Page 23 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Yet,” Tristan said fiercely.
“Why not? It’s been—what? Three years?” Rhyan asked innocently.
“Two,” I said. Three years ago, I’d been kissing Rhyan.
Rhyan’s eyebrow narrowed. “What’s the hesitation? Worried she’s far too smart and beautiful to say yes?”
“I am saying yes,” I snapped.
Rhyan sat back, his expression coy. “That was quite a forceful ‘yes.’ Lord Grey, you should be concerned; if they have to protest this loudly, something’s brewing.”
“We’re waiting for her Revelation Ceremony, brute. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“State business is everyone’s business,” Rhyan drawled. “But since we’re on the topic, what path will you be choosing tonight, your grace?”
“Mage,” Tristan answered.
“Oh,” Rhyan said. “I didn’t realize you were in the ceremony tonight, my lord. I thought you were my age.”
“She’schoosing mage.” Tristan’s neck reddened.
“I believe my partner can answer for herself,” Rhyan said.
“I’m choosing mage,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Like your fiancé,” Rhyan said. “Sorry—almost fiancé. Are you sure you don’t want to be a soturion?”
“Lyr is destined for more than punching people in the face and doing push-ups.”
“You’re right,” Rhyan said brightly. “That sums up exactly what soturi do, Lord Grey. Maybe if I hadn’t been punched in the face so many times, I might have remembered your name when I saw you.” He rolled his eyes again and turned his gaze out the window, his cold demeanor settling on him like a piece of armor.
The litter slowed to a stop. We’d reached the borders of Urtavia and climbed out into the seraphim port. My seraphim stooped down, allowing us into her blue-jeweled carriage.
Tristan hesitated as we entered. He seemed to be under the impression that Rhyan, a forsworn, should sit behind the partition with his escort, as if he were some sort of prisoner. But was he? He was forsworn…and I, third in line to rule Bamaria, had ordered him to come with me to Cresthaven. But he was also an Heir to the High Lord and Imperator—or had been. And he still had a right to sanctuary according to Bamarian law, especially today, even if…even if the rumors were true. Rhyan had been rude, and cold, and aloof on his visits, except when we danced. But was he capable of murder? I closed the partition decisively behind the escorts, and the three of us sat in uncomfortable silence, Tristan’s stave pointed the whole time.
The hour was called upon our arrival. All through the sky, the shimmering jewel-toned manes of ashvan horses sparkled as they flew in circles over Bamaria. A shadow loomed over us as we entered the walls of Cresthaven.
The Ready walked briskly down the waterway to greet us, his red arkturion cloak flying out behind him. Golden armor in the tradition of Ka Batavia covered his torso. The shoulders were shaped into sharpened seraphim feathers that glittered in the sun, making it difficult to look at him. A stern face topped with thick black hair, shorn short, stared down.
Arkturion Aemon Melvik was warlord in Bamaria and had a reputation as the deadliest warrior in Lumeria. Everyone called him “the Ready” since he’d single-handedly stopped the rebellion against my father in the streets all those years ago. He added an air of severity to my father’s rule. But right then, that air was directed at me. With a sharp slap of his fists against his armor, he ordered me to step forward.
“Arkturion Aemon,” I said, trying to gauge how much trouble I was in. I’d snuck out to the city without an escort when I’d been forbidden, and in the midst of this, I’d accepted a priceless stolen Lumerian artifact for my personal collection, publicly rebuked the soldiers of a foreign soturi, been tackled by a mob…and I had brought home a forsworn from the other end of the Empire who was possibly guilty of murder.
Aemon’s dark eyebrows knit together, and he frowned, revealing the deadly expression he wore as the Ready. Black swirling mist, deep and endless as the night, snaked out from his aura, pulsing with little sparks. When he was the Ready, he was a God of death, and his aura flared strong enough to let everyone know. Like it did right now.
I was in huge trouble.
“Myself to Moriel,” he snarled. “You snuck out. Today. What were you thinking?”
“I-I just….” I stammered as his eyes swept over my disheveled cloak. It had torn when I’d fallen, and my dress carried quite a few odd stains. Auriel’s bane! I tried to slide my pouch between the folds of the gown, praying to all the Gods he wouldn’t notice. “Ka Kormac is causing chaos in Urtavia, doing whatever they please,” I countered.
His hand rested casually on the hilt of his starfire sword, blazing in the sun against his red cloak. “And what would you know of it?”
“Plenty. They’re fighting in the streets instead of patrolling. They attacked Lord Rhyan Hart, Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North.”
“Honestly,” Rhyan said, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here,partner, but the title—it’s a mouthful. And outdated.”
His eyes met mine. I glared in return.
