Chapter Twenty-Four WITCHING MOON

Chapter Twenty-Four

WITCHING MOON

Week Two, Day Ten

Year 3000

The rest of the day almost made Sachi appreciate the years of practice she'd had in smiling through her pain and horror back at Dalvish's court. How many times had she spent her afternoons being drugged and beaten, only to be expected to charm a cadre of diplomats through a state dinner that same evening?

She could do this. After growing up in Castle Roquebarre, she could do anything. She could dress in heavy, embroidered brocade and a fortune's worth of jewels. She could walk down the hallways toward the grand ballroom with her head held high, smile vaguely as she was announced as the guest of honor. Nod regally to Sorin's guests.

She could even allow Sorin to take her hand and lead her through the ballroom, which had been lavishly decorated in shades of silver and blue, to the raised platform at one end. It was nothing as simple or functional as a dais, but rather three tiered levels, each one higher and smaller than the last. An ornate throne sat on the top tier, while a more delicate one encrusted with sapphires sat just below it, on the second.

The overall effect was that of a particularly gaudy wedding cake, and Sachi had to bite the inside of her cheek until it bled to keep from laughing hysterically.

She also took a measure of morbid amusement in the fact that her education at Dalvish's court would likely be the thing that carried her through her time in the Empire and helped her survive it— if she managed to survive it. According to Nikkon and the others who had overseen her training, they'd been preparing her to face the dangers of Dragon's Keep—and its master's nonexistent mercies.

Hilarious. Ash had treasured her from the very beginning, even when he thought her fear would remain, a permanent and insurmountable wall between them. He'd even treated her kindly after he realized she'd been sent to end his life. Cherished her. Loved her.

But now? She was most certainly in the court of a madman whose capricious whims had the potential to ruin or end lives. And here, her training would shine .

"You are not dancing," Sorin observed from his perch. "I would like to know why."

Looking up at him felt ridiculous, but what choice had she, when he so obviously put himself above her? "Because I don't feel like it, Your Majesty."

"Then what do you feel?"

Alone. She came so close to saying it aloud that she could taste each cold, acrid syllable on her tongue.

When she'd left the capital, bound for Dragon's Keep, she'd had Zanya with her—not only as a companion but as a co-conspirator, another soul to bear the burden of the secrets she carried. Before that, when she'd suffered in isolation at Nikkon's hands, Sachi had always known that Zanya was with her in all the ways that mattered.

Now, she was truly on her own for the first time in her life, and she hadn't been prepared for how lonely it would be. The Empire was a vicious place, with sharp words and condescension and violence at every turn. The closest things Sachi had to friends here were her maid—a woman who thought she was ignorant at best, and blasphemous at worst—and a god who was obviously using Sachi to further her own ends.

Ash and Zanya weren't here. And though she missed them desperately, Sachi was glad. She only enjoyed a modicum of safety because Sorin wanted her here, had some grand, imagined use for her. But the two of them? The only things Sorin had planned for them were pain and eventual death.

No.

Sachi's vision blurred into a haze of white. The throne beneath her rattled, and she clenched her hands on the arms until the sapphires bit into her skin. She breathed in deeply as the room began to spin, and bit by bit, the haze cleared.

Almost. Here and there, an afterimage lingered—golden ribbons of light that trailed behind some of the people in the ballroom, servants and partygoers alike. Sachi blinked to clear her vision, but the ribbons remained until they slowly faded.

Across the ballroom, Enzi spoke with Varoka and a willowy blonde that Sachi recognized from her formal introduction—Grand Duchess Eirika of Kelann. The Stalker. She was fashionably dressed, impeccably styled, and she eyed Sachi with a mixture of brutal pragmatism and contempt. Trying to decide if she was useful, perhaps, or if she truly had the ear of the Emperor.

Sachi wasn't sure herself. She knew that, whether Sorin truly trusted them or not, he leaned heavily on his court. They held his kingdoms, lent him their strength and support when needed. And when Ash and the others arrived to fight the war the Phoenix had predicted, the Grand Dukes and Duchesses—with the possible exception of Gwynira—would stand and fight for Sorin. Sachi still didn't know what sorts of damage they could wreak, but she suspected it would be significant. Deadly.

The smart plan would be to sow discord between Sorin and his court. Any wedges she could manage to drive between him and his closest allies could only serve Sachi's purposes. She had already considered but then discarded the notion, deeming it too soon to attempt anything of the sort. But that was a rational analysis, wasn't it? It was based on weighing her acquaintance with Sorin against the centuries of dubiously loyal service he'd enjoyed from his court. But Sorin wasn't rational, and Sachi wasn't just the woman he'd chosen to be his future Empress.

She was irreplaceable.

More so than his court?

There was only one way to find out.

"I am unhappy, Sorin." The words held the full weight of her truth. "Lonely. Your court does not care for me."

"What?"

She met his bewildered gaze. "They do not want me here."

He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense."

"Look at them, Your Majesty," Sachi urged. "Truly look , and then tell me I'm wrong."

He left his throne and dropped down to Sachi's tier. His hand fell to her shoulder as he looked around the ballroom, studying the assembled members of his court. Their posture, their faces.

Finally, his jaw tightened in silent confirmation, and he pulled Sachi from her seat to stand beside him. "They do not decide," he whispered fiercely. "They will feel as I instruct them to feel and do as I command. Does that satisfy you, Sachielle?"

She squeezed his fingers and allowed a carefully calibrated blend of gratitude and admiration to shine from her eyes. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Now ..." He lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. "Let's have a demonstration, shall we?"

"As you wish."

Sorin clapped sharply, and the music stopped. He surveyed the crowd for a moment, the silence broken only by the gentle rustle of elegant fabrics and the clinking of glass stemware. Then he raised his arm, where a goblet full of shimmering liquid had appeared in his hand.

"A toast," he boomed. "To Lady Sachielle, Queen of Dreams, the future Empress of the Nine Kingdoms." As the assembly echoed his words, he cast pointed looks at his court.

But his inclusion of all their holdings in her title served its purpose. They shifted uncomfortably or even seethed at the reminder that Sorin intended to give her precedence over them, in name if not in practice. His meaning was perfectly clear, and if anyone doubted it, they had only to look at Demir's battered face and blood-filled eyes.

To anger Sachi was to anger the Emperor himself.

Enzi approached the dais. He stopped at the base of it, bowed low, and held out his hand. "I seek the blessing of a dance, my lady."

Placing herself within Enzi's reach was very nearly the last thing Sachi wanted to do, but to reject his overture would cause a scene—or, leagues worse, show fear. So she joined him on the ballroom floor, braced for all manner of ugly remarks and disgusting advances.

None came. Enzi smiled politely, inquired after her enjoyment of the ball, wished her well, and then fled the moment the dance was over. Baffled, Sachi stared after him until Varoka approached with the enthusiastic offer of a drink, specially concocted by the palace chefs to celebrate the occasion.

And so it went. Gwynira pulled her into a conversation with an artist, an architect who had always longed to see the Builder's ancient work and had a million questions about the capital of the Sheltered Lands and Castle Roquebarre. Even Demir was pleasant, making small talk as if his brutal beating from that morning had never happened.

So when the Stalker approached to beg a dance with a smile, Sachi anticipated more of the same.

"You honor me, Grand Duchess."

The woman scoffed as she took Sachi's hand in hers and placed the other on Sachi's hip. "You must call me Eirika. May I call you Sachielle?"

"Of course."

Eirika hummed and cast a glance at the dais, where Sorin had retaken his throne and watched their dance with avid interest. "I'm rather impressed, you know. The Emperor loathes sharing power, yet you've already tricked him into declaring for you. And publicly, no less. Oh, but I underestimated you."

This was more like what Sachi had expected from Sorin's court. She steeled her spine and smiled vaguely. "Sorin appreciates what I have to offer."

"I'm sure he does." The corner of Eirika's mouth ticked up. "Or he would, if you ever planned on giving him a single precious drop of your power."

"He has power enough of his own."

Eirika threw back her head and laughed. "Does he? Charming. And not wholly accurate, I would say."

Sachi almost faltered. The words felt like a harder version of Lyssa's whispered revelations, a tiny bit of substance wrapped in the shell of an offhand remark. "What do you mean?"

"Ask him. I dare you." Eirika's dark eyes glittered, and she laughed again. "You could likely find a way to do it that reeks of earnest honesty yet allows you to keep your secrets. I see you, Princess Sachielle. Dragon's consort. You always tell the truth, but oh, you are so careful about how you tell it. Did Nikkon teach you that?"

"Nikkon taught me many things," Sachi told her flatly. "Would you like an exhaustive list?"

"Hardly. He wasn't exactly my favorite person in the world." Eirika paused. "But you could be."

Sachi stared at her in disbelief. "I can't imagine what use you would have for me."

"Ugh, false modesty." The tempo of the music changed slightly, and Eirika pulled Sachi closer. "Can you not see? You can continue to perform your magic act on Sorin, promising him the Dream and all your affections, yet never quite delivering. I'm sure it will work for at least a few centuries. Meanwhile ..."

"I further your interests while I whisper sweet nothings to the Emperor," Sachi finished.

"I knew I liked you," Eirika whispered fiercely.

"And in return?"

Eirika's dark eyes flashed red. "In return? Why, I make sure you survive long enough to fully enjoy being Empress of the Nine Kingdoms. So many things can happen at court. Allegiances change, my lady. And fortunes rise and fall."

Faster than the tides, Sachi suspected. Whether the offer was genuine or some sort of test, it mattered not. Her answer would be the same. "Wherever did Sorin find all of you?"

"Find us?" Eirika blinked, then lit up like a child with a brand-new puppy. "You think he found us? Oh, that's priceless. I want this moment encased in amber." She leaned in, close to Sachi's face, vicious red flashing in her eyes once more. "He only found poor little Varoka. The rest of us ... he made ."

The words were impossible, unthinkable ... but again, they tasted of truth. "What?"

"Mmm. Pulled us straight from the Dream like good little toy soldiers." Eirika giggled and spun Sachi in a dizzy circle. "Oh, you didn't know. I love it."

Sachi shuddered. If Sorin had truly done what Eirika claimed, that meant he was more powerful than any of the others. Stronger than the High Court. Stronger even than Zanya , in all her glory.

And if the war that the Phoenix had predicted did come to bloody fruition, it wouldn't simply be Ash and his friends against Sorin. They'd be facing their own worst mirror images ... and a god-emperor mad enough to have pulled them from his will and dreams.