Page 160 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
Five days passed since Vrukshire. Despite my anxiety about losing a day of travel to Glemaria, neither me nor Rhyan could get out of bed the following day. My leg was cut up from Brockton, and Rhyan had truly depleted himself by traveling. Even if we’d wanted to, neither of us were physically capable of moving. I’d learned a few more details about Rhyan’s day in his waking moments. How he hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. Hadn’t allowed his power to restore because he’d been tracking the hours since I’d been gone. Speaking my name softly into the vadati every quarter hour to keep the connection alive. He’d been waiting for clues. He knew I was in Korteria. But he needed an exact location, and he’d needed time to get back to the country.
The extra sleep had been welcome. And we’d both been so deeply tired, neither of us had dreamed. Rhyan woke from time to time to go out for food, making sure I ate, and changing the bandage on my leg. But that was it. We didn’t talk beyond that. Didn’t do anything, but hide beneath the blankets.
And then we set out the following morning after dawn. We were both quiet. Not discussing what had happened, not mentioning all that we’d shared with each other. Rhyan hadn’t suggested running while my leg healed, but I was able to walk on it. And while his energy was returning, he still didn’t seem like himself. We were both moving slowly, tiring more quickly, sleeping later, sitting down more often.
Our days were spent walking in silence, huddling together against the wind and the cold and the occasional flurries of snow, making only small jumps into secluded areas.
My feet were aching and numb with cold by the time we reached Numeria, Lumeria’s capitol, home of the Emperor. Brockton’s great uncle. When we did get close to civilization, we heard the same story Rhyan had. Brockton was a hero, chasing down his friends who’d left the akadim to hide. Only to be betrayed.
Rhyan kept our compass pointed east, allowing us to reach the trijunction of Numeria with Damara and Aravia. The tight eastern borders meant we wouldn’t have to spend the night in the capitol. I’d always been curious to see it in person. But now, it was the last place I wanted to go to and I was happy to stick to the trees.
Once we reached Aravia, we were officially in the northern half of the Empire, in the countries ruled under Rhyan’s father. Rhyan no longer had allies or inns he was willing to trust, even if he checked in alone and disguised. The odds of someone recognizing him were too risky.
We spent our first night officially camping at the mouth of a cave he was familiar with. He’d spent weeks living in it when he’d first left Glemaria. Through the night, we took turns staying awake, resting our heads in each other’s laps for warmth, sharing one cloak as bedding and the other as a blanket.
In the morning, Rhyan traveled to the nearest town to buy us breakfast and coffee. He even stopped to pick up spices—which he still insisted on keeping hidden from me—to turn our cups into Secrets of the North. It was a small thing, but it gave me my first genuine smile since Vrukshire. I had been missing it.
While he’d sorted out our meals, I’d poured over the notes I’d been sent along with my mother’s journal. I’d read it again and again the night before by the torchlight, trying to memorize her words, understand what I needed to do, find new meaning in what had been engraved into the stone.
We unlock for blood, soul, and key. Power is restored, with these three.
I’d probably read the passage of my mother’s visit to the seraphim statue at least a dozen times.
Rhyan sat across from me in the cave and bit into a hardboiled egg. I still had the journal out along with the key from Rhyan’s father and Asherah’s chest plate. The diamonds in the star centers of the armor were all fiery red—even the ones that had been smashed and restored.
“The only thing I’m worried about,” I said, picking up the key, “is the soul part. The key is obvious—it fits in the carving my mother described. And your father basically confirmed as much. But do I need to somehow give part of my soul? Or is it enough that I contain it—hold part of Asherah inside me?”
“I’m still not used to you being a goddess. I mean,” Rhyan lifted his good eyebrow, “I always thought you were a goddess. Metaphorically. But a literal one? That’s different.” He bit his lip, something playful in his expression. “I should really add that to my resume. Bodyguard with experience protecting heirs to the arkasva and an ancient goddess.”
“One would think only a god could protect a goddess,” I teased.
“Partner.” His lips quirked. “Are you calling me a god?”
“Maybe. If you were, which one would you be?”
“Rhyan, God of Bodyguarding.” He puffed out his chest, exaggerating his accent.
I giggled. “Not Auriel?”
His face fell, and his eyes returned to studying the text before me. Coughing a little, he said, “I think you being the reincarnation of Asherah is enough to fulfill the soul part—you use the key, and you can open the seraphim.”
I returned to studying the items, wishing I hadn’t said anything about Auriel, Asherah’s soulmate, her mekarim—two bodies that were one. Ramia had hinted other gods were present, reincarnated now. Even Moriel could have returned.
Had Auriel? The thought simultaneously made my heart pound, and my stomach twist. Would I feel anything if I met him? Would I even want to? I guessed Rhyan was worrying over the same thing.
“What about the blood?” I asked, trying to lessen the tension. “Is it enough that it’s running through my veins? Or do you think I need to spill it?”
Rhyan’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t want you spilling blood unnecessarily. We’ll try the key first. Then we’ll go from there.” He gestured at the chest plate. “The stars also contain her blood. Maybe we just need to smash one.” He bit his lip. “The writer of the note didn’t offer any further instruction. But he expects you to provide the goods. So, I’m guessing we’ll be able to figure it out—unless it’s all a trap.”
That was still a possibility, but too many coincidences made me feel certain that the clues would add up to what the note described. They had to.
Still, I hadn’t missed the moments Rhyan had gone quiet since we’d left Bamaria, his face drawn like he was deep in thought. I knew what he was doing—planning. If this was just a trap, he wouldn’t hesitate this time to grab me and take me as far from the danger as he could. Out of the Empire.
But we couldn’t do that without my sisters, so all of our stores of power had to be contained. No unnecessary traveling over long distances, and no calling on kashonim. Not unless it was life and death.
Rhyan packed up our things and put out the fire. We began our daily hike, moving through the wilds of Aravia, mainly dense patches of moon trees whose leaves glittered with silver and dripped with melting snow. Thanks to Rhyan’s navigation, Aravia was the final country we had to pass through to reach the Glemarian border. We were bypassing Eretzia and Sindhuvine, both west of Aravia and full of forests, which made them top hunting grounds for akadim. And more and more often, we were seeing evidence of their existence. Torn clothing left in the middle of the woods. Small trails of blood. Abandoned camp sites full of raggedy cloths, and trophies the akadim had taken from their victims. Soturion armor, mainly northern leathers. Some silver jewelry.
I was trying my best not to think about it. Not think about who those things belonged to. What had happened to them. Or if they were akadim now.
