Page 102 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
There was a crack, and the seraphim disintegrated, falling into thousands of fiery pieces that vanished into the fog just like fireworks.
My heart pounded. Was this just a dramatic way to send a message? Or was it something worse? I caught sight of Naria holding hands with Viktor. They looked elated, staring up at the sky as if this was some wonderful performance.
A horn blew, and a seraphim filled the sky—a real one this time. My mouth went dry. This was all wrong. The seraphim was a baby with its wings still white, not the gold of maturation. It was too young to carry a load on its back, too young for a flight like this. It had no carriage on its back, just a single rider in black mage robes. It was flying lower and lower toward the arena.
The Katurium mage entered the arena, her blue robes swirling at her sandals as she ran across the muddy field with her gold and silver stave pointed at the sky.
“Bring him down!” Aemon yelled. “Bring him down, now!”
“Arkturion, the seraphim!” called the mage. There was anguish in her voice. Bamarians disagreed on many things, but seraphim, especially baby seraphim, were sacred.
“Do it!” Aemon roared, and light burst from the mage’s stave, shooting into the mist and fog, heading right for the seraphim and her rider.
“SHEKAR ARKASVA!” screamed the rider. With his shout came a blast of power, a wind so forceful it pushed me off my feet.
I stumbled back, only then becoming aware of the fact that I was still being held by Rhyan.
“The Katurium’s a no-fly zone,” I said calmly. Too calmly. Numbness crept up my fingers. “And it’s illegal in Bamaria to fly seraphim whose wings are still white. They’re flying too low…,” I continued, as if by narrating what was happening without feeling, it would somehow make it all right and keep me from losing control and giving into fear.
“All right, partner,” Rhyan said. He sounded strained, worried.
I only looked up at him in response.
“Lyr,” he said, squeezing me against him. “Lyriana.” There was fear in his voice and urgency, a quiet desperation that I registered too slowly. He was trying to pull me away, to get me out of the arena.
Only then did I realize the panic around me. The wind conjured by the rider had knocked most of the soturi onto the ground or pressed them against the walls of the stadium. My hair was blowing in every direction. Somehow, Rhyan had kept us both standing. “We have to go!”
“Hart!” screamed Aemon. “Get her out of here. NOW!”
Shouts of “Protect the Heir!” sounded in the distance, a call for my escort to cover me.
“EMARTIS!” the rider yelled. “The false Arkasva will pay! And so will his heirs!”
The Katurium mage retaliated with blue sparks that cut through the mist and fog, lighting the arena like we were under the ocean. The rider flew into black smoke.
More black seraphim emerged from the fog, their wings taking shape, their beaks sprouting from their heads. Blue lights cut through the creatures, and they shattered into a thousand pieces. These weren’t made of smoke or fading flames; when these seraphim shattered, shards of black glass sliced through the wind as they fell.
“Lyr!” Rhyan screamed. His hand found mine, and our fingers entwined as we ran for cover with the other soturi. Every door to the Katurium was bursting open. Novice and apprentice soturi ran inside as Bamaria’s soturi entered the arena in formation, preparing for battle.
“Lyriana!” Turion Brenna shouted. “Hart, let’s go.” Brenna reached us, grabbed my other hand, and immediately turned, running at full speed until my feet were practically dragging. “Can you carry her?” Brenna asked, her grasp on my hand loosening.
Without replying, Rhyan pulled me against him, his hand sweeping beneath my knees as he scooped me into his arms and continued to run. We were inside the Katurium, following Brenna who wound through the hallways and back outside. Another mage was waiting for us, a silvery white dome of protection already conjured.
“In!” Brenna shouted. “Hart, back to her apartment. Stay with her until further notice. Backup is already there and stationed along the way.”
More black seraphim swirled the sky, and in the distance, I could see Aditi, Aemon’s warhorse, tearing through the fog with Aemon on her back and his sword out as they chased the rider.
Everywhere I looked, black glitter, smoke, and glass fell from the sky. Something else was falling, too: scrolls.
Scrolls upon scrolls rolled across the ground, getting stomped and stepped on by everyone running for cover.
I wanted to reach for one. I wanted to read it, to know what was inside, but we were joined by Markan and two other soturi from my father’s guard.
“She’s not cleared for flight,” Markan barked at Rhyan. “We’re staying at her apartment until the threat is stopped.”
“I can’t go to Cresthaven?” I asked, tightening my grip around Rhyan’s neck.
“Not when there’s a rider in the sky trying to kill you!”
