Chapter 92 Bond Exposed
"I am perfectly well, Your Eminence," Klaus gritted out.
"Are you?" The Emperor circled him, moving with a predatory, gliding grace. "The Siren does not sing, and the ocean rots. The Siren does not sing, and you... you look as though you are starving. The rot is not coming out of you anymore, is it? It is just sitting there. Festering."
Panic, hot and sharp, spiked in my veins. He knows.
The Emperor stopped in front of me. He smelled of ancient decay and mint. He reached out and grabbed my chin, his fingers digging painfully into my jawbone. I didn't struggle. I stared back at him with a dead, hollow expression.
"Sing," he ordered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal whisper. "Clear the bay."
I closed my eyes. I slowly, deliberately, shook my head.
"Insolent beast," Vespera called out from the crowd. "Cut her! See if she sings when she bleeds!"
The Emperor released my chin, turning back toward the throne. He raised his hand, signaling the two elite guards standing behind me.
"Lady Vespera makes a practical suggestion," the Emperor said smoothly. "If the Voice will not open her throat willingly, we will pry it open with pain. Break her fingers. One by one. Until she gives me a melody."
The guard on my right stepped forward, his heavy gauntlet reaching for my hand.
I didn't have time to brace myself.
Klaus moved.
It wasn't the fluid, lightning-fast blur of a vampire lord. It was a heavy, desperate lunge. He broke rank, stepping between me and the guard. He grabbed the guard’s armored wrist, his large hand clamping down on the steel.
The guard cried out, dropping to his knees as the steel of his gauntlet buckled inward under Klaus’s grip.
But the effort cost Klaus dearly.
He staggered, his chest heaving as a violent, hacking cough suddenly seized him. He let go of the guard and stumbled backward, his shoulder hitting the edge of the ivory dais. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his entire body shaking as he fought the spasm.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted a fresh wave of warm copper. I took a step toward him, my hands reaching out, but I forced myself to stop. I couldn't touch him. I couldn't comfort him.
The Throne Room erupted into a cacophony of gasps and muttered curses. No one broke rank in front of the Emperor. No one assaulted the royal guard.
The Emperor watched Klaus struggle, his blind eyes gleaming with a twisted, delighted realization.
"Well, well," the Emperor purred, his voice slicing through the noise of the court, demanding instant silence. "What a fascinating display."
Klaus straightened up, wiping his mouth. His hand was trembling violently. He stepped back in front of me, shielding my body with his own. He glared at the Emperor, the sapphire in his eyes burning with a desperate, cornered fury.
"She is a royal asset," Klaus rasped, his voice thick and wet. "Mutilating her will damage the purity of the Voice. You cannot break her hands."
"I am not interested in her hands, Peregrine," the Emperor said softly. He took a step closer, his skeletal face tilting as he observed the two of us. He looked at Klaus’s defensive posture. He looked at the sweat on Klaus’s brow. Then, he looked at me, seeing the sheer, unadulterated terror in my eyes—terror not for myself, but for the man standing in front of me.
The Emperor laughed. It was a dry, rustling sound that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"You protect her," the Emperor mused, tapping his chin. "Not as a soldier protects a weapon. You protect her as a man protects his own heart."
Klaus didn't move. He stood perfectly still, a statue of ruined pride and suppressed agony.
"I have read the old texts," the Emperor continued, addressing the silent court, but keeping his blind eyes fixed on us. "The lore of the First Era. I knew Queen Ligeia cast a blood-binding to keep the sea clear. I knew the Admiral was the filter. But what I did not realize... what you have so foolishly just shown me, Peregrine... is that the Anchor is not merely a drain pipe."
The Emperor stepped right up to Klaus, pointing a long, yellowed finger at his chest.
"It is a tether," the Emperor whispered. "A two-way street of suffering. She sings, and you swallow the poison. She stays silent, and you starve on the backlog of your own rot. You are tied to her very breath."
"You are mistaken," Klaus said, his voice a low, lethal growl.
"Am I?" The Emperor smiled, a wide, grotesque stretching of grey skin. "Let us test that theory. The Siren refuses to sing for the Empire. She refuses to sing to save her own fingers. Let us see if she will sing to save you."
The Emperor turned his back on us, walking up the steps of the dais. He threw his arms wide, his midnight robes billowing around him.
"The court grows restless," the Emperor announced, his voice booming through the cavernous hall. "The air is thick, and the bay is black. We require entertainment. Tomorrow, at high noon, the Arch-Duchess Nerissa will be placed in the Gladiator Arena."
A murmur of excited, bloodthirsty whispers swept through the vampires.
"If she sings, the beast will be subdued, and she will be spared," the Emperor decreed, sitting back down on his throne of bone. He turned his milky eyes toward Klaus, his smile dripping with absolute malice. "If she does not sing... she will be torn apart. And we will see exactly what the Grand Admiral is willing to sacrifice to keep his Anchor attached."
I stared at the Emperor, my blood turning to ice in my veins.
Klaus turned his head slightly, looking at me over his shoulder. His sapphire eyes were filled with a bleak, devastating certainty. He knew what I had promised. He knew I would rather let a beast tear me to shreds than open my mouth and put another drop of poison into his dying heart.
"Guards," the Emperor waved his hand dismissively. "Take the Witch back to her tower. And confine the Admiral to his quarters. We wouldn't want him interfering with the preparations."