Warrior of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire #6)

CHAPTER ONE

TRISTAN

Silver snaps covered the expanse of the dining table, their petals spilling from every one of my grandmother’s crystal vases. The stupid shining flowers were too fucking bright beneath the crackling torchlights, their glare nearly as intense as the silver armor surrounding me. The soturi of Ka Kormac lined every inch of the Grey Villa’s dining hall, their starfire steel blades at the ready. Never before had so many Korterian wolves entered our home. Never before had so many entered Bamaria either. Stationed here tonight, they were restless. The threat level was low behind our walls, and their auras reeked of boredom and disdain. It permeated the air to the point of suffocation.

And it was giving me a Godsdamned headache.

I’d planned to turn in early tonight, for once. To maybe fucking sleep for the first time in weeks. It was supposed to be quiet in Bamaria. All the parties and celebrations around Lady Arianna’s hurried consecration had ended. And at last, we’d come to the finale of events in which I’d been expected to appear.

Since the month’s start, I’d been carried in a litter behind our new High Lady in countless parades. I was shown off, like some prized fucking show horse, all while holding the hand of Lady Naria, our new Heir Apparent. The whole time I was meant to look proud and besotted as she flashed her engagement ring to the eager onlookers. The ring my grandmother had chosen. I’d worn dozens of new robes the past few weeks, all afforded to me by the unfreezing of my accounts. And I’d shaken hundreds of hands as blessings and shouts of tovayah maischa were thrown at me. For weeks, I’d pretended I was happy, smiling blandly as the Bamarians applauded the beautiful couple. And I became an expert at keeping a sparkle in my eyes as they demanded we kiss. Which we did—every single time.

I stared down at my own hand, at the golden band that now adorned my ring finger, a ring with the sigil of Ka Batavia engraved in its center—a full moon above golden seraphim wings. It was a ring I’d thought of wearing for two years. Only I’d imagined Lyriana would be the one to slide it on my finger. Not Naria.

At least now it was done. Arianna was Arkasva Batavia, High Lady of Bamaria. The other visiting Arkasvim had left, retreating home to their own countries and affairs. The northern Imperator, father to the forsworn bastard, had rushed back to Glemaria immediately. I’d held my breath as the rest of them left.

All except for Imperator Kormac.

The southern Imperator remained, despite the shocking news of his nephew’s sudden death back home. Brockton Kormac, an apprentice in our Soturion Academy, had been the son of the Imperator’s brother, Korteria’s Arkturion, the man known as the Bastardmaker.

And instead of comforting his family and Ka, going into mourning, or even attending the memorial held in Brockton’s honor, the Imperator had chosen to extend his stay here. Tonight, he’d come unannounced to the Villa, demanding an audience with Bamaria’s newly appointed Second, and Master of the Horse. My grandmother.

The title was laughably ridiculous. The old woman had never touched an animal in her life, much less a horse. But that didn’t appear to be a requirement for the position. And so, when the Imperator’s call came, my grandmother invited His Highness and all of his men inside without hesitation. As if I hadn’t been tortured enough.

“More wine?” A servant who’d snuck up behind me was already pouring the red into my glass before I could refuse.

“Here,” my grandmother demanded.

The servant scurried as she snapped her fingers. Beside her, my grandfather, Lord Trajan, polished off his cup in anticipation of a refill.

I glared at the freshly poured drink, having no desire for it, but with an unmistakably pointed cough from my grandmother, I picked up my glass, and took a sip. The wine was dry. Just as she liked it.

Everything was always as she liked it.

“You will not mind my saying,” drawled the Imperator, “but you can understand the reasons I may doubt your abilities to … shall we say, seal the deal , Lord Tristan?” His blond hair was slicked back, his dark eyes raking me up and down from across the table. Pressing his elbows into the silver tablecloth, he leaned forward, his aura like a rough brush against my skin.

I resisted the urge to clench my fists in my lap, forcing myself instead to take another sip of wine.

Swallowing, I said, “I am not sure I know what you mean, Your Highness. There was no ‘deal’ to be ‘sealed’ as you say. But if I understand what you’re insinuating …” I shook my head, almost in disbelief. Were we truly having this conversation? Tonight? In public? “Lady Lyriana was young when our courtship began.”

Another cough from my grandmother echoed through the dining hall, before she took a sip of her wine, nodding at the Imperator.

His eyebrows furrowed. “I know it is crass to speak of such things, particularly before one so esteemed as Lady Romula, but I’ve heard rumors. Rumors that in two years of this,” his lips turned up, “courtship, you two never consummated it. And correct me if I am wrong, but Lady Lyriana has not been young for some time.”

My fingers were just inches from the silver scabbard encasing my stave. One move and I could have it in my hands, my magic pointed at him. In seconds, he’d be on his back and at my mercy.

But his wolves would have me at theirs.

Auriel’s fucking bane. I hadn’t expected to be hounded tonight by His Highness. And about my sex life of all topics—or lack thereof. But I lifted my chin, letting my disdain drip through every word I spoke. “Even so, I thought only marriages were consummated.”

“A technicality.” The Imperator laughed. “One my son will be sure to accomplish immediately with the lady.”

I bit back a snarl.

“Once she is found, of course,” he added. “And, trust me, she will be found and brought back to me. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Your Highness,” my grandmother interrupted, “Ka Grey considers itself a beacon of morals for this country. Perhaps we are a touch old-fashioned.” She pressed her lips together, the same exact shade as her wine. “However, my grandson knew Harren’s Seat was unstable long before he himself admitted it. Tristan was never going to risk a permanent alliance with someone unlikely to secure the future of our Ka in Bamaria. It is the same reason he was never permitted to offer a ring.” She lifted her glass to the Imperator. “In any case, all is well. The rightful Arkasva has her Seat, the ancient bloodline restored. Lady Lyriana is in her appropriate station and should feel fortunate that your Ka has welcomed her. I imagine Tristan’s nobility while courting the lady, may now be to your own Heir Apparent’s favor,” she teased.

I glared at my grandmother. The old woman was ruthless. Calculated. I’d always known this, but for her to be sitting there, discussing the merits of Lyriana’s virginity, as if it were a gift for that swinish ass of the Imperator’s son? For Viktor Kormac? She knew how I felt about Lyr—knew how I still felt despite my engagement to her cousin. This was … there were no words for it. It was simply disgusting.

The Imperator’s lips remained upturned in a smile I did not like. Since Valyati … since we’d lost Haleika, there was nothing about this man that I did like. Just being in the same room with him had me on edge.

What I’d seen in the arena that night, the night Haleika died, would haunt me forever. The image of Lyriana forced to kill her, and the forsworn bastard forced to help—I’d had to banish it from my thoughts. Keep my mind clear of the memories.

I knew what I’d seen. But I also knew who was to blame. Knew who arranged the spectacle.

Him. Not Lyriana. Not her father. Imperator Kormac and his Godsdamned uncle, Emperor Theotis.

“Forgive me, Lady Romula, for speaking of such vulgarities before you, but they are a part of politics as much as they are life. You understand my concerns. I would see your country brought back to greatness, and to stability. Not just for your sake, and the friendship I bear Ka Grey, but because what happens in Bamaria echoes across the Empire.”

“Then we are united, as we wish the same,” my grandmother said, lifting her glass again in yet another toast. “Now that Lady Arianna is Arkasva and High Lady, we shall have that.”

“Yes,” the Imperator agreed. “Lady Arianna’s consecration is of great comfort. But I am not yet assured, which is why I’m here.” He shifted in his seat, his eyes darkening, and predatory, a wolfish curl to his lips. “After allowing a false Arkasva to govern for nearly two decades, and watching that rule end with a messy and public assassination, Bamaria remains fragile. And now, the late Arkasva’s three daughters are missing? Including my own future daughter-in-law.” His aura flared. “You’ll have more than the Emartis revolting if things do not become secure soon.”

Since Meera and Morgana had been taken by akadim, I’d been worried sick, my mind running in constant loops about their well-being. Lyr was gone too, allegedly searching for them. Gods. It had been weeks since they all vanished, including the forsworn. But for once, just once, as much as it hurt, I prayed the rumors were true. I prayed that Hart was with her, that she was safe. I prayed they all were.

I’d been summoned to Cresthaven following the akadim attack, and it had been immediately apparent that not nearly enough was being done to rescue them. The forces sent out had been too few, and had moved without urgency. Lyr had been locked in the Shadow Stronghold by Imperator Kormac, supposedly for her own safety. But mere hours later, she’d escaped. Something that was supposed to be impossible.

And then, of course, the forsworn bastard had been reported missing from his post.

Speculations had run high ever since.

It was possible she’d escaped; possible she’d bribed her way out. I’d almost had her freed with a bribe once before. But … There was no answer to what had truly happened. No realistic possibility I was comfortable entertaining.

“I can assure you, Your Highness,” my grandmother said, “I intend to maintain our special friendship. And, when my grandson weds the Heir Apparent, and your son finds his bride, we shall have more than friendship between us. We shall be family.”

“In the loosest of terms, yes.” The Imperator nodded, his eyes sparkling with an amusement that contrasted his frown. “I have always valued our friendship. And Lord Tristan has had an integral role in securing our shared interests here. We remain grateful for every vorakh he’s brought to justice.” His gaze flicked to me. “I hope you will continue to do so.”

“Of course, I will.” I always did. I tossed what remained of my wine down my throat, and slammed my glass on the table. “I would imagine you’re just as occupied with stability in Korteria, as you are here, now that your Arkturion’s eldest son has passed.”

It had been a week since word spread of Brockton Kormac’s murder, and yet his uncle was still here. Not showing any signs of grief, not even a hint of fucking sadness. If he had a heart, he’d have been long gone by now, back to Korteria. Then I could be left to grieve my own losses. To grieve Haleika.

“ Bar Ka Mokan ,” I added solemnly, lest I be accused of being antagonistic. I waited for His Highness to say the traditional words in response for Brockton, to say “his soul freed.’’ To quell the unrest that I’d so clearly stirred amongst his soldiers.

He merely lifted his drained glass, the gesture so full of demand that a servant came running to his side with a fresh bottle of red. Another servant floated an unopened bottle of white to his seat, the wine almost smashing against the table in their haste.

“Do you think I haven’t been back?” His eyebrows lifted. “I can move quickly through these lands, and silently when I need to. Do not presume to know my whereabouts. However, since you appear so keen to know my schedule, I return to Korteria in the morning. I’d have left sooner, if not for the absolute chaos here,” he said pointedly.

The chaos he’d created with Haleika’s death. Forcing Lyr to be the one to … to … I took a deep breath. It was still too soon, the memories still too biting. I couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t allow the images to flow through my mind. They only brought forth the other ones, the ones I’d spent years trying to bury.

The worst ones.

The ones in my nightmares.

“Have there been any new developments in the investigation into Brockton’s death?” I asked.

“I don’t believe new developments can unfold in a story that has closed. Have you had any new developments on your cousin’s transformation to akadim?” His black eyes turned to slits. “Or her slaying?”

My hand glided across the hilt of my stave. I flexed my fingers, before forcing myself to still. “It was a difficult, but important lesson for all involved,” I said carefully. And then just like that, the lesson replayed in my head. Haleika’s screams. The sound of her fear, her pain. “Wine!”

The Imperator delicately patted his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “I must prepare.” He rose, and a dozen of his soturi stood at attention, their dark eyes all trained on our table. “Lord Tristan, if word does reach you of the forsworn bastard’s whereabouts, despite his father’s wishes, he remains under our jurisdiction. Whatever crimes he’s committed in the North, he is wanted at present in the South. I, like many others, have reason to believe he is with Lady Lyriana.”

“Why would word of his location reach me?” I asked. “We’re not friends.”

“Of course,” the Imperator said.

“If you’re asking for my help, perhaps you could tell me word of his most recent location?” I asked. “A clue as to where I might begin such a search.” My heart pounded. Anything he told me now could lead me to finding Lyriana.

“This information,” he said slowly, “is not to be shared with anyone. But, the two were spotted in Korteria. Quite recently.”

Lyriana and Rhyan had been in Korteria? My stomach dropped. Had they been there for Brockton’s death? Was that what the Imperator was hiding? Was it … was it possible they had something to do with it? By the Gods.

“As I said,” the Imperator continued, “it is imperative when they’re found, that you bring them both to me.”

I nodded, my mind whirling, something clicking into place. This was why he was still here. Not to talk of peace. Not to ally with Ka Grey. But to assign me as his personal hunter. To play on my history with Lyriana. To bring her and the forsworn back to him.

All my years of hunting for him, and for the first time … I felt sick.

When I was just a boy, he’d visit the Villa. Back then, I looked up to him. He spoke often of how he’d captured vorakh, how he had them bound and shipped to Lethea for justice. How each time it was done, Lumeria was made safer. Every time he came, he told me again of how my story and what had happened to my parents had moved him to be even more vigilant. To double his efforts. He said he’d imagined he was saving me, and finding justice for my parents every time another vorakh was arrested, every time one was punished. I’d told him that I wanted to help, to learn. I wanted to fight the vorakh, too. I wanted my justice. I wanted to avenge my mother and father. He’d smiled, and his own Arkmage from Korteria arrived to train me the day after my Revelation Ceremony. It was brutal. I’d barely slept, practicing over twelve hours a day with my stave. A week later, I caught my first vorakh in the city.

Watching him now, I realized I no longer held the Imperator in high regard. Only disgust.

We all stood to bow as he made his way out, his personal guards close behind. Once the last soturion cleared the entryway, I turned to Bellamy, my personal escort. I needed him to send word to Galen to meet me in the city. Forget sleeping. After all of this, I needed a drink. A real one.

But my grandmother rounded on me, her speed startling after she’d spent the night moving with almost painful slowness. A blast from her stave pushed me onto a velvet couch.

“Grandmother?” I asked, struggling to sit up. But between her magic and the deep cushions, I kept falling back.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.

“Wrong with me? What is wrong with him? You know what he did! The role he played in Haleika’s death! And yet you say nothing! You let him waltz in here and hold that over us all night! You don’t force him to take any responsibility for the pain he caused!”

“Oh, no? Tell me. What responsibility would you have me give him?” She shook her head. “He was not in charge of the borders on Valyati. He did not let the akadim inside. And, most importantly he did not slay Haleika! That fault lies with Arkturion Aemon. With Harren Batavia. And most importantly, on your precious Lyriana and that forsworn bastard she bound herself to. Be smart, Tristan. Put your anger in the right place. And do it quickly.”

“But—”

“But nothing! The business with Haleika is over. Done. We separated ourselves from that scandal as well as we could have. A Godsdamned miracle as it were. But then, on its heels, you cause another. How dare you let this get out!”

“Let what out?” I asked.

“The fact that you never bedded Lady Lyriana.”

My skin heated, unsure if I was more shocked at her words, or her boldness.

“Not even once!” she yelled.

“So? So!” I was on the verge of exploding. “That was no one’s business but ours.”

She laughed coldly. “No one’s business? You foolish boy. Everything you do is everyone’s business. You are a lord of Ka Grey! Or have you forgotten? We have a reputation.”

“A reputation?” I balked. “A reputation that I acted nobly? Are you not pleased that I lived up to the nobility’s prudishly moral inclinations? The morals you said yourself we espouse?”

“My boy!” she snarled. “I have not and never will care what you do or do not do in your lovers’ beds. But the Imperator cares, therefore the Empire cares. If this had remained between you two, it would have been of no consequence. But now? Now you look weak. Now you look indecisive. Unmanly. Especially after two years. By the Gods, tell me you bedded this one at least. Tell me you’ve bedded Lady Naria.”

“Grandmother!” I pushed myself to my feet at last. “This is hardly—”

“Tell me,” she demanded again, something dark and dangerous in her voice.

My chest heaved as I glared, my nostrils flaring. “How else do you think word got out that Lyriana and I hadn’t …” My fists clenched. “That we’d been … waiting.”

Fuck. I hadn’t meant to reveal anything to Naria. It wasn’t any of her business. But we were drunk, and I’d been … in need. One inebriated confession that it had been a while for me—a very long while—and she put the pieces together. Told everyone in our circle. Which apparently meant everyone in my grandmother’s as well. I’d barely wanted to touch Naria since. All the public displays of affection had been like torture.

“Good. Do it again,” my grandmother commanded. “And do it well. Lady Naria, it seems, likes to talk. Let her. Let it be known without a doubt that you’re together. That your actions will have permanent consequences. That we will be tied without doubt to Ka Batavia by blood. We almost lost our proximity to the Seat of Power before. And by the Gods, we will not lose it again.”

“Almost lost?” I shook my head. “We’ve always been one seat away from the Seat of the Arkasva. Always on the Council.”

“And yet, Bamaria has never been ruled by an Arkasva Grey,” she snarled. “The minute that Julianna,” she spat, “revealed her vorakh, I knew it was over. Just a matter of time. And then in the midst of it all, we stumbled. The situation with your cousin could have been far worse. As it is, we had as great an outcome as we could hope for.”

Anger propelled me forward, my aura pushing against hers, forcing her magic back. “You call this a great outcome! Haleika is dead!”

“And we are fortunate that her death has not interfered with my plans. The Seat of Power was always meant for us. Change is desperately needed. But, I’m not so foolish as to dismiss the fact that power must be granted, not stolen. Harren showed us that. And only when you put an Heir in Naria’s belly,” she said, her voice low, “only then will you guarantee the continuation, and success, of our bloodline.”

I shook my head, too stunned at her brazenness to reply.

“Should Lyriana send word to you,” she continued, “I expect you will use any means necessary to bring her in. Along with the forsworn.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you so keen to give him what he wants?”

“It’s a dangerous thing, my dear, to not have that man on your side.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s been weeks since she vanished. They could be anywhere.” And if they had been in Korteria—if they’d been there when Brockton was killed—they were certainly long gone by now.

“Do not fret,” my grandmother said, “rumor has it the Emperor intends to draw them out, make them easier to find.”

“Meaning what?” My belt suddenly felt too tight, my hands numb.

“Meaning, Tristan, that he gave this task to you. And you will complete it.”

“As you wish.” I practically spat the words. “I’ll take my leave. And I’ll be sure to end my night in Naria’s bed if it pleases you, Grandmother.”

“Such a martyr.” She laughed sweetly and sat back on the couch across from me, her eyes shrewd. “I thought I lost everything when I lost your father. We nearly fell into ruin when that monster—” Her lips tightened, the wrinkles around her mouth severe. “But you, Tristan, you have brought back hope.” She frowned. “A rather fragile thing I possess. Do not break it.”

I straightened my robes across my shoulders and left.

An hour later I sat in a bar with Galen. Urtavia was full of Lumerians from across the Empire, dancing, and playing instruments in the streets.

I stared out the frosted window until a bottle of whisky hovered above my shot glass. Our server tipped it over, and I watched dully as the golden liquid splashed, filling my cup and Galen’s. Wordlessly, I drank, the alcohol burning against my throat.

We’d been doing this several times a week since Valyati. Barely speaking Haleika’s name. Barely saying anything at all. Just sitting together. Drinking. Grieving.

We’d both loved her. Me as a cousin. He—as more . Discovering her affair with Leander had only intensified his grief instead of assuaging it.

Outside, a woman elbowed her way through the crowd, her face covered by the mask of a black seraphim. The symbol of the rebels, the Emartis.

She walked right into another woman—a mage. Within seconds an argument broke between them. Their staves were drawn, their auras emitting enough heat to melt the frost coating our window, until a soldier approached, shouting.

He wore golden armor with shoulders shaped into sharpened seraphim feathers. The armor of Ka Batavia. Armor I was seeing less and less these past few weeks.

Galen frowned, watching the soturion chase the masked mage down the street, easily catching her.

But then a soldier of Ka Kormac, his armor gleaming with silver, stepped between them. The mage had been on the verge of arrest. Now, she was clearly being instructed to hand over her mask, and walk away. Free to go with barely a slap on the wrist.

The two soturi, one in gold, one in silver, remained in a heated disagreement. A few weeks ago, a mage in an Emartis mask would have been arrested, taken right to the Shadow Stronghold. Now there was only the illusion of a reprimand. That mask would be circulating through the crowd again in minutes.

For now, there was no Arkturion to enforce the law, no one to back up Turion Brenna’s decrees. The Ready was gone. And in his absence, our High Lady and the Imperator had all but signed off on the rebellion that had changed everything.

Galen’s dark eyebrows deepened to a V. “Any updates on Lyr? Or Meera and Morgana?” he asked, pouring a glass of beer. “Did the Imperator say anything?”

I shook my head, ruminating over what had truly happened in Korteria. Four soturi were dead. Murdered. And she may have been there.

Was she okay?

“My lord,” Bellamy said urgently, a hand on my shoulder. The glowing vadati stone in his ear was fading from blue to white. “We have a … situation. ”

Galen sat up abruptly. “I’ll help.”

But I was already on my feet, dropping three coins on the table. “I’ve got this. Next drink is on me.”

A second later, I was outside, pushing through the crowds, pulling my winter robes closer. Bellamy murmured the details into my ear and I ran as a fresh bout of snow fell.

My hair blew back with a gust of cold air, and I turned toward it, moving past several shops that were open late. I recognized the street. It was almost where I’d apprehended the last monster—the vorakh dancer on Lyr’s birthday. The recent months had been surprisingly quiet with little for me to hunt. I found myself practically itching for a fight.

The new crowd forming around me contained a mix of drunk and belligerent Bamarians. There were so many bodies I could barely see the vorakh. The revelers were openly spilling their drinks, dancing and toasting. The distractions were everywhere.

But it didn’t matter. It had become instinct.

Follow the unique signature of their vorakh, the chill of their ice. Follow the pit in my gut.

I may have misunderstood my relationship with Lyr in the end. Underestimated my grandmother’s intentions for our Ka.

But this?

This I knew.

A fresh snap of chilly air rushed against my skin, biting my nose and cheeks. Not the cold of the Bamarian winter, but the strange and peculiar chill I knew far too well. The chill that had haunted my nightmares since I was a boy. The chill that came from a vision. It wrapped around my body, tightening like a vise. I was close. So fucking close.

The crowd clustered together, bodies pushing against each other to better see the vorakh.

“Move aside!” I demanded.

At last, I found my target. A mage. Female. Mid-twenties. Her dark hair was wild and unkempt, falling to her waist. She wore no cloak, nor sleeves, despite the season.

“I am Lord Tristan Grey,” I said. The words I said every time. The ritual. A calmness washed over me. My focus narrowed.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screeched toward the moon.

I aimed my stave at her heart, feeling the rage and anger that always rose to the surface.

She turned toward me; her knees bent as she swiped at an enemy that wasn’t there.

“Just a baby!” she screamed. “Just a baby? No. No. No. I don’t think so.”

Just a baby…

My stomach hollowed, my heart stopping as the pit in my belly grew, and to my horror, my hand holding the stave began to shake.

“My lord,” Bellamy warned. The crowd was growing restless, their auras spiked with the foul scent of fear. If I didn’t apprehend her quickly, they would form a mob—the vorakh would only become more volatile. And more lives would be endangered.

I caught the vorakh’s blank stare.

“I am Lord Tristan Grey,” I said again, strengthening my voice. I’d said these exact words dozens of times. Had been successful with every utterance. I’d captured them all, conquered over their unnatural strength. I never failed.

She shrieked in response.

I inched forward. “You have been accused of possessing vorakh in the first order, the power of visions. I will bind you and hand you over to His Highness, Imperator Kormac. And then, you will receive justice.”

“No. Just a baby?” Only the whites of her eyes showed, but a chill shot through my body, and I swore she could see me. “All grown up, aren’t you?”

“Now,” Eric, my other bodyguard, hissed. “My lord, take her down.”

I tightened my grip on my stave, my fingers like ice.

“You’ll regret it when he grows,” she screamed. “When you see inside him like I have. When you learn what he is!”

Those words. Those exact words. The ones from my nightmares. From my memories. But she didn’t— couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible.

Her dark irises rolled forward, her expression suddenly lucid, as she stared right at me.

Someone shouted from behind, “Arrest her!”

“Lord Tristan!”

“Kill it!”

The screams from the crowd were overwhelming, growing louder as they fought for dominance.

Yet all I could hear were those words. Not the ones uttered by the vorakh before me.

But the other one. The first one. The one that had haunted me my whole life.

And just like that, I was back there, back in my memories, in my nightmares. My body went cold.

There was blood. So much blood. More than I’d ever seen. I didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Because I’d never seen blood before. There’d been no hurt in my world. No injuries. No pain.

Only love. Comfort. Safety.

“Just a baby?” screamed the vorakh.

“Please,” my mother begged. “Please!”

She was crouched on the floor in front of me. A wall between us. She’d pushed me into the small cabinet beneath the table before the vorakh saw.

My father had fought her.

But now … he was broken. He’d used his stave, casting spell after spell. But it hadn’t been enough. The vorakh was too strong. Too powerful.

My father lay face down. His arms … the arms which he’d hugged me with, the arms which had been so strong and had held me as he carried me … they were no longer part of his body.

“Tristan,” my mother hissed, she was crying now. Scared. “Close your eyes. Stay quiet.”

But I couldn’t close them. I couldn’t stop staring through the crack, couldn’t stop trying to understand. Couldn’t stop trying to rearrange the images I was seeing—to put my father’s arms back on his body. To wash away the blood. To make him stand up, to hold his stave, to make him speak, and fight.

To make him breathe.

“Close your eyes,” my mother cried again, her voice so low I barely heard. “Don’t say a word. You’ll be safe.”

“Ma?” My voice shook.

“Shhhh,” she said.

The vorakh stalked forward, the ground shaking with every step she took.

“Tris—” My mother was cut off by a scream. Fingernails scraped against the floor as the vorakh dragged her away from me.

I clutched my knees to my chest, staring through the small slit in the door.

She’d looked like any other mage when I first saw her. Not particularly tall. Not even appearing strong. No red eyes. No claws. I’d even thought of her as pretty. She had a prominent beauty mark above the right corner of her lip that caught my attention.

But this wasn’t the akadim I’d been taught to fear. Not the ones in the scary stories.

This was vorakh.

And this was so much worse. Her long black hair fell to her waist, her skin pale. And in that moment, her beauty faded. Everything about her screamed death in my eyes.

“Please,” my mother begged again. “No!”

“You’ve birthed evil. You’ll regret it when he grows. When you see inside his soul like I have. When you learn what he is!”

“No!”

The vorakh wrapped her hands around my mother’s neck. “Where is he? Where’s your son?”

“Not here! Not here, I swear.”

I heard the crack. Heard the ripping sound. Saw the blood.

And then finally, finally, I listened to my mother. I did what I was told. I closed my eyes.

But it wasn’t enough to save me. It wasn’t enough to stop me from hearing. From knowing. From filling in the rest with my imagination.

My mother’s head was rolling on the floor, rolling away from her body. Rolling … Rolling …

I blinked, pulling myself from the memory, coughing on bile, and gasping for air. Bellamy gripped my arm and I felt caught between both worlds, trapped inside two timelines. I looked down. My hands looked familiar, large and holding my stave, and yet they felt small. A boy’s hands, weak, powerless.

“Yes. You!” the vorakh screamed; her eyes focused on me. “Finish what was started. Finish what was started!” She raced forward, pushing a mage to the ground, and punching another in the face.

I stumbled back as images of blood filled my vision. Her screams punctuated the chant of protective spells in my mind, the spells my father had desperately uttered. Until he didn’t.

Close your eyes , my mother said. And right then and there with hundreds of onlookers, with an active threat before me, I fell prisoner to the memory and did as my mother once commanded.

I tried to open my eyes. To escape. To be here and now. But the memory continued to play out in my mind, visceral and terrifying, putting me back there in a way I hadn’t experienced since that night.

The vorakh screamed, racing toward me. “I’ll still get you!”

My eyes sprang open, my body somehow colder. I felt disoriented, like hours had passed. But then my mind righted itself, and I lunged forward, readjusting my grip on the stave, my knuckles white as I tightened my hold. Every muscle in my body tensed with pain.

I took a shuddering breath. It ended now. No more thoughts. No more feelings. No more memories.

No more fear.

I spoke the words, I chanted the spell, and watched in satisfaction as the black glittering rope erupted from my stave. It coiled around my target as I twisted my wrist, tightening her binds, pushing her hands against her body, trapping her legs together so she couldn’t run.

By the Gods, no one would die by the hands of a vorakh again. No one would suffer like my parents had. I swore that every last monster would be sent to Lethea, even if I had to hunt them down myself. I’d see them all stripped, made powerless, and punished.

The vorakh’s eyes rolled back behind her eyelids, her shrieking more frantic now, as she collapsed to the icy waterway beneath her.

I listened with satisfaction to the thud. The crowd cheered. The threat was over.

But then the vorakh opened her eyes, suddenly lucid, her body shaking beneath my binds. The chill of her vision was gone, her power was cut off. But I was still shivering as she watched me, her eyes roving up and down.

She recoiled, her nose wrinkling, as she turned her body away. “Too much yellow. Too much,” she muttered. “Too much.”

Utter nonsense. Vorakh madness. I snarled in disgust at her rantings. She was probably farther than Lethea.

“Well done, my lord.” Bellamy pointed his stave at her prone body and lifted her into the air as the cheers grew louder.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. It was so intense, I thought I’d be sick.

And somehow, I was still cold, still shivering. My teeth were chattering, and wouldn’t stop. Even as I burrowed deeper into my robes, even as I uttered a warming spell with my stave, winter clung to my body like a cold wet blanket.

“Please,” my mother screamed again. “No!”

“You’ve birthed evil. You’ll regret it when he grows. When you see inside his soul like I have. When you learn what he is!” The vorakh screamed, racing toward me. “I’ll still get you!”

I clutched my chest, trying to shake the image. It was new … foreign. A new part of the memory? Something tonight I had unlocked? I didn’t remember her saying that all those years ago, nor in any of my flashbacks—never once had I recalled the vorakh uttering those words.

I’ll still get you.

“Tristan? You okay, man?” Galen grasped my shoulder. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me out here. “You’re freezing. You’re— Shit.” He stepped back, looking almost afraid. “Are you okay?”

His brows furrowed, his dark eyes scanning me before he took another step back.

“Fine!” I growled. I needed to go. Away from the crowd, away from the cold, from the vorakh’s evil … from my own thoughts.

I needed Lyr. I—

Fuck. No. Not Lyr. She was gone. And she wasn’t mine. Not anymore—if she ever was to begin with.

“I need to go,” I told Galen. “I need … I need to see Naria.”

Galen frowned again, but nodded. “All right.”

“To Cresthaven then, Lord Tristan,” Bellamy said. A white dome of light bloomed around me. I’d no longer have to deal with these people, or their little celebration. I rushed back to the seraphim port, ignoring the congratulations and accolades shouted as I passed.

I stared straight out the window, not speaking the entire flight. I remained silent when I passed through the fortress gates and front doors into the familiar Grand Hall of Cresthaven, the fortress of Ka Batavia. It was the place I’d come to so many times, especially in the last two years. My boots echoed against the floor. Colorful columns lined the hall all depicting the previous Arkasvim of Ka Batavia.

But instead of Lyriana’s comforting curves appearing on the stairs, her dark hair spilling across her shoulders, her keen and seductive hazel eyes taking me in, I was faced with the slight, lean figure, and pale blonde hair of her cousin, Lady Naria.

My betrothed.

“My lord,” she said sweetly. “I got word you were on your way. How was dinner with the Imperator?”

That dinner felt like it was ages ago.

“He seemed rather informed about our … intimate activities, Your Grace,” I gritted. My chest heaved with exertion; icy cold sweat rolled down the nape of my neck. “I found that he was particularly informed about my activities before you.”

“Or lack of?” she asked.

I practically growled in response.

Naria laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for everyone to know. It just … slipped.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Oh, come on, Tristan. Are you really that mad?” she asked, her voice whiny and childlike.

“Those details were private.”

Naria shrugged. “Private or not, you still came here to see me.” She twirled a finger through her hair, her engagement ring catching a glimmer of firelight.

“Only because I’d rather be partaking in such activities, than hearing about them.”

“Good.” Her lips spread across her face, and she blinked slowly, before glancing towards the grand staircase leading up to the Heir’s wing. With a swish of her hips, she turned.

We reached her bedroom in seconds. My hands were everywhere, pawing at her dress, sliding the straps down her arms. I pushed the material past her small breasts, before pulling the hem of her dress up her legs. I was so angry at her. And yet …

“Tristan!” she yelled as my palms hit the bare skin of her thighs. “You’re like ice.”

“Then warm me,” I growled.

I reached for my stave, uttering a locking spell to close the bedroom door. It clicked just as Naria’s hands slipped inside my riding pants, pulling me free. I was so fucking hard and ready. Years of pent-up lust for Lyr had finally found an outlet. My robes and tunic were off next, and I lifted Naria against the wall as her legs wrapped around me.

One more spell. Just one more. Protection. I didn’t fucking care what my grandmother said. This was enough. Fucking her was enough. Being engaged was enough. I wasn’t having a baby on top of this gryphon-shit-show. Not yet. Not with her. Not until I was out of all other options.

I felt the thin barrier form around my cock, and then I slammed my stave on the dresser as I pushed inside of Naria.

She gasped, her heel digging into my ass as I punched my fist into the wall, pulling back and shoving into her again and again.

I was rabid, farther than Lethea with desire. No other vorakh fight had ever left me this full of lust, this starved for warmth.

“Tristan,” she yelled. “Gods.”

I groaned, slamming into her now, over and over again, my hips setting a bruising pace.

Too much yellow. Finish what was started. I’ll still get you.

“Tristan,” Naria moaned. Then she yelled. “You’re—ah!” She shivered. “You’re ice cold. Fuck.”

I knew I was. But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. Couldn’t be gentle. I needed to fuck Naria until I could forget, until I could no longer remember.

Until my body warmed.

You’ll regret it when he grows. When you see inside his soul like I have. When you learn what he is!

I thrust again, and again. But I couldn’t shake off the shivers wracking through me. Couldn’t shake the monster’s words. Couldn’t forget the fear in the vorakh’s eyes when her vision was over and she’d looked at me.

Right at me.

My body tightened, ready to come undone.

The vorakh’s face flashed in my mind. The one from tonight. And the one from my past. They were melding together, features shifting and combining. One with a beauty mark. One without.

When you see inside his soul like I have. When you learn what he is …

Their voices united, taunting me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fist slamming into the wall as I came. My stomach clenched almost painfully with a final shudder, and I set Naria down, before I stumbled to the bed, grabbing hold of my stave, my body trembling.

Naria grimaced, but opened her closet door and reached for a spare blanket, tossing it on top of me.

“I’m going to take a bath. A hot one,” she said, and slammed the door.

I chanted, seeing my breath in the air, as I summoned flames, pointing at every torch and candle in her room.

And only then, alone and freezing while surrounded by fire, did I realize why the cold tonight was so unsettling. Why the memory had been so vivid, so real. So hard to shake.

It hadn’t been a memory.

I knew this cold because I knew how to hunt it. I knew how to find those who possessed it. Knew how to stop it.

My guts roiled violently and I leaned over Naria’s bed, heaving up everything I’d drank tonight, and all I’d eaten. I coughed, nearly choking on bile, sweat coating my skin. My sick was all over the floor as the realization settled inside of me.

The vorakh that killed my parents had never said those final words. Had never said I’ll still get you. And yet they’d been so clear in my mind. Like I’d been there. Like I was there still.

I’d been trapped in my memories before, but never like this. Never to the point where I’d forgotten my surroundings. Where I’d endangered myself. Where I’d closed my eyes in front of a Godsdamned threat.

And the memory had never shifted, not once in all the years I’d had it. There’d never been any new additions to my nightmares, to my dreams.

I curled my knees to my chest, still shaking with cold, as the realization hit me with a bruising force.

What I’d seen tonight, what I’d felt—it hadn’t been a memory.

It had been a vision.