Chapter Fourteen WITCHING MOON

Chapter Fourteen

WITCHING MOON

Week Two, Day Four

Year 3000

Sachi woke with a pounding head, a dry mouth, and the deep and abiding sense that she was being watched .

"Good afternoon, Lady Sachielle."

She bolted upright in a large, luxurious bed in an equally large, luxurious room. The walls were covered with gilded paper, and ornately carved furniture filled the space. There were windows that glittered in the slanting afternoon sun, casting rays of jewel-toned light across the room.

But those windows were unreachably high, secured with delicately wrought metal bars. And of the two doors she could see, one was barred tight. This lovely room, with its expensive fabrics and furnishings, was nothing but a glorified prison cell.

A beautiful wingback chair upholstered in silk-embroidered brocade had been placed beside the bed. Her jailer sat in it, watching her as if he'd counted every breath while she slept.

For once in her life, Sachi didn't hold her tongue. "You bastard ."

The Betrayer sighed gently, then inclined his head. "I expected you would be displeased. This is not the beginning I wanted for us, either. But I could not take the chance, you must understand. Bringing you to safety overrode every other concern."

"Safety?" Sachi echoed, her ire only growing. "You drugged me, and yet you talk of safety ?"

"The drug is perfectly safe," he told her, his eyebrows sweeping up. "Something I designed with my healer centuries ago. It is a sedative that also numbs one's connection to the Dream. I couldn't risk having the Dragon pull you back into danger, Sachielle. Not without at least giving you a chance to choose."

No matter what he said or how he justified it, the lingering heaviness in her limbs and head told the real story. Sachi knew when she'd been sedated, and not just by magic. Memories and lingering trauma swirled up, as if blown aloft by a storm, and she had to close her eyes, swallow hard, and take a deep breath to quiet the rising panic.

Losing control would not help her navigate this situation.

When she was absolutely certain she could unclench her jaw without screaming, she opened her eyes. "I have very bad associations with being drugged. I would prefer you refrain."

He went from sunshine to stormy in a heartbeat. His brow furrowed, and his eyes seemed to darken. "What has my former brother done to you? Did he force you to drink the Dragon's Blood?"

He had, of course, as part of their traditional bonding ceremony. Or, at least, Ash hadn't warned her about it beforehand so she could decide whether to partake. But Sachi couldn't bring herself to say as much to the man—no, the god —sitting before her. "The experiences predate my time with Ash. Or did Nikkon not tell you?"

The Betrayer froze. "You say Nikkon did this to you?"

A tiny vulnerability, a crack in his smug authority. "Not always with his own two hands, but he directed every aspect of my training." Sachi paused. "And my torture."

That crack widened, even as the Betrayer hurried to cover it. "Surely torture is a strong word," he insisted. "Perhaps with the other one, harsh measures were necessary in an attempt to civilize her. But you would have needed no such guidance."

"Maybe not. But that didn't stop him from providing it." Her smile felt brittle. Honest. "I'd offer you details, but if you haven't eaten recently, I should warn you. Dry heaving is painful."

For a heartbeat, it seemed she'd rendered him literally speechless. Then he shifted his shoulders, as if shrugging away any responsibility, and his expression settled into smooth sympathy. "I regret any pain you may have suffered. To be perfectly honest with you, Nikkon was a disappointment. That he had you and your ... counterpart under his direct supervision and failed to see what you truly were?" The Betrayer made a disapproving noise. "I suppose he deserved whatever inglorious end Ash provided."

Sachi inventoried what she'd learned. Her captor could be moved, but only so far before excusing himself from any blame or culpability. He held nothing but disdain for Zanya, to the point where it hadn't even occurred to him that she might have been the one to slay Nikkon.

And then there was his assumption that Ash had been the culprit. Always, always , the Betrayer would place the offending blade in Ash's hand. And that came from a place not of disdain, but of fear.

Interesting.

"I thank you for your regrets," Sachi allowed, "but where does that leave us? Do I have your word?"

"As much as I lament the painful associations, it simply doesn't seem practical." He even managed to look regretful, as if this were a mild inconvenience he hated to inflict upon her. "I have been preparing for your arrival for thousands of years. All you know of me are the ghost stories from mortals who have grown pettier and pettier over the centuries, not to mention whatever poison my former associates managed to fill your mind with. You will attempt to escape me."

"You may have prepared for my arrival, but you clearly do not know me." Sachi squared her shoulders and straightened her back. "I will not lie to you, even when you want me to do so. When I give you my word, you may rely on it absolutely. I will not attempt to escape this place. I will stay with you until our business is concluded."

He arched an eyebrow. "And what business do you imagine I have with you that will end so cleanly?"

"I claimed nothing of the sort."

Now both eyebrows swept up. "You expect me to believe an offer to stay here, at my side, indefinitely? Lady Sachielle, while I am quite devoted to the idea of you joining me here of your own free will, I am not a fool."

She had claimed nothing of that sort, either, but she could tell already that the Betrayer saw everything as clearly delineated. Right or wrong, necessary or unnecessary. His or not. "You aren't the first to doubt me, but that doubt never lasts long. Regardless, I have made my promises. And I always keep them."

"Understood. I will think on the matter." He rose and snapped his fingers. A wan young woman dressed in neat servants' livery stepped just inside the door and dropped a deep curtsy. "In the meantime, this is Lyssa. She has been trained to serve as your maid. She'll help you dress for dinner, if you would deign to join me."

The words sounded like an invitation, but his tone made their true nature clear. This was an order. But Sachi was hungry, and she doubted the Betrayer had gone to thousands of years of trouble just to poison her at their first meal.

No, the danger he represented—to her, to Ash and Zanya, to the world —was far less mundane.

I will obey you. The words dried up on her tongue like tiny drops of rain in the desert sun. For the time being, she might have to play this game, but there were some lines she could not cross.

Instead, she asked, "May I know your name?"

It was hard to evaluate the odd little smile that twisted his lips. Superiority, perhaps? Distaste? If there was sadness there, he certainly tried to hide it beneath his light tone. "They have erased me so completely, then?"

"No one mentioned you much to me, that's all."

He proudly squared his shoulders, exhibiting his full and considerable height. "I am His Imperial Majesty Under the Light, Undying Emperor of the Nine Kingdoms, Keeper of Dreams. But you may address me as Sorin."

Sorin. It echoed in Sachi's head as he turned for the door. In all likelihood, it was his real name, or the closest thing he had left, because what reason would he have to lie? Anything that kindled a measure of closeness, of connection , between them could only further his cause.

As the door swung wide, Sachi spotted a guard hovering in the hallway. And there were probably more, just out of her sight. She expected no less, but she was surprised to feel the walls thrum with familiar energy, as well. Sachi approached the wall, held her hand to it. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was.

The Dream. Somehow, the Betrayer had woven it through the walls, reinforcing them. Sachi had never imagined the Dream could be used as such, as a cage , and she drew her hand back as if burned. This went against everything she believed, everything she knew to be true. It was an ugly use of such beautiful power, and Sachi hated it even as she acknowledged its effectiveness.

It seemed that Sorin guarded his treasures well.

With a sigh, Sachi turned toward the only other person left in her cell. "Hello. Lyssa, is it?"

The woman still hadn't risen from her curtsy. A light-gray scarf covered most of her hair, revealing only a few strands of bright red. Her dress was of the same faded gray color, and even her voice seemed to match. "Yes, Your Excellency."

No matter how deferential she appeared to be, the woman was doubtless under orders to report to Sorin—assuming, of course, that she wasn't an outright spy. Sachi would have to tread very carefully not to give away more than she learned.

"You may stand," Sachi told her, "and bring your work."

"Thank you ..." A hesitation. "Shall I call you Empress? Or would you prefer something else?"

"My name is Sachielle. Sachi."

Lyssa's head shot up, revealing a round, pale face with a dusting of freckles and panicked hazel eyes. "The Emperor would not tolerate such disrespect. Is—is Lady Sachielle acceptable?"

"If you like." Sachi took a seat at the expansive vanity while Lyssa searched through the ornate wardrobe in the corner.

She pulled out an elaborate sapphire gown and laid it across the bed, then returned to retrieve matching undergarments and shoes. Only then did she join Sachi at the vanity, opening the left-hand drawer to reveal an impressive array of fine silver combs and brushes. "If you have a preference as to style, my lady, I am happy to adapt. But if you'll allow, the Emperor requested I dress you for dinner at court."

"I am in your hands. Do what you will." Sachi watched in the mirror as Lyssa began to section and brush her hair. "How long have you served the—the Emperor?" She had barely managed to catch herself before calling him the Betrayer.

"Only a few weeks," was the soft reply. "But I'm very experienced. I was fortunate enough to apprentice to the Domestic Guild at age ten. The youngest apprentice in five hundred years."

"That is impressive. And do you enjoy working here?"

Lyssa ducked her head, focusing on the braids her quick fingers were weaving—and neatly hiding her expression from Sachi. "The Emperor has honored me with the most coveted position in all nine kingdoms. I only hope you find my service worthy, my lady."

She hadn't answered the question, but Sachi let it go. Pressing too hard would only show how desperate she was for information, and that wouldn't do at all. Instead, she focused on what Lyssa had said. "Nine kingdoms?"

"The nine kingdoms of the Empire," she confirmed. "We're in Kasther now. The first and most powerful of all kingdoms, as it is the Emperor's home. Though the other kingdoms can be quite beautiful, I'm told. I've only seen Vinke, where I was born."

"I see."

Lyssa finished twisting Sachi's hair into heavy, braided coils. It was more difficult for Sachi to continue her line of questioning as the woman helped her dress, since the process often involved sucking in her breath for corsets or pulling heavy lengths of fabric over her head.

Too soon, Sachi was fully dressed. Lyssa slid an exquisite pair of jeweled slippers with a low heel onto her feet, since the construction of Sachi's dress made it impossible for her to accomplish the task herself. The bodice wrapped around her in rigid, boned panels of an asymmetrical design. One panel rose to a point above her right shoulder, while another's top edge rested scandalously low on her left breast. Only the skirt flowed freely, a full length of gauzy silk that billowed behind her when she moved.

That left only her jewelry. Sachi stood as Lyssa clasped a delicate fall of sapphires to each earlobe. Then the maid lifted a heavy-looking sapphire and diamond tiara from its case. Sachi wanted to protest, but practicality stayed her tongue. The tiara had been fashioned into wickedly sharp points that, laden with jewels though they were, looked positively deadly.

Sachi tested her theory by prodding one of the points with her fingertip. It was sturdy, more like a dagger than an ornament, and she smiled. "This will do nicely."

Just in case.

Lyssa's brow furrowed in confusion, but she settled the tiara on Sachi's head. She spent a few moments fussing with her braids, smoothing them into place, then stepped back and gestured to the door. "If you're ready."

It didn't matter if she was or not, it was time. The door opened before Sachi, and she shivered as she stepped through. Walking through the open doorway felt the same as when she'd moved through the Dream, like passing through cobwebs and feeling them break and linger, clinging to her skin.

There was not one guard outside, but two. They fell into step beside her, though they paid her little mind. Their gazes darted around, taking in all corners of the labyrinthine corridors, as if watching for threats. It was clear she was under guard not to prevent her escape, but to prevent others from mounting a rescue.

The guards didn't speak. Sachi counted their footsteps instead, memorized the turns and flights of stairs as they walked on. The knowledge would prove useful, should she manage to slip out of her cell later for a little exploration.

Her escorts stopped before an inordinately large set of doors. They were exquisitely carved, but easily ten times the necessary size. They opened silently, without a single creak, but instead of swinging either in or out, they retreated into hidden crevices in the walls.

Beyond lay a dining room, identifiable by the long table that occupied the space. The room was oddly shaped, oblong and rather narrow, ringed with windows all the way around. The windows slanted inward toward the bottom, as it appeared the ceiling was slightly larger than the floor. Sachi looked over as she walked past a window and almost stumbled.

They were suspended in the air, with nothing beneath them.

The Betrayer— Sorin —waited at the other end of the room, a broad smile curving his lips. "Perfection," he declared.

A man and a woman stood with him, dressed in noble finery rather than the leather armor and standards of a guard. Sorin turned to them and performed the necessary introductions.

"Lady Sachielle, may I present two trusted members of my court. Grand Duke Demir holds the kingdom of Rehes for me, as well as serving as my personal guard when the need arises."

Sachi studied him. He had dark hair and a square jaw, and was handsome in a primal, hard sort of way, though the effect of his pleasant-looking face was somewhat chilled when he turned his gaze on her. A shiver of warning scraped up Sachi's spine. His eyes should have been lovely, even beautiful, except that they held an unpleasant flatness that made Sachi think of a discordant musical note. Of biting on metal.

Instantly, she knew. This was a man who could break your neck and never stop grinning. In fact, it would make his grin a little wider.

As if he saw the realization in her eyes, his beautiful lips curled into a cruel smile. "Princess."

It wouldn't be appropriate for her to curtsy, which was lucky, because Sachi wasn't sure she was physically capable of taking her eyes off this man long enough to bow her head. She nodded instead. "Grand Duke."

As if oblivious to the undercurrents, Sorin waved a hand at the woman. "And this is Grand Duchess Varoka. She oversees the kingdom of Leighael, and also serves as one of my most valued advisors."

The woman made Sachi feel uneasy for an entirely different reason. She also had dark hair, though the majority of it had been intricately dyed in varying shades of pink and purple. It had been arranged on her head in swooping, rigid curls that never moved, even when she dropped a curtsy so low she was almost kneeling. Rather than being flat, her gaze nearly burned as she looked at Sachi with something uncomfortably close to jealousy—or perhaps simply a fascination so avid it could only be unsettling. The unnatural fervor carried through to her smile, gleaming and white, showing far too many teeth.

Sachi wasn't sure what to make of her almost aggressive demeanor. Was that jealousy? And if so, did it concern the Betrayer ... or something else? "Grand Duchess."

"Please, call me Varoka." She rose, letting her dark skirts flutter around her. "I have waited so long for your arrival, my lady."

"You flatter me."

"Hardly. We have spent millennia—"

Dark irritation flashed across the Betrayer's face, and he flicked his fingers to one side. Varoka fell abruptly silent and dropped into an even deeper curtsy. Without another glance at her, Sorin put a hand at the small of Sachi's back and guided her toward the head of the table. "Shall we take our seats?"

Sachi had barely claimed her chair when the entire room shifted and swayed. Her stomach lurched, and she grabbed the edge of the table as they began to move.

"My apologies, Lady Sachielle." Sorin steadied her by laying his hands on her shoulders and pulling her gently back against the seat. "I sometimes forget how backward the Sheltered Lands truly are. This must be your first time flying."

Flying? Sachi glanced through one of the windows, where the spires of the castle were quickly receding into the distance. "All my experience is with more traditional modes of travel, Your Imperial Majesty." A tiny lie, yes, but literal torture could not have induced her to tell him about Zanya's ability to travel through shadows.

"Perhaps we sat too soon, then. Come, I will show you something." Again, the words held the cheerful cadence of an offer, but the hand he held out to her was nothing short of a stark command.

Sachi rose and allowed him to lead her through an open doorway, toward what turned out to be the front of the craft. Here, the glass made up not only expansive windows but part of the floor, as well. The world passed beneath her feet in a dizzying rush, and Sachi clung to Sorin's hand out of sheer necessity.

"Oh," was all she managed to say.

"This is Kasther," he said proudly as they glided over street after street of neatly organized buildings in a dozen shades of gold and tan. They rose in organized ranks with precisely intersecting streets, and on those streets people bustled about their daily work in shocking numbers. Every few blocks held a bright pop of green—a park of some sort, usually with a glittering pond at its heart. Wide, reflective panels dotted the roofs of the taller buildings, making the entire city glitter like a prism.

The city went on and on. "This is your capital?"

"This is the kingdom," he corrected. "We see no need to scatter people around in remote villages where they are cut off from the resources and pleasures the city provides. Do you see those silver tracks that cut through the city?"

She did. They were all a uniform distance apart, like the tracks for the rail carts that the dockworkers used to load and unload ships in Siren's Bay.

"Our high-speed rail cars can travel the distance from Siren's Bay to Dragon's Keep in a single day. Slower ones connect the various districts. Some nobles still keep horses, of course, but out of affection for the beasts themselves. Or for the exercise. If they've earned their way into the upper class, I allow them their affectations."

Allow them, indeed. "And how, exactly, do they do that? Earn their way into nobility? At Dalvish's court, very few were elevated through their own endeavors. They were mostly born into the privilege."

"A rather meaningless way of bestowing honor, in my opinion." Sorin lifted one hand to her shoulder and turned her toward the broad window. With his other arm, he reached past her to point toward a towering mansion in the distance.

It was the closest thing Sachi had seen so far to a country estate. But instead of being surrounded by fields and forests, metal buildings entirely encased in sparkling glass dotted the land. Each one was like a massive version of the conservatory at Castle Roquebarre, where they'd grown exotic flowers that would never survive the gardens outside.

"Lady Nezak's estate," Sorin murmured next to Sachi's ear. "Her great-great-many-times-great-grandmother invented the prototype of our rail system. That woman's noble lineage persists because her descendants continue to innovate. Each generation must further the achievements of their forebears if they wish to enjoy the rewards. If they don't, other bright and inventive minds will happily take their place and their comforts."

"Is that the only way? Industrial innovation?" Sachi turned to face him. "What about art? Music?"

"I am not barbaric, Lady Sachielle." He smiled as he gestured back to the table. "There are patronages for artists of all kinds. And, of course, the guilds find rare talents and elevate them. Those who achieve the highest levels of mastery in the guilds want for very little in life."

And what of everyone else? What do they want for in life?

Sachi quelled a shudder. She'd met people like Sorin before. They had often come to Dalvish, with their grand smiles and grander ideas, seeking his monetary contributions. Pretty faces and pretty words, all of it too good to be true.

But Sorin didn't need anyone's support. He had power, and he'd already realized his grand ideas. Which made him something else: dangerous. Because there was one thing Sachi had learned before anything else.

Nothing came without a cost.

Once they were again seated at the table, a parade of servants in that familiar neat gray livery streamed past, each depositing some fantastical dish to the growing feast. There were meats encased in delicately wrought pastries, and bowls piled high with steaming vegetables—no doubt courtesy of the massive greenhouses she'd glimpsed at the outer edges of the city.

Sorin sat back in his chair, his wineglass held loosely in one hand, looking pleased with himself and the entire world. "I imagine you'll be tired after dinner and wish to turn in. I've arranged quarters for you downstairs. We'll travel through the night and arrive at your palace tomorrow. I've already summoned the rest of the court to greet you."

Startled, Sachi met his eyes. "At my palace?"

"Of course. Did you imagine I would not build you one?" he huffed. "Then again, I suppose being married to the Dragon does tend to lower one's expectations. Did he even clean out the old consort's room before he gave it to you?"

Across the table, Demir chuckled, an ugly sound that made Sachi's fingers itch to creep toward her dinner knife. But she kept her gaze on the table as the first course began. It was clear that the Betrayer had plans for her, all based on his own ideas of an optimal outcome.

But he wasn't the only one who could make plans, and she had goals of her own. This wasn't a journey she would have chosen to undertake, but here she was, deep in enemy territory.

Back in the Sheltered Lands, at Dragon's Keep, she was limited to what she could learn from others or in her dreamwalks. Here, she had the chance to get closer to Sorin, to learn firsthand and from his own mouth why he'd turned the Mortal Lords against Ash—and what he planned to do next. If she managed to work her way into his full confidences, she might even be able to stop him without risking anyone else's safety.

It was an opportunity she couldn't waste. But she couldn't leave Ash and Zanya worrying about her, either, wondering where she'd gone but suspecting the worst. Before she could truly devote herself to gathering intelligence about the Empire—and figuring out how to earn the Betrayer's trust—she had to let her lovers know she was all right.

They were, and would always be, her first priority.