Page 10 of Burn Her They Said
Nothing will ever convince him to free me. Only his death will mean the end of my service. Then whoever he chooses as a successor will wield control of my power.
I can no longer carry out the plan I had intended. Not when it will punish this sorcerer who has endured so much and without support. Without the aid of anyone else in existence who understands what it means to carry the weight of pain and sorrow.
My magic alone cannot drag him from this chasm. Any chance at saving him will require a true connection to form between us, which will mean being vulnerable in ways that have never been safe.
Newfound terror penetrates that blanket of comfort he so carefully laid over my being as I am unsure I can face the worst parts of my history in order to ensure that he has a future.
His fingers cast up and down my own, gently caressing as he continues to stare down at them, igniting a spark of steadfast determination as I consider him. A need to give this sorcerer a purpose—a reason to live in this world despite the despair I feel upon waking most days, with the wish that death would show me a kindness and take me in my sleep.
I will not save him as an Imperial servant carrying out our ruler’s command.
No, I will save Varic for myself. As well as for him. The sorcerer caught in the middle of all of this. I will save him to honor every one of us harmed by the ruler forcing his citizens to operate past their limits, without the recognition that, ultimately, no one benefits. How, in exploiting our bodies and magic to seek more power for himself, the Emperor has created a life filled with misery, where there is never enough of anything.
I will help this sorcerer to replace all that the Emperor has stolen from him.
Because the best revenge will be to see someone like Varic live the best life possible.
Chapter Four
Birthday
Six Years Later
Today is my thirty-second birthday, and it may be my last.
Twenty-six years spent as the Emperor’s captive. Nearly three decades since he stole me away, then a scrawny young witch, cursed with the level of power I wield.
Forced into a role where I must siphon His Majesty’s distress, all while enforcing compliance from those with whom he interacts. Aiding our resident tyrant in gaining more power and influence, while everyone on the Continent knows he controls the power contained within the Imperial Grand Witch.
My hands shake as I rub my face, willing any semblance of wakefulness to enter my limbs when Malin’s hazel eyes catch on mine. He stands mostly in shadow between the arched windows and the foot of my bed, with the only exception being the stray golden rays casting over his medium-brown skin, framing the sharp cut of his jaw and cheekbones up to the neat knot he has secured his long brown hair in atop his head with a few golden pins.
“I’m surprised Drusilla isn’t here.” His deep voice helps usher in a wave of wakefulness while my eyes trace the gold threads along the seam of his uniform, and I smile at his having selected one of the finer designs to wear today—potentially in my honor.
“Agreed. She’s usually here much earlier,” I say before taking the glass of water from the purple plume of Malin’s magic swirling around it.
I tip it back to take a sip, then place it on my nightstand once I have finished.
Fray releases a breath, leaning his tall frame against the gray stone wall by my headboard. His eyes flick from the window down to his sketchbook, which he braces at a funny angle over his knee to draw some image which will surely take my breath away, should he ever choose to share it with me.
A powerful presence seems to call our collective attention as we each turn to observe the world beyond the glass panes. I toss my legs over the side of the mattress with the urge to study the world outside our gilded prison cell. My aching joints make their complaints known as they crack and pop with every minute movement, but I move on despite the searing pain.
“Remind me, is today your ninety-second birthday?” Lars teases, an ornery glint shining from his bright blue irises, and I spin around to pin his gaze. He pauses his work on the newest trinket he’s whittling to stare up at me in amusement, clearly deeming riling me up is worthy of a break from his work.
I shake my head at him, taking the healthy glow emanating from his typical pallid complexion as a sign that the healers have already come by to imbue my Guards with the energy needed to make it through the day after another night of watching over me. Their vow requires they utilize magic to be able to remain awake and protect me at all times—day and night.
His annoyingly energized expression lifts in what can only be described as a self-satisfied grin when he holds his new project up to show me, and I can’t help but smile back at the figure of a tiny Dragon which he painstakingly carved from a hunk of pine. He must have snuck it in his pocket the last time we were allowed outside.
“So fucking rude,” Fray defends me against Lars, who taunted me about my aching body.
“Fray.” Hendry’s bright blue eyes flash with annoyance as he glares from the center of the room. “Watch your language.”
Fray’s black eyebrows rise as he pushes off from the wall, snapping his sketchbook closed as he walks closer, moss green irises imploring with intensity from within his pale complexion. “All I meant is it’s rude to make such statements when we all know what the Emperor requires of her.” My senses fill with his fresh, earthy scent. The way I imagine a real home would smell. Like the air after it rains is emanating from the pressed fabric of his uniform. A woven tie cinches the front of his shirt, showing off his V-shaped waist beneath the broad shoulders the others like to tease are his wings.
“Less so lately,” Malin interjects.
“Which is just as concerning,” Cirrin begins, carefully closing the pocket-sized compendium of fairy tales he always carries, stowing the well-worn, blue book within his more celebratory uniform. “Since he has proven to be incapable of making rational decisions outside of her influence.”
Fray sighs. “I was merely mentioning how we have all observed her steady decline, which is why I think it cruel to joke about the breakdown of her body.” His gaze darts from Lars to me. “I, for one, am glad you were born on this day.” Several black strands of his hair fall over his forehead as he snaps his head around to glare at Lars. “Thirty-two years ago.” He turns back to me with a silent apology.
