The Empress by S. J. Kincaid

Author:S. J. Kincaid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

26

I WAS summoned for the first meeting of court since our return. I knew what it meant: Tyrus would be in our midst. I could finally see if he was well. I chose a gown that deliberately angled down in a V to display the Interdict’s mark on my heart, and then I plunged out into the sea of hostile eyes in the presence chamber.

There was a throne lower than Tyrus’s, yet positioned at the top of the chamber . . . meant for his future Empress. I took it, and it gave me a grim satisfaction to see the resentment and bitterness on the faces of the onlookers as they beheld me in the Empress’s place. That was the single pleasure I could take from Pasus’s bargain.

And then—at last.

Pasus stepped into the presence chamber, and I saw with a rush of fury that the scepter was in a sheath at his waist. He was followed by two of his servants, steering Tyrus forward by the arms. I rose to my feet, gazing at him intently, waiting for his eyes to meet mine, but they didn’t seek me. Tyrus’s face was cloudy.

That was why he hadn’t waved back to me, or done anything at the gala.

Trust me, he’d said.

I trusted Tyrus. But trust also implied something: it implied he’d be in a position to act in a way that might disappoint or please me, and when his eyes drifted past me, a cold, crawling realization sank over me that the Venalox was stronger than he’d realized.

He would give me an indication if he was faking this. Some tiny, tiny hint.

But his head slumped back without anyone holding it as he was placed on his throne. He never turned toward me, his fingers dangling toward the ground.

Tyrus, look at me, I thought, staring hard at him.

Then I said it: “Tyrus. Tyrus.”

His head moved toward the sound of my voice, his eyes unfocused. I reached out to touch his arm, and his gaze dropped to my hand with a naked, open, lost look that belonged on a child—not on Tyrus.

I felt like the breath had been driven out of me. We needed a new plan.

“You’ve helped him,” Pasus’s voice came to me. “Now remove your hand.”

I tightened my grip. “You expect me never to touch my fiancé.”

Pasus prowled toward me. He said in a furious undertone: “Sensory input confuses him. You will agitate him.”

“How much of this drug have you given him?”

“Enough. Let go, or I will say you have taken ill and must be removed.”

And as I was, I couldn’t fight back. I lifted my hand from Tyrus, and it shook in the air with my rage. How glorious it would be to feel Pasus’s heart thrum in my hand as Elantra’s had, to watch his life seep out beneath me. . . .

I pressed myself back in the seat, knowing what those thoughts were.

The malice of a Diabolic.

I traced my finger over my concentric suns mark, reminding myself: I am a person.

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