Page 126 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
Too late, I saw it approaching, its fangs curving below its lips.
I dropped Meera and swiped my arm across my chest, covering it in blood by pushing down against my wounds to force out fresh drops. The akadim sniffed the air and growled as I held my hand forward, ready to strike it down.
It stopped too far away for me to reach it.
“Moriel will sort you out,” it said. “We leave at sunset for the Allurian Pass.”
Glemaria? The other fucking end of the Empire? I stepped forward, holding out my hand. “No, we don’t.”
The akadim snorted and pulled from its backside a rope with a loop already set. It threw the rope forward, and the hoop went over my head and fell down my body until the akadim tugged and tightened it around my waist.
It started marching, forcing me to walk along by tugging harder, tightening the rope until I could barely breathe.
We were back in my alcove.
“What about my sister?” I asked.
It shrugged. “Not worried.” With that, it lifted the end of the rope and looped it through a hook in the ceiling.
“NO!” I yelled, thinking of the other girl, the one who’d been tortured and turned forsaken. She’d be an akadim soon, once night fell.
Against my protests, the akadim pulled the rope through the hook until I was on my toes, the hold across my stomach so tight I thought I was going to split in half.
It tied off the end, and I was left semi-hanging in the alcove.
“Don’t do this,” I cried.
“Not touching you,” it said in disgust. Then, louder, it yelled, “No touching the black hair! She’s blood-cursed.”
Blood-cursed? Did it mean vorakh? Could it sense that?
“So’s my sister,” I said quickly. “She’s even more blood-cursed than me.”
“Shut up,” it snarled and stomped out of the room, leaving my body rocking from side to side as I tried to gain purchase on the floor.
But the rope was too high and too tight, and my stave was just out of reach.
Moments later, the grunting sounds returned, echoing down the hall and into my alcove. This time, they were accompanied by chanting.
“Moriel! Moriel! Moriel!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LYRIANA
“Morning, partner,” Rhyan said, his voice scratchy with sleep.
I was sitting on our bed, legs crossed, looking down as he opened his eyes. The fire was dwindling; I needed to put in a new log to keep it going for breakfast.
Rhyan lifted his arm and cupped my chin. “Did you sleep?” he asked.
“Barely.”
Gingerly, he pushed himself up to a seat, the blanket revealing the warm expanse of his chest and belly. A soft light, almost white from the frosted glass, filtered through the cracks in the curtains. Rhyan reached for my waist and pulled me onto his lap.
“But you’re—” I protested.
“Fine,” he said. “I feel fine. Thanks to you.” His arms tightened around me.
