CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LYRIANA
The next day, as the clock towers finished their hourly call, I was marched to Seathorne’s Seating Room. I looked out the looming windows, my heart half-expecting to see ashvan horses, the blue glow of their hooves in the sky. I’d been away from Bamaria for so long, I was starting to feel homesick. There were no ashvan here, no glittering waterways reflecting the sky. No warmth in the air carrying the scent of spices. Just endless stretches of gray skies and gryphon wings blocking the faint light of winter’s sun.
Dario stood by my side, my new personal escort, his hand on the hilt of his sword a useless gesture when a dozen soturi lined the hall ready to strike. Not that I had any more plans to escape. Not when Imperator Hart had my name signed in blood, and my promise to do his will. Not when Rhyan’s, Meera’s, and Jules’s life hung in the balance.
The Imperator had already called his Court into session. He had a busy day ahead. Addressing the newly reported akadim threat, Glemaria’s participation in the upcoming Valabellum. Parading Meera around so his people could ogle at the survivor of an akadim attack and praise their Imperator for her rescue.
And he had two betrothals to announce. Mine.
And Rhyan’s.
Not to mention, Rhyan’s acquittal for having been named forsworn.
Meera’s part would be finished by now. I was to be presented next. Then Rhyan would follow. The grand finale.
I could hear the announcements around Meera coming to a close. There was a round of applause, then cheers.
“They’re ready for you,” Dario said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
His hand flew to his heart, his head falling back as if he’d been stabbed. “Pardon me for forgetting that you know how this works. You must know everything thanks to your once noble status.” He straightened, adjusting the leather tie around his curls. “But all the same, you better be ready in there. You know what’s at stake.”
The cut on my skin still burned, and I could still feel the way my blood felt against the parchment as I signed my name.
“I’m ready,” I gritted through my teeth, and nodded at the herald. “Go ahead. Announce me.”
The doors swung open, and I was hit with the force of hundreds of auras at once—excited, curious, searching. And judging. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I withstood the assault.
The herald called my name, and Dario shoved me across the threshold.
All at once, the noise and laughter of the Court turned to hushed whispers as hundreds of eyes turned to me.
I kept my gaze forward, to the dais, where Kenna stood. Where Imperator Hart sat back in his Seat, daring me to falter.
I wouldn’t. I’d signed my name in fucking blood.
And no matter who sat on the Seat of Power in Bamaria, or who tried to claim it, nothing could take away the fact I was still Lady Lyriana Batavia. The reincarnation of Asherah, Goddess of the Red Ray. A Guardian. A Warrior.
I walked down the center aisle, aware of every eye turning toward me. Aware that Meera was somewhere in the room. But I never took my eyes off the Imperator’s. He’d caught me off guard yesterday, caught me weak. I wouldn’t give him the chance to do it again.
This was war.
“Your Highness,” I said when I reached the front. I curtseyed low and stood, my back to the nobility.
“Lady Lyriana Batavia,” Imperator Hart said. “Or shall we call you, Soturion Lyriana?” he asked with a chuckle.
The Court laughed in response—a sort of immediate, expected sound that I assumed they’d been trained to do for decades under his rule. Laugh when he made a joke. Believe him when he lied.
“Come, my lady,” he said. “Join us up here on the dais as I introduce you. Lady Kenna shall be your companion.”
Rhyan’s ex-lover. Of course.
But also, my new ally.
“I am honored, Your Highness,” I said sweetly, and picked up my sea of green skirts, prepared to step onto the stage. Surprisingly, Dario was by my side, his hand on my elbow, steadying me as I made my way. He waited until I was balanced enough to drop my skirts. Then I stepped to the left, moving respectfully beside Kenna.
She looked my way, concern filling her brown eyes which seemed to ask if I was okay.
I nodded quickly, grateful for her steady presence. But my attention went almost at once to the front row. Meera sat before me. She also wore a Glemarian green gown, her ash-brown hair styled like mine. Though she somehow seemed more at ease in the foreign style than I was. Aiden sat beside her, a soturion I didn’t know on her other side—her escorts. I noted right away that his dagger was out. Not noticeable to anyone who sat near him. It was meant for me. A reminder to behave. A reminder that Meera could be hurt with a single blink of Imperator Hart’s eyes.
“Lady Meera told you all, so sweetly, of how she was rescued from the akadim,” Imperator Hart said, one hand stroking his beard. “Two soturi rescued her. Two brave heroes. One stands before you now. Lady Lyriana Batavia.”
I kept still, kept my face neutral.
“I know you have all heard the stories,” Imperator Hart continued. “Lady Lyriana has no power. No strength. She was found without magic at her Revelation Ceremony.” He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd. “This is true. But she is a fighter who benefited from an excellent apprentice. One I myself had a hand in making.” He gestured to the herald. Rhyan was coming.
The front doors opened. Two guards appeared standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking him. Two more soturi marched behind, taking their places as the doors closed.
Everyone in the room began to turn, shifting in their chairs, looking over their shoulders at his entrance. At last, the front guards parted, revealing Rhyan between them.
For a moment I forgot how to breathe. It didn’t matter how many times I saw him dressed in his full soturion uniform. My breath caught as he stepped forward, his green eyes blazing, his hair curled just so. I drank in the sight of him. I couldn’t be positive, but he appeared unbound, and at least from what I could observe, he wasn’t injured. He looked only tired, though his scar was red and angry, like it was new. And from the gasps I heard, and the whispers of the word “scar” suddenly, I supposed it was new to the members of the Glemarian Court.
Then the shouts came. They called him a murderer, forsworn, and then someone from the back of the room called him a whore.
Kenna remained stoic as Imperator Hart stood and shouted, “Enough!” All at once, the room listened. And Rhyan was left to be marched in complete silence down the aisles toward the dais. The only sounds came from the footsteps of the soturi surrounding him.
When he reached the base, he bowed and stood, his back erect. I could feel the ice of his aura. The first time since we’d arrived. So, he could access his magic. That meant Imperator Hart was pleased with last night. But he could still be testing us—testing to see if Rhyan would stay in control unbound.
“Your Highness,” he said as he rose. He spoke in the clipped, formal way he did when he was concealing his emotions, when his lilt was most suppressed. “Thank you for welcoming me back. I am at your service, and Glemaria’s.”
The crowd erupted again, even more furious than before.
And again, Imperator Hart’s voice rose above, as he gestured for Rhyan to join us on the dais as well.
“No one knows the tragedies that occurred here better than I do,” Imperator Hart addressed the Court. “I understand your anger. Your sorrow. For they are in my heart as well. But I swore I had many things to tell you.” He stood and wrapped his arm around Rhyan’s shoulder. Rhyan’s aura seemed to strike out, a painful chill of ice, sharp and violent. And then just as quickly, it was gone. His feelings withdrew. He was following orders, falling in line.
For me.
His father continued, “My duty to you as your Imperator, as your Arkasva, is sacred. What I tell you now is not said lightly, or without proof. My son, Rhyan, and Lady Lyriana rescued Lady Meera from death. They alerted Arkturion Kane to the threat of akadim at our borders. They are owed our thanks.”
“Forsworn!” came one final shout.
There was a deadly look in Imperator Hart’s eyes, and then the protester was removed at once by two soturi.
He gestured for everyone to sit, and to remain still, as he tugged Rhyan closer. Only from the vantage point of the dais could I see the way his fingers dug into his shoulder. The fact that Rhyan didn’t flinch was a testament to his strength.
“We all know the story of the tragic death of my first wife, Lady Shakina.”
Someone in the audience said, “ Ha Ka Mokan .”
This was answered by several calls of “Remember Lady Shakina,” and “her soul freed.”
Rhyan looked at me, a sudden flash in his eyes, then he stared ahead.
“I told you all what happened that awful, terrible night,” Imperator Hart said. “And until today, I thought I understood the events that transpired. Until today, I grieved for my late wife, for the mother of my eldest.”
My throat felt dry. His use of past tense had me on edge. The torches lining the room began to flicker, the flames crackling against the sounds of the wind, and the increasingly familiar sounds of a gryphon flying past.
“My personal guards bore witness to her death. Arkmage Connal, and even my wife, Lady Kenna saw Rhyan’s hand wield the blade that took Shakina’s life.”
Kenna seemed to be still beside me. I wondered if anyone else knew the truth. Did Dario and Aiden? Could Rhyan’s lifelong friends truly have believed this about him?
His father continued, “In my grief, I learned that even Imperators make mistakes.” He let the words hang in the air. “This past year has been one of contemplation. One where I found myself without an answer to an important question: why? Why would my son do this? What would cause one of our academy’s brightest and most dedicated warriors to slay his own blood? After all I had taught him, all he learned as a soturion, after swearing an oath of loyalty to me, to Glemaria and his people, how could he commit such an act?” He nodded solemnly. “Now I know. Our eyes had been deceived.”
At this, several nobles began to whisper in agitation. Imperator Hart’s aura darkened, with a cold, raging violence.
“You may be skeptical. It was Rhyan’s hand that took his mother’s life. I do not deny that.”
I frowned, unable to follow how this was going to lead to a different outcome. Was it all a joke? My eyes met Meera’s, who seemed to be silently asking the same question as she watched the Imperator with careful eyes. Observant eyes.
Cassarya’s eyes.
“There was something I didn’t know,” Imperator Hart said. “Something I didn’t want to believe. Something that I admit, even I was afraid to tell you.” His voice was suddenly sad, almost vulnerable sounding. “It was later in her life when it happened, so late she managed to keep it a secret, even from me. Without my knowledge, Lady Shakina developed vorakh.”
My mouth dropped. The audience let out a collective gasp. Immediately half the room was rising, their fists raised. It was the kind of instantaneous anger towards vorakh I’d seen countless times in the Barmarian court. The same anger I’d seen in the temple when Jules revealed hers. The same vitriol Tristan expressed when he’d said she had to die.
Rhyan’s jaw clenched. His aura was expanding beyond his control, forcing a blanket of ice across the dais, leaving me shivering.
“She managed to hide it from me,” his father said. “For had I known, despite the love I bore her, she would have been dealt with at once. The night of her death, a vision took her. She devolved into violence, and attacked me. Because I’d only known her as gentle, her strength caught me by surprise. I thought she was having a fit. But Rhyan saw the truth. He saw her vorakh.”
The room was silent, every noble hanging on his every word. They were slowly beginning to sit down, leaning forward, rapt at his story. He truly had them in his palm.
“My son did not hesitate to protect me. Not only did he stop the threat, he accepted all of the blame to protect our Ka. He became forsworn to keep Glemaria safe, to keep his mother’s reputation untarnished. He did it for me. He did it for all of you. To keep the Emperor from falsely accusing our country, and you, my people, who I think of as my family, of hiding her.”
I nearly gasped. He was taking the fear nobles felt at Ka Azria’s story, and turning it on his Court.
“My son has sacrificed everything for Glemaria. For you. And he did so in silence. We do not honor vorakh, do we?”
The crowd shouted, “No!”
“No.” His voice darkened. “We stop the threat! And we honor the ones who stop it.”
A chill ran down my spine. In seconds, Rhyan’s mother had gone from being a beloved leader to a monster. With one lie, he’d convinced the entire country to tarnish her memory.
Imperator Hart grabbed Rhyan’s arm, and held it over his head in victory. “My son! He will henceforth be known as Lord Rhyan Hart, Heir to the Arkasva, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North. I revoke the title forsworn. I absolve you of all charges. Your exile, Lord Rhyan, has come to an end. Welcome home.”