Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(22)

“My lady,” a blonde girl mumbled as she pressed against a guard, her hand stretched toward me in a frantic need to touch me, worship me.

Lips snarling in disgust, I pressed one finger against her palm before she backed away, tears streaming down her face in a revered look that smothered me.

I had trained them well, it seemed. Ingrained in them a love of who I was and what I meant to them. Fear of what I could easily do to them.

My usual wicked grin broke over my face in a toothy smile that made them cower more.

Voices called and begged in one final plea as I reached the tent my father would be holed up in. The massive structure loomed over us, screams emanating from somewhere inside so loudly I could barely hear the pleas of the refuse I was surrounded by.

“My lady,” my guards echoed in unison as they flanked the doors, lifting the tent flaps and allowing me to duck into the wide open warmth of the reception room, the wails of the masses muted by the heavy canvas I was now enclosed in.

“Ovailia,” a short, darkly colored man greeted me the moment the flaps had closed, his voice a hollow reverberation as he moved toward me.

He was obviously happy to see me, and judging by his body language, he expected some sort of embrace or handshake. Staring at him, I raised my eyebrows in a questioning disgust as I checked my designer heels for any unwanted filth that might have followed me in here, silently wishing to find some to throw at him.

“Damek,” I practically growled, my distaste from seeing him leaking through, not that I tried to conceal it.

Damek was a Trpaslík older than myself, his face battle worn and full of scars, some of which I was sure he had given himself with the reputation he had earned. He had served on my father’s forward guard for centuries, and I had never really cared for him, something that had increased since he had taken over Cail’s role after his death.

He seemed to think such a simple advancement awarded him the same stature of my father and myself. It was something I was getting very tired of reminding him otherwise.

“We did not expect you back so soon,” he tittered, his authoritative voice far too happy.

“We?”

“Edmund and myself.”

Good to know he was speaking for both of them now.

“I didn’t know you were expecting me. Was there something you needed, some information vital to our cause that you require, Damek?” I straightened as I looked at him, eyes full of warning as the tiniest of smiles played around the corner of my lips.

He smiled at first, misreading my meaning, until it hit him full in the chest, his over-exuberant confidence waning a bit.

“Well … I … that is to say…”

I smiled fully, and his spine became rigid as a flare of my magic wrapped around him. Judging by the way he shivered, I was sure he could feel it, even if he didn’t know what it was.

“I suppose my father sent you to wait for me, to escort me if there was any problem?” I was snide, bored even, my irritation toward him bared.

Silence.

“No, then?”

He looked at me.

“Good.” I smiled as his pride bristled a bit.

I stood before him, our two bodies seeming comical in the massive space that had been used as Edmund’s ornate reception hall. All the gold inlaid furniture was swapped for barrels of bright purple fire, all the tapestries removed except one. The ancient thing was still full of the vibrant colors it had possessed centuries before as it hung high above our heads, the scene a depiction of the ritual I was sure my father was surveying.

Removing my coat with a wide grin toward the now addled man, I handed it to the awakened filth who stood cowering in the corner, waiting for my instruction.

The Chosen who had cowered before me outside the tent had bowed before me for a reason. And that was it. They wanted a place. They wanted to serve. This girl was one of the lucky few who had braved the pits, who had won, and who had received the right to live.

Even beyond the pits, it was Edmund and I who made those decisions. They were right to worship me as they did. I held their lives in my hands.

“My lady.” Her words were barely above a mumble, something I would normally punish her for. I had punished her for it in the past. She obviously remembered the large gash I had left in her flesh with the way her shoulders tightened, the way her back curled.

Good.

She was learning.

“Try again,” I soothed, careful to keep my voice soft, kind, while also making it very clear she was moments away from the same beating.

She heard the warning.

Her back curled farther as she took a step closer, her filthy hands wrapping around the pure white of the fur. I couldn’t help cringing.

“My lady.” Her voice shook, but it was louder, calmer. Her place known. Her role in this new world already declared, as it was with the man before me. I made sure Damek was watching my servant serve me the same way I was going to have him do.

He observed the exchange as my eyes burned into him and the woman bowed to me before scuttling away, broken and controlled.

He swallowed, the temper I had fixed him with seeping into him, filling him with a seething discomfort.

“Good.”

I said nothing more, merely stepped toward the now broken man, not willing to let him think he could be anything other than a servant.

“You can finish your task now,” I soothed, my voice calm, sweet even, the acid behind it seeping through in warning.