Empire of Traitors (Cursed Empire Book 2) by Rachel L. Schade

Author:Rachel L. Schade [Schade, Rachel L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragon Shadow Publishing
Published: 2022-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

I opened my eyes to the peaked, canvas ceiling of a huge tent. Flickering lantern light danced across its surface, painting it a buttery shade of yellow and casting strange shadows.

My whole body ached, muscles weary from the fight, wrists raw and cut from the shackles, and chest throbbing from the searing pain of my burns. In fact, it felt like I was on fire, burning from the inside out, my throat tender and dry and a sheen of sweat coating my face. Nausea roiled through me as I tried to sit up, fighting against the pain.

I was reclining on a cot, my chest bare without my ruined uniform in sight. My burns looked ugly and untreated. When I glanced at the angry red skin, I bit back a groan and flicked my eyes away.

“Don’t move,” came a firm yet gentle voice. Jalie.

I glanced toward the center of the tent, where the empress stood, backlit by several lanterns set on the table she was bent over. She hadn’t bothered to turn around, leaving her back to me as she pored over papers scattered across the table. No longer clothed in her sparkling dragon scale armor, she wore a loose white tunic and brown leggings, likely the plainest outfit I’d ever seen her in. Her golden hair hung in a curtain down her back.

My brain was hazy from pain as I studied her, waiting for her to spin around and shove a dagger to my throat. I wasn’t sure why else I’d be here, inside her tent, after I’d slain one of her soldiers so dishonorably.

He wouldn’t have hesitated to use his advantage to kill you, a voice inside me argued.

“Why am I here?” I asked, my words coming out gravelly.

At last, Jalie turned to face me, her eyes widening for a moment as if it were the first time she’d seen me since she’d had me brought to her tent. Her gaze lingered on the muscles in my stomach before snagging on the burn wounds across my chest. A jolt of guilt coursed through her, so strong and clear I could feel it as easily as if it had been my own emotion.

“To have your wounds treated,” she said coolly, jerking her gaze away and striding toward the tent opening.

I could see now that a low table rested there, with a tray covered in medical supplies: rolls of gauze and jars I assumed were full of ointments and perhaps, if I were fortunate, medicine for the pain.

As she lifted the tray and approached the cot I occupied—her cot, I realized, surprised she’d given it up to me—she offered me a tight-lipped smile. “I can’t have my valuable prisoner dying on me.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Valuable?” The word came out strained, ending in a cough. When I’d caught my breath, I continued, “The Teramese don’t care one way or another what happens to me. They only wanted to use me to get to you.”

It was her turn to look skeptical.

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