Page 4 of Violet Legacy

Sypha blinked at him slowly, their dual-colored eyes unwavering in their intensity. One black and the other pale blue. The other Houses considered it a physical defect, a mark on an ancient Atlantean lineage. But he knew better. They were the mark of a seer.

“The tomb,” Sypha admitted, their tone tinged with hope. “And Dr. Rieka Sinha.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” Sypha bowed their head, lost in thought. “It is dark, and I can hear the screams of animals. For weeks, I saw only a shadow. Two days ago, I saw her face. It is the same woman from the excavation.”

Dante closed his eyes. He could not demand any other answers. Sypha’s gift did not work linearly. If he pushed them too far, they would break under their fragile hold of reality. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Rieka has no known links to any of the Houses.” Sypha tapped their wrist. A hologram appeared between them. “No recent contact with her human sister or father. Her Atlantean mother is presumed dead. A plane crash, but they never recovered the body.”

“What House was the mother affiliated with?”

“None. She appears to have beennyath. We are looking through the records for any connections.”

A ghost—an Atlantean who had walked away from the Houses. Rare, but not entirely unheard of today.

“Rieka may be the reason we find the tomb, or she may play only a small part, but you need her.”

Dante stared at the awakening city beneath him as he flexed his hand. Finding the tomb and their original home would be his legacy. And it would restore his father’s reputation. “At theJimourt?”

“Yes.”

A hologram of a woman materialized. Standing in the middle of a desert with dusty clothes, she moved around, energy bursting out of her. “She is your ten o’clock appointment. I will meet her in the foyer. I may find a clue to help understand why she is important.”

Sypha quietly left, leaving Dante alone. He moved closer to the image.

A messy braid draped over Rieka’s shoulder; malachite-green streaks poked through the dark strands. Light brown skin glowed under the sun. Rieka was pretty, her gaze defiant and full of life, almost as if she was daring someone to challenge her. It was the gaze of someone who still found joy in the world. But that was not what held him entranced or triggered the subtle racing of his heart. Rieka’s eyes were a mixture of red and gold, the colors of a burning flame.

Forgotten by most Atlanteans, only one lineage was whispered to have had eyes the color of flames.

The lost royal house.

Chapter 4

“Yougotthis,Sinha,”Rieka whispered to herself.

She was early to the meeting. The not-so-dulcet tones of heavy Manhattan traffic echoed incessantly around her as she stared at the skyscraper, trying to muster the courage to walk through the impressive glass doors. Known as the Arx, the building was an architectural marvel—a modern adaptation of the ancient citadels they had named it after. There was a reason the Romans had adopted the Atlantean word for fortress. Fidgeting, she glanced at her well-worn black leather boots. Her morning ten-mile run hadn’t helped her nervousness. Nor had the three black coffees she drank afterward.

Never interact with the aristos of the Houses.

Lilian had drilled the words into her from as early as Rieka could remember. And here she was, about to break one of the cardinal rules. The Atlanteans were no different to their human counterparts, except for their extended lifespans, heightened senses, and an inherent godlike complex that was diffused through their entire species.

She knew the stories of the Houses, tales about their ruthlessness and thirst for knowledge and power. Over the last eleven thousand years, the four surviving Atlantean Houses had created a niche market for themselves. Once worshipped as gods, they had simply traded temples and sacrifices for modern technology. A world, even as a hybrid, Rieka would never be part of.

She looked down at her phone; the cryptic message Chay had sent her yesterday made little sense. It was a summons, one that she wanted to ignore but couldn’t.

10 a.m. Delacroix Arx.

And here she was, in a suit. Who was she trying to impress? She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn the charcoal monstrosity. The jacket was tight across her back, the coarse material biting into the soft flesh of her arms, though not quite warm enough to keep out the slight chill. If she stretched, she was in danger of splitting her jacket in half. The only one she owned and at least ten years out of fashion. The green faux leather handbag hung loosely by her side. She had bought the bag because it matched the streaks in her hair. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Heat flushed through her as she uncurled her hands. Shoulders pushed back, she walked into the building. The glass doors silently closed behind her. The floor was eerily quiet as she walked through. The black-clad guards stood beneath priceless art pieces.

A giant Atlantean stepped in front of her. At five feet ten inches, Rieka was tall, but he towered over her.

“I have an appointment,” Rieka stated as she looked up at the behemoth. She clenched her fists before she forced herself to relax again. The familiar weight of her pendant under her clothes was comforting as she pressed her hands to her side, the strap of her handbag digging into her left shoulder.

The Atlantean wore the matte-black uniform of the Houses’ security force. It seemed to swallow the surrounding light. The silver pin on his collar was the only embellishment he displayed. Tinted sunglasses hid his eyes. Close-cropped dark auburn hair glittered in the light. The amber highlights reminded her of a dancing fire. His sun-kissed golden skin told her he spent countless hours outside.

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