Warrior of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire #6)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TRISTAN

I rolled over in Naria’s bed, barely awake as the sun streamed through her windows. There was a loud knock on the door. Soturion Markan entered. His eyes met mine with a familiar fury. The bald guard had protected Lyr since she’d been a baby, hiding in her shadows for our entire courtship. It felt so stark to be here in her home, in her wing, with her guard, but not with her.

Instead, it was Naria lying naked beside me. Naria whose snores of sleep I’d become intimate with. In recent days, the sound of Naria’s theatrical whines as she came had replaced my memories of Lyr’s hushed sighs. It was as if Naria had simply taken over Lyr’s life with Arianna’s ascent to power. None of this felt real. None of this was what I wanted. I was collateral, a game piece to move about the board as my grandmother saw fit.

“What?” Naria groaned, tossing her arm over her eyes. “What is it?”

“Your Grace,” Markan said. “I am sorry to disturb you.”

“Then don’t.” She rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head.

“I was sent by Arkturion Waryn to request a meeting,” Markan said. “With you, Lord Tristan.”

I sat up straight, clutching the blanket so tightly my knuckles were white. “When?” I asked.

“He’d like to see you at once.”

Fuck. It was too early to face the Bastardmaker. “Where shall I meet him?”

“He’s in the main hall, having breakfast. A meal has already been ordered for you.”

Groaning, I slid out of bed. I was expected to leave for Numeria today, to follow the Imperator’s command to go hunting for Rhyan and Lyr.

But I hadn’t packed. I hadn’t even begun to prepare. Instead, I’d spent the night trying to convince Galen not to go to the Valabellum. The Godsdamned fool had won the trials. He’d been crowned victor by the Bastardmaker himself along with a dozen others, half of whom were Ka Kormac. He’d be leaving for the capital in another week to participate in the next set of tournaments, the ones that would determine his role in the Valabellum. And that would decide if he might die on Asherah’s Feast Day—or if he definitely would.

Idiot.

“What does he want?” Naria asked, throwing her pillow to the ground. She sat up, letting the blanket fall to her waist, her nudity on full display in the morning sun.

I turned away, opening the closet. “You know what,” I said. “I have to leave today.”

She crawled out of bed, coming to stand behind me.

I pulled out a fresh set of towels and laid them on the dresser, catching her eye in the vanity mirror. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, her bare breasts pressed into my back.

“You shouldn’t have to go,” she said. “I don’t understand. Why are they sending you anyway?”

I shook my head. Good fucking question. “I’m a trusted confidant for the Imperator,” I said blandly. “And I know Lyr.”

“So? I know her, too.”

I pulled out of her hold. “I need to get ready.”

Naria shook her head. “But, you’re a vorakh hunter. Why would they send you after Lyriana and Rhyan unless …” She shrugged, scrunching up her nose. “No. That’s stupid.”

I froze. Was it possible? Not Lyr. She had no magic. She’d been tested by the Examiner from Lethea. But Rhyan … How had he gotten her out of the Shadow Stronghold? How had he done it when I’d failed? The question had plagued me for weeks. Was it possible that he was vorakh? That he could travel?

I’d never encountered one of those before. I couldn’t even imagine how dangerous someone like that could be. Surely, Lyr wouldn’t allow someone like that to be free in Bamaria, to go unreported to me and the Empire?

But then the truth sank in all at once. Yes, she would.

I remembered all the times she’d mentioned Jules the last few years. The hurt in her eyes whenever the topic resurfaced, the way she seemed fearful after I’d hunted.

Jules had been her cousin. I could understand that sorrow. But she’d been a monster in the end. And I didn’t think I could ever forgive that.

At least, not until Haleika. She’d become a monster, too. But that hadn’t stopped me from seeing her as my cousin. It hadn’t stopped my love for her. Hadn’t stopped me from wishing, deep down, that they wouldn’t kill her. That we could have kept her alive. Found a cure, done something—anything—to let her live. She hadn’t deserved that ending. None of it had been her fault.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

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

What did that make me? Was I a monster, too? How long until my vor—no. No. I couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t even think of the word. Because it couldn’t be true. I’d had my Revelation Ceremony. Proved myself in the temple that I was worthy of my stave. I’d been the one hunting down the monsters for years. I didn’t belong in Lethea. I was the one who sent vorakh to Lethea. I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking off the thoughts. Even if it were true, it would be fine. I just had to keep it under control until I knew what was happening. Keep it hidden.

“Just stay,” Naria said. “We’re all going to the capital soon enough. It’s going to look strange if you’re not traveling with us.”

“Haven’t we dry-fucked in front of enough people for them to believe our engagement?”

“We don’t need anyone to believe a thing. We are engaged, Tristan. That’s the point. But people will still talk about other less pleasant things. Things we don’t want discussed. You know how unsettled everything is here.”

She was right. There’d been even more arrests after the trials. The soturi of Ka Kormac were everywhere last night, arresting anyone who even looked displeased with the announcement of our new Arkturion. Every time I looked up, some other mage or soturion was being dragged away, bound by mages working alongside our soturi. I’d never seen anything like it. I’d thought there’d been a lot of arrests after Harren’s assassination. But those numbers were nothing next to what I expected had been brought into the Shadow Stronghold the last few days.

And even worse, so many soturi of Ka Kormac had arrived, that they were reporting we’d run out of housing. Bamarians were now being asked to take in the soturi, to offer them rooms in their homes. A request that would surely lead to more revolts.

But we weren’t supposed to mention that. I shrugged at Naria. “Well, you do have the ear of our High Lady. She’s the one with final say over my travel plans. Isn’t she? Go ahead. Make your wishes known to her.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Naria asked.

I whirled around. “You know Godsdamned well what it means.” Black seraphim were being painted all over the city. Alongside wolves. And no one was doing a fucking thing about it. Instead, everyone was being arrested.

“No,” Naria said. “I don’t know.”

“Really? Really! Who’s policing the country, Naria? Who’s making the decisions for Bamaria? Your mother? Or is it our new Arkturion? Or maybe it’s Imperator Kormac?”

Naria flushed. “Of course it’s my mother.”

“Great.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Then go to her. Tell her I should stay. Tell her I should travel in your litter, and wave to the commoners as we go north to the Valabellum. We can stage a performance in every major city we enter, so no one talks about the Emartis, or the protests, or how many fucking soldiers are currently armed inside our borders. Maybe we should put our bed inside of a room made of glass—let them all watch me fuck you. Would that drive the conversation where you want it?” I pulled back the curtains, and gestured at her naked body. “We could start right now with Cresthaven’s sentries. I’m sure a few wolves will also catch the show.”

There was no response. Naria only bit her lip, her eyes shifting quickly back and forth across the room. Then she slammed the curtains closed, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Never mind. You fucking asshole.”

I took a deep breath, and tentatively reached for her shoulder, feeling exactly like what she’d called me. “I’m sorry.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am,” I said. But she didn’t bite. She was still closing in on herself. “I didn’t mean … Forget what I said. I’m not upset with you. Are you all right?”

Her eyes shot up, her lip curling with anger. “Really? My betrothed acts like he can’t stand me half the time, and then he says the cruelest things. He’s leaving me alone so he can go hunt down his ex-girlfriend. My cousin. And now I have to cross the Empire alone, with my mother. Of course I’m not all right.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing here. And I know how you actually feel. But I—” She swallowed roughly.

“You what?”

“I guess I’ll just have to go by myself to the capital. Maybe I’ll get one of those glass rooms and fuck myself in it. I can do a better job on my own anyway. See you there.”

“Naria,” I said, but she’d turned away, reaching for a silk robe. “Naria?” I rushed in front of her, reaching for both of her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. But she stared down, shaking her head.

We’d had a genuine flirtation years ago. I was well aware that she’d had a longstanding crush on me but I’d never taken it seriously. She’d openly courted Viktor Kormac, amongst others of the nobility. This was the first real show of emotion I’d seen from her. The first time I’d felt any level of vulnerability or intimacy, despite the number of nights I’d spent in her bed.

Naria shrugged out of my hold. “You don’t get to judge me for how I choose to navigate my golden chains. I’ve never judged you for yours.”

“You’re right.” I took a tentative step forward, as Naria’s eyes narrowed. “Can you answer one question for me?” I asked. “Truthfully?”

She remained still, watching me carefully, something dark in her aura pulsing. “That depends,” she said.

I folded my arms across my chest. “On?”

“If I want to be truthful.”

“Are you afraid of your mother?” I asked.

She practically barked in response. “This is what you want me to answer truthfully?”

“Yes.”

Her aura swirled around me, nothing but a heavy shadow as her eyes narrowed. “What you’re asking me, Tristan,” she said, her voice now hushed, “is treason. Go take your shower.”

But I stood there, watching her, my heart pounding. “You change,” I said quietly. “When you’re around her.”

“So do you,” she sneered. “Around your grandmother.”

“I know.”

“Then you have your answer.” Naria shook her head. “Don’t ever ask me that again. And don’t pretend you care about me when you don’t. I’m not stupid. I know what this is. And I’m choosing to meet it my way.”

“I …” I frowned, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to see you hurt. And whether you believe me or not, I do care about you. Though you don’t make it easy.”

“Like I said. My choice. Are you satisfied? The Bastardmaker’s waiting for you.”

“I’ll abide by your wishes. I won’t ask you again,” I said, releasing her from my hold. “I’ll see you at the capital.”

“Whatever.” She tightened the ties of her robe, and opened the balcony door. It was still too cold outside, but the sun’s warmth had returned.

“If you ever do want to talk to me though,” I said. “I’m here.”

Naria slammed the door in response. I grabbed my towels and headed into the shower.

Once I got the water running, the temperature to where I liked it, I stepped under the spray, and closed my eyes, trying to understand again what the fuck was going on. I even washed my hair twice, just trying to prolong the inevitable. But just as I was about to turn off the warm water, the temperature dropped. My guts twisted as the shower began to pour ice cold water on me.

I screamed in shock, and then I was gone.

No! No! I was in the shower. I was in Cresthaven. I was Lord Tristan Grey. I was an adult. I was a mage. I was not a child. This wasn’t happening. And I wasn’t … I wasn’t …

I stared down at tiny hands. My hands, the way they used to look when I was a boy. I was painting. Every picture was the same. Every color of the rainbow. Just me splashing the colors all over the paper. Again and again. I had a gallery of rainbow paintings hanging from the walls of my bedroom.

“Tristan?” my father walked in, twirling his stave. “What are you painting now, buddy?”

“Colors,” I said, my voice young and small. “Just colors.”

He chuckled. “Which one is your favorite color?”

“I don’t know.” But the different colors seemed to fade, until only yellow remained. Maybe that was the answer.

But before I could tell my father, two swords appeared. They were floating in the middle of the room, then growing and expanding until they were too large to fit the space. They sliced, cutting through the walls. The Villa was falling apart before they cut through my father, through my pictures.

I reached for him, but my father was gone.

That’s when I remembered. He was dead. He’d been torn apart. My mother, too.

I was in a box. Completely dark. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out. To escape.

Suddenly the lid opened and light flooded me. I looked up, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjusted. And I saw myself. I was an adult, the same age I was now. And I was fuming, my neck turning red, something violent and angry firing through my aura.

I blinked again, and then I was myself, I was Tristan. I was standing outside the box. But as I looked inside I could see, it wasn’t me as a child who’d been trapped in there.

It was the vorakh. The mage who killed my parents.

She rose to her feet, laughing hysterically, long limbs climbing out.

I stepped back, reaching for my stave, ready to utter the words. The ritual. But my stave was gone.

She wildly tossed back her long black hair, then she looked at me with her dark eyes, as a smile widened her face, her beauty mark pronounced over the right corner of her lips. My eyes focused on it, like it was an anchor that would keep me from panicking.

“You’re grown,” she cackled. “I’ve seen inside your soul. And I know who you are. You can’t run from me. I’ll still get you.”

I tried to yell. To tell her she was dead. Rotting in hell. But my voice didn’t work, and she only laughed louder, and louder.

There were screams, hundreds of voices crying out in anguished terror.

Then I saw a flash of light. Orange. Indigo.

I sputtered out water, my entire body shivering.

The glass door swung open and Naria stared down at me.

“Myself to Moriel,” she said. “I thought you were having a fit.”

“I-I …” My teeth chattered. I was so, so cold. I could barely talk.

“Did you fall asleep in there? It’s been half an hour. The Bastardmaker keeps sending messengers to my room.”

“Can you …” Fuck. Fuck! I was too cold to move. My entire body ached. How was this happening to me? How was this possible? What did it fucking mean?

“Can I what?” Naria asked.

“T-turn off the water,” I said. “Towel?”

She shook her head, but leaned forward and shut off the spray, then tossed a towel at me.

“Th-thanks,” I said.

Naria’s eyes narrowed, and for the second time ever, she seemed to show some genuine emotion. “You’re not okay. Maybe instead of this meeting, we should take you to the healers.”

“NO!” I yelled. “No.” If they took me there, I’d be at risk. They would figure out what was wrong with me. Know what I was. Turn me in. Send me to Lethea.

Like I’d done to the others.

Maybe that was what I deserved.

Naria sighed. “What do you want me to do then?”

“Tell the Bastardmaker I’ll be down shortly.”

“I’ll let the next messenger know.”

I leaned against the tiles, and closed my eyes, my body shivering, the vorakh’s face laughing in my mind.