Page 88 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
I lifted my glass. “Considering the volume of guests now entering the country, I suppose that’s a good thing.”
Aemon smirked. “I do have some concerns I’d like to discuss.” He turned toward Meera and held out a hand. “Will you dance with me, my lady?”
Meera elegantly nodded and stuck out her hand for Aemon to take. It was so like what would have happened without thought for the last few years if we hadn’t been cursed, but Father had rarely held such fancy dinners since Meera’s visions had started. Now, I could almost see what would have been—all of us regularly dressed up for parties, carefree, dancing with the nobles of Bamaria, not constantly hiding. Courting freely, openly who we wanted.
Noticing Arianna’s eyes narrowing as Aemon took Meera into his arms shattered the illusion at once. A pit formed in my stomach as reality returned. We’d been cursed. Our father had been murdered.
Dairen held out his hand to Morgana, and though she grimaced—no fonder of the Ready’s Second than I was—she accepted and stood, holding his hand as she walked out from behind the table with the folds of her dress shimmering beneath the torchlight.
That left me sitting alone, suddenly acutely aware of Naria’s icy glare and her hands crawling over Tristan’s shoulders and chest. She pointed her engagement ring toward me, the movement forcing her hand into an awkward position that startled him. Tristan’s eyes met mine, then immediately, he looked away. I reached for my wine, my arm prickling with goosebumps.
A shadow loomed over me as I swallowed and practically crashed my cup against the table.
“My lady,” said Imperator Hart.
I looked up. “Your highness.” I began to push back my chair so I might stand and curtsy, but he shook his head, clicking his tongue lightly.
“Stay,” he said, sitting informally on the edge of my table. “No need to bow. Up in the north, we don’t require such formalities.”
I willed my stomach to settle as his aura struck out at me. “How was your journey to Bamaria?”
“Cold. Unlike the last time.” He shrugged, his eyes narrowing down on me. His hand rested on the table before reaching for my wine glass, the rim of which his finger traced in slow circles. “I hear you and my…offspring have formed a kashonim.”
My throat went dry. “Upon our arkmage and arkturion’s assessment, yes,” I said, my eyes zeroing in on his sword hilt, on the red star—the key. It was so close, within an arm’s reach.
“Hmmm,” he said, sounding amused. “For your sake, I do hope he is doing his job.”
“He is, your highness. He’s an excellent teacher.”
“Is he now?” He picked up my goblet, his forefinger stained from the rim, and brought it to his nose. He swished the wine inside then sniffed it. “May I?”
“Of course,” I said, sitting straighter.
His eyes remained on me, as he tipped the glass back, his throat working as he swallowed all I hadn’t yet drunk. “Hmmm. I remember Bamarian wine from my last visit.” His lips lifted in amusement. “I am sorry about your father, of course,” he said, voice suddenly solemn. “Bar Ka Mokan.”
“His soul freed. I thank you, your highness.”
“Shame. Being arkasva….” He shook his head. “Not what it used to be.” His hand struck out across the table, grabbing hold of mine.
Only through years of training, of having been raised by Arianna to please disgusting, entitled noblemen, was I able to keep my fingers delicate against his.
Leaning forward, he added, “If I can do anything to help you, Lady Lyriana, please let me know.”
As he pressed his palm against mine, I willed myself not to pull away in disgust. All I could think about was breaking every one of his hateful fingers, every finger that had touched Rhyan in violence, that had hurt him. I wanted to shatter their bones and rip them from his hand one by one, slice them into little pieces that I’d shove down his throat.
“I am also sorry to hear,” he continued, “about the loss of your engagement. Or is it more accurate to say the loss of the engagement to become engaged?” He smirked again, and again, I found it odd that not once did his accent convey even the slightest hint of the northern lilt Rhyan and Sean favored. “News from the south sometimes reaches the north in a very slow manner.”
“Yes, I imagine with the whole Empire standing between us.”
“You must be in want of a new engagement, my lady. Perhaps one that includes…a ring this time?” He turned his head toward Tristan and back to me, the pad of his thumb tracing a line across my ring finger. “Mayhap, someone more mature?”
I shuddered. “First, I plan to grieve my father after my aunt Arianna is consecrated and then complete my studies. It will be years before I think of such things.”
“Wise,” he said. “I remember now, you’re a smart girl. My last visit, you gave a wonderful tour of the Great Library. You were so young, enthusiastic.”
“It’s one of Bamaria’s treasures,” I said carefully. “Offering a tour of the ancient scrolls is an honor.”
“I must admit, I did not pay so much attention to the scrolls as I did to you.”
