Chapter 113 Emperor Told
"He turned himself into exactly what he wanted to be," I said. My voice was a dry, scraping rasp, ruined by the scream in the arena. "A man who answers to no one. Not even your Emperor."
Vespera’s smile thinned, her fangs flashing in the dim light. She walked closer to the cage, stopping just out of arm’s reach.
"He answers to the iron now," she mocked, gesturing vaguely toward the floor, toward the dungeons below. "Thorne told me they put him in the deepest cell. The one where the water seeps in from the sea floor at high tide. The suppressor collar is draining his immortality. He is starving, Nerissa. Do you know what happens to a vampire lord when he starves in the dark?"
I knew exactly what was happening. I felt the gnawing, hollow ache in his stomach. I felt the agonizing, slow creep of the black rot beginning to wake up over his heart, testing the boundaries of the suppressing iron.
"He will lose his mind," Vespera whispered, leaning closer to the gold bars. The smell of her heavy floral perfume masked the scent of the rotting orchids. "He will become a feral beast. He will chew through his own wrists just to escape the chains. And you will sit up here, perfectly safe, feeling every second of it through that disgusting little blood-tether you forced on him."
"I didn't force anything," I said, my voice completely steady. I stood up.
My joints popped, stiff from the cold and the hard velvet cushion. I walked to the edge of the cage, stopping right in front of her. The gold bars were the only thing separating us. I was a head shorter than her, barefoot and covered in filth, but I didn't look up. I made her look down at me.
"He drank from my vein because he chose me," I told her, holding her red gaze without blinking. "He chose the rot and the chains and the dark because it meant he didn't have to spend another century looking at empty, parasitic shells like you."
Vespera’s face twisted in genuine, ugly fury. She raised the riding crop, slashing it forward through the narrow gap in the bars.
I didn't flinch. I didn't step back.
The hard leather tip of the crop struck my cheekbone, exactly where the guard’s gauntlet had hit me earlier. The skin split open with a sharp, stinging crack. A line of warm, crimson blood welled up instantly, trickling down my cheek to drop onto the collar of my grey dress.
Vespera breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling. She expected me to cry out. She expected me to cower in the center of the cage.
I reached up and touched the cut on my cheek. I looked at the bright red blood on my fingertips. I didn't wipe it away. I just stared at her.
"Is that the best you can do?" I asked quietly.
Vespera took a step back, her confidence visibly faltering. There was something in my eyes she didn't understand. She expected a broken girl. She didn't realize she was looking at a Siren who had already decided to burn the world.
"The Emperor will break you," she hissed, her voice losing its smooth, musical quality. "He is drafting the ultimatum right now. He is going to give you a choice. You will watch Klaus rot into a feral beast, or you will take a blade and cut his heart out yourself to break the curse. Either way, the Admiral dies. And then, you will sing for us until your throat bleeds."
"Tell the Emperor," I said, leaning closer to the bars, my voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating whisper, "that he should sleep with one eye open. And tell him to keep you close. Because when I get out of this cage, Vespera, I am not going to sing for you. I am going to find you. And I am going to tear your throat out with my bare teeth."
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't scream. I delivered the promise with the absolute, ice-cold certainty of a fact.
Vespera stared at me. The malicious glee was entirely gone from her face, replaced by a flicker of genuine, primal fear. She looked at the blood on my cheek, at the dark, hollow exhaustion in my eyes, and she realized I was not making an idle threat. I was entirely serious.
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She gripped the riding crop tightly, turning on her heel without another word. She walked quickly down the center aisle, her boots echoing sharply against the marble, practically fleeing the Throne Room.
The heavy obsidian doors groaned open and slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone in the jaundiced light once more.
I let out a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline faded, leaving my legs trembling and weak. I sank back down onto the stiff velvet cushion in the center of the cage, pulling my knees back to my chest.
My cheek stung, a sharp, pulsing pain that radiated up into my temple. But as the physical sting settled, I felt a sudden, distinct surge of warmth push through the blood-bond.
It was Klaus.
He had felt the strike. He had felt the sudden spike of pain, and despite the crushing weight of the suppressor collar, despite the agonizing dark of his dungeon, he was throwing every ounce of his remaining willpower against the tether to comfort me.
A fresh wave of tears pricked my eyes. I pressed my hands against my chest, right over my heart, holding onto the warmth he was sending me.