Page 67 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
IPULLEDOUTmypractice uniform, ignoring the shining golden armor I’d managed to place on the wooden dummy before I passed out. The underclothes were familiar, like the shifts I wore, though the material was thicker and stretchier. I secured them around my waist then tackled the strappy material designed to support my breasts. Most shifts allowed for breathing room, but as a soturion, I needed to almost flatten my chest—no easy feat. After several frustrating tries, I finally managed to wrap and lace the strings together. This was followed by my black practice tunic, which also laced up the back, though it came with a pull that made it much easier to get on. I added a pair of black short-pants, a belt, and my new soturion-issue lace-up sandals—heavier than any shoes I’d worn before—and hoped I’d put everything on correctly.
There was far more grandeur, history, art, and culture in the Temple of Dawn and Cresthaven, but the Katurium was the largest building in Bamaria. Seven stories tall and seven times as wide, it was shaped as a perfect circle. In the Katurium’s center was an open arena with a track and stadium seating. Red and gold spiked rays jutted from the top. From a seraphim’s eye view, the Katurium looked like a flaming sun. Inside the rounded hallways and levels were classrooms, training rooms, armories full of weapons, and stores of starfire swords.
I joined an excited Galen and Haleika on the first level for breakfast. Haleika was going on and on about her apprentice, the attractive dirty-blonde soturion from Ka Daquataine, Leander Abden, who’d caught her eye. He was a lower-ranking noble in Damara. Haleika offered an in-depth rundown of his physical achievements but continued looking dreamily at Galen. I half-listened, barely able to focus or touch my food. We were about to engage in the soturi’s first daily exercise—an hour-long run.
Out in the open arena, the morning was unusually hot. The Ready stood in the center with Turion Dairen, Aemon’s Second and cousin. Dairen also served on my father’s Council. He’d been a young soturion during my uncle’s rebellion. While the Ready had killed Uncle Tarek and struck down the conspirators, it had been Dairen who’d saved my father from death—absorbing a killing blow after his leg had been injured. Dairen had been promoted immediately to turion, and despite being a sour prick, he was a hero at home.
We were all instructed to find a place on the track lines and mark them. Hundreds of daggers, all silver steel glittering with golden letters, flashed beneath the sun. We stabbed them into the ground to the hilts, marking our starting points. The run would begin when the new hour was called and would continue until the timekeeper rang the bells. Aemon’s instructions filled me with dread. I’d never run for half an hour, much less a full one. But even worse, when the hour was over, we couldn’t stop running until we retrieved our daggers. The track was half a mile in length, which meant I had to be very near my dagger when the hour was called, or everyone would be watching while I ran the extra half-mile to finish.
Haleika was already bouncing on her heels while simultaneously tying her curly brown hair into a ponytail. Leander, her apprentice, gave her a nod and stretched a few feet away. Galen also got a nod from his apprentice, a soturion from Ka Scholar, dark and extremely well-muscled.
Rhyan appeared, wearing only a half-tunic, leaving him naked from the waist up. His practice belt, plain leather with seven straps falling to his thighs, held it in place. But my focus was on anything but his belt.
I’d known he was muscled beneath his clothes, but seeing his torso bare and up close left my throat dry. Black gryphon wings were tattooed across each shoulder. The wing tips ended sharply below his collarbone, tapering to points on either side of his chest. My dream flashed like a bolt of lightning. Me and Rhyan in the temple, naked. The anguish in his eyes, the way he’d touched me. The unleashed desire I’d felt, and seen reflected in him. I looked down, unable to withstand the odd intimacy that came from dreaming of someone you knew, and feeling like they had to know what transpired, even though it was all in my head.
I fixated on his feet, unable to shake the image of him naked in my mind. He’d switched to the southern style of sandal, laced to just below his knee. The leather was shining and stiff with newness.
“Follow me.” He was already walking away, not even looking over his shoulder to see if I’d follow. “Quick. The hour’s about to call.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the images to dissolve, and followed behind Rhyan. The gryphon wings tattooed on his shoulder and chest connected to one large tattoo that had been inked across the expanse of his upper back. It was an intricately detailed gryphon, wings spread, soaring up into the sky beneath the sun. The sigil for Ka Hart was a gryphon beneath the sun—geometric, simplistic. Rhyan’s tattoo was lifelike, with incredible detail, each wing shaded and unique. The gryphon’s leg had a piece of rope tied around it, a rope that had been severed. The edges were tattered, and the remains of the rope were below, amidst snowy mountaintops.
“Good luck, Lyr!” Haleika called, snapping me out of staring at the gryphon whose wings rippled with Rhyan’s muscles.
I waved back, and Haleika turned toward Galen as Rhyan led me to the outermost track.
“Ever run before?” he asked, now facing me.
“Only when being chased.”
He exhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest. “Just as I suspected.”
“What do I do?” I asked.
He cocked his eyebrow, the uninjured one. “Put one foot in front of the other. Quickly.”
“Wow, thanks. You’re a real help. I’m going back to Haleika.”
“Set your dagger beside mine,” he said, an unmistakable command in his voice. “If you want to get through this run, listen to me. Stay on the outermost ring. The others will favor the inner rings, hoping to gain the Ready’s attention. You’ll have more space and be left alone out here, so you can keep to your own pace. It also offers you an exit plan if you get crowded, you can step off the track and back on again when it’s clear.”
I nodded, surprised at how sensible his advice was. I stabbed my blade into the ground, marking my new starting point. The golden hilt shined next to Rhyan’s, covered in worn black leather.
“Reach your arms up.” He stood back, one finger resting on his chin, his eyes studious, roaming up and down the length of my body. His lips pressed together as he stepped forward, pressing my shoulders down. “Relax.”
And just like that he was fully naked again in my mind, his hands on my shoulders. I mentally added in the details of his tattoo, the wing tips spreading across his shoulders and chest. The detail of the muscles, the flex of his arms. My dress dissolving beneath his touch. His body hard and straining against mine. My legs open, yearning for him to be inside of me.
I took a deep breath.
“Partner, that’s the opposite of relaxing.”
“Sorry.”
He increased the pressure, pushing down. “Right here. Good. Bend forward, hands to your toes.”
The backs of my legs screamed in pain. I had to bend my knees to reach.
“Your hamstrings are tight. Did you stop dancing?”
I started to stand, surprised he’d remembered I had dance training. But his hand on the small of my back held me in place, forcing me into a deeper stretch. “I’ve been busy,” I grunted. “No dance classes in prison.”
