Page 48 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
Meera stilled, eyebrows narrowed. “You didn’t tell me this.”
“I’m telling you now,” she snapped.
I squeezed Meera’s hand in reassurance. Morgana was likely to bite someone’s head off, but Meera could instantly dissolve into a puddle of tears. “What did you hear?” I asked.
“Don’t speak and don’t think until I finish telling you,” Morgana said. “It’s—” She paused, squinting, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her face was screwed up in pain.
Meera turned to me, her mouth open in concern.
“Just a fucking spasm!” Morgana snapped. “Myself to Moriel! Stop fussing! I hear everything, you know!” Morgana took several deep inhales as Meera and I waited, still, not looking at each other and nervously trying to quiet our minds. Morgana’s condition was getting worse, something I didn’t want to think about in that moment and absolutely couldn’t—not without upsetting her again.
At last, she exhaled, her eyes opening. “There’s one other option. But it’s dangerous, and you must swear not to act on it until I say. If we get to spring and aren’t any closer to solving it than we are now…it’s our last resort. Swear. You won’t do anything with this yet.”
“I swear it,” I said quickly. Meera narrowed her eyes.
“An ambassador from the Star Court is visiting. He just arrived to meet with the Ready for contract renewal negotiations regarding the starfire trade. He’s Afeyan.”
“No,” Meera said automatically. “You can’t. You mustn’t.”
“Of course, she mustn’t. I’m only saying he’s here.”
“Gryphon-shit. Why bring it up then?” Meera turned to me. “Absolutely not. You cannot speak to an Afeya. You know the rules.”
I did, as did every Lumerian. We learned them as soon as we could walk. First: Akadim attacked at night. Second: Never make a deal with the Afeya.
There was one exception: Ramia. And that was only because she was half-Afeyan, lacking their worst, most dangerous qualities. Though…I did still owe her a favor. My fingers ran over the necklace secured like armor around my chest and shoulders.
The Afeya came from Lumeria Matavia, just like us. Both of our races had lived peacefully together for a time before the Drowning. We had many similar traditions and histories, but they were immortal and able to draw from the deepest wells of magic anywhere in the world. It was said the Afeya could move Heaven and Earth; they could do anything one dreamed of, answer any question asked. But there was a catch. No Afeya could use magic of their own free will. The immortals had to act on the request of another, their curse after the Drowning. They eagerly granted any wishes made, but at a price. The price was always too high.
Still, part of me was tempted. Afeya had living memories of Lumeria Matavia when visions, mind reading, and traveling were not vorakh, but common abilities for everyone. They remembered the forming of the world when the Gods and Goddesses were descending and becoming mortal. All I had to do was ask for what I wanted, and their magic would answer. What if I could ask for the source of my power? Or to be made a mage?
“Lyr,” Meera said. “I can’t read your mind, but I still know what you’re thinking. Stop thinking it. Don’t.”
“She needs to know all of her options, and so do we. We’re rolling closer to your coronation, Meera,” Morgana said darkly. “So unless you want to be having visions on the Seat of the Arkasva, just long enough for the Imperator to see…we need to figure this out. We’re in this together.” Morgana held out her left arm, flashing her tattoo of the phases of the moon—the tattoo that concealed her own blood oath. She grabbed my arm and then Meera’s so all of our tattoos came together. The sun, the moon, and the stars. “We all swore, and we all stick together. And that includes knowing the last resort.”
“Enough,” I said, snatching my arm back. “I’m not going to find any answers. Not tonight.” I sank back on the bed. “Have either of you heard from Tristan?”
“Why?” Morgana asked carefully, her voice dangerously low.
Meera looked conspicuously away.
“What do you mean ‘why’? We’ve been apart for a week. I need to see him.”
“So the bastard can bind you again?” Morgana snarled.
“He did that to protect me.” I had to believe he’d done it to protect me. He’d looked so sad, so heartbroken, so determined to be the one who went with me in place of that nameless Kormac mage. “And he tried to make it up to me. To rescue me.”
Morgana scoffed. “And he would have gotten one step outside the Stronghold before he was locked up in another prison beside you—idiot. He bound you, Lyr,” Morgana seethed. “You’re delusional if you think he was protecting you.”
“He spent a fortune to get the Shadows to look away.”
Morgana clapped slowly. “What a fucking hero! Maybe he should have spent a little more money so he had time to actually save you and not just make a spectacle. Or better yet—not fucking helped those bastards arrest you in the first place!”
“It’s not so black and white,” Meera said. “I still hate him, though.”
“You can’t hate your future brother-in-law,” I said.
“Like you ever stopped hating Markan?” Morgana asked. “He was just doing his job.”
