Into the Empress's Hands
Overwhelmed by an indescribable, uncanny emotion, Thalia gazed at the palace gates drawing ever nearer. Soon, she would be free of this excruciating pain. Not some quack healer cowed by Garese’s glare, but the finest mages of the Empress’s Palace would restore her to her former, flawless self.
She moistened her parched lips and cautiously lowered her eyes to examine her own body. The form wrapped in the cream-colored silk dress could hardly be called beautiful, even in the kindest light. Thick bandages from thigh to ankle showed through the thin fabric in ugly, bulky outlines, while the burn scars on her palms had been cleanly healed by magic—yet her nails remained bruised and stained a dark crimson. Weeks of near-starvation on the road had left her gaunt, adding to the wretched impression.
A sudden wave of dread washed over her. What if they all laughed at her like this? The memory of the maids cackling that it served her right sent a cold sweat down her spine. Thalia yanked the carriage curtain shut. If anyone saw her and whispered that she had been cursed, she feared she would lose what little sanity remained.
She dragged the tangled linen blanket from the floor and pulled it over her head. Moments later, the sound of the carriage passing through the gates reached her. Peeking through a gap in the blanket, Thalia strained to catch the noises outside: the clatter of hooves, the booming commands of the infantry, and the funeral march, already slow, now grown even more mournful. Beneath it all stirred the restless murmur of the crowd, like thousands of insects buzzing at once. Her nerves sharpened to a painful edge; she yanked the blanket higher, covering herself completely.
She had no idea how long she remained hidden before the carriage rolled to a halt on the gravel path. The air outside grew busier still—clearly every servant of the imperial palace had poured out to greet them. Thalia curled into the corner of the carriage, waiting for the commotion to subside. She intended to stay hidden until Garese and Aila had completed the formal audience with the Emperor. She had no desire to show her pitiful state to their followers.
She rubbed her tingling legs and held her breath in silence. Without warning, the door flew open and a heavy shadow filled the carriage.
Thalia lifted her head and stared, wide-eyed, at the familiar silhouette backlit by sunlight. The plump nanny clambered aboard and swept her into a fierce embrace with both arms.
“Aigoo, my poor young lady. What a state you’re in.”
The woman cupped Thalia’s face in her large hands, turning it this way and that, then burst into streaming tears.
“How did you get so thin? Injured and half-starved—your face is nothing but skin and bone…”
Thalia stared up at her blankly for a moment, then crumpled and threw her arms around the nanny’s neck. She buried herself against the woman’s ample bosom like a frightened cub seeking its mother. The nanny stroked her back in long, soothing sweeps.
That gentle, almost infantile touch broke something inside her. Tears spilled over. Thalia pressed her face into the cinnamon-scented curls and sobbed, raw and broken.
“Nanny… it hurts. It hurts so much I think I’ll die.”
“Don’t you worry. Lady Senebier will have you fixed up good as new.”
The nanny wiped the tears from Thalia’s cheeks and gestured toward the carriage door. Thalia shrank back at the sight of the stranger standing there. A man with his lower face veiled in white cloth regarded her with cool, slate-gray eyes ringed in gold.
His gaze felt like he was appraising livestock. Thalia instinctively pressed closer to the nanny. The older woman patted her back reassuringly.
“The moment Lady Senebier heard you were hurt, she summoned the mages of House Taren. They’ll have you looking like your old self in no time.”
With firm hands she pried Thalia’s fingers loose and stepped aside to make room.
Thalia watched the approaching shadow and instinctively edged backward. Old wariness rose unbidden.
“I—I can walk on my own. Step aside.”
“With those legs?”
The lean mage tilted his head, studying her. Heat flooded Thalia’s face at the implied mockery.
“I can make it to the Empress’s Palace without any trouble!”
The man’s eyes narrowed above the veil. Unease prickled along Thalia’s spine. He stroked his chin in thought, then suddenly seized her injured leg.
White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes. Thalia screamed. He squeezed so hard that fresh blood seeped through the bandages.
“If we let you walk on these and the wounds reopen, we’ll be the ones suffering for it. Enough pointless stubbornness.”
Thalia stared at him in stunned horror. The mage released her leg and nodded to the second man waiting outside.
“You carry her.”
The second mage immediately bent and slid his arms beneath her back. Thalia’s skin crawled as though a snake had touched her. She twisted away, flailing.
“Don’t touch me!”
The blow caught the man across the jaw. He muttered something in a harsh, metallic tongue. Thalia froze as she recognized the Elvish words.
From beneath his hood she glimpsed unnaturally long ears, ashen skin, and pale hair with a bluish sheen. Not a half-elf or quarter-elf—an Origin elf. She knew exactly how inhuman they could be. Terror seized her.
The two mages conferred in their own language, then each clamped a hand around one of her arms. Thalia opened her mouth to scream. A cold, damp palm covered her face. Strength drained from her limbs as though her bones and muscles had melted away.
“Making us waste mana for nothing,” the first mage muttered. Thalia looked up at him with dilated pupils. She tried to shout, to demand what they were doing, but only a wheezing rasp escaped her throat.
The mage straightened and addressed his companion.
“She won’t move now. Take her to the treatment room.”
The elf who had been struck obeyed at once. Thalia was lifted like a sack of grain. She cast a desperate, pleading glance at the nanny, but the woman remained as oblivious to her terror as ever.
“Just bear with it a little longer, young lady. Everything will be fine.”
The nanny wiped her eyes on her sleeve and hopped down from the carriage. The mage carrying Thalia followed.
Blinding sunlight poured over her. Thalia squinted. After several blinks, she saw Empress’s Palace soldiers surrounding the carriage. Beyond their wall-like formation, a royal guard knight shifted anxiously. He tried to push through toward her, but the Taren mage blocked him with a sharp gesture.
“Your duty is done. We will see to Her Highness the Princess. Stand down.”
“But I am her royal guard. I must escort—”
“Given the state she is in, your qualifications have already been revoked.”
The knight fell silent. The mage clicked his tongue and shoved him aside with one hand, then crossed the cluttered courtyard lined with supply wagons.
Thalia looked around in a daze. Soon she spotted a faint flaxen head of hair among the knights waiting at the main palace entrance. She almost called Barcas’s name before biting her tongue hard enough to taste blood.
Barcas would never come to her aid. She did not even understand why the impulse to seek his help had risen in the first place.
These were mages sent by Senebier. They would not harm her.
She repeated the thought, trying to smother her fear, but the mage carrying her was already walking straight toward Barcas. Thalia tensed as the distance between them shrank.