Page 86 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
When I reached the main entrance to my apartment building, I found another message from the Emartis, their black seraphim staring up at me in mockery of my Ka’s sigil.
Another scroll.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ITURNEDTOseeif Tristan’s escort had noticed. He kept a respectable distance behind me, too far to see the scroll with any manner of detail.
Trying to keep my voice steady, I croaked out, “I’m fine here. Good night.” My throat had gone completely dry.
“Your grace.” The escort bowed low, extinguishing the dome of light surrounding me. The tip of his stave glowed blue as he walked off into the night.
I tore the scroll into pieces, heart hammering as I opened the doors to the lounge. Parchment crunched beneath my feet. Scroll after scroll after scroll lay strewn across the floor, all bearing the mark of the black seraphim.
Had they done this to every apartment in Urtavia? Myself to Moriel. I needed to destroy every last letter before anyone woke up and noticed. There was an apprentice soturion on call for emergencies, but I didn’t want to bring anyone else into this. Not unless I knew I could trust them. I needed Aemon.
Quickly, I set to work, collecting each and every scroll until I’d made a giant pile in the center of the room. I lit the fireplace, feeding all of the traitorous letters inside. Except one. I tucked it into my belt and ventured back outside.
Aemon had a home inside the fortress of Cresthaven, but during the Academy’s school year, he resided in his townhouse not far from the Katurium.
I scooped up the hem of my dress, walking briskly over the waterway. Soturi stood on duty, still and alert in the shadows. Flashes of steel swords and golden armor glowed in the moonlight. No sign of silver. Ka Batavia was protecting the city tonight—a relief. A few of the soturi seemed startled to see me at first, but easily recognizing me, they bowed their heads in respect.
Aemon’s townhouse was far more peaceful looking than I’d have expected of the warlord, serene with perfectly trimmed moontrees canopying a wall of black obsidian that surrounded the property. Sentries in the golden armor of Ka Batavia walked the perimeter. Only one stood still before the wall’s entrance, his dark eyes narrowing.
“State your business,” he ordered.
“Lady Lyriana Batavia,” I said, stepping into the light. “Let Arkturion Aemon know I’m here.”
The sentry’s eyes widened. He looked me up and down, doing a double-take on my face and diadem, before bowing. “Apologies. We were not expecting you, your grace. Open the gates!”
The black obsidian doors glowed in the moonlight as they creaked open. I was greeted by another soturion before the townhouse doors. He gestured for me to enter, calling my name out as I did.
I’d never been inside Aemon’s townhouse before. I expected weapons everywhere, perhaps more obsidian or black-painted walls—something that marked him as the Ready, as Bamaria’s personal God of Death. But the décor was tranquil, peaceful. The walls had been painted a deep stone gray, and the rest of the room was full of dark, muted, calming colors. It was all very similar in tone to Morgana’s room. Torch-lamps protruded from the walls to offer light, but only half had been lit—perhaps because of the late hour.
I stepped into the center of the foyer. There was a rush of footsteps, sandals slapping against the marble floor, and then the red cloak of the Arkturion flashed before my eyes.
But it wasn’t Aemon who stood before me. It was the warlord of Ka Kormac. The Bastardmaker.
His black, beady eyes roamed over my body, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
I took a step back, nearly falling out the door. Where was Aemon?
Pushing my hand against my hip so hard I was sure it would bruise, I took a deep breath. I had to do anything to keep myself grounded and here in the present, to keep myself from panicking at the sight of him.
“Lady Asherah,” he said. “Rather late to be visiting your Arkturion.” His eyes flicked behind me. “Alone without an escort. And in such revealing fashion.”
“Soturi-in-training do not require escorts.” My heart pounded. “What are you doing in his home at this hour?” I demanded.
The Imperator stepped into the foyer, the golden border of his black robes shining under the firelight, showing off his power in my country, over my own father, and now, apparently, permission to be in our warlord’s home after hours. “Quite late for her grace to be out on her own dressed as such.”
The Bastardmaker grinned. “Wouldn’t want any rumors to start now.”
I barely remembered to dip my chin, making the smallest of curtsies, before I stood tall, daring myself to make eye contact. “I have business here.”
The Imperator’s eyes narrowed to thin slits as he clucked his tongue. “Lady Lyriana might have business here at such an hour, butSoturionLyriana, who didn’t know the first rule of being a soldier, ought to be in bed, not demanding audiences with men who outrank her. You look very well for someone who just entered their first combat clinic.”
My heart pounded. “Thank you,” I said.
He stepped forward. Gods. Did he know I’d skipped?
