Page 30 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
Footsteps sounded down the corridor, and I stood, swaying on my feet with dizziness, my head heavy. I could feel them before I saw them, their auras in competition—the four most powerful men in Bamaria.
The Imperator entered the corridor, his black robe bordered in gold ominously floating behind him like a shadow. Limping slowly, my father followed. He looked weak behind the Imperator’s strong stride. Next came the red-cloaked arkturi, walking in unison—the Bastardmaker and the Ready.
“How’s the prisoner?” the Imperator asked.
My father broke protocol at the last second, rushing toward my cell before I could respond. “Lyriana, are you all right?Me bat?” High Lumerian formy daughter. He really was scared.
I scanned him, desperate for insight. But all I saw was his fear. Hair I swore had been black an hour ago now looked gray. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and new creases appeared beside his mouth.
Everything ached, and burned, making it hard to focus. I was more terrified than I’d ever been in my life. But I couldn’t say that, not in front of the Imperator. I had to play this right. I just wished I knew what to do. Should I look meek? Angry? In agreement with my father? Against him? His face offered no insights, no indication of how to survive. Maybe he didn’t know what to do either. He’d saved Meera and Morgana, barely. But he’d lost Jules, lost my mother, and nearly lost himself to the mob. Had he resigned himself to lose me as well?
I took a deep breath. I knew how to play one role well, and I was going to play it perfectly. I stood tall and threw my shoulders back. “My room isn’t quite up to the standards of living that I’m accustomed to.” I gestured at the ropes tied around me, swallowing a cry as they burned against my skin. “And these don’t really match my ensemble.”
Amusement shone in the Imperator’s dark eyes as he laughed. “She’s got spirit, this one.”
I wanted to kick him.
“Well, luckily for you, we can remove that aspect of your outfit.” He jerked his chin at the Bastardmaker. “Bring him in.”
No.
“Tristan,” I said as he appeared. His eyes were red, his face blotchy.
“Yes,” the Imperator drawled. “He beat down my mage to do the honors. Go on.” He used his shoulder to nudge Tristan forward.
Tristan snapped his head at the Imperator, fire in his eyes. His nostrils flared as he turned to me. “I did it so it wouldn’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “I’ll be gentle.”
It did hurt, I wanted to cry.It still hurts.
He unsheathed his stave and pointed it at me.
My throat tightened, and I closed my eyes, unable to watch. My hands began to shake. He was removing the bind, not attacking me, but fear still spiked in my veins.
Words spilled from his lips, low and full of emotion, and slowly the heat of the ropes around my body faded away. My shoulders slumped forward.
“Stand back,” said the Imperator. “She’ll prove her vorakh now.”
But I didn’t. As before, nothing happened. Tristan’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t have a vorakh,” I seethed. “Release me.”
“We can’t do that,” said the Imperator. “Give her grace her stave.”
My eyes widened. The Bastardmaker pulled it from his belt and tossed it into the cell with me.
“Pick it up,” said the Imperator. “Be ready to bind her again, Lord Tristan.”
Teeth clenched at the indignity that my stave had been allowed to touch the floor, I obeyed, grasping it tight in my hand. Nothing happened. I couldn’t help it. Tears rolled down my cheeks, burning hot with fear, and utter disappointment.
“Take the stave back, Lord Tristan,” the Imperator ordered.
Tristan snapped his head at the Imperator, jaw still clenched, and walked toward the prison bars, but the Imperator clicked his tongue. “Use your stave, idiot.”
Cheeks burning, I held out my hand, palm open with my stave resting on top. Tristan looked ready to cry himself as he pointed his stave at me. Mine flew in a rush through the bars into his hand. The Imperator grabbed it.
“We’ll be holding this until further notice.”
“She doesn’t have a vorakh,” Tristan said. “We’d know by now. Release her.”
