CHAPTER EIGHT
TRISTAN
The snow had melted in Bamaria, but I was still cold. It was a week after the situation , but the chill I’d felt that night still clung to my bones. No matter how many fires I set, how much alcohol burned through my belly, I felt it. Felt the memory, felt haunted by the images I couldn’t stop seeing in my mind.
“ I’ll still get you. ”
I blinked rapidly, reminding myself that it wasn’t real. That it was over. That I had a duty to perform. A show to star in. I stood at that moment in the center of the Katurium, my silver belt shining in the late morning sun. The stadium was full of Lumerians, clapping and cheering as Naria gripped my hand. We’d walked out together, beaming. And now that we were standing here, our bodies stilled, the crowd was growing restless. I supposed after two years of openly courting Lyr, I now had to prove that that part of my life was truly over. Even after weeks of seeing us together, and all the political upheavals we’d endured, it was still my job to entertain them as I once had. To entertain them more.
I swore, if there were awards for performances like this—I’d be winning all of them.
But the yells from the crowd only grew louder, blatant with their dissatisfaction.
“We should kiss,” Naria said. “They’re calling for it.”
It took all I had not to roll my eyes. But, as always, I did what I was supposed to do. I played my role, pulled her in close, one hand snaking down her ass, the other cupping her chin as I kissed her. Softly at first, a show of sweet affection. And then I deepened it, just the way I knew the crowd liked it. All at once, the cheers exploded, and I tried to imagine what this moment would feel like if I actually loved her. If any part of me gave a shit.
If I was kissing Lyr …
A set of doors opened. My chest seized with a sudden flare of panic. They were the same ones Haleika had been brought through, before she changed. Before she faced Lyr … We hadn’t been allowed to see her, to say goodbye. She’d been kept in isolation. Then they put her in a box. A fucking box. That was how I’d last seen her alive. And every time I thought about it, thought of her lying in a coffin, alone and scared, her lover dead, knowing she was turning, and doomed, while passing through those very fucking doors … I wanted to throw up.
Naria squeezed my hand. “What’s your problem?” she asked.
I took a deep breath, willing my mind to clear and blinked until my eyes dried. “Nothing. Just tired.”
“Well, look a little calmer. Or people will talk.”
“Maybe people wouldn’t talk,” I seethed, “If you’d given them less to talk about.”
“It’s not my fault your last girlfriend was frigi—”
I tossed her hand away. “She wasn’t frigid! And she’s your Godsdamned cousin.”
“So?”
“So have some respect. For her, and for me. You might not know this, but there’s more to a relationship than fucking! She meant something to me. She still does.” More than you do, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue.
“You can be such a dick sometimes.” Her eyes narrowed, her aura flaring with annoyance. She grabbed my hand again, playing off the moment like we were teasing each other. Smiling widely, she carefully stroked the golden diadem resting on her forehead.
The herald’s voice rang out, announcing the entrance of Arkasva Arianna Batavia, High Lady of Bamaria. Cheers rang out from the stadium, but beside me, I felt Naria’s mood change. The annoyance in her aura was replaced by fear as her mother’s litter was carried across the field. She shrunk against me, her grip on my hand suddenly tight. Being in her mother’s presence was the only time I ever saw her meek.
I hadn’t noticed it before Arianna became Arkasva, but the change had been sudden, and there was no denying it. Arianna terrified her daughter. I didn’t know why.
Maybe Bamaria would be great under this new regime. Who could say? What I did know was that ever since Arianna had taken her Seat, I’d felt uncomfortable in her presence. I couldn’t pinpoint why. But seeing Naria’s growing unease only made me think that something was strange about our new High Lady.
The cheers grew louder. Only a handful of soturi wearing the armor of Ka Batavia remained somber. Their gazes flicked to the ground of the arena, to the very place where Harren Batavia had fallen. My throat tightened—I hadn’t let myself dwell on that memory either. Though surely others had to be thinking about it, too. I didn’t believe Arianna would dare have a public appearance here so soon, nor would she dare to associate herself with those events. Not when those accused of murdering Harren Batavia had been her supporters. But the Katurium was the only place appropriate to host Valabellum trials. So here we were.
Arianna’s golden litter, floating atop six mages, came to a stop in the center of the arena. The mages stepped back, their staves pointed as the carriage lowered, and Arianna stepped out. We bent our knees, engaging in elaborate bows and curtseys.
“Welcome citizens of Bamaria! Welcome to our Valabellum trials. Rise.”
As the applause died down, she came to stand between me and Naria, her aura pulsing. She took our hands and lifted them up, as if we were victors in a battle.
“I am so pleased to announce that my daughter, your Heir Apparent, and Lord Tristan Grey, the great vorakh hunter, shall be married the week after the Empire’s great event.”
More applause followed. More cheering.
I shivered. I wasn’t ready. Not to be bound to Naria. Not to be bound to anyone.
Especially not with my new … secret. If that’s even what it was. I was still trying to convince myself I’d imagined the vision, that it had been a fluke. That I hadn’t become the thing that I hated, the thing that I hunted.
“What’s with your face?” Naria asked.
“Nothing,” I sneered, looking over at Arianna.
Arianna clapped. “The trials shall begin shortly. But first, I must bring you news.” She paused dramatically. “As you know, several weeks ago, akadim entered our land, and stole Lady Meera Batavia and Lady Morgana. That night, Lady Lyriana was moved to a secure location, but vanished soon after. We now have reason to believe she was abducted by Soturion Rhyan Hart. He must be brought to justice for his reckless actions. A reward is being offered for the safe and speedy return of all three of my nieces. And a reward has been set for the capture of the once forsworn soturion. Let it be known, henceforth, Soturion Rhyan Hart has lost his political immunity in the South. Today, I strip him of his soturion title. I name him forsworn.”
The sudden bout of angry shouting made me wish I’d taken Bellamy’s offer of a sound-canceling spell. The hatred and prejudice against those named forsworn ran deep. I guess it didn’t matter that he’d killed two akadim, that he’d protected everyone here from a greater tragedy. Fuck. I hated the guy—but even I could see the good he’d done.
I swallowed.
Would they turn on me as quickly if they knew? If my vorakh was exposed, would it even matter how many of the others I’d captured, how many I’d taken off the streets?
I’ll still get you.
Arianna continued, “Before this terrible turn of events, we were to announce another most happy event—the engagement of Lady Lyriana to the Heir Apparent of Korteria, the son of our great Imperator, the grand-nephew of the Emperor. Lord Viktor Kormac.” The crowd cheered at this, shouting out traditional wedding congratulations.
“I believe in my heart,” Arianna continued, “my nieces are alive. And they will be found. Then we shall celebrate not one, but two weddings.”
Naria groaned. “She might not even be alive, and still, she’s taking attention from my celebration.” She tugged me toward her, whispering in my ear, “With two weddings, you better remember you’re marrying me, and not her.”
“Trust me, Naria,” I said, kissing her cheek. “You’ll never be confused for her.”
Her eyes twitched, unable to tell if I’d just offered an insult.
“As you all know,” Arianna’s voice rang out, “our great Arkturion Aemon Melvik, the Ready, has been tirelessly searching the Empire for my nieces.”
This led to the audience screaming, “The Ready!” for a whole minute.
“But in his absence, we are without an Arkturion to defend us from the increasing threats. Though his silence has been concerning, I will not replace the Ready,” Arianna said, her voice hardened. “For he is irreplaceable. I pray for his swift return. But until that day comes, we must be safe. It is my duty to protect you. Therefore, I have selected a new warlord.”
The doors opened again. Arkturion Waryn Kormac appeared, his bulky body covered in his red cloak, the lifeless hide of a wolf strapped to his back. He marched forward, causing the wolf’s head to bounce grotesquely with each step.
The Bastardmaker.
This time, the audience remained quiet, until a string of boos and curses rang out.
Without warning, soturi adorned in silver rose through the stands, rushing toward groups of protestors. Yells turned to screams of horror as anyone vocalizing their disdain of the Bastardmaker was grabbed and dragged through the aisles. One by one they fell, the wolves punching and kicking the objectors into submission.
I averted my eyes, unable to watch the violence. What was happening? Since when did they take people away just for expressing disagreement?
Bellamy and Eric both closed ranks, a dome of protection suddenly forming around me and Naria. But it was unnecessary, as Arianna revealed two dozen soturi standing in the shadows.
“Our continued partnership with Ka Kormac, and Korteria, is crucial to keeping us all safe,” Arianna said.
I barely hid my scoff.
Partnership? Or occupation?
For years the soturi of Ka Kormac had been increasing in number in our streets, fully armed. No soturi were allowed to be armed outside their country. Except for the soturi of Ka Kormac in Bamaria. We had always been the exception.
Lyr had always been upset about this, and while I’d shared her concerns, I’d thought the numbers were bound to decrease again. But now? We were under the Bastardmaker’s rule. Policed by a foreign Arkturion. Until the Ready returned—assuming that Arianna allowed it. After all, he was the one who originally prevented her from becoming High Lady—the Ready was the one who stopped the Emartis’ first rebellion, and killed its leader, Tarek. He was the one who’d killed Arianna’s husband. Naria’s father.
I suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave the Katurium.
The Bastardmaker bowed before Arianna and kissed her hand, then hugged and congratulated me and Naria on our engagement. Again.
Once close enough, he pulled me aside. And all I could remember was that this man hadn’t been so careful when he’d dragged Lyr from the temple the night of her Revelation. Seeing his rough hands on her … I’d wanted to punch him ever since.
“Lord Tristan,” he grunted. “I have a message for you. From my brother.”
The Imperator.
“Of course,” I said.
“He wants to remind you of his request. He says bring the forsworn bastard to him.” His eyes flashed with malice. “Or else.”
“Or else?” I asked.
He snorted. “Just do it. Don’t wait for the Valabellum. A letter has been sent to your grandmother. You will head for the capital tomorrow to begin your hunt. Find the forsworn, and bring him to the Imperator.”
“And Lady Lyriana?” I asked.
He grinned. “You’ll bring her to her wedding bed.”
My throat tightened as I swallowed back bile. “As he commands.”
“Good.”
“I am sorry for your loss, by the way,” I said, unable to let it go. His son had died … or sons if the rumors were true. And he should be grieving, should be sad. He should feel fucking something. Like I did.
I stared, waiting. I needed to see some emotion in him, see that these men I’d followed my whole life were human. I needed to know that I’d been right to ally with them all these years. That I didn’t have to worry about Bamaria, or Lyr. I needed some proof that these soturi, who had complete power over us—whose power I had helped increase, whose power my grandmother funded, had been for something good. I needed to know that I hadn’t sold out my country.
“Brockton was a very strong warrior,” I said. “ Bar Ka Mokan. ”
The Bastardmaker squeezed my shoulder, painfully tight. Bruising. Tears pricked my eyes.
“Bring the forsworn, and Lady Lyriana,” was his only reply. Then he shoved me back. I stumbled, caught only at the last second by Bellamy.
Another shout of protest in the audience was smothered, and two mages were dragged away.
“Oh,” the Bastardmaker said as calm as ever, “If you find anymore vorakh out there,” he eyed me up and down, and sweat beaded on the nape of my neck, “you know what to do.”
“Of course.”
His eyes pierced through me, and I felt faint. Did he know? Could he see it on me? Smell it? Was there some remnant of cold that clung to my aura? He looked away, and I almost sighed in relief, until his gaze fell on Naria. On all of Naria. My hands fisted. But a moment later we were led off the field, to take our seats in the stadium. A set of doors opened to a hall lined with the contestants fighting in the trials.
I kept my head held high, never having interacted with many soturi before.
But then a familiar voice shouted, “Tristan! Hey!”
I froze, finding Galen dressed in his golden uniform, his sword shining and sharp.
Stepping back from my entourage, I grabbed his arm. “The fuck, Galen. You didn’t tell me you were doing this.”
“I just decided.”
“Well un-decide,” I hissed. “If you’re cast into the Valabellum, they could kill you.”
His jaw was set. “I know the risk.”
“Then stop this. Sit with us instead. I can have an escort bring you to our seats.”
He shook his head, “I’m going to win,” he said. “I know I can.” He cracked his knuckles. “I intend to see inside the capital. To fight in the Valabellum. And I intend to look the Emperor in the eye.”
To seek revenge for Haleika.
“It won’t change what happened,” I said. “It won’t bring her back.”
“I don’t intend for that.” His eyes turned to slits, looking out in the arena, the sun casting a glow on his muscles, his aura pulsing with anger and vengeance.
He was going to win. I could feel it in my bones.
And it was going to get him killed.