Page 55 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
“My lady?” asked a guard. “Are you unwell?”
Morgana spun around. “My lady!” she scoffed. “I guess that is my fucking title now. And no, I’m not. My father was murdered. Any other stupid questions?”
“Lady Morgana,” Markan warned.
“Soturion Markan?” Morgana stepped forward, pressing a finger against his golden armor. “I may have lost my station, but you’re just a poor soturion born beneath the dregs of Urtavia.”
Markan stilled.
“I still outrank you. No more questions.” She backed up, eyeing our entire team of escorts. “From any of you. I’m here to read, and I need quiet to do so. I want silence.”
I took her arm in mine, leading her down the path to the three pyramids looming before us. My last few visits had been in the smallest pyramid, the one that housed all of the scrolls on ancient Lumeria written in High Lumerian.
Today, we were going to the middle pyramid, larger and newer. It housed all of the scrolls on Afeya—their history, their writings. If I was going to find answers about the Valalumir in my chest and why it kept burning me, this was the place.
Two soturi stood guard. I hadn’t been to this library in quite some time, preferring the collection under Nabula’s care in the smallest pyramid. But the soturi recognized me at once, uncrossed their swords, and stepped aside for us to enter.
The entrance was full of Valalumir stars hanging from the sloped ceiling. Each one was carved from amethyst and alight. Zenoya, the head librarian who was also half-Afeya, lounged on a black velvet chaise surrounded by piles of scrolls laying at the feet of her chair. She lazily pointed her stave to a floating pair of golden seraphim wings, which flapped back and forth, fanning her as she read. The violet light from the amethyst stars shined against her tanned skin and vanished as the shadows of the wings fell upon her.
“Ah, your graces, yes?” Zenoya lifted her head from her scroll, letting the parchment roll up and drop to the floor with the others. She tucked in her stave, the seraphim feathers stilling, as she rose from her chaise, revealing a matching black velvet dress. “Welcome. It has been some time.”
She spoke with a light accent, reminiscent of Ramia’s though not as pronounced. Zenoya had been born in Bamaria from what I’d gathered, though she’d spent many years in the Courts and kept to herself in the library. Ramia had been raised primarily in the Afeyan Courts until a decade ago. The question I should have asked a long time ago ran through my mind. Why had Ramia come here?
For me.
The answer came instantly. Ramia was here for me under the orders of Mercurial.
I stepped forward. “It has been a while, Zenoya,” I said. “And it is just ‘my lady’ now.”
She lifted a dark eyebrow, her lips pouting, and then she shrugged.
“It has been some time, my ladies.” She nodded at the escort behind us. “Gentleman. What can I do for you today?”
I eyed Morgana. They can’t know. I was trying to think of some lie about what we wanted to read when Markan groaned in annoyance.
“How long will our ladies be?” he asked, leaning against a wall and drumming his fingers against his belt buckle.
“Their lives were threatened days ago. And you think you can lean against a wall?” growled Jace. Morgana’s personal escort, who had been with her for two years was the youngest on any of our teams—with the exception of Rhyan. Jace had this incredibly deep voice that brimmed with power. He was tall and thin, but his lean body was deceiving. I’d seen him knock a soturion twice his size to the ground with a single slap.
“You’re new,” Markan drawled. “I’ve accompanied the lady here hundreds of times. They call it a library, but it’s more like a tomb. No one’s here. No one gets in but through these doors. The perimeter’s been checked. You want to go read? Go. I’m staying right here.”
The rest of the escort with us looked ready to find a seat on the long benches lining the entrance hall. One of Morgana’s escorts had his eyes on Zenoya. But Jace stepped forward, looking determined to stay by our side.
He can’t. He’ll see Rhyan.
Morgana pushed out her bottom lip, walking back to Jace. “We won’t be far,” she said in a seductive tone I’d never heard her use before. “Markan’s right. Plus, we have soturi outside. You can come, but I worry that you’ll be completely bored.”
Jace gripped the leather strap across his armor. “I won’t be.”
Morgana smiled. “Lies. I’ll tell you everything I read on the flight home if you’re that interested.”
Frowning, Jace looked ready to push the issue but said, “I’ll wait for you, my lady. But not out here. I’ll be inside the main doors.”
I nodded at Morgana. Good enough.
“Thank the Gods,” droned Markan. “If we’re cut down, Jace is our last defense.”
“Hmmm,” Zenoya hummed. “I see now I must find some ways to entertain you all.” She turned to me and Morgana and snapped her fingers. “Come. We’ll get you set up with some reading material.”
