Page 78 of Burn Her They Said
The Imperial Guards on either side of my door turn inward and glare at him for failing to use my title. I turn and lock eyes on Varic, awaiting his reaction, as this is an illegal offense to the Dragons, our Empire, and supposedly me.
My heart stops, then starts when Varic lunges forward, curling his fingers within the collar of the Imperial Guard’s uniform. “I think you meant to say, ‘Imperial Grand Witch Tasch’,” Varic snarls with his face mere inches from the shorter Guard’s face.
I send my magic to check on the Guard’s emotional state and receive a steady current of fear and anxiety.
“Imperial Grand Witch Tasch.” Varic’s voice is pure venom, and something in the rasp of it encourages a tingling sensation to spiral through my center, as this is the most aggressive anyone has ever defended my honor. While it is just a title, any Imperial Guard would respect it, because failure to do so means his life is forfeit.
The messenger’s feet leave the ground as Varic brings him nose to nose.
“Imperial Grand Bitch—” the Guard spits.
An amber force-shield glows around me, and my heart sinks as Varic shoves the traitor back until his hands come flying up to defend himself, and I gasp as his sigil tattoo appears too gray to be authentic. Fury builds in my chest with this common mistake other lands make in trying to infiltrate our palace, using gray ink instead of black to make it seem aged, despite those of us who know how to tell the difference being able to recognize it in an instant.
Lars and Malin step in front of me while Cirrin and Fray move behind as the amber shield expands to fit around all of us.
“This sorcerer is a traitor,” Varic spews, tossing him to the ground as two Imperial Guards grab hold of his arms and drag him down the hall.
“She’s a murderer! She should be rotting in the mass graves with all of her victims!”
One of the Imperial Guards cracks the hilt of his dagger against the back of the traitor’s skull, and I wince when his head droops forward between his outstretched arms.
“Should we ask Imperial Guard Roy to verify whether she was summoned to the Emperor’s chambers?” Malin asks.
“Yes, that would be best. Please ask him to verify,” Varic says, giving the command with the respect a good leader should—the kind Malin deserves.
We all grow quiet and wait for Malin to finish delivering the request through the open doorway. A collective sigh sounds from each of us as Malin re-enters my chambers while using his magic to close the heavy wooden door and secure the locks behind him.
Tremors overtake my body again, the consequence of absorbing too many strong emotions, proving I am no longer able to tolerate the influx of fear and anger ravaging my cells.
The amber shield dissipates, freeing me as strong hands wrap around my arms, allowing for a momentary reprieve before I will be expected to execute the messenger. Tears brim with the awareness of how I’ll need to use my magic when it’s already so depleted. The most powerful witch, who was capable of manipulating entire armies, is now reduced to this pathetic shaking thing after one incident so reminiscent of countless before it. How am I going to survive much more of this?
Drusilla’s expression is bewildered as she re-enters my bedchamber.
“You are dismissed until the Emperor releases her again,” Varic says.
Drusilla surprisingly nods once and exits without a fuss. Her absence activates some sort of reaction, and my eyes swim with every tear I must have unknowingly held back the whole time she could have been witness.
Rough, warm fingers grasp my chin. “Look at me,” Varic commands, to which my eyes slam shut and I shake my head. “Tasch, please.” His voice cracks, breaking my heart. “Look at me.”
Lars plods around me, his heavy steps so distinct I could recognize them in my sleep, then my eyes flare wide when Varic’s hand drops from my chin because Lars shoulder-checks him.
“I don’t care what role the Emperor has appointed you,” Lars says. “It is not your place to command her right now.”
I reach out with the little magic I have left, and a heated wave of rage rolls straight from Varic’s chest. A small cry of agony tears from me as every joint burns inside my body, causing Varic’s knowing gaze to increase, searing me as I force out a breath, and his mood shifts to concern.
Lars continues to glare at Varic, who admits, “You’re right. She needs to rest.”
His eyes seek mine, and heat creeps through my cheeks as he moves so close his breath scatters the stray hairs around my neck, casting higher when he tips his chin to whisper in my ear. “I’m sorry, Tasch.” Gooseflesh ripples everywhere his breath skates over my skin. “You deserve better treatment.”
His rough, warm fingers thread between mine, so cold and lifeless, hanging loose by my side. A thrill rolls up my arm, heading straight for my heart with the look of concern he shares for my well-being.
“You deserve better.” Varic leans closer. “And I promise I will never stop trying to be who you deserve. I vow to you, and you alone—not to the Dragons, and certainly not the Empire. I vow to always strive to do better by you, Tasch. Even when I fail more often than should be possible.”
He straightens, and my throat constricts, then one side of his mouth ticks up as he stares at just how bright my cheeks burn for him.
No one says a word as renewed energy thrums through my veins. I shrug Cirrin and Fray from holding onto my arms, while offering Cirrin a small smile in thanks for his covert healing.
“She needs to lie down,” Cirrin commands, and Varic nods, leading the way to the black velvet chaise set at an angle before the ornate fireplace.
