Page 86 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“How was my brother when you saw him?” Gabriel asked, changing the topic. At least he didn’t refute my comment or roll his eyes like Fernand.

I debated lying, complimenting his health and fortitude. But lies wouldn’t help any of us. “Honestly, not well.”

Gabriel’s countenance darkened. He gave a brief nod, willing me to continue.

“He has a limp I don’t remember and a cough that’s settled deep in his chest. With the resting season approaching and heavier taxes on his people…I don’t know.”

“It’s back then,” Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. “He’s fought that illness on and off for cycles. We worried it would finish him last time.”

His brother could die before he ever saw him again. He likely would if we didn’t find a way to end Ryszard’s reign. No doubt the emperor would place his wine-loving governor in full control rather than let Basilla take up her husband’s place or relinquish Gabriel back to his homeland.

The letter I tucked away in my boot itched against my skin. Every moment it lingered there filled me with more and more uncertainty. I could return it to Lucien’s room. Perhaps he would never know what I’d done. He’d trusted me, and I’d stolen from him. My stomach knotted as I considered my actions in the wake of our connection. But…I needed help if I were to aid the rebels. Gabriel and Fernand were my best hope, my true allies—or they had been before.

Reyna chatted loudly with a group of guards, not paying me any mind. I still needed to determine if she was genuine. One mistake would send me to the dungeons, and I couldn’t risk that. Not now.

Iaccidentallyknocked a fork to the ground, savoring the loud clatter as I got up from my chair to retrieve it. In a quick move, I dug into my boot and slipped the stolen paper into my hand before returning the fork to its original place. No one looked too closely as I circled the table and wrapped Gabriel in a tight hug. I adjusted my embrace and slid my hand over the seam between his vest and shirt. “I’m so sorry to bring sad news, but hopefully good things are in store.”

Gabriel’s worn fingers rubbed the inner edge of his vest when I returned to my seat. The movement paused. I shot him a meaningful look, which earned a curt nod in return.

For better or worse, there was no going back now.

Chapter39

Lucien

We finally had our hands on the rebels. Even so, I couldn’t tear my thoughts from the woman whose soft sighs and warm thighs I’d left in my bed, hair strewn out around her, lips slightly parted.

Ilya had still been asleep when I’d dressed in my armor, quietly as I could, and slipped out of the room to request the guards bring us breakfast. I hadn’t had a chance to give the order before a different guard rushed up, demanding I come at once. There was no choice but to obey.

What did Ilya think when she woke to find me gone? Nothing good I’d wager.

No wonder Emperor Ryszard frowned upon us taking lovers, no matter how trivial or inconsequential. If he ever found out just how much she occupied my thoughts, or worse, how much she meant to me…

Don’t go there, Lucien.

The doors to the emperor’s audience chamber groaned open.

“The bastards are more tight-lipped than a mute whore.” Orson wiped a smear of blood from his gauntlets as he entered. He didn’t bother with the splatter further up his arms.

He relished the torture, an act that turned most of our stomachs. Bile still burned the base of my throat, rising from my empty stomach. I couldn’t understand how we’d turned out so differently when we’d been raised together. It wasn’t because of our tutor, Nigel, who instructed us in war as well as letters. He was stern but not cruel. Or sagely Florian and his advice on strategy or horses. He’d been a source of laughter before illness took him. Our emperor never praised such behavior when he was around, and the housemaids were far too scared of us to be much influence.

Emperor Ryszard smoldered at his desk, face turning near purple with barely concealed rage. He rose, fingertips drumming on the solid wood. “And you’ve found nothing to prove where they came from? No symbol or mark?”

He’d asked the same questions of us, his captains, over and over, convinced we must have missed something.

“If I had, I’d have finished the job already,” Orson grunted.

Our emperor’s lips thinned even more. The drumming stopped. I shot Orson a sharp look, a warning to keep his tongue in check. It was bad enough that he had to pick this, of all days, to return with captives in tow.

“Their attire was plain. Indistinguishable,” I said, stepping into the thick tension. “Their appearances were unremarkable. There’s no strong dialect that we can detect in their words. Their weapons were simple. No blacksmith markings. No designs or adornment.”

Emperor Ryszard nodded, his jaw still stiff.

“I think we have to consider that they may be acting on their own,” Zurina said. “Just because they stood in opposition doesn’t mean a particular city-state supports them. Their clothing is poor. Their bodies thin. They likely—”

Emperor Ryszard cut her off with a wave of his hand. “All these groups of rebels sneaking around the countryside and undermining my rule are simply poor citizens? I don’t believe it. Someone is organizing them, trying to undermine everything I’ve built. I’ve given them a unified country, a powerful name that they should be proud of.”

“And killed many of their number while taxing them.”

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