Immortal Reign(95)



He’d acted out of fear.

“We’ll have to move your family somewhere more secure,” Amara said. “Somewhere my grandmother won’t be able to find them.”

Costas let out a breath, and Amara saw his shoulders relax a bit. “Much gratitude, empress.”

Amara picked up the wine bottle and poured the other glass. “Have a drink with me. Quickly, before we need to go to the ceremony.”

Costas looked down with surprise at the goblet she handed to him. “Me, your grace?”

She nodded. “Make a toast, will you? Something that will give me the strength to continue on with this challenging day.”

“Of course.” He raised the goblet, his brow furrowed in thought. “To the reign of Amara Cortas, the first empress in history. May that reign be one of light and hope and happiness for all who fall within her view.”

He drank deeply from his goblet.

Amara paused to consider his words.

Could she really do this? Could she be the first empress in the world—someone who would rule with a message of hope instead of fear?

She had to try.

If she was successful, she could truly be the legendary phoenix brought to life.

Amara raised the goblet to her lips just as Costas collapsed to his knees.

His face had turned red and purple, with blotches of sickly white. Blood spilled over his bottom lip.

“Costas!” she cried, dropping her goblet. “What’s happening to you?”

He couldn’t speak. He clutched at his throat and toppled over on his side, his eyes wide and glassy.

Amara staggered back from the body, from the bottle of wine that had fallen to the mossy ground of the courtyard, its golden contents leaking out.

In the space of a few heartbeats, a horrible clarity dawned on her.

The wine had been poisoned.

Poison like the kind Neela had supplied Amara to put in the wine she’d given her father and brothers. And now Costas was dead.

But Amara knew he wasn’t the intended victim.

She left Costas there, sidestepping his body so she wouldn’t get blood on the golden skirt of her gown. She summoned every piece of control she had over herself to keep any tears from spilling. She wouldn’t want to mess up the coal around her eyes, the stain on her lips. Her perfect hair and perfect wings and perfect day.

She thought her father might be proud of how she managed to pull herself together and head to the tall emerald-colored doors of the ceremony hall, where a flank of guards waited to escort her inside.

She let them.

Amara entered the hall, and a thousand people she’d kept waiting rose from the gleaming wooden benches to their feet. She moved down the aisle toward the front, where there were ten steps leading to a raised stage.

On that stage were three people. The Grand Augur, wearing magnificent purple velvet robes. Her grandmother, wearing a gown of silver finery nearly as beautiful as Amara’s. And Mikah, on his knees, his hands bound behind his back.

She forced herself not to hesitate. To take each step as proudly as she’d be expected to by all witnesses. Finally, she stood next to the woman who had just tried to murder her and take her power.

After Amara, Neela was the next in line for the title of empress.

“Beautiful,” Neela cooed. If Amara had expected to see surprise at her arrival from her grandmother, there was no hint of it at all. “Even more beautiful than I expected. We should keep Lorenzo in Kraeshia forever, don’t you think?”

Amara pushed a smile onto her lips. “Oh, yes. Most definitely.”

How could she untangle herself from this deceptive, lying creature of darkness and make everything right again?

Not now, she thought. Later. I’ll think about this later.

Now, all she could do was hope that Nerissa and Felix had done what they’d promised.

She barely heard a word the Grand Augur spoke during the ascension ceremony she’d dreamed about all her life. Something about history and family honor and the duties of a ruler.

All she knew was that it was over far too quickly.

Now Neela held the golden scepter, facing Amara on the stage.

“You are worthy to wield this, dhosha,” Neela said, her smile fixed upon a face far younger-looking than should have been possible. Amara wondered if her mysterious apothecary was responsible for poisons as well as youth-inducing elixirs.

Amara watched her grandmother carefully, looking for any sign of guilt, but she found none. Had Neela expected Amara to show up at all? It could only have been a best guess that Amara would go back to her courtyard and find the wine.

How many other traps had been set for her by someone she’d loved and trusted?

“Now,” the Grand Augur said, opening his arms wide as he addressed the silent, obedient audience. “The last piece of this Ascension must now lock into place: a blood sacrifice. A rebel who attempted to overthrow the royal family, who colluded in the murder of the former emperor and princes. Today his blood shall spill to wash away the past and welcome the future of Empress Amara Cortas.”

Amara moved toward Mikah, mindlessly separating the scepter she held into its two parts—sheath and blade.

Mikah didn’t flinch, didn’t try to escape.

“Do what you must,” he told her with a sneer. “Prove to me you’re as evil as your father was.”

Despite this show of bravery, he inhaled sharply as she pressed the edge of the blade to his throat.

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