Page 93 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
I stared back at him, knowing he’d walked by my side or behind me countless times. In another few seconds, I had his name. “Bellamy,” I said. “Your name is Bellamy?”
“Yes, your grace.” He lowered his chin.
I placed the gold coin, still in my hand, into his. I’d held onto it so tightly there was a light indentation in my palm.
“For your silence,” I said. “Please.” I outranked Tristan. I could overrule his orders, even to his own mages and escorts. But they still worked for Ka Grey and were expected to report anything they saw.
If Tristan knew about this, he’d overreact. He’d never let me out of his sight again. I could not allow him to get any closer to me than he was, especially not when I now had limited time with my sisters.
“Your grace,” Bellamy said simply. With a small nod, he pocketed the coin and held up his stave, releasing a white dome of light around me. “Are you all right?”
My heart pounded, and I hugged my arms around my chest. I’d accomplished nothing tonight. I’d learned nothing, and that had cost a man his life.
“I…just want to get back to Lord Tristan.” And order a very large glass of wine.
“Right away, your grace.”
A few moments later, we were back at the restaurant, and I slid into the empty seat by Tristan’s side. Flatbreads and bowls of various dips and salads peppered the table.
I unpinned Haleika’s cloak, carefully scanning it for any rips or stains.
Tristan gave me a careful look before handing me a menu. “Everything all right?” he asked. The question wasn’t for me; it was for Bellamy.
“Just fine,” I said. I held my breath as Bellamy resumed his position across the room, watching Tristan. He gave his lord a small nod that Tristan returned, looking satisfied. I exhaled, sure Bellamy would keep his word if he wanted to keep the extra coin flowing.
I tried to relax, to sink back into my chair, but I couldn’t. The whole thing grew more terrifying the more I thought about it. The vendor had had no malicious intent toward me. When he’d said he wasn’t a believer, he’d sounded sincere. He was simply an opportunist.
The look in his eyes…. I blinked the image away. I couldn’t think about it. Aemon had been right. I’d had threats against me my entire life, and I always would, as long as I retained my birthright. But the vendor…he’d been scared. And I had sought him out, it hadn’t been the other way around. I squeezed my eyes shut. What in Lumeria had I been thinking? That following him would lead me into the heart of the Emartis’s lair, and I’d just tell them to stop and then go back to Lady Romula and announce it was done so I could marry her grandson? And then what?
Gods.
I felt sick. I wanted to go home and crawl into bed, but if I didn’t eat, Tristan would know something was wrong. I did what I had to. I straightened my back. I fixed my face, donning the mask of Lady Lyriana, Heir to the Arkasva. Tristan didn’t question it—we were out in public. Even he wore some version of his public mask. I slid down the golden circlet holding the menu together and unrolled the parchment, scanning the available options. We ordered sample plates of every dish and wine, and I pretended to care about what my friends said, and not fume over the fact that Tristan’s own escort had been secretly on my detail. And he’d known.
I barely spoke the rest of the night and picked at my food. It was tasteless to me anyway. I couldn’t stop seeing the vendor’s lifeless eyes, and I couldn’t stop searching outside for signs of the Emartis, signs of the black-winged seraphim, or shouts ofShekar Arkasva. All I did see was Markan circling the perimeter, his hateful eyes on me through the restaurant’s window, and several rough-looking, silver-armored soturi from Ka Kormac taking position as the hour changed again.
Returning to my apartment, I left Tristan at the door with a quick kiss, retreated upstairs to my room, and fell immediately into a wine-induced, dreamless sleep.
The following day passed by in a blur: throwing up after the run, suffering through endless hours of lecture, and Rhyan’s nearly impossible training routine.
“Are you ready for clinic tonight?” he asked when the session ended.
I looked up in surprise from the pile of exhaustion my body had made on the floor. I’d curled my knees against my chest, and my cheek had been pressed helplessly against the floor as I caught my breath. Gently, I pushed myself up into a seat, a questioning look on my face. Aside from ordering me around, he’d barely said two words to me all day. He hadn’t even called me “partner.” In fact, that had been his longest sentence in hours.
“Sure,” I said. What was there to be ready for anyway? I just had to show up, watch the fight, and pretend I understood what I was looking at. “I’ll be fine.”
“Really?” he asked, his good eyebrow lifted.
“Don’t worry,” I said, shifting on the mat. I’d left a sweat stain in the shape of my body. “I promise to be the worst one out there as usual.”
“That’s not what I…,” he began to say, but I was already scrambling to my feet and gathering my things.
“See you tomorrow,” I said and pushed myself out the door.
I thought I could feel him staring after me, but I didn’t care. He couldn’t push me around all day, not speak to me, and make me feel awful about myself, then somehow expect me to wait around and chat, not when his behavior ran so hot and cold. I was already tired of predicting which version of Rhyan I was about to interact with.
Hours later, as the sky blackened into night, torches lit the open circle of the arena walls. It was a warm night, too early in the year for a chill, but I felt an icy numbness creep through me as I stepped through the doors.
There were three silver circles across the field, hovering off the ground. Bindings. Circles meant to trap each of the fighters in the clinic and limit their space. The silver color indicated they weren’t the same magic as the bindings used on Lumerians for arrests, the kind that could cut someone off from their source of power, the kind that had been used in Jules’s arrest, the kind Tristan had used on me.
