Page 5 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
I tried to stand, thrashing against my aunt who kept me still. I tried to hit Morgana, to get her to move, to stop this, to save Jules. But Morgana slumped down in her seat, her arms wrapped around herself, her face white against her black hair.
My aunt’s arms relaxed their restraint, just as Tristan took hold of me, his cheek pressed to mine.
“Lyr.” Tristan’s voice was firm, and his arms were everywhere, suffocating me, pulling me against his body. His touch was as intimate as before, but this time, he was imprisoning me. “Lyr, you have to stop. Calm down.”
I pushed him away. Was he farther than Lethea? I would not calm down. The Bastardmaker had taken Jules! The Bastardmaker! Everyone knew it wasn’t safe to be alone with him. She was in danger.
Tristan’s eyes darkened. His mouth was tight. “Lyr, I’m sorry. I…I cared about Jules—a lot. But….” His fingers pressed into my arms.
“Cared?” I asked. Why was he using the past tense?
“She has a vorakh,” Tristan said. There was a note of finality in his voice. “She’s not who we thought she was. You must let her go. She has to die in Lethea.”
I snapped my arms back, but Tristan’s hold on me was too tight. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I was too hot and too cold. I was about to scream in his face. Jules adored Tristan, had grown up beside him, and this was how he repaid her?
“Thank the Gods for Ka Grey,” Naria crooned. “Your family has kept Bamaria safe from vorakh for years. It’s lucky Jules was exposed so easily.”
I could feel the contents of my stomach churning and rising. Just like that, Naria had turned on our cousin, her own blood, her own Ka. Aunt Arianna remained calm as ever; only a small storm of emotion in her eyes gave her away.
My father stood, stepping forward, limping on his right leg. He’d been attacked by a mob after he became Arkasva, and the injury had only worsened over the years due to a spell one of the mages had threaded into the attack. His laurel slid forward, shadowing his eyes. He quickly readjusted it, centering the golden wreath on his head.
Shouts sounded from all over but were silenced by a look from my father, High Lord of Bamaria, along with a show of power from his warlord, hand on the hilt of his sword. No emotion appeared on my father’s face as he waved to the unsettled crowd in an unspoken command for them to take their seats and remain calm. We did not grieve vorakh. We destroyed it.
“Continue.” He lifted his hand in dismissal, his fingers moving carelessly in a practiced flourish. Waves of calm seemed to emanate from my father, unnatural, forceful.
Arkmage Kolaya’s eyes were wide as she rushed back to the center of the Chamber. In silence, the High Lord of Bamaria limped back to the Seat, the steps of his uneven gait echoing.
I was awake in a nightmare. The Revelation Ceremony went on, like Jules’s arrest had never happened, like I’d imagined it. Arianna continued holding me down, ensuring my silence.
I watched the ceremony with blurred vision, a sick feeling rising in my stomach. I couldn’t stop picturing Jules standing outside the temple, blowing kisses, so happy and excited for tonight, for her chance to finally use magic.
Tristan took my hand and assured me that what had happened was for the best. My skin crawled from his touch, but I didn’t pull away, not even when he told me Jules was dangerous and what had been done to her was to ensure my own safety as much as everyone else’s. Nor did I push him away when he continued saying that mages who had the vorakh of visions went mad, and their minds deteriorated into violence that led to murderous rages. Nor when he told me he knew it hurt in the moment, but this was to protect me, it would be all right. I remained frozen, numb. I let him continue to touch me with every poisonous word.
“Lady Meera Batavia, Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, High Lord of Bamaria.”
I sucked in my breath as Meera stepped onto the Chamber, removing her robes. Her blood dripped, her blessing commenced, and her stave was produced. The sun and moon wood gleamed under burnt embers, revealing her name carved into the stave. Meera’s eyes dipped down. I followed her gaze to where Jules’s stave had been left behind. Untouched.
Gold pulsed overhead, expanding, washing Meera’s body in light. The diadem she wore over her forehead, a simple, small golden circle that marked her station, shined like a beacon. Meera’s mouth opened, a perfect mirror image of Jules’s face when her visions had come.
Morgana’s fingers clamped around my arm, but I was already shaking.
By the Gods, please!
Meera’s expression took on a stilted, awkward look. One eyebrow lifted oddly. Every breath she took and every lift of her arm was jerky and unnatural. She took a step forward, uneven with her weight, and lifted her stave. Wild blue sparks shot forth, a simple, basic show of magic—not impressive for an Heir. Under normal circumstances, it would have been an embarrassment. In that moment, it was a relief. Meera returned to her seat with those same jerky, odd movements.
The Imperator inched toward the stage again, one leather sandal resting on the Chamber’s lower floor, the eternal flame crackling into a riot of color. Suspicion curtained in the slight lift of his lips. I could feel it, his pointer finger slowly tapping his cheek, his wolfish eyes focused and alert. But Meera had no vorakh. And though the Imperator was nephew to the Emperor, even he dared not arrest an Heir Apparent without ample proof.
The ceremony ended, and Markan appeared at my side, dismissing Tristan by wishing him a good night. Markan never spoke. Something was happening. There was a flash of blue stone glowing beside his ear—a vadati stone. He was receiving orders. Were they to get rid of Tristan so we could rescue Jules? The Bastardmaker couldn’t have gone far. My heart leapt.
Tristan looked disappointed. “I thought we could…spend more time together, and if you need any comfort….” There was an almost flirtatious tone in his voice, as if tonight had been normal, as if there was anything for me to celebrate.
“Sorry,” I said. “I forgot about our private gathering for Meera tonight. To celebrate her coming into her title. You know she hates a big fuss.” The lie came out of nowhere, as did the strength in my voice. “I’ll send word to you tomorrow. Good night, Tristan.” I held out my hand for him to kiss.
His mouth felt disgusting and wet against my skin. My fingers twitched. Were these really the same lips I’d craved at the start of the night? The ones I’d pulled against my own in a dark alcove outside?
A moment later I was hidden in the back halls of the red ray with Markan, I rubbed my hand against my dress, wiping the feel of Tristan’s kiss away.
We turned a corner, ending up right where the Bastardmaker had taken Jules.
