Give the Dark My Love(97)

I pushed aside what I had believed about the governor—that she was good and kind and generous—and forced myself to instead see her actions as part of a plan.

She had entered politics in order to gain access to Wellebourne’s crucible, protected in the treasury.

She had released the plague. Her opponents—like Lord Anton—had died. The poor had been fodder, supplies created in advance for an undead army to lead against the Emperor.

But the plague had been more than that. It had made her into the people’s hero. She had been the only government official to serve the sick. She had fed stories to the news sheets about the weak Emperor, and those articles had run beside glowing editorials of her own generosity.

She had already gained the trust of the people, and ensured that even in the remote villages, everyone thought the Emperor was a feeble coward. I glanced at him now, still passed out on the floor from Master Ostrum’s blow to his head. Perhaps that part had been true.

“He put himself in the tower,” Governor Adelaide said. “After the inauguration. I’d hoped to starve him out, but he had help somehow. And Wellebourne’s runes protected him.”

“But you have the crucible,” I said. “Why didn’t you—oh.”

Governor Adelaide nodded grimly. She had Wellebourne’s crucible, but it was old and cracked. It could call forth the plague it had already developed once, but it would not have been strong enough against the door to the Emperor’s room. It could raise some dead—like Master Ostrum—but I doubted the governor would be able to raise and control an entire army.

Master Ostrum . . . My heart ached for him. He had never been my enemy. I felt such bitter sorrow for his fate. He’d been arrested, killed without trial, just so the governor could use him. I could do that, I realized. I could control my revenants the way Governor Adelaide controlled Master Ostrum, stripping him of his personality and forcing him to bend to her will. It had just never occurred to me to be that cruel.

My eyes roved over Governor Adelaide’s body. Her frailty wasn’t an act. Using Wellebourne’s crucible drained her.

My hand clutched my own crucible. It was new and strong. That’s why she wanted it.

I wondered why she didn’t make her own crucible. Perhaps she was not strong enough. Perhaps she was a selfish coward—not afraid to kill her people, but too scared of sacrifice to make her own crucible. Or perhaps it was simply that she had no one to love or any who loved her that she could sacrifice.

Regardless, she wasn’t getting mine.

To me! I called for my revenants.

Through the narrow door, golden light swirled—but it was not under my command. The bodies of the dead Emperor’s Guard stood and moved to the entrance, blocking us inside the room. I had no doubt that all the dead guards we’d fought were standing—and fighting my revenants. Neither side could die again, but they could be hacked to pieces.

Bright light crackled through the crucible in Governor Adelaide’s hands. She was barely able to control the power of this broken crucible. She stumbled as she struggled to maintain a connection—but maintain it she did.

“The guards won’t strike,” Governor Adelaide told me. Unspoken was the threat, yet.

My panicked eyes met Grey’s. The Emperor could do nothing for us. Nessie would be able to hold off Master Ostrum, but the raised guards would eviscerate my revenants. We were far too outnumbered.

“What do you want?” I asked. My knuckles were white as I clutched my crucible. That I could not give her.

But her answer surprised me. “Freedom,” she said. “It’s what our people want—need. We’ve struggled as a colony for nearly two centuries. Look at him,” she added, her lips sneering in disgust at the Emperor. “He’s a pathetic child. Why should he take our trade routes and pocket our profits? Why should we bend to his laws rather than make our own?”

Growing up in the north, I had never cared about politics. Who took what throne . . . none of that had mattered in my village. We would still pay taxes; what did we care who they went to?

“You killed your citizens to free them?” I asked. I almost didn’t recognize my cold voice.

“No,” the governor said. “I will immortalize them. They will be the greatest heroes in the legends that will come.”

I thought of the grave in the forest. Governor Adelaide had paid for barges to take us from the city so that we could pay our respects. While we mourned and prayed, she had planned a revolution with the soldiers that would claw their way up through the packed red earth.

“You understand, don’t you?” Governor Adelaide said. There was sincere pleading in her voice, but when I glanced behind her, I could still see the dead guards, trapping us within the cell. “This was worth it. Our nation, free at last. It will all be worth it.”

I looked down at the crucible in my hand. Made from the ash of my parents, the soul of my sister.

“No,” I said, but my voice was barely audible.

“You know I’m right,” the governor continued, taking a step closer to me. I did not move back. “I remember you. The girl from the hospital. You were working your fingers to the bone to save the sick.”

“You made them sick.”

“But I cared about them,” she said, and I remembered the way she walked the halls, giving comfort and hope to the patients. “Even if he hadn’t been here in this cell, do you think the Emperor would have cared about the plague victims?”