Page 56 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“How do you know?” I quipped. “I can be quite persuasive.”
“That I’d like to see.” His eyes locked on mine, intense, holding me fixed in place. Then he looked away, a small smile on his lips as he shrugged. “I don’t think you’d get the full effect. She was…” his jaw tightened, “a better storyteller. It all ends the same. Asherah’s banishment, Auriel’s theft, Moriel’s betrayal, the war, the Drowning…but she told it like your temple—the story starts the way it’s supposed to.” He pointed at a painting of Auriel and Asherah watching the light in the Hall of Records behind us. I had to strain my head, leaning into him to look. “See? From the first moment Auriel saw Asherah, he was completely in love with her.”
I stared at the painting. The God and Goddess were frozen. I couldn’t see any of what Rhyan described. I desperately wanted to. Seeing the paintings come to life had always been something I’d looked forward to.
“Rhyan,” I said, biting my lip. My heart hammered in my chest as I mustered my courage. “Without magic, I…I can’t see the paintings move.” My cheeks reddened with embarrassment.
His mouth fell open. “I forgot. Sorry.”
I shook my head. “No, I just…um.” I stared at them, the still moments frozen in paint.
One eyebrow furrowed, he asked, “You just what?”
I groaned. “Would you describe them to me? What they look like when they move?”
Eyes searching mine, he nodded, then pointed back to the first picture of Canturiel, describing how he seemed to dance as he sang existence into the Valalumir, the way the light shifted and changed, pulsing with life and brightening.
“This is the moment the seven guardians are picked. They—actually, here, I’ll show you.” He paused, eyes searching the room, and took my hand, his fingers warm and calloused against my skin. “Auriel walks into the Hall of Records, and his eyes widen. He’s basically in awe of the light’s brilliance.” He moved my hand in smooth movements across the picture, showing Auriel’s reaction, describing the choosing of the other guardians, including Moriel who would betray them. “And then Asherah walks in, and….” He released my hand, looking away from me. “He’s immediately in love with her.”
I peered at the painting, dull without his guidance, my hand already missing the warmth of his. “How can you tell?” I asked. “What does he do to show that?”
“It’s not something he does,” Rhyan said, squinting at the painting. “It’s the way he sees her. See, when he first walked in, the Valalumir was the brightest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—it’s almost too much to look at it. But when Asherah enters, the light dims. The most powerful light in Heaven ever to be created, and it dims from merely being in her presence.”
I turned to him. He was staring at me, his eyes bright and emerald—brighter than the eternal flame. I held onto a breath, my heart pounding. The ache inside of me that had kindled with Tristan, the need to feel alive, now seemed to burn.
“I’ve never heard of Asherah having the power to dim the Valalumir.”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t. But the painting’s in Auriel’s perspective. The light weakens when she’s around—but only in his eyes. Because he’s in love with her. For him, she’s brighter than the brightest star in Heaven.”
He pointed to the painting of Auriel preparing to steal the light. “There, without her, the light is brighter, as bright as others see it. But when Auriel sees Asherah again in Lumeria, even as a mortal, she’s brighter than the sun.”
“All of my lessons seemed to shift from the two of them being soulmates to her being nothing more than a seductress, a demon who’d deceived him and cheated Heaven of its most prized possession. Lately, it seems her reputation as an evil seductress is the only acceptable one.” Ka Kormac had seen to that.
“Well, sure, with the disputes over the translations of the Valya from High Lumerian,” Rhyan said, excitement in his voice.
I laughed. “You studied High Lumerian?”
“All proper lords do.” He sounded incredulous. It was the first time he’d owned his title.
“I know all proper lords aresupposedto, but most have a way of avoiding their lessons or forgetting everything they memorized the day after tests.” Tristan was a prime example.
“I am not most. Nor are you. I remember last time I was here,” he continued, “you were always carrying scrolls everywhere and dropping them.” He laughed. “I picked some up and helped you carry them to the stairs in Cresthaven. Remember? Every single scroll was in High Lumerian.”
I blinked, remembering that day. I’d just returned from Scholars Harbor, planning to reread my favorite stories translated in High Lumerian to test myself. When I realized Rhyan was nearby, I’d tried to walk past him, to see if he’d notice me. I dropped every single scroll. It had been right after we’d danced, after we’d kissed…I could still feel his lips on mine. I hadn’t gone more than a minute without replaying it in my mind or thinking about seeing him again.
I met his gaze. “I thought you didn’t remember the last time you were here.”
There was a pause as his green eyes, lined in dark lashes, searched mine. “I remember. I remember…everything.”
My stomach tightened, the feeling moving lower.
He broke eye contact first and glanced at my arm, at the Valalumirs between my elbow and wrist concealing my blood oaths. “Didn’t think you were the type to get a tattoo.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not the same person I was before.” Before, I had been careless, privileged, free. My greatest worry had been dancing with the cold, handsome future High Lord of Glemaria who’d been on my mind and in my fantasies all summer.
“No,” he said, ruffling his hair and pulling it over his scar. He wasn’t the same either. We’d both changed. Both lost people we’d loved.
He coughed. “So, tell me your best academic observations of the translation debate.”
