“Then what of my Guards? Each one was pressured to make their vow to protect me.”
“Each of your Guards was chosen by the Elder Dragons because of their earnest desire to protect you. We can sense sincerity, similar to your own ability, and have rejected others because of it. A magical being cannot bond to our kind if they do not mean the words spoken when marrying our blood. And if you remain unconvinced, perhaps it will settle your mind to recall how one's soul would reject the bond with you were they not to mean every word of the vow stated in becoming your sworn protector.”
My brows furrow as we step within the secret entrance into the mountain.
“What of the vow I was made to take when I became the Imperial Grand Witch?”
“No such thing exists,” Mirinea says, and I swallow against the tension forming. “I assume you were made to swear your fealty to the Dragons, the Empire, and the Emperor—just like your Guards have. However, your role was created by him, without our involvement.”
My face falls, and I stumble over the uneven ground. Varic and Fray both turn to me with outstretched arms, though I right myself without incident and indicate with a gesture that I do not need anyone’s help to continue walking.
“The promise you were forced to make holds no bearing as far as we are concerned,” Mirinea explains. “You were made to promise your service to the Emperor, a sorcerer with an inherited title.”
Tremors overtake my body, and I cannot keep my distress a secret with Fray and Varic both staring at me while Cirrin’s healing permeates my skin, though with little effect.
“You were forced to bleed over a bowl, within which you dipped the tip of a pen you were said to inscribe your name on a scroll containing the vow you had no choice but to make,” Mirinea continues. “None of which is binding like the Guardian’s vow, nor is it anything like the blood-bond between a sorcerer and yourself—or a Dragon and their magical being.”
“Tasch.” Varic’s voice sounds as if it is underwater, though he whispers directly in my ear.
Tears flow like rivers down my cheeks. “Don’t.”
Varic releases a heavy breath as I face the inner wall of the stairway. He keeps his magic to himself, and my heart squeezes in gratitude.
“We Elder Dragons never sanctioned the creation of your role, nor did we approve of your appointment. Therefore, you are not responsible for Emperor Aldritch, nor do you owe the Empire your fealty. I implore you, Tasch, heed your Guards’ concerns and flee—before it is too late.”
“What is it that you know? What will happen if we stay?”
We reach the landing at the top of the stairway as my query is met with silence.
Purple magic slides the locks in my bedchamber door, and I draw in a heavy breath when the last click sounds.
“Mirinea says we have to flee or we’re all going to die,” I blurt.
Five stricken faces stare back at me as Varic pauses on his way to stand by my vanity, and Fray breaks from his usual place by the window to stride before me. “Will you please repeat that, but slower?”
I lean against the mattress and explain, “Mirinea said that we need to follow your plan of extraction or else she cannot guarantee we will survive. She also said we need to utilize your blood-bonded Dragons, and I trust that she would not command us to take her son on such a dangerous mission without reason to believe something worse will happen should we not heed her warning.”
Varic’s jaw feathers in the reflection of the vanity mirror, and my heart sinks from the distance between us.
Lars turns to his leader. “We enact the plan, then.”
“We might need to leave before then,” Varic says.
“Explain,” I command, harsher than intended.
A deep sigh rends from him as he remains too fucking far from me, standing closer to my bathing chamber than my bed frame. He nods to Malin, whose purple magic ripples across the floor and over to a drawer in my vanity, where it retrieves something small and white before billowing back toward me.
Varic nods to the folded piece of paper, and I narrow my eyes to study it for any clues as to what it may contain, then gently pry the first fold back and widen my eyes at the inscription: ‘The One You Refuse to Call By Name.’
I hold the Prince’s letter in the air and stare at Varic. “How long have you had this?”
Varic’s expression lifts. “He handed it to me just before I met with his mother.”
“You kept something he gave you, written to me, instead of destroying it and pretending it never happened?” Varic nods, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion at the paper never having been unfolded before this. “And you never read it.”
Varic shakes his head, and I blink in disbelief before dropping my focus to the Prince’s missive written in an elegant looping script.
First, I must apologize, for I never meant to cause you distress. I recognize now how wrong it was of me to rob you of your autonomy, repeatedly, and for that I am truly mortified.
