Free The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) by Igor Ljubuncic Page B

force multiplier. Whenever there had been a need, he would empty the cells and make the morning hangings that much briefer.
    The Second and Third Legion had redeployed east and west to prepare for possible invasions. The Sixth Legion had taken the southern border, manned with auxiliary cavalry and javelins. Around Roalas itself, it was quiet and tense.
    Her personal adviser, Theodore, a man probably as ancient as Roalas itself, met them halfway across the castle turned palace and spewed his litany of boring administrative reports. When he started talking about the hostages, Amalia stopped walking. Gerald almost bumped into her. Awkwardly, he arced his body to prevent contact, but he could not avoid brushing his shoulder against her neck.
    She pretended she didn’t notice.
    “Amalia,” the old man said, at ease with her father’s casual custom, “one of the Caytorean dignitaries wishes to speak to you. He requests a formal meeting. He wishes to discuss the status of his, well, imprisonment.”
    “Bored, is he?”
    Theodore ignored the jibe. “His name is Councillor Stephan. He’s a prominent Caytorean dignitary.”
    Amalia considered. “Let him wait. If he asks again, I will meet him.”
    “Amalia, I don’t think it’s wise to ignore this man.” The adviser used his teacher’s voice. “Soon, they will all start wondering what you’re trying to achieve. Even hostages need reassurances. They will surely want to know their captor has a plan, whatever it may be.”
    The problem was she did not really have one.
    Kidnapping all of them had been an act of brilliance, something her father may have done. But now, she did not know what to do next. “All right, I will talk to him. I’ll meet him in an hour.”
    “Amalia,” Theodore said, as if that one word carried everything he thought.
    “We should bolster your security,” Gerald said after the adviser shuffled away. “The Eracians and Caytoreans may try to assassinate you.”
    “That’s quite likely,” she said coldly, not feeling quite as confident as she sounded.
    They walked on, rounded a corner, and climbed a short flight of steps that led to the top floor of the keep’s north section. A clerk gracefully shuffled out of their way, nodding in greeting, never breaking his stride.
    “They tried to murder my father a hundred times,” Amalia continued. Her father had done his best to keep the grisly attempts hidden from his daughter. As a child, she had not really understood some of the tension and fear and danger, but they had registered, sunk deep into her consciousness, and surfaced now and then, like a lazy turtle, snapping its toothless jaw.
    She remembered her seventh birthday. Dad had given her a new lady pony, a beautiful silver lowland breed, with a silky coat and a lustrous mane. She remembered jumping with excitement, shouting with glee. It was the best present ever. She remembered the heavyset groom dropping the harness and rushing forward with a long cleaver, lunging. She remembered her father sidestepping the blow easily and tripping the man. And then, the bodyguards were there, all women, hacking at the assassin. It was over in seconds, and then as if nothing had happened, her father simply asked for another stableman, and soon she was riding the lady pony, all the earlier horrors forgotten.

    “I don’t need extra security,” the empress decided. “My father managed just fine.”
    Gerald took a deep breath.
Your father was a ruthless bastard. You’re just a sweet girl
. He never liked arguing with the empress, for all his short tenure as her captain. Well, technically, he was the city’s champion, but he also felt personally responsible for her safety.
    He felt ridiculous. Her security detail had already been tripled, without her knowledge, but it was hard, grueling work for her guards. They had to move out of her sight. If she let him increase the security officially, his work and that of his special troops would be so much easier. But