Page 9 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Of course, we didn’t forget.” Morgana rolled her dark eyes and returned to comforting Meera. Her face softened, and I knew she felt bad for snapping at me. In truth, she and Meera had surprised me at breakfast with gifts and helped the cook prepare all my favorite foods. Morgana had even made my bed—well, she’d tried.
“If you insist on going without an escort like a stubborn idiot—well, it’s true—at least ride in a litter.” Her eyebrows narrowed, and a smirk spread across her lips. “Never mind.”
“Never mind what?” I glared. “Damn it, Morgana. Stop reading my mind!”
“You should have said you were going with Tristan. We all know that Lord Tristan Grey wouldn’t deign to walk the streets like a commoner.” Morgana snorted. “And of course, he’ll have his own legion of escorts. Just try not to start any riots before tonight.”
I slammed the door and retreated down the hall to my room to tend to my wounds and add some carefully curated cuffs to conceal my latest cuts and bruises. I styled my hair into large, long waves to cover my scratched-up back, slipped on a dress, and sent word to Tristan to meet me.
When it was time, I pulled on a black hooded cloak and rushed through the long winding halls of Cresthaven down the grand staircase into the Great Hall. It was already midday, and the sun shining through the stained-glass windows cast a thousand colors onto the white and gold marble floor. Intricately painted columns lined the Great Hall depicting the portraits and deeds of my ancestors, the Arkasvim who’d ruled for a thousand years.
I was just about to escape when I found Aunt Arianna. She wore an ocean blue gown that wrapped around one shoulder. The material was held together by golden seraphim wings, custom made in the style of our sigil.
“Lyriana, happy birthday.” Arianna pulled me into a hug, her arms tightening around my back before her deft fingers swept my hood away. A half smile crossed her lips. “Sneaking off?”
I steadied myself. “Of course not.”
She plucked at a fold of my cloak. “It feels like standing on the sun to be outside. And unless I’m mistaken on the newest fashion trends this summer, I’d say you were attempting to hide.” Her forefinger wrapped around a lock of my hair. In the sunlight it shined a bright, fiery red. She smiled and let my hair fall in a loose wave over my shoulder.
I readjusted the hood, causing the rest of my long hair to spill out. Inside or at night, its appearance barely garnered notice, but under the sun, my hair acted like a beacon, calling everyone’s attention to me. The color was like its own aura, announcing my presence.
“Darling, I know you resist the escorts, but they really do keep you safe. For me? Take at least one? It’s dangerous out there.” Arianna’s hands ran through my freed hair, her eyes thoughtful. “I’d swear I was a youth again looking at my sister. You do look so like Marianna,Ha Ka Mokan.”
“Her soul freed,” I said in a whisper.
I’d heard this a thousand times. Like my mother, I had fiery red hair, but only in the sun. Without it, my hair was a deep brown, almost as dark as Morgana’s. Beneath the sun, it was as red as a Batavia. I’d seen portraits of Arianna at my age. Her hair had also been bright red, and though she always told me I looked like my mother, I thought I looked almost identical to her as a girl.
Arianna inhaled; her expression steely. “Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” She chuckled. “I told your grandmother, her soul freed, the same thing. Worry not. Naria is also a wreck. I don’t think the poor child slept a wink last night.”
“Ha Ka Mokan,” I uttered quickly for my grandmother, then shrugged over Naria’s nerves. I loved Aunt Arianna, but I didn’t give one shit about how my cousin felt.
The doors to Cresthaven opened, flooding the Great Hall in light.
Soturion Euston and Soturion Rhodes, ever present at their post, stepped back to reveal His Highness, Imperator Avery Kormac, High Lord of Korteria, and his warlord, Arkturion Waryn Kormac—the Bastardmaker.
My breath caught, and my chest tightened; a feeling like a rope twisting too tightly around my belly put me off balance. Instantly, I was back in the temple two years before: the eternal flame hissing, its light flickering through a hundred different colors; the Imperator stepping onto Auriel’s Chamber, ordering Jules’s arrest; the Bastardmaker taking her away; Jules lying helplessly over his shoulder, his dirty hands on her body; her screams ringing in my ears.
A wave of water threatened to drag me beneath the surface and drown me before I blinked and saw I still stood in the Great Hall. The ceiling dipped…then righted itself. I sucked in a breath.
“Your highness, Imperator Kormac.” Arianna lowered her chin in respect.
His black eyes flicked to me, and with only a tiny stumble, I repeated the gesture.
He stepped forward, his black robes swirling behind his leather sandals. The borders of his robes were threaded with gold. Across his chest, his silver armor had been fashioned to look like a wolf’s pelt with the sigil of Ka Kormac—a snarling wolf—in the center.
The Bastardmaker stepped forward. His red arkturion cloak rustled around his waist where it had been skirted in pleats. The excess was draped over his shoulder beneath a wolf’s pelt hanging from his back. The wolf’s head was still attached with its mouth forever open, fangs exposed. The carcass stared lifelessly at the ceiling, jiggling grotesquely with every step the Bastardmaker took.
“Lady Arianna.” Imperator Kormac kissed my aunt’s hand, then turned and bowed to me. “Lady Lyriana Batavia, Heir to the Arkasva, High Lord of Bamaria. Your grace.”
“Your highness,” I managed. I felt myself shrinking from his attention but stood tall. I couldn’t let him intimidate me. Not in my own country, not in my own home. He was not Ka Batavia, even if the golden borders on his robes gave him jurisdiction here.
“Special birthday wishes are in order,” he said. “I’ve heard it’s either very lucky to be born on Auriel’s Feast Day, or most unfortunate. I hope it is the former for you.” He paused, looking me up and down. “Your grace, you will not mind my saying that you have really blossomed into a young woman.” His hands undulated in the air, tracing the lines of my curves.
I stepped back in disgust and swore I heard the Bastardmaker whisper, “Asherah.”
