Warrior of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

LYRIANA

By the Gods! By the fucking Gods. I blinked rapidly, barely able to believe what I was seeing.

Everything was happening at once. Soturi tackled the soldier playing Moriel. Mages were casting protective domes around the Emperor as he was lifted into the air and floated from the room with what felt like a legion of soturi running after him.

The Blade had recovered from his punch and rushed forward to the man playing Moriel. He was already bound, and encircled by the Emperor’s men. But with a growl, the Arkturion lunged forward, punching the soturion on the nose. The crack echoed across the room and left me shuddering.

Imperator Hart was on the move, shouting orders I could barely comprehend at Kane as he rushed into the fray. And just like that, I realized the danger we were all in. If there was one assassin, there could be more. Like the Emartis.

My heart began to thunder as I looked for Meera in the crowd. Aiden was already leading her toward me. I could see Rhyan, his eyes frantic as he let go of Amalthea, rushing to my side.

“LYR!” he yelled, but his voice could barely be heard over the shouting coming from every direction.

Dario grabbed my arms and pulled me back as I struggled against his hold. Every fiber of my being was desperate to reach Rhyan. To reassure him I was okay. To reassure myself that he wasn’t hurt. I needed to get him. To touch him. To feel him. To pull him out of there.

He pushed soturi out of his way as the man playing Moriel was taken from the room. Orders from the multitude of escorts present were flying back and forth across the floor. There were shouts to protect the Arkasvim, the Arkturi, the Heirs.

Meera and Aiden were close, and I reached one hand for her, and the other for Rhyan. He was about to reach me. Our fingers nearly touching.

And then we were surrounded. Soturi withdrew their swords, each blade pointed directly at us, as they glowered, and moved in. Orders were shouted from the Emperor’s men to our escorts and guards—we were to all cooperate, noble, or not. Our soturi had to answer to the Emperor’s. And if any of us disobeyed, no matter our station, we would pay the price.

“Hands up,” one shouted. “No one moves. No one leaves.”

My pulse thrummed as I watched Rhyan still, and then Meera, swords encircling them.

Rhyan’s eyes met mine, concern all over his face.

“Steady,” Dario whispered. “Steady.”

“You, too,” I said, “Careful,” but my eyes were still on Rhyan’s.

A trumpet blared, and the herald shouted. “His Majesty’s Second, Lord Emmaron.”

A dozen soturi, all wearing the golden tattoo across their cheeks descended the stairs. A white dome appeared, followed by another dozen soturi, all wearing the pale gold of the Emperor’s armor.

Lord Emmaron was a middle-aged man, his hair a mix of black and gray cut short with a thick black beard. He also wore pale purple robes, though without any of the golden trim found on Theotis’s. Like Theotis, and the Blade, he was in far better shape than seemed natural at his age, with a thick torso, and incredibly muscular arms.

Reaching the stage, Lord Emmaron stepped up, his protection dome still around him. The mages who’d conjured it were visibly sweating, and I wondered why the Emperor hadn’t had one before. The magical protections in this room must have been so extreme, even he had lacked the proper magic needed to fully guard him. Then again, a stave was little use against a sword already embedded in one’s belly. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Bow,” commanded the herald.

The soturi who surrounded us remained still and stoic. Their blades glinted in the firelight. They did not move, nor withdraw their weapons. Instead, they jerked their chins to the ground, indicating we were to fall.

Swallowing hard, and again, far too acutely aware of how little dress I wore, I sank to my knees, my belly tightening to ensure I didn’t lose my balance and accidentally find myself impaled.

“An assassination attempt has been made on His Majesty, Emperor Theotis, High Lord of Lumeria Nutavia,” shouted Lord Emmaron. Spit flew from his mouth as he continued. “He remains in dire condition. Our medic mages are currently with him. We all pray for His Majesty’s immediate recovery.”

He paused, looking around the room, his eyes slowly taking in everyone, before he continued.

“The would-be assassin has been apprehended and taken into custody. He will be questioned, along with all of the Valabellum’s soturi. The Valabellum is hereby postponed until His Majesty’s condition is properly assessed and treated.” He motioned around the edge of the dance floor where the sigils hung for the ruling Kavim. “All Arkasvim, Imperators, and Arkturi will follow me. We will shelter in the Throne Room. As of this moment, the Palace’s strictest safety protocols are in effect, and we are officially in Arkchayperam. ”

Not just a lockdown, but preparation for a vote to name the new Emperor.

Imperator Hart looked back at me, his eyes moving slowly across our little crowd, stopping on Rhyan, and Meera. I could almost feel his orders—the need to obey him rushing through my blood. But he couldn’t give a direct command. Not now. Not until he was released from the Throne Room.

I watched as he was escorted out, along with Kane, Imperator Kormac, the Bastardmaker, and Aunt Arianna. One by one they left, until the ballroom only possessed clusters of nobility from each Ka, all huddled together around the room.

“All Kavim will be escorted by our soturi back to your quarters, you’ll be locked inside until further notice,” Lord Emmaron said once the doors had shut again.

Mages stepped forward on command, appearing out of the shadows.

He continued, “Each of you will be bound during escort for your own safety, and unbound once in the confines of your own rooms. Do not expect to leave your quarters before morning. Anyone who does, will be escorted to our prisons.”

Someone screamed, and my heart jumped as I expected to find another assassin. Another murder.

But it was just a noble—one who’d never experienced the pain or humiliation of a binding past their Revelation Ceremony. The ropes were black, glittering and smoking as they snaked across the room in every direction, twisting and twining around each Lumerian who remained.

Cries of pain and shouts of indignation raced back and forth across the dance floor.

Only Rhyan didn’t flinch as he was bound.

And then I was hauled into a line with the rest of Imperator Hart’s Ka, and marched at a quickened pace through the Palace back into our quarters. Meera was among us—she may have been ordered back to Ka Batavia, but her room remained with Ka Hart. We were all taken to our apartments, and only at our doors were our bindings removed. Dario was left on guard outside of mine, but he wasn’t alone. Soturi loyal to the Emperor had stationed themselves down the hall.

The door was slammed shut behind me, then locked. I paced back and forth across the room, looking out the window for any sign of life, or news before changing out of that Godsforsaken dress, and into a pair of sleep pants, and a light top.

I went back to sit on my bed, unsure what else to do or how to pass the time. We were locked in until morning. Until Asherah’s Feast Day. Until the games began. But all at once, the direness of the situation settled in. There would be no Valabellum. A Throne Room full of Imperators and every ruler and warlord in Lumeria stood between us and the shield.

We’d never reach the shard, never steal it, not unless the Emperor recovered. Not unless the games were allowed to play out.

And if they didn’t, how would we get Jules?

I swallowed roughly, wanting for once, for the Emperor to be okay. To be in good health. Because I needed to go forward with the plan. I didn’t come all this way, or get this close to her, just to fail now.

I wrung my hands together, pacing and pacing, until I heard a knock.

But not on the door. On my window. I tensed. I’d left the glass partially open to feel the breeze. And on the windowsill now, there was a hand.

Someone had scaled the building, and was climbing inside.

My heart pounded, as I searched for a weapon. But then I heard Rhyan hiss, “Lyr.”

“By the Gods,” I said, and rushed over, pushing the glass the rest of the way up.

Rhyan shoved himself over the windowsill a second later. He stood abruptly and slammed the window shut, his breath heavy.

“They’re not guarding the courtyard,” he said, “seeing as how there’s no way out. Except back in. Luckily that’s all I wanted. To get to you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “It’s dangerous.”

“I needed to see you.” He sounded desperate, pained, but he held back, waiting for me.

I clutched my stomach, already preparing for the pain, for the rise in temperature of my blood at disobeying Imperator Hart’s orders. I wracked my mind, desperately going over our last conversation, and I realized I could look at Rhyan, and step toward him. I didn’t feel compelled to send him away, didn’t feel any pain. There’d been no command about this. No orders against Rhyan alone in my room. Only about Kane at the ball.

I met his eyes, taking in the brilliant emerald green color I’d been denied so much of this past month. And I nodded.

“Partner,” he said. That one word seemed to hold the entire universe in it.

And that was it. We raced into each other’s arms.