Page 6 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
Control what they think.
Leader of the Emartis. Traitor. Our new Arkasva. Bamaria’s High Lady.
My aunt Arianna.
I must control what she sees.
I tried to catch my breath. The golden doors of Cresthaven’s Seating Room loomed over me. This was the room where my mother had held court until the day she died. The room where my father had once ruled our Ka and country.
I’d survived the Emperor’s test and been granted clemency to continue training as a soturion to avoid exile. But the price had been Haleika. The price had been my friend—her life, her memory, her soul.
The price had been the life of my father, my High Lord and Arkasva.
He was dead. Murdered. Assassinated by terrorists, traitors, followers of the black seraphim—my aunt Arianna. Our new High Lady.
I clenched my fists at my sides, willing myself to remain calm, to breathe.
I wasn’t supposed to know Arianna was a traitor. I couldn’t let that knowledge slip. I may have survived the Emperor and the Imperator, even survived making a deal with the immortal Afeya, Mercurial, but Aunt Arianna held my life in her hands now. Aunt Arianna had to believe I had no idea that she was a traitor—a murderer. She had to believe with her whole heart that I still loved and adored and trusted her.
I had to control what she saw.
I rolled my shoulders back, held my chin up high, and centered the golden diadem across my forehead. The diadem, an emblem of my power and status as an Heir to the Arkasva, third in line to the Seat of Power, had been such a constant companion and accessory that I could adjust the piece with my eyes closed. I knew exactly how to pin it, had grooves in my scalp from years of wearing it in the same position.
But in that moment, the golden circle felt unnaturally cold against my skin, unlike the necklace—no, the armor, Asherah’s armor—I wore. The gold of the chest plate had warmed to my collarbone and shoulders. I’d acquired it from Ramia on my birthday at the end of summer, had owned it for months believing it to be an ancient piece of jewelry until tonight, when Mercurial had told me the truth.
You are not human. You are no one’s daughter. No one’s sister. No one’s friend. No one’s lover. No one’s slave. You are a goddess, made of the very essence of life itself. You are the sun, you are the moon, you are the stars. You are the water of the ocean, the dust of the Earth, the very air you breathe. And you…you are the fire.
I stumbled forward, my hands hitting the wall for balance as Mercurial’s words pounded in my head. He’d revealed a secret I’d never known or dared to suspect. He’d unlocked a memory I could barely grasp.
I was Asherah reborn, a goddess in mortal flesh.
The armor across my chest, the armor which had belonged to the Goddess Asherah—to me, a thousand years ago in my past life—shined beneath the torchlight above my head. Inside the seven-pointed Valalumir stars were red diamonds that held Asherah’s blood—my blood. Our blood.
The chest plate seemed to pulse against my body. My heartbeat vibrated with the light of Mercurial’s Valalumir—with a piece of the Afeya’s soul inside of me. A golden star branded on my chest completed the bargain.
Though I’d revealed nothing at my Revelation Ceremony, though the nahashim sent to test me had found no evidence of power, Mercurial had said I had magic and that there was a way for me to get it, to claim it, to make it mine.
I was going to need it in order to stand any chance at exposing Arianna, defeating her, and taking back the Seat of Power for my Ka, my family. It was the only way I’d have justice for my father, reclaim the Seat, and right the lines of Bamaria’s succession.
But I needed more answers, more guidance. And I needed allies. I didn’t know what to do or where to begin. I just knew I needed to survive this announcement and keep pretending I was ignorant of the truth long enough for Arianna to look the other way while I gathered my strength and formed a plan.
The front doors of Cresthaven opened at the end of the hall. The echoing sound was distant but clear.
My enemy approached.
Footsteps echoed, signaling the marching of the soturi, Aunt Arianna’s own personal sentries, who surrounded and guarded her. The clack of her shoes against the marble floor—the familiar, specific rhythm of her gait—grew louder. She was close.
I pushed open the door before me. The entire room silenced at once. Nobles of my father’s court crowded around the golden Seat of Power in black gowns and tunics, leathered boots shined to perfection for winter. They were all holding glasses of wine and staring at me with intrigue and concern.
At the opposite end of the room, standing away from the sea of prying nobles, were Morgana and Meera, both looking stoic and weak. My sisters, though they appeared to be ignored by the crowd, were being considered in sidelong, covert glances. No one ignored those wearing diadems, as no one could ignore those in line to the Seat.
I held up my chin and walked forward, the sensation of the eyes following me crawling up my spine. My skin tingled from the power of the auras swirling and rising with interest; the dark sadness from Tristan, the anger from Ka Grey, and the predatory surge of power from the Imperator all seemed to hit me at once.
I wouldn’t falter.
My back straight, I nodded once toward our acting arkasva, Eathan, my father’s Second, as I passed him. Shoulders tensing, I took my place beside my sisters, schooling my expression to appear noble, neutral.
“Lyr?” Morgana asked, pulling me closer. Her fingernails pierced my arm. “What’s wrong with you?”
