Page 16 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
The goddess stood, her hair fiery red, her eyes hazel and clever, her—
That wasn’t Asherah. That was Lyr.
We lunged for her, clawed hands slicing through the necklace across her chest—no, no, it was armor.
No! Someone was crying. Me? Lyr? Both of us?
Lyr screamed in pain. It’s burning! I’m on fire.
We had to stop. We were hurting her. Me and Meera as this monster were hurting Lyr inside the vision. And Meera, possessed by her vorakh, was hurting her in real life.
“You remember who you are now,” we hissed, our voice gravelly, inhuman, male and female. Ancient. Powerful. Terrifying. A combination of too many voices at once—voices that should never have been mixed. Lyr’s eyes widened, true fear behind them. “But we’ve always known. We have tracked you for centuries, Goddess. And we’ve always been ready for your return. Our army is ready. And this time, you will fail.”
Both Lyrs cried out—the Lyr in the vision and the real Lyr here in Meera’s bedroom.
Lyr yelled out again. The Lyr in the room. She called out a name I couldn’t decipher. She was crying, pleading. Begging him to come. And, suddenly, there was another voice here with us, a male speaking low and urgently with a northern lilt….
I knew who it was. I’d heard his voice before. But I couldn’t recall his name or his face while trapped in the vision.
“Auriel won’t save you this time, Asherah,” we spat.
Our akadim hands ripped the armor from Lyr’s neck. She wore it inside the vision, too, along with a floor-length white dress, a low V cut down the center—her dress from Valyati.
The skin between her breasts burst into flames, and she screamed, stumbling back. We chased her forward, and the fire cleared, revealing a seven-pointed star on her skin. The Valalumir.
The Lyr in Meera’s vision looked down. There were two versions of her body now. One was standing and one was asleep, curled up by her bare feet.
The one on the ground was clutching a crystal in her arms. It was red against the flames and glowing, too bright to look at directly. The light was unlike anything I’d ever seen. My akadim claws rushed up to my face to cover my eyes. It was too much. I didn’t like it. The light hurt me.
I knew the crystal was a lost shard of the Valalumir.
The awake Lyr in the vision bent down to pick it up. I screamed. The crystal in her hand glowed brighter and brighter. Too much. Too much.
I tried to cover my eyes. Meera was screaming, the akadim we’d become was screaming. Pain seared through my head. My eyes were closed, and still I saw the light, still it set my eyes on fire.
I lost consciousness. I was no longer Meera. I was no longer Morgana. I was no longer….
Drool slid down my lips as I woke. My head was pounding and my arm and back sore as if I’d been hit. Lyr hovered over Meera’s bed, her cheeks streaked with tears. Her dark hair, wild from being pulled, stuck up in odd places around her diadem. Her apprentice and bodyguard, Rhyan—Rhyan, right, why couldn’t I remember his name before—was standing behind Lyr in his leather armor and green soturion cloak, his arms crossed over his chest. One eyebrow—the only eyebrow he seemed capable of moving—was narrowed. His aura was pulsing and seemed to wrap around Lyr from behind, like he was cloaking her in it. His gaze was full of such a heavy intensity and intimacy as he watched her, I wanted to look away, like I’d seen something private. More intimate even than when I read another’s mind.
“Meera?” I croaked, my voice hoarse from screaming.
I crawled to my feet, stumbling to the bed, my legs giving way before I made it. I clutched at her blankets, knees still buckling as I hauled myself to her side.
Blood streaked her face. Her nose bled.
Morgana? she thought. She was terrified, her entire body shaking. Did you see? Akadim?
I clutched her chin, pulling her face toward mine, trying to reassure her. “I know. I was there. I saw,” I breathed.
Her lips quivered, her gaze holding mine as more blood dripped, running over her pale pink lips. It’s never felt this intense before.
“Morgana.” Rhyan moved to my side of the bed. “Here, let me help you.” He extended a hand for me to grip.
I waved him off. “I got it.” I only wanted to get to my sister. To make sure she was all right. With a burst of energy, I pushed myself all the way onto the bed and crawled to lay beside her.
Meera’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Lyr was wiping the fresh bout of blood from her face. Behind her, a pile of dirty clothes was topped with a bloodied towel. Lyr’s arms were scratched up, and a trickle of blood ran down her elbow from the golden cuff she always wore. Within it was the log she kept of Meera’s visions.
She protected that thing with her life, though I honestly didn’t know what good keeping a record of every vision did aside from stress her out. Meera’s vorakh would, at some point in time, drive her mad, break her mind. No amount of recording times and dates or brewing oils was going to stop that from happening. Lyr wanted to save her as much as I did, but she was so focused on putting a bandage on top of the wound. Bandages bled through unless the cuts were sealed, the poison extracted, the infected limbs removed.
