The Promised Queen (Forgotten Empires #3)- Jeffe Kennedy Page 0,138

obsidian sliced in my direction. I ducked it, a move I’d practiced during that long night with Ambrose and Merle. As I did, Anure spoke, and the guards seized Percy, the executioner moving into position. Merle remained immobile, not yet returned to this body, which meant the captives were not yet safe.

It was up to me to save Percy and Con—and I couldn’t do it as a ghost with minor magics.

Resolved, I narrowed myself back into my physical body, the map tower coming into focus around me. I could do this. Moving my foot, the jewelry heels tinkling musically, I touched the solidity of the rock hammer. Gathering the power of Calanthe, I stepped through the physical distance, bringing the rock hammer with me, and manifested in Anure’s throne room with a clap of sound and light, the laws of our reality shuddering in protest.

Con gaped at me. Everyone did, except Ambrose, who grinned with youthful exuberance. He lifted hands, miming a silent round of applause. I kept an eye on Merle, who remained motionless. They weren’t clear yet. Come on.

“Lia?” Con asked tentatively, a confusion of reactions on his face. “Are you really … here?” Vesno bounced to me, licking my hand.

“In the flesh,” I replied wryly. I toed the rock hammer, giving Con a slow smile. “I believe this is yours.”

He grinned, his dimple winking into existence like the sun through storm clouds. Popping the manacles apart, he hefted the rock hammer and swung it at a raft of guards that, finally recovered from the shock of my appearance, advanced on me with swords pointed. The guards fell before Con’s mighty swing like wheat before a scythe.

He wheeled on the executioner, who’d paused, double-bladed axe poised. “You’ll want to put that down,” Con growled. “And not on Percy’s neck.” The executioner hastily obeyed, setting down the axe and raising his hands in surrender. The guards holding Percy released him and Percy regained his feet, straightening his clothes, then bowed deeply.

“Your Highness,” he said with reverence that, for once, I felt I deserved.

Look at what I can do.

Anure had slowly risen, staring at me with astonishment—and glittering lust, whether for me or the jewels I wore. Behind me, waves of reaction muttered through his court. Shock, awe, and … hope?

I turned to face them, giving Anure my back in contempt, raising my voice. “I am Her Highness Queen Euthalia of Calanthe. Conrí of Oriel and I have come to release you from your service to the interloper. Today the false empire falls.” They all shifted, murmuring, watching me with wide eyes and tense expressions—and noticing my glittering costume, more wealth than they’d seen on anyone but Anure in ages. “You don’t want to be here,” I added gently. “I advise you to go. Now.”

For a frozen second, no one moved—then they fled, some sending up inarticulate cries, others moving with the sly stealth of professional sycophants. I turned back from the wave of their frantic exit and glided forward, pausing at Con’s side. Percy stepped behind and to the side of us.

“Lia,” Con said out of the side of his mouth. “The bomb is…”

“Handled,” I replied just as quietly. Merle still hadn’t moved. How long had it been?

Anure sat again, attempting to pull his cloak of Emperor of All the World around him, but to my eye his confidence had taken a blow, the holes in his composure growing larger as fear shredded it. “What is the meaning of this uncouth display, Euthalia?” he sneered. “Prancing about in your jewels and frightening My court with petty tricks worthy of a street magician. You will pay for this. Guards—seize her.”

The guards started for me again, and Con swung his rock hammer, taking out three at once. I blew a kiss at the ones approaching my side, sending them tumbling until they lay still. I leveled a cold stare on Anure. “You were saying?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, then pointed at his wizards. “Deal with her!”

The red and black wizards had been conferring. They gestured for Ambrose and Merle to join them. Ambrose gazed back, standing very near Anure, and shook his head slowly. The red wizard hissed a command and the black wizard started up the throne’s steps, stopping at Merle, seizing his arm. Or the spot where Merle’s arm should have been. The purple robe shivered, then fell into an empty puddle of cloth. Confounded, the black wizard stared at it, then turned back to