Page 72 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
“My lady,” Zenoya said coyly. “Where is who?”
“Ramia,” I snarled. “Where is Ramia?”
Nearly every time I’d been to the library these past few months, she’d been waiting for me, teasing me with a clue or some scroll I needed but couldn’t have or couldn’t read. But for the last week, I’d been sitting here like fresh bait with Mercurial’s Valalumir inside me, and she hadn’t appeared once.
“Her office,” she said.
“Where is her office?”
Zenoya stretched her neck from side to side, undulating like a snake about to bite, her eyes watching me like a viper’s. Blinking slowly, she said, “She’s been away, now she’s catching up on work, and she does not want to be disturbed.”
“You realize whom you are speaking to?” I demanded.
“A former Heir to the Arkasva?”
“A lady of Ka Batavia,” I hissed. “Heir or no, I still belong to the Ka who rules over you, still carry the blood of the arkasvim in my veins.”
“Good.” Zenoya smirked. “I hate to see a woman downplay herself.”
I was going to punch her. The last thing I needed were Afeyan mind games in which she tried to convince me her cruelty and dismissiveness were favors. She was just getting on my nerves now.
“Ramia’s office? Where is it?”
“Second floor,” Zenoya said then sank back onto her chaise and unraveled a scroll she had chained to her waist.
I turned back, signaling to Markan to wait, and marched through the main doors without a light.
My feet seemed to carry me on their own, running as if suddenly remembering what they’d done every day for months. I climbed the stairs and raced through the stacks until I found her door. I burst through it and found Ramia lounging on her own red chaise, twirling an aging scroll in her hand.
“My lady,” she said, startled. “You come. For once I was not expecting, I have no scroll pulled for you. But I do have new jewelry.” I slammed the door behind me, marched straight for her, and pushed her shoulders back against the armrest. “What do you know?”
“My lady? Know?” She tilted her head to the side. “Know what? I know many things. What you want to ask?”
“My contract with Mercurial,” I said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have a hand in it, don’t pretend you don’t know about this. It’s not behaving normally. Why?”
Ramia’s lips tightened. “That I do not speak of. Contract between you and him. You want answer? You ask him.”
“And where is he?” I asked.
She snarled, “I do not know. For once, I cannot find him.”
I searched her eyes for some semblance of the truth. “What do you mean, you can’t find him?”
“I mean what I say. He missing.” She lifted her chin, her eyebrows narrowed and defiant, her lips pursed together. “I could ask you same question.”
I stepped back. Ramia had revealed so little to me of her relationship with Mercurial over the years that this felt like a huge piece of information. She’d never told me how often they spoke or saw each other—she’d barely admitted she knew him, and now she was openly admitting she couldn’t find him.
“How do you know he is missing?” I asked. “Was he supposed to meet you?”
Her eyes searched mine. “He was. And he not show. The First Messenger is many things, but he is Afeya of his word. He say he come, he come.” She shrugged. “He say he come, he not…something wrong.”
I’d found it so odd he’d been silent on my end, too. Had something gone wrong with whoever he’d left me to go see?
“Are you sure?” My heart was sinking. Something felt wrong to me. And yet, no person or Lumerian could overpower or compel him. He was immortal.
“You his focus now,” she said. “When Afeya have focus, they not relent. He missing? Bad. For everyone.” And for the first time in the years I’d known Ramia, she was showing real signs of emotion. She’d dropped her persona, her jewelry-seller façade. She was genuinely worried.
“Did his queen call him back?” I asked, sure there was some explanation. “Or could he be at one of the other courts?”
