Page 17 of Sharpest Court

I startled at the first glimpse of my arm.

The craggy stitches had been replaced by a smooth line of sutures, the skin no longer taut and red but faintly pinkish. The clinician had even cleaned away the dried blood.

Awed at my own recovery, I relieved my bladder, washed my face using the water pump, and gulped from the stream. Then I steeled my spine, water dripping off my chin and into the basin.

I no longer felt like the girl who’d woken as a captive in a xerylite mine, fighting to get back to her father. I had nobody to return to now.

Nobody to fight for except myself.

With a steadying breath, I checked that my mother’s coin, the one item I didn’t want to be without, still sat in my pocket. Then I left the bathing chamber. “I’m ready.”

The guard opened the door to reveal more armored guards behind her, all strapped with swords and dullroot dispensers.

With as much dignity as I could salvage, I stepped into their midst.

The group encircled me, blocking my surroundings. Then they surged forward, forcing me to move with them across a stretch of sleek golden flooring. I was prickling with nervous sweat as the formation parted, revealing a pair of arched doors. I followed the guards through before they peeled away entirely, and the doors shut between us.

A grand golden throne room twinkled under the light of many lanterns. The floor tiles gleamed, the fretwork pillars spiraling up into tapered arches; the scent of honeysuckle flowed through the room. And in place of walls, mirror-smooth glass encompassed the space like a sharp-angled snow globe, the vast surface imprinting the room’s glittering reflection against the inky night beyond. Even the vaulted ceiling was glass-wrought; its golden framework created a sunburst image against the sky, the prongs gathering toward a central gold orb.

I’d spotted the only other door on the way in, positioned beside the arched entry—now far enough behind me that I would be a fool to dart toward it. Especially since Arun stood at the foot of the dais, my saddlebag at his feet.

And lounging upon an ornate golden throne, one leg crossed gracefully over the other, was the empress of Ansora.

Her black gown was striking both in beauty and power, with sharp armored shoulders, and a split skirt revealing a bronze dagger strapped to the empress’s thigh. A sunburst crown haloed her sheet of raven hair, its many golden tines as long and sharp as needles. Though she must have been more than twice my age, her copper skin was silken and flawless, her dark eyes sparkling with a youthful light.

“Your Majesty,” Arun said. “I present Lady Alissa Paine, the ruling lady of Vereen.” He paused, as though waiting for me to contradict him. When I only glared in silence, he continued, “Lady Alissa, it is my honor to introduce Empress Rheya Song, Her Imperial Majesty of Ansora.”

My ragged breaths echoed as I met the stare of the empress the world had always told me to fear.

Though born a lower-ranking noble, she had won the previous emperor’s favor and had been named heir. When the emperor’s sons had risen against her in rebellion, she’d allegedly slaughtered them and imprisoned their innocent children.

I’d recently learned that at least some of that tale was false; she hadn’t imprisoned her predecessor’s grandchildren all those years ago, because Keil was one of those grandchildren. Yet judging from Arun’s words at the compound, she had imprisoned Keil now, acting as ruthlessly as the rumors claimed.

Which was probably why, as she drummed her gold claw-tipped nails on the arm of her throne, I felt like an injured animal being brought before a beast of prey.

Arun asked sharply, “Will you not bow for Her Imperial Majesty?”

Though my ears whooshed, I remained rod-straight. Yes, I would have to act docile long enough to escape. But as I stood before this empress—just one more ruler who wanted to toy with my life—I knew with certainty: I would not bow to anyone again.

“Don’t waste your breath, Arun. The young lady clearly has very little respect for a crown.” Empress Rheya’s voice was warmer than I’d anticipated. “I’m glad to see you so well, Lady Alissa. My sources inform me that you recently suffered from blueneck fever.” Her glossy lips curved with a smile, her gaze dropping to my neckline. “Yet that scar appears to be several years old. Might you offer an explanation?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to offer her what she wasn’t owed.

“Very well,” she said, sighing. A brooch comprised of large golden beads glinted at her breast, its composition interrupted by four circular gaps, as though she’d lost a few beads and hadn’t bothered to replace them. “The weapon, Arun?”

The lattice-handled knife rose from my saddlebag and landed in Arun’s palm. “I believe this is the weapon used to attempt regicide, Your Majesty.”

“Well?” the empress asked me as Arun returned the knife to my bag. “Will you at least confirm my minister’s theory?” After another tense beat, she tutted. “I didn’t expect silence from such a troublesome young woman.”

“Perhaps I ought to loosen her tongue,” Arun drawled.

My pulse stuttered just as Rheya said, “No. Lady Alissa is perfectly capable of talking without duress.” Her voice softened. “Speak freely, child. Your tale will hold no sway over the outcome of this meeting.”

In other words, she would hand me to Erik regardless of what I’d done to him. Regardless of what he’d done to me.

With fresh hatred for this woman, I said, “The king of Daradon held me prisoner for twelve days. So I stabbed him.”

My words resounded through the room, the echo fading as Rheya pursed her lips.