Page 44 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Yes,” he said. “We’re done.”
I swallowed, pushing back tears. “Am I free to go?” I asked, my voice so much smaller than it had ever been.
“That is where things become complicated,” he said. His lips turned up, his mouth feral with delight. “Now what happens to you?” he asked, tapping his chin. “Well, that depends on what we all decide here. Lady Arianna, I believe this brings us to your role in all of this.”
My heart pounded as Arianna stepped forward, face solemn.
“Lyriana, my dear. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
I bit my lower lip again, sure I was going to start crying.
“I’ve thought this through a hundred ways, over and over. But without magic, it’s impossible for you to attend the Mage Academy. There is not one single course of study that can be completed without it.” She wrung her hands together and shook her head, looking near tears. “Lady Lyriana Batavia, as Master of Education on the Council serving Arkasva Batavia, High Lord of Bamaria, and the University of Bamaria….” Sorrow filled her eyes.
“No, Arianna….” My voice came out in a strangled whisper.
“You are hereby expelled,” she said.
“Arianna, don’t….”
She removed a stave from her belt. My stave. My name flashed in a brilliant shade of gold along the light and dark moon and sun wood twining together. “Forgive me, Lyr.” She sniffled. “I have no choice.” Arianna snapped the stave in half.
“NO!” I reached forward, desperate to grab it. But I was too late.
She handed the destroyed halves to the Red Watcher, revealing a clean break—Lyriana on one side, Batavia on the other.
The Watcher gently placed them in my hands. Worthless now. Just pieces of wood.
My fingers curled around them so tightly the halves dug into my palms.
I’d spent two years worried about what kind of power I might have, which vorakh might plague my family next. The idea that I’d have none had never occurred to me. It had never happened before. The ability to use magic always passed down with Lumerian blood. Always. Even bastards born of human mothers had magic, and I was no bastard. I was the daughter of two Arkasvim. I should have been amongst the most powerful.
I took a deep breath, dizzy. “If I’m not to become a mage, what becomes of me?”
The Bastardmaker’s beady eyes wandered up and down my body like he had some ideas.
The Imperator stepped forward. “I am sorry to say, Lady Lyriana, but the law of the Empire states that Lumerians who cannot function in our society cannot remain within.”
My body felt hollow. Surely, he couldn’t mean…they would not take me from Bamaria? From my home? My country? My father’s eyes were red, his mouth open in grief.
“According to Lumerian law,” the Imperator said, “adult Lumerians, those who have reached the age of nineteen, having completed the Revelation Ceremony but living without power, must be banished.”
“That law applies to criminals stripped of their magic.” My father gripped his Seat, his knuckles turning white.
“It applies to anyone without magic,” said the Imperator. “It just so happens that it’s only been practiced for criminals who’ve been stripped of their power. But the law is the law. The language makes it clear. It applies.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to picture the scrolls I’d read on Lumerian law. All of my research had been on vorakh powers, on every law concerning them, on any loopholes I could use if my sisters were ever caught. But I couldn’t recall anything on this ruling. It was so hardly used. Stripping was amongst the most severe punishments in the Empire. Most who were exiled were simply forsworn—maintaining their magic but forbidden from crossing back into our borders.
“It’s a gross application of the law.” My father’s voice rose, red rising up his neck. “Consider what you’re doing and to whom.”
“I am considering, and it is a fair application,” the Imperator said calmly. “We abandoned the kings and queens of old who had one rule for themselves and another for their subjects. Lumeria Matavia sank under such leadership. Ka Azria broke the rules, and they suffered as any other Lumerian would have. You will get no exceptions from me. I have always ruled fairly across the Southern Empire.”
My breath came up short. The mention of Ka Azria, here, now, and the idea of the Imperator being fair…. I sucked at the air, grasping for my next breath.
“We can arrange for her to travel to another country out of the Empire—one of her choice—and we will happily provide her enough money to settle into a new home,” the Imperator said. “The Senate is willing to be charitable here. But after that, I’m afraid, you will no longer be considered a Lumerian or welcome to communicate or visit.”
My breath left me at that, and I stumbled back, my hands searching for a pew or wall, something to hold onto, to keep me from falling over. The cruelty of it, the unfairness. I was no criminal, no threat to the Empire. And he knew it. This was a power play designed to hurt my father. To weaken Ka Batavia and our claim to the Seat.
My breath hitched, and I focused on my broken stave, its gold and silver colors, the smoothness of it in my hands, the shallow but fresh scent of the trees it had come from, desperately trying to stay present and not faint.
