on her tongue, bitter and acidic. Heard his whispers. Monster. Ana grasped the first words that came to mind. “Where are you taking me?”
“Salskoff Palace.” He looked at her as though she were a prized gem. “Kolst Imperatorya will be pleased to see you again.”
Her Imperial Majesty. There was only one person he could be talking about. Morganya. Ana’s head spun; memories of her gentle aunt alternated with Tetsyev’s story of a cold, calculating murderess.
But Morganya was not Empress. “My brother,” Ana said. “My brother is Emperor. And he will be glad to see me.”
Sadov’s lips curled. It was the same soft smile he carried when he brought her to the darkest parts of the Palace dungeons. “Have you not heard, Princess? In five days’ time, your brother will announce his abdication due to ill health and appoint the Kolst Contessya Morganya as Empress Regent of Cyrilia.”
Five days. Her stomach felt hollow. She knew Luka was sick from the poison—but five days. That was even less time than she’d feared.
“Within weeks, your brother will be dead, and Morganya will become Empress of Cyrilia.”
“No!” Ana lunged, her chains clanging as she struggled against them.
“I’ve missed your spiritedness, Pryntsessa,” Sadov crooned. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment. I suppose Pyetr told you all about what Morganya and I have been planning?”
Pyetr—Pyetr Tetsyev. How much of what he’d told her had been truth? And how much had been lies? Was he still working with Morganya? Had he only told her Morganya’s plan to set her up?
I tell the truth, Kolst Pryntsessa. And you must decide what you do with this truth.
She closed her eyes as the hopelessness of her situation crashed into her. May was dead; her brother was dying. Yuri and the Redcloaks were gone. Tetsyev had vanished. Ramson had betrayed her.
“Oh, don’t look so heartbroken, Princess.” Sadov leaned forward and trailed a finger across her cheek. His touch sent cold revulsion down her spine. “You can join us.” Ana lifted her gaze to his, and she found true madness in those eyes. “For so long, Affinites have lived under the thumb of non-Affinites. We are graced with these abilities, yet we are reviled, controlled by weak humans who use blackstone and Deys’voshk against us. Why should we not have our revenge? Why should we not exploit them?”
We. She stared at Sadov in disbelief, the realization hitting her. “You’re an Affinite.”
Sadov’s thin lips peeled back in a grotesque grin. “Oh, yes.”
Ana was shaking, memories of his long white fingers reaching from the darkness of the dungeons, fear twisting her stomach until she could barely breathe. “You control the mind, just like Morganya.”
Sadov tilted his head, looking like a teacher fishing for an answer from a pupil. “Almost correct, Kolst Pryntsessa. My Affinity resonates with emotions. Specifically, with fear.”
Fear. He was a fear Affinite. Ana thought back to the inexplicable terror that threatened to drown her each time she descended the steps of the dungeons. The way her palms grew clammy and her throat closed up and her legs turned to cotton no matter how much she steeled herself to face the horrors.
It had been Sadov all along, playing with her mind. “But you…you fed me Deys’voshk. You tortured me.” Her voice trembled.
“I did it to make you stronger,” Sadov crooned, his eyes bright. “Deys’voshk builds your resilience; it poisons your body, but it forces your Affinity to fight back. I liken it to an infection, and your Affinity must drive it from your body. That is how the Countess and I grew our powers over the years. We constantly suppressed our Affinities and forced them to grow stronger.”
Ana felt sick. “Why?”
She already knew the answer. “So you can fight with us.” Sadov reached out, tipping her chin. “Join us, and together, we will resurrect this world from the ashes. We will rule, as we deserve, and we will purge the world of the unworthy.”
Ana stared into her torturer’s eyes—wide and burning with fervor. This was not a game; it was not a lie. Sadov actually believed what he was telling her. “You’re mad.”
The fire in Sadov’s eyes flickered and went out. He leaned back, smooth and cold again. “The Countess said you might resist. Too righteous, she said.” He threaded his fingers together and narrowed his gaze. “It matters little. You will join us, whether of your own free will or by force.”
“I will never join you.” Her voice was a low snarl. “You speak of