Chapters (70)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Map
- Epigraph
- BEGINNINGS
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- TRICKSTER
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Also by Susan Dennard
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
Behind a broad desk layered thick with papers and ledgers sat the Emperor himself: Henrick fon Cartorra. He was, as Safi was meant to be, dressed for court, in a fine brown velvet suit.
The color did not suit him, and for the hundredth time, Safi was struck by his toad-like visage, his face sagging and mouth too wide. Although, now she understood his looks were carefully cultivated. The waddling and exaggerated underbite, the slouched posture and overindulgence in food, the unkempt nature of his graying brown curls. Even the sallow undertones to his pale skin seemed part of the act. And though he might look like a toad, he had the mind of a taro player—one who knew exactly how to play the tricky Emperor card.
Safi came to a stop before his desk. “If you want me to do something,” she declared, standing at her tallest, “then pull my noose. Do not hurt the Hell-Bards, do you understand?”
Henrick sniffed, an indulgent sound. “My Empress.” He pushed to his feet with a grunt. “I will hurt whomever I please, and despite your wishes, that will never be you.”
“Then why put this on me?” She yanked at the chain around her neck. “If you do not plan to use it, why bind me to you at all?”
His lips spread with a smile. “That is simply a guarantee.” His one snaggling tooth jutted out above the rest as he shuffled around his desk toward her. “You proved I could not trust you, so I did what I had to do. If you did not want others to suffer at your expense, then you should never have returned to Cartorra. You should have continued running, just as your uncle wanted you to do.”
It was a fist to the stomach, a blow meant to wound—and it did. Safi knew her own mistakes had landed her here. She’d come for marriage to save her uncle. Instead, she’d ended up a Hell-Bard like him.
It had been so inevitable, really. Her magic had cursed her from the day she’d been born, but only when she did not have it had she realized how much her curse had meant to her. She had once told Caden that her Truthwitchery was like living beside the ocean. Hundreds of tiny inconsequential truths and lies, told every day by everyone. The ceaseless waves eventually faded into nothing.
Except that they’d never truly been nothing. Now she knew what nothing felt like. Now she understood eternal silence she could never escape.