of his scalp. A long scar slashed across his nose. The fierceness of his expression was warriorlike, and Ana recognized him from that alone. Maksym Zolotov, Cyrilian-army-commander-turned-Councilman. He turned his heated gaze straight to Ana. “The Princess—or former Princess—still carries charges of murder and treason with her. Her accusations cannot stand.”
Ana stared back at him, and Zolotov had the grace to look away. Inside, though, she felt the sharp sting of betrayal. In her years of confinement, she’d skulked around the Palace, watching these Councilmembers from afar. She’d memorized their names, noted the ones she’d liked best, and Zolotov had been among those. He’d struck her with his courage, his loyalty, and his straightforwardness. To have him speak against her hurt.
Taras gave Zolotov a piercing look. “You are not incorrect, Maksym. The Princess’s status casts doubt unto her accusations. Yet by Cyrilian law, there is no rule dictating that those under indictment cannot accuse others.”
They would not speak for her, nor would they speak against her. They interpreted the law.
Taras turned to the thrones. “When there is no law in our system for this situation, we must defer to the Emperor.” He paused. “Kolst Imperator?”
Finally—finally—Ana let her gaze slide over to the figure to the right of Morganya. Her brother was watching this with no more reaction than a person might watch rats scuffling on the streets. “Luka,” she called out again. “Luka, please, look at me. It’s the truth. I have evidence—I swear on my life. She’s poisoned your body and poisoned your mind, Luka.” The last words came out in a dry sob. “Please. Listen to me.”
“You ran when you were charged with murder,” a Councilman shouted. “Is that not an act of guilt?”
“I ran because I was innocent, and I knew I had to seek proof to convict the true murderer.” Ana’s gaze never left her brother. “Luka. Please.” Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “You know me, bratika. You know I love this empire too much. Believe me.”
Luka’s gaze flickered, settling on her with a haunted look that Ana would never forget. These were the eyes of a man with a dead soul.
Her heart cracked.
Luka opened his mouth. His voice, when it came from him, was barely a whisper. “We will continue with the coronation.”
“No!” Ana lunged forward. “No, Luka—she has you under her control—”
“Guards, detain her!” Morganya sounded confident again; she stood before her throne, gripping the arms. Guards swarmed forward, but Ana pushed them back with her Affinity; she was aware that archers had poured into the room and trained their arrows on her back, waiting for the command to fire. “We need Deys’voshk. I know what she can do with her Affinity—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Vladimir! Vladimir!”
“Kolst Contessya, allow me.”
Ana froze at the soft, smooth voice. Next to the Councilmembers seated closest to the throne stood a figure dressed in white alchemist robes. Tetsyev touched a hand to his Deys’krug as he gazed up at Morganya.
Morganya’s expression softened. “Go on, Pyetr.” Her eyes shone with a secret triumph.
Tetsyev turned to Ana.
“Traitor,” Ana spat. It was no longer anger that gripped her. Certainty settled in her chest. If she was to die, she would at least take this murderer with her.
Yet as Ana grasped his bonds with her Affinity, something else came to her. Another memory, of a dungeon, and a weeping, frightened man.
Morganya is strong, but she is not invincible.
How much of what Tetsyev had told her that night had been the truth?
She can control only one mind at a time. And her control can be broken. When you used your Affinity on me, it cut through Morganya’s Affinity.
Could it be? That her Affinity could cancel out Morganya’s Affinity, break her aunt’s hold over Luka for just a small while?
She hesitated. Perhaps everything Tetsyev had told her had been a lie. Yet…She thought of his eyes, the remorse in his voice, the words he’d whispered in the dark. She hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that he’d spoken the truth that night.
It was worth a try.
Ana threw her Affinity to Luka and gave the gentlest pull.
Even from here, she could sense the wrongness to his blood, the amount of the foreign substance in it. It was sluggish and cold whereas it should have been thrumming and warm. Her heart ached, but she pulled again.
As she concentrated her Affinity on her brother, she was faintly aware of guards seizing her, crossing their swords over her,