as if the entire city were holding its breath in anticipation of their first official visit from the new Emperor.
Yesterday, Tristan had confessed to killing August, had given Eamon the documents that revealed the name of the rebel organization and proved that Lambros had been a traitor all along. Tristan hadn’t, however, told his brother of Cassandra’s involvement, nor that they’d sent August’s consort to safety.
Eamon had then personally invited both Cassandra and Tristan to attend today’s event, which Cassandra supposed would be a denouncement of both August and the Teles Chrysos.
She wrestled with an uneasy sense of foreboding, comforting herself with glances towards her fierce, powerfulma’anyuand the reassuring presence of the Typhon dagger tucked into her boot. She’d dressed head to toe in the color of the Empire today—black on black on black. Playing the part of a loyal Imperial servant.
Excited whispers fluttered through the crowd as the arched doors to the palace creaked open, and footsteps crunched through the gravel.
Emperor Erabis marched up the steps to the stage, his magnificent, iridescent black wings flared and a circlet of onyx stone feathers nestled in his jet-black waves.
Tristan and the Vicereine tucked their wings tightly against their backs, genuflecting to his Imperial Majesty and his power.
A hush fell over the crowd, the only sound the Emperor’s echoing footfalls as he speared across the stage and paused behind the podium.
He spent a long minute surveying the still, silent plain, a princely portrait of cool arrogance. Completely assured of his own dominance over the masses before him.
“Citizens of Ethyrios,” he boomed, his voice amplified by the magical metallic stem jutting from the podium, “it’s an honor to stand before you today. I’ve come to discuss a topic that’s been weighing on my mind lately. Peace. Our peace. And the measures we need to take moving forward to maintain it.”
Cassandra dared a peek at Varuna, whose blood-red lips curled into a sinister smile.
“As many of you well know, there have been a series of cowardly attacks plaguing your city,” Eamon uttered, his brows dipping in feigned sympathy. “The group behind them, the Teles Chrysos, are spreading dangerous lies about our two species, openly flaunting their vile practices in defiance of the High Gods. They seek to smudge the very clear boundaries between our species which have cradled us in serenity for the past five centuries.”
Cassandra peered over her shoulder, cataloging the crowd’s expressions in the wake of Eamon’s carefully twisted words. She was shocked by several nods of agreement. How could anyone be buying this?
“The Empire will not abide such practices, cannot stand back and watch these inflammatory ideas take hold and tear us apart. I come before you today to proclaim that if any individual in Ethyrios, whether on the continent or in the colonies, mortal or Fae, is seen harboring or assisting these rebels, he or she will be declared an enemy of the Empire.”
Half the crowd roared their agreement, boiling at Eamon’s declaration. The rest tittered, tentatively joining in.
