CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
LYRIANA
After a month of holding back, of pretending I was slow, of forcing myself to remain docile and feign weakness, I was flying through the streets, my boots barely touching the ground as I took each step.
I’d been bitter, hating that I had wasted all of my newfound strength and power in the arena. But now? Now I could feel it crackling through my body, coursing through my bloodstream, alive and powerful. As if all the speed I hadn’t utilized the past few weeks had been saved up to assist me now. I dodged past stunned mages on the street, and a soturion who didn’t recognize me with my hood up. I’d tucked my hair back, lest anyone see the fiery redness I was hiding in the sun.
When I saw the stables, I slowed. They were official stables of the ruling Ka in Cretanya, Ka Zarine. I slid against the wall of buildings behind me, trying to find the best way in. I not only had to steal a horse, but I had to get it to trust me. Rhyan was better at that.
The thought immediately made my heart pang.
But I pushed the thought down. I couldn’t be weak now. Couldn’t hesitate. Every second counted.
The gates to the stables were closed and inside I could make out about three stable hands working. They seemed to be feeding the ashvan. Two on the end further from me, and one nearly at the entrance.
I drew my hood down, and then considering further, I took my dagger, and sliced off a strip of my cloak, and tied the material around my mouth and nose as a makeshift mask. Then, keeping the dagger in my hand, I stepped into the courtyard, empty unlike last night, and slowly pried open the door. The two handlers on the other end didn’t notice, but the third one, the one closest to me, looked up right away.
He was young, barely a few years older than me with curly hair. His eyes brightened and immediately he said, “Morning. Can I help you?”
I saw the moment it happened, the moment he took in my mask and the blade in my hand and his face fell. His mouth opened to yell, but I was on him in a second, my hand around his mouth and my blade to his neck.
“You make a single sound,” I hissed, “I will slit your throat. I need an ashvan. Now.” I pushed the blade into his skin, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to tell him I was serious. He trembled, his aura actually stinking with his fear. I almost felt bad. But I couldn’t allow myself to think about it. Not until Rhyan was safe. “You are not going to send for help. You’re going to take me to your fastest horse, and I won’t hurt you. Blink once if you understand.”
He blinked.
“Good. You have thirty seconds. Choose wisely. You give me a dud, my associates will know, and you’ll be dead within the hour,” I bluffed.
He blinked again. And I hadn’t even told him to comply that time.
“Good boy,” I said, “Go. Quietly.”
His eyes widened, as if he was unsure what to do, but with a shove from me, he started walking, moving quickly, as best he could with my hand around his mouth, and a knife to his throat. He stopped before a stall housing a moonstone ashvan with a golden mane.
“Fastest?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously.
“Saddle,” I said.
He nodded again, and pointed. She was already saddled up, which meant she was going to be pulled for soturion duty soon. Perfect.
“Take her out,” I ordered, and I removed my hand from his mouth. “One sound from you that’s not coaxing the ashvan to me, and you die.”
The stable hand was sweating now, his curls sticking to his face. He placed both hands around the horse’s face and spoke quickly, his voice shaking, but hushed.
“You’ll be … you’ll be okay,” he told the ashvan.
We took the horse toward the front, and I realized there was going to be a moment when I couldn’t threaten the stable hand, when I had to climb onto the ashvan and leave before he screamed. Then I heard Rhyan’s voice in my head, ordering me to protect myself before we left our cave.
If you need to defend yourself—strike first, think later.
I felt awful doing it. But once we cleared the threshold, I took the hilt of my dagger, and I slammed it onto the back of the boy’s head. His eyes closed and he collapsed. I dragged back inside the stable doors and closed them behind me, then without looking back I climbed up onto the horse, settled into her saddle, stroked her, grabbed her reins, and kicked.
“ Vraya. Ya! ”
She took off at once, picking up speed with a loud whinny, blue sparks shimmering around her hooves. Then I felt the horse lift up onto her hind legs. I tightened my grip, and we took off, running at an angle that left my heart pounding. She raced up the buildings in front of us, and then over them, rising higher and higher.
I quickly assessed which way we were heading and steered us north, straight for Numeria. I kept my gaze forward, urging the ashvan on. The wind was blowing brutally into my face, and the air was chilled despite the sun. But I only looked ahead, only thought of Rhyan. And if my horse slowed, I yelled until we sped up. I didn’t relent until I reached the city.
We descended just beyond the border to avoid being seen by patrol. I had just one task to complete. Find out where in the capital he was.
I moved further into the city. The sparkling waterways were overrun with nobles and Lumerians, all speaking in a mix of northern and southern dialects. I hadn’t been around such a mix of people like this since Auriel’s Feast Day. As promised, the Valabellum had drawn Lumerians from every corner of the Empire. But that was good, because when I had Rhyan, we could vanish more easily—get lost in the crowd.
And the other good thing—they were all heading in one direction—to the arena.
I breathed a small sigh of relief. Rhyan hadn’t been stripped yet. If he had been, if it was over, they’d be walking away. There’d be the sort of mass exodus, the kind one saw after games in the arena or habibellums attended for entertainment.
I walked a few more steps, keeping pace with everyone, letting the ashvan take a short break.
“To the arena!” a soturion shouted, bumping into me. I immediately pushed back and shoved him onto the ground.
“What the fuck?” He was Ka Kormac based on his armor. He scrambled to his feet, clearly hellbent on revenge. “The fuck are you looking at?”
But I didn’t answer, I just kept walking, pushing until I vanished into the crowd. As I walked, I mentally went over the map of the Palace. Was Rhyan in the dungeons? Or did they have him in that interrogation room where Jules and Galen were? There was a huge difference in location. The interrogation room would be near the Throne Room, toward the front of the Palace away from the arena. But the prisons on the opposite side of the grounds meant a much shorter walk to the Katurium.
“The forsworn bastard,” someone shouted into the crowd, pulling me from my thoughts.
More calls came.
“Heard he killed Theotis.”
“He’ll get his.”
Assholes. I ducked my head down, making sure my hood remained up and tightened the mask around my face. I’d put my cloak on over my armor to conceal that I was Bamarian.
But right then someone noticed. “Your cloak’s on wrong,” a Palace Turion barked at me. “The armor goes on top. Stop and fix it, soturion. Now.”
I sped up, walking faster, my hands tightening on the ashvan’s reins.
“Hey! I gave you an order! Stop!”
I froze, unsure what to do. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. I pushed my shoulders forward, trying to look cowed.
“Why are you masked,” he asked, circling in front of me, his eyes narrowing.
“I got cut in training,” I said, looking down. “Nasty scar. My boyfriend said it’s too ugly to look at.” I sniffled.
The Turion rolled his eyes. “Fix your cloak,” he snarled, then moved past me, shouting at everyone to keep order, and not to push.
My stomach was in knots but I walked behind him, wondering if he had any valuable information.
“Full crowd,” he muttered, as he came upon another soturion. This one was Glemarian.
I pulled my hood further down my forehead. If anyone was going to recognize me, it was one of them. Especially after I’d been paraded around all month.
“The whole fucking Empire’s here,” said the Glemarian soldier.
“I heard he did that to you?” the Turion said, pointing to the Glemarian’s eye.
“Aye, he did. Fucking bastard. Don’t matter. He’s not getting away with it this time. His father’s got a hundred soturi outside his cell. I’m heading back there now. We’re about to bring him out. The Imperator wants everyone there. The Emperor, too.” He laughed. “Like he can escape. The forsworn bastard’s been bound to hell and back, at least three times. And every part of his body’s chained.”
The Turion laughed. “Good. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a stripping.”
“As am I,” said the soturion. “I’ll take my leave. See you out there.”
The Turion nodded and walked ahead.
Fuck. He was in the prison. I couldn’t tell if the soturion had exaggerated or not. But Imperator Hart had done double bindings on Rhyan before. A triple one for today made perfect sense. And knowing how strong he was, it was easy to believe there were a hundred soturi guarding him.
Another shout of someone calling him “forsworn” came and I stormed out of the crowd, pulling the ashvan with me.
Away from the waterway, I climbed back on, steering her toward the trees.
A horn blew. “Prisoner walk begins at the top of the hour! Please, make your way inside quickly!”
I searched for the nearest clock tower. That was in twenty minutes. I threw my hands on my head in frustration. Think. Think!
My heart was pounding. I’d survived so many impossible situations. My first habibellum powerless. The fight against Haleika in the arena. The nahashim in Korteria. I’d always found more strength, more power. Suddenly, my mind cleared, and I knew what I needed to do. The warnings didn’t matter. Nor did the consequences. I either left here with Rhyan, or I wasn’t leaving at all. I had to go get the shard.
“ Volara ,” I commanded, and once again we took off.
The Palace was in view, and thanks to my memorization of the map and blueprints, I spotted the windows of the Throne Room with ease. The stained-glass windows were alight beneath the sun. I pulled the reins around one wrist, and I grabbed my stave with the other. I directed the ashvan forward, blue sparks flying out behind us. My heart was pounding, but I urged her on and we flew over the walls, and the gates.
“Hey!” a soturion yelled, and I could faintly hear a horn being sounded. An alarm. But it was drowned out by the sounds coming from the arena. Shouts of excitement were growing louder. I could hear Rhyan’s name being called, and then more insults.
They were bringing him out.
I pointed my stave at the windows. And then I released the spell, blasting through the glass panes, again and again and again.
“Bring her down!” came a shout. “Bring her down!” Soturi were gathering at the front wall, and more were marching out from the Palace. But not enough to stop me.
“GO!” I screamed and we flew through the shattered windows, my entire chest heating at once.
The shield was in view above the Throne. Its power called out to me, the Valalumir beating with my heart. A dozen guards were running across the black and white tiles. Another dozen mages ran behind, their staves drawn. Leftovers from the Arkchayperam.
“Dorscha, ” I commanded.
The ashvan whinnied in distress as blue light almost hit us. Another mage was shooting a binding spell up. But we moved just in time to avoid the rope.
Suddenly there was another ashvan below, bronze with a silver mane. Riding on his back was the Blade. Lumeria’s Arkturion.
“ Vra! ” He roared and suddenly they were flying up to meet me.
I withdrew my sword, and urged the ashvan forward. Our swords clashed in the air and my hood fell back, revealing bright, fiery red hair.
“Lady Lyriana Batavia.” He shook his head. “You’ll be next to be stripped for this.”
I tightened my grip and again, our swords met. I pulled back and charged, stabbing but the Blade narrowly avoided me.
“Oh wait,” he said. “You have no power. There’s nothing to strip.” His arm lifted, and too quickly came crashing down.
I screamed and my ashvan, seeing the coming threat, backed up and neighed in distress.
We were close to the wall, and two more ashvan below were gearing up to join us.
“Wait,” the Blade ordered. “On my signal.”
I felt for the wall behind me, realizing we’d lined up exactly where the shield hung.
I reached for it, my heart heating, hotter and hotter. I couldn’t get it, it was being held too tight by rope.
The Blade was shifting his ashvan, preparing to charge.
I turned my back, using my sword to cut the ropes behind it. My blood began to buzz, my chest on fire, flaring with the heat. But this time it spread through my limbs, pushing out of my fingers. The shield started to drop, and I pulled it up, shocked at its weight, but thanks to my training, able to withstand it. And for a moment, a sense of awe and wonder pulsed through me. I held another lost shard of the Valalumir. But the moment was gone almost instantly.
The Blade’s sword was coming for me, just inches from my face when I blocked the hit.
I felt the reverberation of the starfire steel against the bronze in my hand.
He looked shocked, and spat. “You bitch.”
“I have more power than you know,” I seethed and kicked my ashvan forward, racing back out the windows.
“Oh no you don’t,” the Blade roared. “ Vra! ”
I held up the shield, and turned the ashvan, bright orange light radiating from my hand. Blue sparks were covering the Throne Room, flickering in and out of light with each step the horses took.
But the Blade hadn’t given up. I could see his sword, the point coming straight for me.
I thrust the shield in front of me, blocking his hit. There was a blast of orange light that nearly blinded me, and then I turned, and without thinking, I thrust, and I stabbed.
The Blade’s eyes widened as my own blade cut through his stomach, finding the one small spot in his armor that let me pass.
His mouth opened in horror, and blood spilled out, his hands releasing the reins of his ashvan. His entire body was aglow in the orange light of Ereshya’s shard. He tilted to the side, and fell.
The mages on the ground immediately started throwing spells again, now that the Blade wasn’t blocking their target.
“ Volara! ” I roared, steering back toward the broken window. We were almost there, just a few more steps and we’d be outside.
“Now!” came a shout.
The ashvan jolted suddenly.
“Come on,” I begged, we were practically at the window. Almost there.
But we were falling. I looked back and saw a sword buried in her right flank.
I made a wheezing sound as we landed. The horse took most of the fall, but every part of my body ached. And I was slow to roll off her, and to stand. My vision blurred, but then just as quickly, everything seemed to right itself.
The heat was growing inside me, strengthening me. It was pulsing through my very being.
I held up my sword, preparing to fight my way out. I recognized some of the faces I saw now. Guards who’d been at Theotis’s side. Who’d protected him. One who I was sure had been chasing us when we escaped. A dozen soturi lifted their swords, their eyes fixed on me. Some of the mages had run from the room, calling for help, not trusting their magic in a soturion fight. But half had remained, and I could see their staves glowing, ready to bind me.
I reached for mine, ready to shield myself against their magic. When all at once, their eyes widened, and their staves rolled onto the floor as if they’d been smacked from their hands.
“The fuck?” one said. And then all at once, they turned, as a door on the other side of the room creaked open.
A mage walked through, her movements slow and mesmerizing. Long shining raven hair fell to her waist from beneath a blue mage’s robe. She wore an orange gown with a deep V that cut to the golden belt at her waist. It was Bamarian styled, the fabric draped across her curves, and exposed lightly tanned skin. A deep indigo light cast its aura around her. A light I knew. Had known for centuries. It came from the indigo shard which she held in her hand like a scepter. Like a queen.
Morgana.
The mages were fumbling for their staves, while the soturi looked stunned, their fighting stances widening, their eyes moving back and forth between us as if they didn’t know who was the threat. Two soturi had vadati stones, glowing in their hands. Then all at once, the stones turned white.
The door closed, and a buzzing sound vibrated through the room. Wards. We were trapped.
Morgana came to a halt. Her dark eyes wide, her mouth tight as she took me in.
“Lyr.” She shook her head. “I thought I heard you. You have something I need.” Her eyes swept across the shield. “Again.”
“Morgs?” My voice shook, my heart hammering, even as I tightened my grip. “Morgs, what are you doing?”
“Seize her!” shouted a soturion, snapping out of his daze. “Seize them both!”
I stepped back, my sword lifted and Morgana flinched, but then she held up the shard, sunlight catching the crystal and spiraling its light across the room.
She shook her head, slowly, and removed her hood. “No one will be seized today. Not by any of you.” She snapped her fingers, and the door opened once more. Three men entered the Throne Room.
I stepped back at once, my pulse pounding, my stomach twisting with fear. There was something terrifying about them, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. They were taller than any man I’d ever seen, looming well over a foot taller than Morgana. Their arms bulged with muscle, exuding strength and violence, and their fingers ended with long, tapered nails. Their teeth were so sharp they extended past their lips. It was almost as if …
No.
I stepped back again. And at once, all three lifted their faces revealing red glowing eyes.
Akadim.
No. No.
This wasn’t possible. It was day. This couldn’t be happening. My eyes were playing tricks on me. They were too small anyway. And whatever kind of evil they were, they couldn’t be with Morgana. Morgana wouldn’t, she wouldn’t …
Maraaka Ereshya.
She would.
The doors closed behind Morgana with another snap of her fingers, trapping us inside. The buzzing grew louder.
“You’re warded in,” Morgana said. “There’s no escape. I’m sorry it comes to this. But all Empires must fall. Even ours.”
A soturion flung his dagger at her. The blade flying straight at her face.
I yelled out.
But Morgana merely moved the shard in front of her, and the blade turned around, flying back at the soldier, piercing him in his gut.
He fell to his knees, crying out in pain.
“Remember,” she said, “That you were part of the oppression. Of the suffering. None of you who served him, who subjugated and tortured Lumerians on his orders can claim innocence. I want you to know, as you die, that this was always the fate you deserved.”
Then she turned to the akadim looming behind her. All three were wearing silver cuffs around their necks, the marking of demons loyal to Aemon, sharing his blood, and his strength.
“ Himai ,” Morgana said.
The akadim attacked.