Page 9 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
I closed my eyes, knowing what came next: the announcement. Once spoken, this could not be undone.
Not until I claimed my magic.
“Lady Meera Batavia, Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, High Lord of Bamaria,” Eathan said. “Please join me at the Seat.”
Meera stepped forward as Arkmage Kolaya emerged from the crowd. Her thick white braids fell down her back, and her white robes trailed on the floor behind her. The scent of incense clung to her as she came forward and steadied her stave of twisted moon and sun tree branches on the ground, the crystal on its top alight with color.
“Lady Meera Batavia,” she said, her voice deep and ancient. She tapped her stave against the floor, the sound echoing through the silent room. Her stave’s crystal glowed, flashing red, orange, yellow, and every other color of the rainbow until it settled at last on Batavia red. The light blinked out and then shined Batavia red again and again.
It felt like a warning.
There was a final flash, and the light dimmed to black, glowing bright as obsidian. It seemed to cast a black shadow across the room.
Arkmage Kolaya’s eyes focused on Meera. She leaned forward as she asked, “Are you prepared to wear the Laurel of the Arkasva and fulfill your sacred duty?”
Meera wrung her hands together then rolled her shoulders back. Her chin lifted high as the trembling of her lips stilled. “No.”
Though I knew that nearly everyone in the room was aware of what her answer would be after the earlier Council meeting, the reality of her words still seemed to come as a shock, and a stilled hush fell over the room as it became even quieter.
The succession everyone had planned for and believed to be coming for the past twenty-one years was finally coming to its end.
A small smile played on Arianna’s face, anticipation brimming against the power of her aura. It was subtle and tempered with feelings of weighted sadness, but I felt it, and it only confirmed what I knew.
The blade of my dagger felt heavy against the leather holster strapped to my thigh. My hand itched to push aside my dress, slide around the hilt, grab it, and slice it through Arianna’s heart.
I seethed, trying to stay focused, to remain calm. But my heart was pounding with the knowledge that my father’s murderer stood merely an arm’s reach away. After months of training with Rhyan, I knew exactly where to stab her, what amount of pressure to use. In less than a minute, I could bring my father justice.
But to what end? A dozen soturi stood between me and my escape. I’d be caught before she closed her eyes.
I took a deep breath, wringing my hands in front of me. It took all my willpower to still myself. To remember I couldn’t act without a plan.
Without my magic.
Meera coughed, clearing her throat—she looked too frail to go on, too upset to make the speech she’d prepared. But as Heir Apparent, she had to announce her replacement.
“I’ve spent my life preparing to be your High Lady.” Meera’s delicate voice shook; she was barely holding back her emotions. “But in these times of troubles and political…political….” A tear rolled down her cheek. “In these times—” Her voice caught, and then the tears were falling without abandon. Her hand, holding the small scroll with her carefully prepared speech, fell to her side.
I started forward, ready to grab Meera, pull her back from the crowd, and hide her from the disapproving, judgmental eyes of the Bamarian nobility. But Morgana beat me to it. There was a furious determination in her eyes as she grabbed Meera’s speech from her.
A dark shadow cast itself over the Seating Room as Morgana turned to face our audience, her eyes daring anyone to challenge her for stepping forward. “I’ll speak.”
Meera’s face reddened with anger. The moment she’d told us she’d abdicated, Morgana had screamed at her—denouncing her decision even though we’d all known none of us were capable of becoming arkasva, not yet, at least. Morgana and Meera’s relationship still felt strained, but Meera gave a small nod and took a step back.
I held my breath, my skin crawling with fear. Morgana never made public speeches—not since her vorakh. She was easily distracted in large groups, sometimes too loud, sometimes saying the wrong thing because of what she’d heard. One misstep, and Morgana could give us all away.
She unrolled Meera’s parchment and began to read. “In these times of troubles and political unrest, of domestic terrorists rising in our country and attacking our leaders, and of akadim breeching our borders,” Morgana paused, swaying on the spot.
I fisted the folds of my gown. Come on, Morgs.
Morgana coughed, clearing her throat, her back straightening as her eyes ran across the parchment. She rerolled it and stared out at the Council. “Lady Meera must do what is best for our people. She’s putting Bamaria before her own ego and desires. Though she sacrificed and prepared her entire life to become your High Lady, she doesn’t believe she’s what you need now.”
Meera leaned toward me, her shoulders shaking with silenced sobs as she tried to remain composed. I placed a steadying hand on her back. She had no idea she’d handed our country over to Father’s murderer and given Bamaria to our traitors in a giant bow. It was probably better this way, that she didn’t know yet. I’d tell her after, and we’d plan.
“Bamaria needs strong leadership, someone who can tackle these crises head on, someone who already has years of experience.” Morgana paused, and a wave of silence swept across the room. “Lady Meera Batavia, Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, officially abdicates to our aunt, Lady Arianna Batavia.”
My mind flashed again to what I’d seen outside: Aunt Arianna’s bared arm. Her black seraphim tattoo. The traitorous soldiers protecting her.
A few nobles gasped in feigned surprise while others shouted cheers of support. A round of applause drowned out Morgana’s sudden cry as she stumbled back to my side. Her dark eyes widened, staring into mine. The color drained from her cheeks as she blinked rapidly, her bottom lip quivering, pure horror spreading across her face.
