might have taken you in,” Morganya murmured. “After all, we are purging the world of the monsters that oppressed us—that treated us like vermin.” She paused, and her voice became mockingly sad. “You look at me with such hatred. You think me the villain. But what you don’t understand is that sometimes we must commit terrible deeds for the greater good. My acts are sacrifices that I am willing to make to pave a better world, Little Tigress.”
Ana could only stare at her aunt, her mind trying to make sense of Morganya’s words. Only now did she realize that her aunt hadn’t done these things out of spite, or pure evil. In Morganya’s mind, she was making the right choice.
“You chose the wrong side,” Morganya continued. “And now you will pay for it by dying alone, dishonored and disgraced. The whole room watched you torture Vladimir; I am the heroine who saved them from a deimhov. And the dark legends of the Blood Witch of Salskoff will carry on.” She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Ana’s forehead. Her lovely face crumpled again as she lifted her head, tears glistening on her cheeks for the world to see. “Pyetr,” she said hoarsely, backing away to the dais. “Is she…? Could you…? I cannot bear to look at her.”
There was so much more Ana needed to do; so much more she should have done for her empire. But her strength was giving out. A strange sense of peace settled over her, as though her body were falling into slumber. Her head lolled to the side and she waited for the darkness to close in. If this was dying, it wasn’t so terrible.
A light breeze brushed Ana’s face as Tetsyev knelt by her side, his white robes fluttering. He put a finger to her neck to check her pulse. To her surprise, he, too, dipped his head in respect and mourning. The softest whisper came from his lips: “It’s a paralysis poison.” And then, straightening, Tetsyev turned to Morganya. “The Blood Witch is dead.”
Her mind was heavy, but surprise cut through it like a blade. A paralysis poison.
She wasn’t dying.
Could it be? That Tetsyev had saved her life? That everything Tetsyev had told her held true?
A shout sounded somewhere outside. Sharp, quick footsteps rang in the silence of the vast hall, growing closer and more frantic.
“No!” someone yelled. Ana knew that voice. It was familiar, in a way that made her want to reach out to its owner and touch him, even with just a hand on his shoulder, or be near enough to feel his presence.
Ramson crashed to his knees by her side. “No.” His voice cracked, and the raw emotion in it stirred something within Ana. Never had she seen Ramson so unguarded, the stricken look on his face shifting to anguish as he gently pulled her into his arms. She felt the touch of his skin, the warmth of his breath as he lowered his head to hers, clutching her and bent over her as though a part of him had broken.
“Kapitan!” Morganya cried. “Arrest this criminal.”
“No!” Ramson roared. He stood, folding Ana into his arms and lifting her. “Imperial Councilmembers, I have irrefutable evidence that the Countess is a murderer and traitor to the Crown of Cyrilia.”
His voice was drowned out by footsteps as the guards, emboldened by Ana’s still body, closed in on him.
No, Ana begged. Put me down and run, Ramson.
A deep voice spoke, cutting through the scuffle. “I will take the Princess.”
The guards closing in fell back.
A familiar figure approached. His gray-peppered hair fell into his lined face, and his eyes—the same steady gray of storm clouds—were immeasurable wells of sadness. Gently, ever so gently, Kapitan Markov took Ana in his arms.
On the dais, a squad of guards lifted Luka’s body. Tetsyev stood by Morganya’s side, whispering. Morganya’s eyes followed Ana. “Take the Princess’s body to the dungeons. My alchemist has some work to do on her.”
For a moment, Markov’s face contorted with rage as Ana had never seen before. But he reined in his anger and turned to Morganya with a stoic expression. “Yes, Kolst Contessya.”