Page 29 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
I was yelling, screaming, begging and pleading for him not to. But Tristan stalked toward me, chanting in High Lumerian.No, no, no, don’t.The burning hot ropes of a binding tightened around my body. I seized, barely able to breathe, and our eyes met.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
Tristan.
My skin burned. The ropes were so tight, so hot, I was barely holding onto consciousness. Then there was nothing.
More images came. Then darkness.
Arianna grabbing Morgana and Meera, rushing them out, surrounded by our guard.
Nothing.
My cousin, Naria, looking half-shocked, half-pleased.
Members of Ka Batavia jumping to their feet, eyes alight.
Fists waving and shouts crashing against each other.
Lord Viktor Kormac grinning as the Bastardmaker’s hands wrapped around my wrists.
My feet dragging on the floor behind me, sandal laces coming undone.
The Bastardmaker’s red cloak flowing behind him and falling on my body.
His sickening smell tinged with incense from the temple.
Rhyan rushing to my father’s side as he argued with Imperator Kormac.
The Ready, sword drawn, starfire flaming, ordering his soturi to stand down.
Tristan shouting.
Shadows. Dark, thundering auras suffocating me, clawing at me.
And nothing.
I was drowning, fearing for my life, sick with terror for my sisters. I was supposed to protect them, save them the way I hadn’t been able to save Jules. And now I couldn’t, couldn’t….
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t find air.
At last, one final wave crashed over me, and blackness dragged me under.
I woke on a small, stiff bed, head aching. Someone had covered me with a thin blanket. The material was scratchy, itchy, with the scent of dust and mold. The stench of old sweat permeated the air. I sat up, chilled as a cold breeze rushed in from above the darkened room of uneven stone-gray walls over three stories high. A circular window was open in the ceiling’s center. No Lumerian could reach it without magic, though the window boasted several iron bars humming with power. They blurred the full moon beyond it.
I was underground in the cells of the Shadow Stronghold. They were a series of ancient caves that led miles underground, impossible to escape by design, with both physical and magical locks layered with the Shadows guarding it.
Part of me hoped I’d wake in my own bed, that it would all have been a dream—that my Revelation Ceremony hadn’t happened yet. It was a feeling I’d had often the last two years—endless fantasies and daydreams that I’d wake and find Jules alive, Meera and Morgana healthy again. But those never happened.
This wasn’t a dream.
I’d been imprisoned. Bound. The black glittering ropes, conjured by Tristan, still wrapped around my body, burning every inch of skin they touched. No matter how I moved my body, or shifted I couldn't find relief. My chest heaved as I felt the ropes cut sharply against me. Tears burned behind my eyes. While my body was feverish and raw where the binding touched, the rest of my skin was cold, shivering. There were Shadows in the walls. I couldn’t see them. But I could feel them. Like ghosts.
I stared, afraid I might see one, that a Shadow might jump out to frighten me. Was this the cell Jules had been brought to? Had she woken like this, hot and cold? In pain? Terrified?
I searched for my stave—but that was gone. They would have never imprisoned me with it. I still wore my gown from the evening and my necklace, but neither was sufficient to keep me warm in my cell.
I took a deep breath. I’d already fainted tonight, but now I had to remain calm, to come up with a plan. Someone would enter those doors soon, and I had to be prepared for whomever it was and hold my own. At least I was in Bamaria, not on a boat to Lethea. As long as I remained in my own country, I had a chance of surviving.
