Warrior of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

TRISTAN

I watched as one Imperator pushed Lyriana away, giving her barely a second to breathe, before the next one was there. She was caught between north and south. Naria dug her fingernails into my palm, and I brought my gaze back to hers. The Voladarim had ended, and another dance had already begun. I twirled Naria, attempting to move closer to the center of the dance floor—to where Lyriana stood. I needed to get near her. Needed to talk to her. Confirm that Imperator Hart’s gryphon-shit story about her engagement, or wedding, or whatever the fuck he was talking about was a lie. I couldn’t believe it. Refused to. Even if we’d never be together, I knew she wouldn’t want that. Would never willingly agree to such a thing. The more I considered it, the sicker I felt.

The fact that she had fainted in the Throne Room wasn’t helping convince me either—especially with the pregnancy rumors swirling. I desperately wanted word from her own mouth about her condition. I needed to know that she was okay. I had to pray that no matter what else was going on, the forsworn bastard—or rather the previously forsworn bastard—wouldn’t have allowed it. Knowing him, I didn’t think he would. But then again, I never thought he’d have his title returned, or that I’d be engaged to Naria. I supposed anything was possible now.

I watched Lyr from the corner of my eye, her cheeks reddened, her hands moving weakly at her sides in a vain attempt to adjust that ridiculous excuse for a dress.

Naria’s aura flared with a prickly annoyance and she grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. I did, breathing heavily, aware of another aura approaching.

Imperator Kormac sauntered up to us, grinning viciously. He took Naria’s hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Your Highness,” Naria said sweetly, releasing her hold on me to curtsey low, her breasts practically spilling out of her dress.

The Imperator’s eyes raked down her body, and for a moment, Naira’s aura flared again—this time with a nervous, shivery sensation. A second later she seemed calm. The way she was when she was with her mother. Pretending to be unaffected, unafraid. I had the sudden urge to step between them. To protect her.

“Your Grace,” the Imperator drawled. “I know I’ve already told you, but you won’t mind my saying how deliciously beautiful you look tonight.”

Naria smiled, and bit her lip. “Thank you, Your Highness.” Her eyes flicked to mine, accusatory, as if I hadn’t offered her enough praise. Unless she was trying to communicate something else. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t always read her. She was always so closed off.

“Hmmmm,” the Imperator said, shaking his head slowly, his eyes still boring into Naria’s body. “I hate to break up the dancing. But,” his tilted his chin toward me, “might I have a word with your betrothed?”

I tensed.

Naria smiled. “Of course, Your Highness. You may have as many words as you like.”

“How generous.” He chuckled. “I thank you.” He gripped her hand lifting her arm over her head. The position looked painful, but Naria’s expression remained unaffected as he spun her in a circle. “Beautiful as ever. Just like your mother.” He released her, shoving her back just a little as he did so.

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded and left us alone, grabbing a floating glass of wine as she walked away, heading for Lady Pavi and the members of Ka Elys.

My heart pounded, alone now with the wolf. “Your Highness,” I said, and bowed, realizing I hadn’t done so yet in this current interaction.

He leaned back, his weight on his heels as he surveyed me. The music swelled, the song changing to a new tune that required additional musicians to accompany the players. Someone yelled out “ Rapatayim! ”

“Cheers!” came another yell.

Imperator Kormac’s eyebrows narrowed. “We’re still in agreement, aren’t we? That we have a new opportunity for you to bring someone to me. Two someones,” he said, and turned his wolfish eyes to Lyr as she spoke intimately to Imperator Hart.

Her mouth twitched into one of her fake smiles.

“They’re here,” I said, almost defiantly. “I haven’t forgotten. But are you sure you still want her? She’s …” I shrugged. “She might be pregnant.”

“Pregnancy doesn’t have to be permanent. And as far I’m concerned, if I didn’t see him fuck her with my own eyes, I have a hard time believing that it happened. If she’s been fucked, it hasn’t been by him.”

By Hart. Myself to Moriel. My blood was boiling. I hated thinking about that, hated talking about her like this. Like she was a thing to be traded, like any of these assholes deserved any say in how she lived her life or who she married. Or slept with.

Even if it would never be me.

“In exchange for Galen’s safety,” I said, my pulse pounding. “I know what you did. And I thank you.” Before Imperator Hart’s arrival, I’d been in the arena, watching the final practice with those chosen to fight tomorrow. And to my relief, Galen was nowhere to be seen. I’d wanted to go to his apartment to talk to him. To tell him I was sorry he hadn’t made the trials.

But I’d been required to appear in the Throne Room. Since I’d captured that vorakh in the Palace, I’d been given special treatment—permission to carry my own stave, and daily invitations to be present in Court alongside Ka Kormac.

“The plan remains,” Imperator Kormac agreed. “I made the necessary arrangements. Though, all of this does depend on you. I need you to do your part. I cannot simply take her from Kane’s bed, not without causing a huge political headache with the North.”

My throat tightened, and I nodded. I just had to keep agreeing. Agree and do nothing. Galen would be safe. He was already disqualified from the games, hadn’t been cast in any role. The games were in hours, they’d start in the morning. I’d make a failed attempt at Lyr. And then she would leave with Imperator Hart. I’d just admit my failure and prostrate myself at his feet. I’d deal with those consequences. As long as it meant Galen lived. As long as it meant I didn’t lose one more friend to Imperator Kormac’s manipulations.

He stepped closer, and suddenly his hand was on my shoulder, just like it had been that day in the arena. “I would, however, like confirmation that that oversized ogre hasn’t taken her to his bed. That there’s no beast spawn in her belly. It would be in his character as well as Devon’s.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think so. It’s just a desperate attempt from Devon to keep one of my subjects.”

“If you already know the truth, Your Highness, why do you need me to confirm it?”

“Because,” he drawled, his other hand on my belly, “the truth becomes far more believable when she’s the one confiding it in an old friend. One just like you. Who else? After all, you also failed to wed and bed her.”

My jaw tightened, and his hands pushed against me, reminding me he could crush me.

“You also failed to put a baby in her belly.” He licked his lips. “Now that’s our job. And what about you? Any luck with Naria yet? Her breasts seem as pert as ever. Not a good sign.”

“I’ve been away,” I seethed, staring ahead. “I’ve been here, and she only recently arrived with Ka Batavia.”

Now Kane was dancing with Lyr again. For a moment, she looked sick to her stomach. But then she smiled, this one almost believable, and she began to move her hips, undulating towards the Arkturion. Her eyes closed, her face revealing her embarrassment and anger. What was going on? I knew Lyr. She was never one to follow orders if she didn’t agree with them. Even if they came from an Imperator. Especially not an Imperator. She knew how to play the game, to be amongst the nobles and follow the rules. But I’d always seen the disdain in her face when she disagreed with a request.

She continued dancing, and every step she took revealed the full expanse of her leg and hip in that Godsdamned excuse for a dress. Whose idea had that been? Devon Hart’s? Fuck. I needed to get her out of there. But then what? If I could prove she wasn’t with Kane’s child, and I could take her away from Hart, from the North, what then? Hand her over to another Imperator? One who was just as manipulative, just as monstrous, if only more polished?

The music stopped playing and everyone turned to the Emperor. The merriment of the ball’s attendees was still palpable, but in the silence I could better sense how many remained on edge.

Auriel appeared at the top of the stairs. Not actually Auriel, but a soturion dressed like him. His entire body was covered in golden armor, and a green cloak. A green mask covered half of his face, concealing his identity. Short golden curls that I suspected came from a wig peaked out from his helmet. There was no clue as to who he might be, or which country he’d hailed from.

“Ah,” Imperator Kormac said, finally taking his hands off me. He grabbed a fresh glass of wine and began to sip slowly. “The presentation of the Guardians for tomorrow’s final battle. Exciting.”

I nodded numbly.

Asherah was next on the stairs. She wore a red mask, and a golden helmet. Her hair spilled from it in wild, loose waves, a bright red that matched her soturion cloak. At the bottom of the stairs, she took Auriel’s hand. Next was another masked soturion wearing orange. Ereshya. Followed by an incredibly large and muscled soldier in a yellow mask, and cloak. Shiviel. He wore golden cuffs around his wrists that reached his elbows, with yellow crystals embedded down the center representing the yellow shard of the Valalumir.

My heart began to pound. Too much yellow. Too much yellow. It was what the vorakh had said that night—when she’d looked at me. Suddenly, I was back in the Villa. My father alive. Swords cutting through the room.

I blinked the images away.

Cassarya appeared next, and then Hava, arriving in blue and violet cloaks.

“Only one more,” Imperator Kormac said. “Moriel. The soturion sentenced to die tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hoarse.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, his features blurry behind the bright flickering lights of the ball. Then the soturion playing Moriel began his descent, his dark face covered by his indigo mask. Indigo colored crystals were alight in his arm cuffs. He had a familiar gait as he descended, and then I felt an aura, one I’d known for years, reach out into the room.

My heart stopped.

The soturi split apart, walking to either side of the dais.

“Does he look familiar to you?” Imperator Kormac asked.

No. No!

The herald shouted, “Your Guardians who will reenact the War of Light in tomorrow’s Valabellum. But we honor them tonight on the eve of Asherah’s Feast Day, as we commemorate our history and remember that we survived. That we are still here despite the Gods’ fall. Tomorrow in the arena, you will see the epic battle play out between Auriel and Asherah as they join forces with Cassarya and Hava. Together they will face off against Shiviel, Ereshya, and then … in the Nutavian Katurium, as is tradition, we shall all witness the fall of Moriel.”

“You said he was safe!” I said, my hand shaking so badly, my wine spilled. “You said that he was disqualified.” Fuck. Fuck!

“Hmmm,” Imperator Kormac said. “With the masks and helmets, it’s difficult to say for sure who is who. Their identities, you know, are kept top secret from the public. Until the morning when they shall be revealed before all of Lumeria. Once that reveal happens, it cannot be undone. Unless, someone were to interrupt the proceedings between now and then. Remove a Guardian from their post. Replace them with another. Quickly.”

The Guardians were stepping forward now. One by one they bowed and curtseyed to the Emperor, falling to their knees in supplication.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Run across the room, grab their hands and drag them over here? Imperator Hart is right there!”

The Guardians were moving so fast. Each one stepped aside for the next, until Galen was on his knees before the Emperor. He looked up, and the crowd hushed as he called out, his voice booming. “Hail Your Majesty, Emperor Theotis, High Lord of Lumeria Nutavia.” He rose to his feet. “I am about to die, with honor and respect, reminding us all of Moriel’s demise, and our success on this most auspicious Asherah’s Feast Day. I salute you.”

Emperor Theotis’s thick white eyebrows lifted in amusement, and he extended his hand, his signet ring catching the light. “I accept your salute, and your bravery, and your sacrifice.”

The Emperor’s consort clapped.

Galen stepped up onto the dais, his knees bent as he lowered himself to kiss Emperor Theotis’s ring.

I couldn’t watch. Couldn’t bear it. Imperator Kormac had cornered me, was forcing me to act. To again betray myself. No matter what, I’d lose someone else before this was over.

Then it happened. Too quick for me to process what I was seeing.

Galen lunged. Not for the Emperor. Or his consort. But for the Blade. His fist crashed against the Arkturion’s cheek, forcing him back just enough to give Galen an opening, a chance to withdraw the old man’s sword.

Everyone was screaming. Some nobles rushed forward, while others were running out of the room.

But all I saw was my best friend doom himself, as he pointed the blade at Emperor Theotis, and with a cry of, “This is for Haleika!” he plunged the sword into His Majesty’s belly.