Page 7 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Now say it,” he commanded. “Swear it.”
“Ani dhara me sha el lyrotz,” I said, voice trembling. An old magic lived in those words. One that would hold me. One that would punish me if I ever proved untrue.
I give you my oath in blood.
I closed my eyes as the magic sank into my wrist, the cut bleeding out onto my dress. Every drop felt like a death sentence. It was a trade. By swearing to this, by moving forward, I was forsaking Jules. I would never see her again. And in exchange, I got to keep my sister.
We four keep this secret.
I staunched the wound and closed my eyes.
We four die by this secret.
THE SECOND SCROLL:
THE BLACK SERAPHIM
CHAPTER TWO
(TWOYEARSLATER)
Meera’s ashen hair was wild, flying in every direction across her face. A single hazel eye peeked out. She lunged with a hiss; her jagged nails spiked like claws. I cried out as she reached my wrist, the pain burning. There were two scars there now, two blood oaths concealed beneath a tattoo.
One year ago, Morgana had turned nineteen and participated in her Revelation Ceremony. That night had also been unkind.
“Meera. Meera! Wake up. Stop it, it’s me. It’s Lyr.” I wrestled her to the floor, aiming to fall on a pile of pillows. My legs pinned hers down. Her hips bucked, throwing me off. I flew backwards and landed hard on my back. Before I could scramble away, she pounced on me, imbued with a frightening strength. The visions came with their own power, giving her the force of a soturion.
She scratched her nails down my back, drawing blood, and I cursed, less from the pain and more at myself for neglecting to file them for her. She hadn’t been like this her first year of vorakh. It had been rough, but she’d still taken basic care of herself. In the last few months, something had changed. Her episodes lasted longer, they were more violent, and she was barely sleeping or bathing. Lately, she’d only been presentable in public thanks to me. I’d taken over her grooming and styling. But I’d been so distracted worrying over my pending Revelation Ceremony, I’d forgotten her nails needed a trim.
Sucking in a breath, I used what remained of my strength to roll her onto her back, straddling her waist and pinning down her hands before she could hit me. She was thin and frail in appearance, but her visions came with a warrior’s strength I could barely match.
She thrashed beneath me, and blood spurted from her nose as a scream ripped through her. A bright light shined around her aura, blinding, and a feeling like glass shattering and exploding into a thousand sharpened shards blew back at me. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing white, as she smashed her skull on the floor.
“By the Gods!” I grabbed her head before she could hurt herself further. “Meera? Meera!”
Her eyes closed, and she stilled, seemingly asleep. A minute passed before she woke, her eyes pale and empty, staring right through me like I wasn’t there. At last, when her eyes focused, tears welled, rolling down her cheeks.
I sat back on my knees, quelling a violent shudder in my chest. The sense of relief that came when her visions ended weighed down on me more each time. “You’re all right?”
Meera drew in her bony knees. Her tears mixed with the blood from her nose. I smoothed her hair back and drew her blanket up. She clutched it, pulling it over her shoulders, shivering. The coldness in her aura struck out, reaching for me, until I froze and burned with its strength. I retrieved a second blanket and rubbed my arms for warmth. The day was hot enough to melt the makeup off my face, but visions left her and anyone nearby as cold as ice.
Quickly, before she noticed, I hunched over her desk and jotted down the length, symptoms, and intensity of the vision on a scrap of parchment I always kept on me. I eyed the previous log times. It wasn’t her longest vision, which was a relief. But it was her most intense. Her nose had never bled this much before. Maybe I needed to rethink the tea I’d been making her. It had improved her symptoms for a time, but now….
“Lyr? What are you…?”
I rolled up the parchment and tucked it inside my cuff. Shaped into the golden feathers of the seraphim bird, the bracelet held Meera’s secrets and never left my bicep.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I opened her wardrobe in search of socks.
She shook her head.
Her closet was nearly empty. I reminded myself to do another wash of her clothing that weekend. The morning after we’d sworn, Father had removed all the upstairs staff. Only the soturi, instructed to remain on the first level, and our cooks stayed. We had to do our own laundry, cleaning, baths, hair—an unheard-of list of chores for ladies of our station. To compensate, appear normal, and be sure we always remained above suspicion, I’d become an expert in everything. Sewing, haircutting, dressing, cleaning—I did it all, and I did it perfectly. I had to. One misstep, one bad hairstyle, one ill-fitting dress, and we could have the whole country gossiping and looking for answers to questions we couldn’t afford to be asked.
I dug through towels and pajamas before finding a woolly pair hiding in a corner. A quick sniff confirmed the socks were clean. I slipped them over her feet before dampening a towel at the sink basin and gently mopping up the blood on her arms and face.
Meera inhaled, trying to sit up. “Lyr, I’m…I’m sorry.” She flinched as the towel hit a fresh cut and hissed through clenched teeth.
I tossed the towel into an overflowing hamper then pulled the blankets over her shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”
