Page 118 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
Rhyan started to move back, but I wasn’t ready to stand on my own, I was too weak, too hurt. He pressed his hands to me again, palms against my hips. My head rolled back, but something in Aemon’s voice, a concern and a command, had me standing straighter, my feet flattened, pins pinching the soles as my legs grudgingly accepted weight.
“Stand, your grace. Leave her,” Aemon ordered Rhyan. “She will do this. She must do this.”
Rhyan stepped away, but his hand, large and steady, pressed against my lower back. I leaned into him, desperate for the support, needing something, someone, to hold me up. Slowly, he pulled his palm back until only his fingers supported me, allowing me to find my balance.
Aemon nodded. He jerked his chin again, pointing at Rhyan. The message was clear.
I needed to do this on my own. Like a soturion.
“Satisfied?” the Ready asked, snarling at the Imperator. His expression was that of a Death God’s. One wrong move, and he’d kill.
“Her grace has proven nothing but her utter disdain for our rules and our ways,” the Imperator said, sweeping his black cloak over his shoulder. The golden threads glowed under the firelight. “I’m not willing to allow this experiment to languish one second longer than is necessary. The Emperor is to visit Bamaria this winter for Valyati. Her grace will be tested then. She’d better make her remaining time count.”
Valyati. Winter Solstice. Less than three months away. Three months! He’d just cut my remaining time in half—time I needed to prepare and find answers. It was gone, just like that, because he could take it. He’d never intended to honor his side of the deal.
I was vaguely aware of the commotion around me—my classmates yelling and jeering, satisfied I’d gotten my due. Pavi looked exceptionally pleased, as did Naria.
There was a cold breeze in the air, a sudden dampness that chilled my bones. It would rain again soon.
I knew Aemon had ended the clinic and dismissed everyone from the arena, but I remained by the pole, barely standing, barely conscious of my surroundings.
“Get her out of here,” Aemon barked at Rhyan. “Clean her up.”
“Yes, Arkturion.”
“Your grace,” Aemon said, voice lowered, concern clouding his eyes. He grimaced but looked more like the Aemon I’d known as a girl, the one who’d always watched over me—an extra uncle at Cresthaven. “You’re never to end up here again.”
I either nodded, or my head was bobbing. Aemon turned in dismissal. I felt a hand on the nape of my neck again, guiding me, directing me forward. It moved softly, gently, to the small of my back—the one place I wasn’t injured.
“I’ve got you, Lyr, I’m going to take care of you. You’ll be all right,” Rhyan said.
My classmates filed out the arena doors, watching me as I walked. After what seemed like an eternity, my body screaming with every step I took, we reached the edge of the arena’s field, and Rhyan opened a door, directing me inside the Katurium. The halls were lit with torchlight, too bright for my eyes. I wavered, my stomach twisting again, my head light and heavy all at once. I wasn’t going to make it back to my apartment. I was barely going to make it to the end of this hall. Rhyan turned suddenly, leading me down an abandoned hallway.
“Where…?” I started to ask, my voice croaking, before he guided me to a small table.
“Put your hands here,” he said, placing them on the tabletop for me. He ran his hands down my arms, squeezing my wrists before stepping away. “I need to cover your back.”
Right, my back was exposed, my tunic hanging off my shoulders—no, my back, the actual skin of my back was opened…bloodied…. Drops of blood on the floor trailed down the hall. I swayed at the sight.
“Hold on to the table,” he said. “Just for a minute while I grab supplies. I’ll be fast.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and burst into tears all over again. Rhyan was there one second, then he was gone. I was losing track of my surroundings, losing track of time. He seemed to instantly reappear down the hall with a large bag slung over his shoulder.
“Got them,” he said. “Just stand a minute longer. All right? I’ll clean you up more when we get home. But I need to take your tunic off, Lyr. Is that all right?”
I made some barely intelligible sound in response, but it was enough.
Rhyan’s hands were on my shoulders, sliding off the remains of the fabric that covered my arms. He pulled the tunic down past my waist, letting it pool around my feet on the floor. Behind me, I could sense him bending to his knees, slowly lifting my feet, one at a time, to step out of my clothing, while supporting me with his body weight. Then he rose and reached in front of me, hands sliding between my arms with the ends of a large white cloth that he tied in a knot beneath my breasts. He’d covered the wounds on my back. The cloth wasn’t tight, not attempting to staunch the wounds…that wasn’t possible, not when they were the result of a magically infused soturion whip. But the cloth would keep me from bleeding all over myself and getting an infection.
I swayed a little. My vision went out of focus again.
“I’ve got you.” A strong arm reached across my shoulders, and another swept under my knees as he lifted me into his arms. My head fell against his chest. His heart beat next to my ear, the thrum loud and steady. His scent enveloped me—musky, woodsy. I pressed my face against his chest. “Hey, partner…stay with me.” His arms tightened around me. “Lyr? Lyr, stay awake for me. Just a little longer.”
My eyes closed.
When I opened them, I was lying on my belly on a bed. But it was not mine.
“Where am I?”
