Page 13 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Fuck Harren Batavia! He let them in!” the shout rose above the others with an unsettling force. My father’s name had been cursed and informally presented without his title.
I stiffened as Tristan shifted to my side of the litter, placing his arm protectively around me as the shouts continued.
“We never had an akadim attack before him!”
“He can’t rule Bamaria, so he’s got Kormac doing it for him!”
“The fool can’t keep akadim away! He’ll get us all killed!”
And there it was. The reason my father hadn’t wanted me in the city today. The recent attack was on everyone’s mind, stirring up tensions and fear. An akadim, a monstrous beast of the old world, had nearly breached our borders.
A new wave of shouts, curses, and cries of terror sounded. And then an akadim appeared, coming down the street. My heart jumped. But it wasn’t real. A mage had used some crude magic to assemble the monster’s nearly fifteen-foot-long body. It was a mix of a Lumerian man and something ancient, evil. Its eyes were red, its mouth full of fangs. Its razor-sharp nails were the size of my arm.
Several soturi from Ka Batavia stepped out, their eyes full of scorn as the akadim floated past. The soldiers were retired, all discharged from service due to battle wounds. One was missing an eye; another’s arm had been ripped off. Akadim were said to hold the strength of five soturi, making killing them the most difficult task to complete. Most who fought the beasts didn’t live to tell the tale. Those who did were often disfigured, barely escaping with their limbs and souls intact. The unluckiest escaped with invisible scars, ones only they knew existed. Akadim had a way of preying on their victims—a way that often meant death was the most desirable outcome.
“Shekar arkasva!”A mage waved a flag with what appeared to be the sigil of Ka Batavia, but the colors were wrong. Instead of golden seraphim wings beneath a silver moon, the seraphim’s wings were painted black.
I pulled on Tristan’s arm. “Look at the sigil on that man’s flag,” I said.
Tristan was staring with great concentration at his feet. He couldn’t stand the sight of blood or mutilation but looked up at my request, squinting.
“Shekar arkasva!”the man called again.
“Shekar arkasva?”Tristan asked, pulling the curtain forward. He looked a little green, catching sight of the disfigured soturi. There was a soturion outside our litter in the purple of Ka Elys, the Bamarian branch. Both his legs were missing, along with an eye. He walked on legs made of sun and moon tress, protruding out from his tunic and spelled to move and bend at the knee. “What does that mean?”
“It’s High Lumerian,” I said. “False arkasva.” I had a bad feeling. High Lumerian wasn’t spoken by commoners.
“False arkasva?” Tristan frowned.
The phrase sounded familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. “Does it mean anything to you?”
“Nothing good. We should return to Cresthaven.” Tristan was already leaning out of the litter, signaling to his escort.
I stayed his hand. My father had been driven out of the streets when I could barely walk. I refused to let them push me out now. These were my streets, laid down by my ancestors. “No! We’re going forward. We’ll be past all of this soon. I know you don’t like the sight of—”
“I can handle wounded soturi! It’s just…it’s dangerous out there.”
I shook my head. “The shouts will die down. They’re only excited because the guard changed. Look. Ka Kormac’s soturi are already camouflaged. The people will forget—go back to being more interested in shopping.” As if proving my point, a group of girls a few years from their Revelation Ceremonies swarmed a tent full of gowns.
“Lyr,” Tristan said, “be reasonable. There’s a foul mood in the air, one aimed at your father, which means it’s aimed at you. We must return you home to be safe.”
I poked my head out of the litter, careful to keep my black hood up. The darkness of the mood outside was like a smothering kiss, swallowing my breath. I pushed past it. “Forward, I command you.”
Tristan’s escort nodded and signaled. Our litter lurched as the mages marched on, their magic tethering us to them. Tristan sat back, no longer touching me.
“Why, Lyr?” Tristan asked. “Why of all days do you have to be so reckless?” He cocked his head to the side. His aura pulsed, fiery with anger, making the litter unbearably hot. He hated when I overruled his orders to his escort. Though he’d be lord of his Ka one day and was three years older, I’d always outrank him.
Bristling, I pushed back against him.
“Because I am not done. I had it in mind to buy a new necklace for my birthday.” Because I’d be wearing it during the Revelation Ceremony, I was planning to buy the biggest, most eye-catching one I could find. Perhaps my jewelry choice would distract everyone in the temple while Father controlled my body. Beyond that, I simply refused to return home early and admit defeat, admit that Morgana and Father were right. I’d been playing the role of lady perfectly for two years. But I was sensing that time was coming to an end; some new energy was burning inside of me. I wanted to be reckless, wanted to stretch my own will.
Tristan frowned, his nostrils flaring. His anger and concern warred with his desire to make me happy on my birthday. At last, his face softened. The force of his aura receded. “Promise me, if it gets any more dangerous, we’ll leave at once. I hate to say this, but public opinion of your father isn’t great now. It’s just not the day to be caught in the passion of the mob.” He took my hand again, his fingers entwined with mine, warm, familiar. “I love you. And we’re about to….” He sighed and shook his head. “If anything happened to you….”
“I know,” I said quickly.
He’d trailed off before he could say engaged. We both knew our engagement was coming once I revealed my magic, but it still felt too heavy to say aloud.
“And I promise,” I said, “if it becomes too dangerous, we’ll go.” Though I had every intention of being the one to decide if and when the situation was severe enough.
