In the Wake of the Wicked (The Veridian Empire, #1)

by V.B. Lacey

“I want you to know, I do think you can do this. Break the curse and win the Decemvirate, that is.” My eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said with a tired chuckle. “You’re good, Rose. Just like your parents.

I straightened my spine and steeled my nerves. This was it. These were the people I would be competing against for the next month, the lords and ladies who would be observing us like animals, and the emperor behind it all. The emperor who, if Lark was correct, had condemned thousands of lives to his curse.

Tenebra. He was certainly not as I imagined someone from the cold Shadow Wielder lands to be, based on stories I’d heard. A Shadow Wielder with an Alchemist mother—I wondered if he possessed both types of magic. It was a rarity to have multiple, and incredibly powerful.

“My name is Alaric.” My lips parted. “Alaric? As in…Alaric Rinehart?” I asked, too surprised to even take his hand. Alaric Rinehart was the runner-up in the last Decemvirate, and his story was well known across the provinces.

I wondered why he was back—perhaps to mentor the new Tenebra challenger. Previous competitors did that, sometimes.

He gave me a grim smile. “I’m the Tenebra challenger.” He bowed to me before striding off after the others, leaving me to collect my thoughts and my jaw, which had hinged itself open. He was the Tenebra challenger again? The same person competing twice…it was unheard of. Completely unprecedented.

I quickly ran through our conversation, wondering if I’d given any information he could use against me, cursing myself for getting caught up in his talk of my parents. Fates, I couldn’t trust anyone here.

It didn’t matter how kind they may seem, how harmless, how endearing. Every single one was a wolf in shee...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement, and turned to meet the gaze of a tall, tan man with broad shoulders and dark blonde, wavy hair that swept a little past his ears. He peered back at me from across the hall, his expression unreadable, his hands folded behind his back. I held his stare with equal impassiveness until the corner of his lips twitched and he looked away.

“I’m grateful to you all for being here today as we begin the thirty-second Decemvirate of the Veridian Empire.”

“As you all know, the Decemvirate is a highly anticipated tournament among the six provinces, designed to test skill and power to determine how the limited magic of the empire will be divided. This year’s Decemvirate will consist of three separate trials. The first two will begin seven days apart from one another, and then we will hold the traditional tournament masquerade ball two weeks later, followed by the third and final trial.”

“The first starts tomorrow morning. This trial will test your intellect; the second, your mettle; and the third, your courage. You will be given relevant information before the start of all three. You are free to go anywhere in the capital you desire—as long as you are back at the palace by the eve of the trials to receive instructions, and are in attendance at the debriefings after the conclusion of each. Failure to comply will result in your province's immediate disqualification.

“We do not allow any misconduct toward your fellow challengers in the interim between trials. Guards will be stationed around the palace day and night to prevent brutality and violence.”

Arowyn. Another challenger? I took a moment to brand her into my memory, tucking away my observations. Long, light hair—almost white, hanging straight down to her mid-back. Heavy black kohl lined her eyes, and it was difficult to tell her age beneath the makeup. Perhaps a few years older than myself. I wondered what province she was from.

“That’s everything you need to know for now. Remember to trust your instincts, and that the end goal may not always be what you think.”

“Before we part, I’d like to introduce His Majesty, Emperor Theodore Gayl.”

At Lark’s words, a large door opened to the side of the podium, revealing a cloaked man emerging from the shadows. My eyes trained on his long, silver-flecked black hair extending to his shoulders in waves, his billowing dark green cloak, his powerful strides. When he roamed his gaze over the crowd, a shiver went down my spine at his piercing eyes: one a deep blue, and one so light it appeared white.

Theodore Gayl was the most powerful Alchemist this world had seen in rece...

As much as I hated laws like the strict border mandates he’d put into place, and as furious as I was about his inaction toward the growing violence and separation, I’d also always had a twis...

But Gayl had planted seeds of unease within his citizens across all provinces with his ideas that our power, our strength, was the only thing that mattered. Was what defined our worth. Not unity, not freedom. Magic. And above all, we needed to focus on cultivating our individual powers. The Decemvirate had always been a competition, of course, but he had turned it into so much more than that.

Our value and status in the empire was measured by the magic that ran through our veins. The more powerful provinces like Iluze and Tenebra were raised on a platform, receiving wealth and resources from the capital because of their prestige.

The man before me had undeniably made the world darker, colder, more power-hungry. I wished for a better future, of course. A future where our worth as people didn’t dwell in our magic, where we could live harmoniously as Veridians instead of defined by the power in our blood.

If Lark was right, this was the man who had started the Somnivae curse. This was the man I had to stand against.

I met Lark’s gaze as she stepped to the side, and the edge of her lips curled ever so slightly. Resolve pounded in my bones. I’d already agreed to help her, but I think we both realized in that moment that each of us would do whatever it took to bring him down. We were on the same side. And once this tournament began, there was no turning back.

“Well, he is exactly as I thought he would be,” a sultry voice said from a few steps behind me. My hand inched toward my satchel as I twisted to find the same man who’d caught my attention before Lark spoke, the one with wavy blonde hair and a matching beard.

I was immediately on my guard. Anyone that handsome knew exactly what they were doing. His dark blue eyes flecked with silver gleamed as he caught my movement, and he tsked. “Such nimble fingers, darling. Save that for the tournament.” “Who are you?” I snapped. “You can call me Nox.” “Well, Nox. Thanks for the advice.”

A rough hand littered with glittering rings enveloped my upper arm and pulled me back. Instinctively, I reached for the dagger at my belt and whirled to press the blade against my assailant’s wrist. “Nimble fingers, remember?” I taunted darkly. The humor on Nox’s face grated on me, making me push a little harder than necessary. “You’re a viper, aren’t you?” he said with a chuckle. He held his hands in the air in a sign of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I rolled my eyes and lowered my dagger. “Has anyone ever told you not to go around grabbing strangers?” “Oh, some of them don’t mind,”

My thoughts once again strayed to the cloaked man from last night, his dark eyes flashing at me when I blinked.

“You don’t understand what it’s like where I come from,” he said in hushed tones. “In Drakorum…there’s no higher honor than being selected as the challenger. No more important purpose. And if you fail or reject what you’re told, their retribution is swift and without mercy.”

“I don’t wish to be here, but I have no other choice. My people”—he cleared his throat—“have ways to ensure my obedience. But believe me, I despise everything this Decemvirate stands for, and have no desire to play into their twisted obsession with power.”

Nox was a puzzle. Cocky and sly, yet genuine and open. My brain told me not to trust him, even with the supposed truth wine he’d ingested. We’d been conditioned to believe everyone was only looking out for themselves, and that the path to glory was paved by those you trampled beneath your feet. But he seemed…different. Someone who had seen firsthand the ferocity and mercilessness this empire stoked and truly didn’t want a part in it. Plus, the Grimlock. He wouldn’t have been able to say these things if they weren’t at least partially true. I let out a breath, hoping I wouldn’t regret this.

Using his glass, he pointed to the blonde woman who’d been leaning against the wall during Lark’s speech, the one who had asked about cheating. Arowyn, I thought Lark had called her. “She’s the Strider,” Nox explained. “We arrived at the same time last night, and I saw her use her magic. Seems rather…prickly.”

A snicker sounded from the left. “He can’t see it, but please, don’t stop taking off your clothes on my account,” the new voice said. In the blink of an eye, the flames disappeared from my sleeve, the fabric not even scorched or smoking. It wasn’t real. Fates. I hated Illusionists.

Closing my eyes, I clenched my jaw and slowly turned on my heel. When I opened them, I was staring into the face of the young man I’d seen earlier in the crowd, the one with close-cropped black hair who’d seemed amused by the idea of brutality among the challengers. His square jaw flexed, his full lips pulling up in a smug smirk. A circular ring piercing his bottom lip glittered in the firelight from the perfectly intact lantern. Anger licked at my skin like the false flames I’d felt moments ago.

“You two are getting cozy awfully fast, aren’t you?” he asked, motioning between Nox and myself. His voice was low, with a hint of haughtiness that set my teeth on edge. “Is spreading your legs for fellow challengers a new tactic?”

“Are you offering?” His dark eyes flashed. “For you, Feywood, I’d consider it. If only to save you from having to ride that piece of Drakorum⁠—”

Before he could finish his sentence, my fingers closed around crushed henbane petals in my pouch. I quickly placed one on my tongue and muttered, “Phyxie.” The man clutched his throat at my curse, his eyes bulging as the breath lifted from his lungs. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” I said sweetly as I took a step toward him. I counted the seconds in my head, making sure I had enough time to banish the curse. His nostrils flared and his forehead creased in panic, one hand still around his throat while the other reached for me angrily. I tsked. “Do they teach you manners in Iluze? Ask nicely.”

“I don’t need a new tactic, Illusionist,” I spat down at him. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”

Clarissa approached silently and took a seat at the table, lowering her hood to reveal blonde curls, a fair, freckled face, and eyes that gazed back at me with a warning. Beneath one of her onyx eyes, the twin to my own, was a darkened circle of sickly green and yellow. A mark that had certainly not been there this morning. I gritted my teeth and gripped the corner of the table. “Before you go off and kill someone, little brother, let me explain,” Rissa said to me, raising her hands. “There’s nothing to explain, Rissa. Who hurt you?” I snarled, straining to keep my voice low.

The Sentinels, a group of Veridians who sought peace and justice and weren’t afraid to use an occasional blade to accomplish it.

My sister and I had gone our entire lives looking out for one another in the midst of a cruel world that hated us for what we were born into. The number of times I’d seen Rissa come home battered and bruised still made my hackles rise.

The closest people left to me in this world, and one was lying in a sickbed while the other was trying to save the empire. Two of the strongest women I’d ever known, both fighting for their lives in very different ways.

My sister may be the unspoken leader, but she had always confided in me. Always looked to me for support. It had been her and me for so long, ever since our father died and our mother took ill.

“It’s about Gayl,” Lark started, and my jaw ticked involuntarily. “We’ve had definitive proof for some time now that his spell created the Somnivae curse all those years ago, as you know.” I nodded. For a while, the entire empire was convinced Branock Aris had cast the curse—some still were. But when he died fifteen years ago, questions arose. We had tracked down a healer who had been there the night the curse began and got her firsthand account of what happened. How Gayl had saved Evadine Aris’ life with what the healer believed was dark magic. That’s what finally solidified our theories that Theodore Gayl was the one behind it all.

Despite the dangers, there were still pockets of happiness to be found. I looked forward to nights like this, where the smiling faces of those closest to me broke through the constant sense of vigilance I carried. Perhaps not family by blood, but family by duty. By choice.

I was stuck with Rissa, as she so often liked to say, but I knew I would have chosen her as my sister in any life. There was nobody else I could walk through this dark world with. Nobody else with whom I would have wanted to grieve the loss of our father, care for our sick mother, endure the spite and shame this legacy placed on our shoulders.

Nights such as this were common. Especially in the south sector, which was known for its acceptance of provincers. People who “didn’t belong” in the capital. And every night, I had to remind myself what we were working toward. What this was all for. A better future. A different world. The hope was in our hands—we just had to take it.

“I could have shown them a few tricks myself, but I doubt they would have applauded me.” “What do you shift into, anyway?” I blurted, unable to stifle my curiosity. “That’s a rather personal question, darling.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, you’ve seen my magic at work.” “So this is an ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ type of request?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows. I put a finger to my temple. Keeping up with this man was exhausting.

“I’m glad we had this talk. Good luck with the first trial tomorrow, viper,” he said, then turned on his heels and disappeared down the empty corridor.

Welcome, Rose Wolff, to the thirty-second Decemvirate.