Page 8 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“I know, but….” She stared with wide eyes. “Lyr, did I hurt you?” Her voice sounded so small, like a child’s. It made me feel like I was the eldest sister.
Automatically I turned, shielding my bleeding arm from sight, and shook my head. I’d have to cover that with a bracelet. I’d created a collection of body jewelry to cover all manner of cuts and bruises. “No. No, you didn’t. I’m fine. How are you feeling? Do you want anything? Water? Tea?” I rummaged in a drawer and found a batch of moon oil I’d brewed. I’d discovered the recipe in an ancient scroll when researching treatment for visions. It eased the pain after episodes and miraculously didn’t require magic to make—otherwise I’d never have been able to do it. I held the oil up for her, wondering if I should add some to the tonic I had her taking each night, but she shook her head.
“No, not yet. Lyr, I….” Her eyes focused, and for a moment I thought she was about to tell me what she’d seen, to share her visions with me the way she used to.
But the door burst open, and Morgana spilled into the room. Her aura—darkness and shadow, thunder and lightning—swirled together with Meera’s energy. Morgana’s black hair was as unruly as Meera’s, and her skin looked nearly white. The black thrumming, pounding storm of Morgana’s aura pulsed as it had since her Revelation Ceremony when she’d revealed her own vorakh: mind reading. When Meera had visions, Morgana had no choice but to feel and experience them, too, doubling her suffering.
My fingers went to my wrist, tracing the two raised scars, the blood oaths. One for Meera’s vorakh. One for Morgana’s.
“Morgs.” Meera reached for Morgana, passing right over me. “It was horrible. I saw—”
“I know,” Morgana said. “I know. I saw it, too.”
I sat back, biting my lip, as my older sisters comforted each other, hugging and speaking in hushed whispers—sharing a secret I was not privy to. I knew they didn’t want to burden me further. I knew they wanted to protect me. But I was the one who pulled Meera back from her visions, not Morgana. I was the one washing her clothing, trimming her nails, brushing her hair, and overseeing her daily care as she weakened. I brewed her tea and tonics, made her moon oil, and tracked her episodes while Morgana lay in bed with the pounding headaches she’d had since that night.
I knew her own vorakh was debilitating; having every nearby person’s thoughts shouting in her mind drove her mad. But still. I was the one who flew constantly to Scholar’s Harbor, reading every scroll I could find on vorakh powers, praying to discover answers, to learn some piece of information to help. I’d even convinced the Scholars to allow me access to the restricted scrolls of the Great Library, traveling miles underground to read their sacred texts. I spent my days in the pyramids, buried beneath ancient scrolls written thousands of years ago in Lumeria Matavia that could only be viewed under glass. I became fluent in translating High Lumerian to read the old writings. I spent nights in the Museion, speaking to philosophers and inventors, trying to find more than just some tonics and oils to slow down the effects.
Instead of having fun as a young noble lady who had the right and gold to afford every delight of Bamarian culture and society, I was washing my sisters’ laundry while my boyfriend and friends danced and drank and laughed at parties.
My sisters could not protect me from the hardships. I was tired of them pretending they were doing so by keeping Meera’s visions from me.
“How do you feel?” Morgana brushed Meera’s hair behind her ears. “No, I know, it’s all right. What? No. No. Meer, stop. None of that matters. It will be all right. It will.” On and on went the one-sided conversation as Morgana read Meera’s mind, answering her questions before she could ask them out loud, comforting her in ways she needed but couldn’t express.
Meera used to confide in me. But since Morgana developed her vorakh a year ago, I was always on the outside. Though if I were being honest, I’d felt disconnected since Jules died. We’d been such a tight foursome, always together, always laughing and scheming…now…I was lost.
“Meera, no,” Morgana said. “No. We’re happy to take care of you.”
My hands balled into fists.We?
Morgana’s head snapped toward me, her nostrils flaring.
You’re not the victim, Lyr!I could almost hear Morgana, as if I were the mind-reader.
Morgana sneered. “Close enough. You missed a dirty word at the end.” She took Meera’s hand. “No, Meer. Don’t you think that. No. Lyr’s fine. She’s just being dramatic.”
Swallowing a growl, I chucked the bloodied towels into Meera’s overflowing hamper—feeling another twinge of guilt and anger. I should have emptied it for her. But it was my birthday. Auriel’s Feast Day. The day of my Revelation Ceremony.
I reached for another towel on the floor, but it flew up into the air on its own before I could grasp it. The towel floated, and landed softly in the hamper. Meera’s closet opened, and another blanket on a shelf too high for me to reach unfolded itself and flew to cover my sisters.
Fine. Just fine. If Morgana was going to be flying around towels and blankets, and Meera didn’t want to talk to me, then clearly, I was no longer needed.
“I’m going to the Feast Day Festival,” I announced. I had to get away from my sisters. Away from everything.
“Markan will be thrilled. He hates festivals, and all forms of enjoyment,” Morgana said, smoothly tucking her stave into her belt.
I looked away, trying to clear my mind, but Morgana caught on.
“You are bringing him, aren’t you?” she asked.
No! I want to be left alone.As soon as anyone spotted my father’s guard, they’d know there was an Heir amongst them. I didn’t need or want the extra attention; I’d have enough of it tonight. I just wanted to breathe. To feel normal. Maybe even to celebrate my birthday a little. I was sick of being fearful of every step I took. And I was definitely not letting Markan come. I’d never forgive him for drugging me and keeping me from going after Jules. I didn’t care if he’d been acting on my father’s orders or not.
“Lyr, Father said not to go today,” Morgana said.
I snorted. “Father says not to go every day.”
Morgana sighed. “Today is different. Everyone’s still focused on the attack. Tensions are high—”
When aren’t they?“The border incident was a week ago. But today—today’s my birthday. In case you forgot—”
