Page 95 of Poisoned Empire

Her father let up on his punishing grip on her hair and sighed.

“Now, I’m certain.”

He spoke it so softly that she’d almost missed it beneath the constant rumble of his lightning. Then he leaned in so that only she could hear.

“Do you know what to do when you’re sure you can’t win? You do everything in your power to prevent someone else from claiming victory. I’ll never be the lightning king, so don’t youdarelet that salamander sit on the throne. Swear it, Selene, or I shall kill you in truth and we’ll take Nadioch with us to the deepest of hells.”

He punctuated his threat with a sharp heel to the small of her back, and a pull on her hair she was certain would snap her neck. She cried out.

“Amethyst!” Belisarius howled from above, his dark eyes full of hatred, white-knuckle grip on the stone of the bailey.

“I swear!” She choked out. The magister dug his heel in hard with a sharp, ruthless motion. A shriek of pain escaped her lips. A deep crack had black swimming around the edges of her vision.

“Gods below, the soldiers have retreated, you bastard!”

“Not far enough!” Amethyst replied smugly.

“Retreat! Now!” The prince called out.

In a quiet, unconcerned voice, the magister spoke to Selene as tears of agony streamed down her cheeks.

“What have you sworn? Say it clearly.”

“I swear the salamander won’t get the throne!” she hissed. He must be mad. He was going to break her back—he’d already broken a rib! As he placed his lips close to her ear, she envisioned him dead, choking on his own guts, screaming in agony.

“Good girl. He’ll underestimate you at his peril. Remember that you and the princeling live because I wished it. Now, give your father a kiss and make my death spectacular.”

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she did as he asked. It would be the only order of his she would ever eagerly obey. The bolt of lightning he held disappeared into the ether as he stumbled back, releasing his hold on her hair. Selene fell the short distance to the ground, spent, her breath wheezing. Grim delight lifted the corners of her mouth as the imprint of her lips on his cheek turned black, dark veins forking out. Her farewell kiss. Toxic blood streamed from every orifice, his eyes wide with pain as his mouth contorted in a silent scream. He collapsed onto the stones, dead before he’d hit the ground.

Chapter 33

AssoonasMagisterAmethyst had fallen, Belisarius shouted out an endless stream of orders. Water mages worked to dissolve the ice which had encased soldiers, while healers triaged the wounded. Death and suffering surrounded Selene. The bodies of archers lay hopelessly broken and twisted on the stone paths, jagged scars of upraised earth and blasted mortar littered among the dead. Only gory, smoking parts of the lightning-struck remained identifiable. The lucky ones limped away with burns and gashes or were carried screaming to the nearest healer. Her leg was quickly freed, but given the severity of the situation, she might be waiting some time for a healer.

Ifshe weren’t just left there like the fool she was, as she richly deserved.

Selene gingerly rolled over onto her side, sopping wet clothes tangling around her. There wasn’t much of her that didn’t hurt, but she lived. Perhaps she really was favoured by some perverse coterie of gods, as Iliana was fond of insisting.

“Selene!”

She turned her head, her neck protesting. Belisarius came rushing towards her with a pronounced hitch in his gait, swatting away the hands of a healer who insisted he stand still.

“Your Royal Highness, you’ve taken a number of blows. Please, allow me to do my job!”

“Her. First,” the prince ground out through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed in fury.

“But she-”

“Cannot even stand. If you don’t want to be whipped, you will do as I’ve ordered at once!”

Belisarius knelt down over her, awkward and wincing with pain, eyes haunted as he looked her over. She wanted to reach up to touch him but wasn’t sure she could manage it.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

“Most places,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

The elderly healer ran his hands over and above her. Once done, he placed his hands over the worst affected areas, evaporating the pain. She’d never had the coin to afford a real healer before. No wonder the healing mages were always so rich. In minutes he’d erased her pain and knitted skin and bone back together. She took a deep, relieved breath, suddenly exhausted. Belisarius took her hand and held it close to his face. He didn’t even acknowledge the healer as he was tended to.

“Go help the others,” Belisarius ordered.

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