Page 10 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
You know? I thought.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, her nostrils flaring.
Why didn’t you tell me? she mouthed.
Be still, Morgs, I ordered. Control what they see.
Morgana closed her mouth, her bottom lip still quivering, her eyes searching the room with a kind of focus she only had when she was actively listening—reading minds, trying to learn more.
Arianna smiled widely and stepped forward, her arm extending out to beckon Meera to join her. Stumbling, Meera did, her body stilling as she endured Arianna’s tight embrace. The golden cuff on Arianna’s arm dug into Meera’s skin before Arianna leaned back just enough to press a kiss each to Meera’s cheeks. Her hand tightened around Meera’s, holding it like she was a prisoner. Bile rose in my throat.
“Do you accept this honor, Lady Arianna?” Eathan asked.
Arianna bowed her chin. “Lord Eathan.” She turned and curtseyed. “Lady Meera.” Rising, she adjusted her dress, her hands before her in supplication. “I always believed in my sister Lady Marianna’s knowledge, believed in her choice for successor. But I, too, am bound by Ka Batavia to protect Bamaria. I will hold it my sacred duty to take on the role of Arkasva and High Lady as my many ancestors did before me.”
“We honor you, Lady Arianna,” said Arkmage Kolaya. “As custom, a month will pass to allow for the smooth transition of power. Lord Eathan, Bamaria’s acting arkasva, will rule in the interim, making decisions he believes would have been made by our late High Lord. During that time, Lady Arianna will be preparing and making her arrangements and finding her own successor to be the Master of Education on the Council of Bamaria.”
Kolaya tapped her stave on the ground. The crystal atop flashed with light as Eathan stepped forward, his arms wide. Meera stood to one side as Arianna walked to the other.
“Lady Meera,” Kolaya said, her voice commanding and echoing through the room, “you shall still carry the title of Heir Apparent until the anointment of Lady Arianna, at which time you will step down as heir, and the line of succession will be redrawn.”
I swayed, feeling Morgana’s hand on the small of my back.
Meera wasn’t the only one losing her title as heir. Morgana and I were, too.
Eathan took Arianna’s hand and then Meera’s, holding them together before him so their wrists touched. Kolaya produced her blade and slid it quickly underneath their joined wrists. She held a small silver bowl beneath to catch the blood. The cut made, she waved her stave, and instantly, the two wounds were healed, leaving small red scars in their wake. With another wave of her stave, Kolaya floated the bowl in midair, guiding it above Arianna and Meera’s heads. Two droplets fell upon each of their heads.
As Kolaya stepped back, Eathan picked up my father’s laurel and held it over Meera’s head, where it was supposed to be, then moved it ceremoniously over Arianna’s.
I had one month until the laurel rested permanently on her head.
“I present your next Arkasva Batavia, High Lady of Bamaria.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath as I sank into a curtsey.
“It is done,” Eathan said. “I humbly wear the silver laurel, the color of the moon to show the cycle of my own reign. In one month, I shall pass the golden Laurel of the Arkasva, of the constant sun, onto Lady Arianna. May you rule for the rest of your days.”
“Thank you, Lord Eathan.” She retreated, neck craning as she observed her subjects.
Eathan’s expression hardened, as he once again took his seat, leaning back against the golden chair. He looked bone-weary and exhausted, but there was determination in his eyes. “I plan to use my time on the Seat to bring the Emartis to justice. The Shadow Stronghold has already been filled with these villains. But we know more of them are out there now. Each one must be found and brought to justice.”
The Imperator stalked forward. A small sneer crept across his lips, as he turned toward me. His eyes dipped down the length of my dress then rose back up, tracing my every curve.
He smoothed his cloak, black with a golden border. The markings gave him power and jurisdiction outside his country, and being nephew to the Emperor allowed him to abuse that power. “Lord Eathan, before you use the command afforded you by the silver laurel of a temporary arkasva,” he adjusted his own golden laurel, “I must address the Council.” Eyeing every noble in the room, his aura flared with predatory shadows. “I am happy to see our traditions honored and the will of Emperor Theotis obeyed. But, as Lady Meera said, this country faces crisis after crisis.
“We will maintain the formalities and rituals. But with so many threats against your country, I see no reason for Lady Arianna to delay taking her Seat.”
I stiffened. My understanding of why Aemon was missing, why the only soturi in here were loyal to the Imperator, came like a strike of lightning.
He was going to break protocol. He was going to use Arianna and claim even more power for himself tonight.
“Bamaria faces threats on their border from akadim, akadim who not only breeched your walls, but maimed, killed, and turned innocent citizens of Bamaria forsaken. No one is safe from their threat—not even the noble members of the Bamarian Council.”
I caught Tristan’s eye, a tear escaping. He turned away. Lady Romula’s hands shook with fury. It was a low blow—using their pain for his political machinations.
The Imperator’s feral eyes rested on this display of grief. He knew exactly what he’d just done. “The Emperor has ordered me to face this task head on, and I am more than ready,” he drawled. A few of the soturi in the room snickered at his play on words, which hinted he was a stronger warrior than Aemon, the Ready. I eyed the room again. Where was he? Why wasn’t he present for these proceedings?
Several of the nobles before us seemed to be thinking this as well, their own eyes wandering, their weight switching uneasily from foot to foot as whispers began to fly back and forth.
