Page 82 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“You don’t look fine. You’re two seconds away from smashing that glass with your grip.” Tristan took the goblet from my hand and floated it into the other room. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “I’m sorry. She meant and means nothing to me. You know that. The others who came before you…that’s all they were. Before. I’ve only ever loved you.”
He kissed my cheek, softly, sweetly. Like he meant it. But if he knew about Meera and Morgana, knew the secrets inside my golden arm cuff and beneath my tattoos, he’d call for their deaths like he’d called for Jules’s. His love for me…it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
I would never be enough.
I blinked back tears. “You’re right. I’m overreacting.”
After another kiss, I let him take my hand and lead me back to the party just as everyone retired to the dining room.
The first topics of conversation were stilted and silly enough, full of weather and gossip amongst the nobility in Bamaria—who was speaking to whom and who was not, and which Ka was currently in favor. I was already exhausted and sore from training, and the inane dinner discussions made me want to scream. If only Arianna and Naria weren’t here, I could focus the conversation where I needed it—on my engagement to Tristan. I’d also be less focused on how much I wanted to rip Naria’s head off.
“I do find it odd now that Arkasva Batavia has allowed the presence of a forsworn,” said Lord Trajan.
Tristan snorted. “I’ve had several run-ins with him. He’s the worst kind of criminal.”
I straightened, not liking where this was going.
Lady Romula grimaced. “It’s a sign that things are making a turn for the worse. But, your grace, isn’t he the apprentice assigned to you?” She smacked her dry lips in further disapproval. “You should have been attached to the most noble apprentice available. It’s only proper for one of your station. One must wonder what your father intends.”
“His grace is doing all he can for the good of Bamaria,” Arianna said quickly. “And I have seen the young man fight. You wouldn’t call him forsworn if you saw his bound five.”
“I was not aware the opposite of criminal was warrior,” Lady Romula said. “So he’s good in a brawl. Bravo! How does that make him less forsworn? You know what they say. He killed an innocent boy in training with his bare hands. Killed his own mother in one of his rages. He’s unstable, I hear, completely unable to control his aura or temper. His father is Imperator—second in power to the Emperor in all of the North. If there was a shred of innocence in that boy, he would not be hiding on the other end of the Empire. Either Imperator Hart could not legally absolve him, or he could not pay for it—both suggest serious wrong-doing. I don’t like it.”
“I can’t speak to his accusations, but he was vouched for. And the boy did kill an akadim,” Arianna said. “Plus, the Ready is keeping an eye on him. And Lyr.” She smiled and gave me a wink.
“That shouldn’t be on Lyr to do,” Tristan said.
“Of course not. The entire situation is beneath her station.” Lady Romula sniffed. “Blood ties with a criminal. His filthy blood now runs through your veins. And you’re now cursed to pass it onto any future children you might have.”
Tristan’s children, she meant. Her great-grandchildren. She already saw them as tainted.
“Tristan,” I said, desperate for a new conversation, “tell us about the Mage Academy.”
Naria’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, exposing a rather large amount of cleavage considering the setting and resting her breasts on the table. Was she serious? With me there? And Lady Romula? “How was your first day of classes? For me, my apprentice started with the toughest training protocol there is, but I was able to move through it with ease. How’s your novice, Tristan?”
“It was fine,” Tristan said, looking away. His eyes found mine.
Naria turned her gaze pointedly at me, realizing I was the cause of his silence. “Your grace,” she said, her voice too loud for the dinner table, “it was lucky you avoided being whipped today. Isn’t it?”
“Whipped!” yelled Lady Romula. Her eyes widened in horror, her mouth hanging open.
Silverware clattered to the table as everyone turned to stare at me.
Tristan’s knuckles whitened. “Did they touch you?”
“No!” I shouted.
“Animals are whipped,” Lady Romula said gravely, covering her eyes. “The soturi have always been so barbaric!”
“Mages aren’t much better,” Tristan snapped. “We use our staves to punish, inflicting burn marks for misuse of magic.”
“And how many mages were burned today?” Lady Romula asked. “None, I suspect. While soturi beat each other on the daily.”
Aunt Arianna turned on Naria, grabbing her arm, her fingers pressing into her skin. “This is not appropriate dinner conversation, my dear.”
Naria shrugged out of her mother’s grip. “I was just asking because I was concerned.”
“I was not whipped,” I said, wanting the subject dropped. I tried to wear the calm, powerful expression of an Heir to the Arkasva. “We can’t say the same for Lady Pavi Elys.”
