Chapter 138 Whispered Plan
He was tall, lean, and moved with a terrifying, loose-limbed grace. He wore the black and gold armor of the Imperial Commander, but unlike Thorne’s heavy, brutal plates, this armor was sleek and refined. His face was sharp and angular, his skin pale as bleached bone, and his red eyes burned with a bright, feverish intensity.
He carried a small silver tray in his hands.
"Arch-Duchess," the Emperor greeted, stopping a few feet from the cage. His papery voice echoed in the quiet hall. "You look unwell. I hope the accommodations are not too taxing."
I didn't answer. I locked my jaw, staring directly at the new Commander.
The Emperor smiled, a slow, grotesque stretching of his grey skin. "Allow me to introduce Commander Silas. He has taken over Thorne’s duties. He is a much more... meticulous soldier. He understands that brute force is rarely as effective as precision."
Silas offered a shallow, mocking bow. His red eyes swept over my ruined dress, the iron shackles on my wrists, and the dried blood on my chin.
"It is an honor to meet the Queen of the Sea," Silas said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, completely devoid of the gravelly harshness Thorne had possessed. It made him infinitely more terrifying.
"I brought you a gift, Siren," the Emperor murmured. He gestured a bony finger toward the silver tray Silas held. "To remind you of the stakes we are playing for."
Silas stepped forward, stopping inches from the gold bars. He tilted the tray so I could see what rested on the polished silver surface.
My breath caught in my throat, freezing into a jagged block of ice.
It was a thick lock of silver hair. Klaus’s hair. The strands were matted and heavy, soaked entirely through with fresh, dark silver blood. Resting beside the hair was a small, jagged piece of pale flesh, no larger than a coin, its edges burned black by the touch of corrosive silver.
A wave of violent, acidic nausea hit my stomach. I gagged, clapping my chained hands over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut as the room spun.
"Commander Silas spent the last hour in the Abyssal Dungeon," the Emperor explained smoothly, his voice floating over my horror. "He reports that the Admiral is surprisingly resilient. Most immortals would be begging for true death after the first twenty lashes with a silver-weaved scourge. But Klaus... he didn't make a single sound."
The Emperor took a step closer, gripping the gold bars of my cage.
"But you felt it, didn't you?" the Emperor whispered. "I can see the sweat on your face. I can see the tremor in your hands. You felt every single strike."
I lowered my hands. I forced my eyes open, looking past the gruesome tray, directly into the Emperor's blind gaze.
"You are wasting your time," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to ring through the hall. "He won't break. He will let Silas peel every inch of skin from his bones before he begs you for anything."
"I am not trying to break him," the Emperor replied calmly. "I am trying to break you."
He let go of the bars, folding his hands together within the deep sleeves of his robes.
"The Anchor is unstable, Nerissa. The feral hunger is eating his mind, and the silver is destroying his flesh. If his heart stops beating, the rot floods the ocean. Your kingdom dies."
"Then let it die," I lied, the words tasting like poison on my tongue. "I chose my kingdom once. I will not choose it again. Kill him. See if I care."
Silas laughed. It was a soft, breathy sound. "She is a good liar, my Emperor. Her pulse spiked the moment she saw the tray."
"I know," the Emperor agreed. He looked down at me, his expression hardening into cold, absolute tyranny. "I will not play these games forever, little fish. You have a voice. You have magic. Sing the song of submission. Bind the Anchor to my throne, pledge your loyalty to the Empire, and I will pull Silas out of that dungeon. I will give the Admiral blood. I will let him heal."
He leaned forward, his face inches from the bars.
"Refuse me again," the Emperor promised, "and tomorrow, Silas will not bring you a lock of hair. He will bring you the Admiral's left eye."
The threat hung in the air, thick and heavy as an executioner's axe.
I stared at the lock of blood-soaked silver hair on the tray. I felt the deep, throbbing wounds on Klaus’s back echoing in my own flesh. The urge to give in, to open my mouth and sing whatever the Emperor wanted just to stop the pain, was overwhelming. It clawed at my throat, begging to be released.
But if I sang a song of submission, the magic would travel down the tether. It would fill Klaus’s lungs with the dark, toxic sludge of the curse. I would be feeding him poison to save him from the whip. The Emperor would own the ocean, and Klaus would be a mindless, chained battery for the rest of eternity.
I looked up at Silas. I looked at the Emperor.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I pushed myself up from the floor, standing as tall as the iron shackles would allow. I stepped right up to the gold bars, my face inches from the Emperor's.
"If he loses an eye," I whispered, my voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating pitch, "I will take both of yours. And I won't use a knife. I will pry them out of your skull with my bare fingers."
The Emperor’s face went rigid. The mocking amusement vanished entirely, replaced by a flash of genuine, ancient anger.
He didn't say another word. He turned sharply, his crimson robes whipping around his ankles, and marched back up the center aisle.
Silas lingered for a fraction of a second. He looked at me, a dark, fascinated gleam in his red eyes.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Queen," Silas murmured softly. He turned and followed the Emperor out of the hall.
The heavy obsidian doors slammed shut, the booming echo rolling through the Throne Room like thunder.
I was alone again.