Page 182 of Burn Her They Said
“It contains a poison so complex none of our apothecaries, healers, nor philosophers have had success in developing a treatment, much less a cure.” Prince Auden’s voice wavers. “We take the eradication of doomweed seriously, as it happens to be the most dangerous plant native to Annovia, used in warfare for centuries with many coating their weapons in its poison. It is known to turn one’s veins a bright, unnatural green?—”
My lungs stall as a flash of the vision depicting his father lying on the ground with the very same branching across the exposed skin on his chest casts across my mind.
“—indicating that being has mere minutes—maybe only seconds—to live. Further complicating the search for a cure as there isn’t enough time between the initial effect and the victim’s death.”
“So you dispose of it by ripping it from the ground and incinerating it with some sort of spell,” Lars says.
“Which is what killed your father,” I whisper without intention, though every one of my Guards stares at me along with the Prince, as if I have just committed some grievous action.
“Yes.” The Prince’s eyes hold mine in place, and I stare back with uncertainty of whether he just confirmed what must have been a tightly kept secret, or if his response was to Lars’ question. “You must remove all the roots and incinerate it.”
It could be that simple—yet the way he looked at me after what I whispered, he seemed surprised and sincere.
The Prince’s eyes shift to make contact with each of my Guards, who all nod in understanding before returning his gaze to me. “Would you care to continue, hopefully without encountering any other life-threatening flora?”
I smile and direct Filly to fall in beside him, while Varic directs his horse to canter on my left, and Fray, Malin, Cirrin, and Lars follow just behind us.
“I understand you are held against your will, and you must have your reasons for not attempting to escape, or to request help when the opportunity presents itself.” Prince Auden says.
Annoyance prickles beneath my skin with none of the patience required to hold it in. “I am unsure whether I should be impressed that you have guessed all who serve the Empire do so under threat, or offended that you apparently think my character so weak that I would abandon the citizens, especially for something as selfish as my own well-being.”
Prince Auden brings his horse to a halt, and I do the same before turning to meet his eyes, which lock on mine with all the intensity of a bomb. “It would be natural for anyone imprisoned as you are to seek refuge. I view it as an act of liberation for a witch who should have never been caged in the first place.”
“What do you imagine would happen to those left within the Empire should I liberate myself, Your Royal Highness?”
“I imagine they would be capable of revolt, since your power is used to intimidate the citizens from ever trying.”
My stomach drops as I lose all ability to fake the candor expected of me. “You believe the Emperor would fall were he to lose access to me and my magic.”
“Of course he would, because he controls them by exploiting you,” he says. “The leaders of every land agree, having witnessed the difference once he stole you away.”
My vision shifts to the deep ochre of existential dread forming a wave, cresting over my head and dragging me within its swell, twisting and dipping my body while I toss within its current. Hearing only the crashing of water, slapping, smacking, and churning.
Heat, then pressure surrounds my arm.
“Tasch.”
My lungs fill with air, and I cough from the sting of it. Because what I expected to fill my lungs with relief only further threatens my safety, thrumming in my veins as the poison it is—the same kind I’ve been dosed with my whole life?—
“You are responsible for making sure the Emperor does not become too angry.”
Grandmother. Mentor.
“You must tether your magic to him. Ensure his mood is stable. You are to manipulate those with whom he converses. You will imbue them with admiration to ensure they only ever speak in his favor. You must manage the crowd, force them to behave in the way he wishes.”
“Yes, mentor.”
“The citizens are counting on you. What will happen should you fail?”
Dragon’s reign—descent into ruin. Blood in the streets. War. Famine.
“You don’t want any other young witch to suffer your fate, do you?”
“No, mentor.”
“Good. Now go again. Siphon the Guard’s annoyance. Become his vessel. Hold all he cannot. Now imbue him with calm. Give him all of your own—whatever it takes. Pull from memory. Others’ bodies. Their memories. Hoard them. Do what you must.”
“I do not care that you’re tired. You will go again.”
