Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
LYRIANA
My pulse thrummed with excitement and fear.
We were going to end the tyranny of Rhyan’s father.
Ever since the night Rhyan had confessed to me how he’d gotten his scar—since he’d woken from a nightmare so powerful, he’d caused a blizzard to erupt in his apartment—I’d wanted his father to pay. I’d wanted to offer him violence.
And ever since I watched him run from the dais like a coward, his son dying, Rhyan’s stolen magic in his arms—I wanted to rip his throat out.
Of course, we needed a plan. Glemaria was well protected with far too many soturi who remained loyal to their Arkasva and Imperator, either out of a sense of nationalism, or fear and coercion. Either way, we needed to think, and that meant I needed Rhyan strong again.
I brushed his hair back from his face, my fingers soft against the furrow of his brow.
He was doing so well considering, but when he thought I wasn’t looking, there was a haunted look in his eyes.
Like he was still seeing the world through the vision of an akadim, still being plagued by the memories.
I sat up in our bed and stretched my arms. “First things first,” I said.
“Before we do anything. I need to feed you. You need food. A lot of food. I should have already gotten you some.” If he hadn’t passed out in my arms after the shower, I would have.
But I couldn’t let go of him. Not once all night.
I couldn’t leave the room, or be away. Not even for a second.
Not after what we’d been through. I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt anyway. “You didn’t even eat last night.”
“No?” One eyebrow lowered, his eyes hooded.
“No,” I said.
His lips curled. “Oh, you fed me all right,” he said. “I ate.”
“What? No you didn’t.”
He grabbed my waist, and threw me onto my back, crawling over me. He kissed my belly, his tongue darting out and dragging across my skin with a kind of tortuous sensuality leading down to my core. I gasped as he nuzzled his nose between my folds, inhaling deeply.
“I. Ate,” he repeated, and gripped my hips, leaning his head over to bite one. “You fed me very well.”
I covered my eyes with my hand and laughed. “I meant real food.”
“Hmmmm,” he said, forcing the sound through his lips so they vibrated against my sensitive skin.
“Rhyan,” I shuddered, already wanting him again. But despite his sudden playfulness, he did need real food, actual calories and nutrients. Especially now that he was powerless. I remembered all too well what that was like. I reached down between my legs, his head already back there.
He licked me from bottom to top. Then pressed a kiss on the bundle of nerves at my center.
“Fuck,” I grunted. But I gripped his head, and pulled him up over me, kissing his lips, and tasting myself. “Rhyan, focus. I need to feed you nutrients. You can have that for dessert if you eat everything else first. But we have a problem.”
“Besides getting to Glemaria without getting caught and while I have no power?” he teased.
I shook my head, biting back a laugh. “I’m glad you’re in a good mood.”
“I’m trying,” he said, and kissed me again.
“There is the problem of getting to Glemaria without getting caught, while you have no power,” I said.
“And then figuring out how to remove your father, while also not getting caught— because as much as I want to see him pay for his crimes, and make sure he can never hurt or touch you again—” Something dark flashed in his eyes, the muscles of his jaw working.
“I’m not losing you. I’m not risking you.
If we do this, we do it right. We do it together. We survive, and we remain free.”
“We will. I swear,” he said.
“Good. Because perhaps what’s worrying me more than you without power at the moment, is you without any boots to wear.”
“Right,” he said, frowning. “I don’t have any shoes. And I can’t jump.”
“We’ll get you boots. Auriel and I had some money we … procured.”
“Stole?” Rhyan’s good eyebrow lifted.
“Well, it’s not like Auriel had access to a bank account.” Or me, as the Empire’s traitor.
Rhyan laughed. “No. So we’ll go and get some boots in town.”
“We?” I asked.
“I’m coming with you.” He sounded like he meant to be flirtatious, but his voice wobbled, like he was scared—scared of being separated again.
It had happened before. In Korteria. I’d let go of his hand when we were jumping together, escaping from his father’s nahashim.
He’d traveled without me, and I’d been taken by Brockton Kormac.
After a separation like the one we’d just had, I imagined it was hitting Rhyan even harder. It was hitting me, too.
I squinted at his feet. “If you’re sure. But so we don’t get any unwanted attention, I’ll glamour boots for you to wear in the meantime,” I said, “before you get real ones. I also … since we’ve been here, I’ve been changing my hair and armor to hide my identity, and blend in. Blonde and silver.”
“Like Ka Kormac,” Rhyan seethed.
“So no one knows it’s me.”
“Hmmm.” He closed his eyes and nodded. Probably seeing my hair change color through Auriel’s memories.
“Also,” I frowned, “you are hungry, aren’t you? I know akadim don’t eat regular food.”
He coughed uncomfortably. “I am. I’m hungry.”
“Oh.” I sighed in relief. “Good. I mean, not good. I don’t want you to be hungry. I just—wasn’t sure—if there were any, I guess, side-effects of your transformation.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty we don’t know about. But from what I can feel, hunger’s not one of them. And I’m positive I can eat real food.”
“Okay then,” I said, “Let’s go. I want to see you eat, and get armored up. Then we can make a plan on what to do next.”
“Like meeting up with everyone else. Dario, and Aiden, and Jules, Meera. Tristan. Galen.” Rhyan frowned. “Are they here, too? Or nearby?” I froze.
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I lost … um,” I looked down, “I lost them that night.” My voice shook. “Dario was supposed to protect them all while I went after you.”
“Lost? What do you mean? What happened?” He paled, his eyes moving quickly before they focused on me again. He was starting to remember more details, take in more of Auriel’s memories. Then his face fell.“Gods. We were in Thene. They were in Thene!”
“I got word that they all left the inn sometime after I did, to hide from the Emperor’s soturi. But … I haven’t heard anything about Dario, Aiden, Meera, and Jules since they left. I have no idea where they are, or if they’re okay. I’ve been just praying that no news is good news.”
Rhyan frowned. “Dario’s strong. If he’s with them, I have faith that they’re okay. He wouldn’t betray your trust.”
“Not on purpose,” I said. “I burned through the blood contract with your father when I came to the arena, I think my Rakashonim did. But as far as I know, their contracts are still in effect.”
“What about—You didn’t mention Galen.” He frowned. “Or Tristan.”
I sighed, and took his hand. “Galen’s dead. He was captured.”
Rhyan sucked in a breath, his eyes distant and then he nodded, like he knew, like he remembered. “Galen.” His voice shook.
I nodded, biting my lip. I hadn’t been able to think much about him. To grieve the way I needed to. I hadn’t allowed myself any more room for sadness, any more room for anything that could slow me down. But Galen deserved more. And he’d have it. Soon.
“And Tristan,” I said. “Tristan was made the head of some kind of vorakh task force by the Emperor. They’re doing mandatory testing now, enforcing them with nahashim at random checkpoints. They’re arresting anyone they even suspect of vorakh.”
Rhyan’s gaze was distant. “They freed chayatim,” he said slowly. “That night.”
“They did.”
He shook his head. “Have to replenish their resources. Shit. Can we trust Tristan?”
“No,” I said sadly. “I don’t think he betrayed us. I don’t think he would now—not after what we did. But I don’t think he’s acting freely either.”
“Damn.” Rhyan’s jaw tensed. “He isn’t. He’s vorakh, too.” He entwined our fingers together, his eyes on mine. “I saw how haunted he looked that night. He’s not free.”
“No.”
“We’ll have to find him. All of them. After we deal with my father.”
“And then there’s the whole New Korteria thing,” my stomach turned, “it’s supposed to be temporary, but you know that was Kormac’s plan all along. To conquer Bamaria. And now my aunt let him.”
“We’re going to figure that out, too,” he said.
Rhyan shifted, his hand warm as he settled it against my thigh.
I was suddenly very aware that we were both still naked, and in bed. And the small fire Rhyan had stoked inside me from just one lick, was still burning. Our eyes met.
But then I was even more aware of Rhyan’s stomach grumbling, and shook my head.
“Food, and boots,” I said, kissing him quickly. “Let’s get dressed.”
A few minutes later, we were ready, clothed as best as we could be, armored up—Rhyan in his new golden armor, the green shard of the Valalumir.
And we were armed, including the red shard on my back.
Rhyan looked like himself again, like the soturion I knew he was—minus the fact that he had no shoes.
But a moment later, black leather boots appeared around his feet, laced up to his knees. He was barefoot in reality— but, it would keep anyone who saw us from looking twice.
Then I went to work on the rest of our glamours.
My hair became an icy-white blonde shade, as did Rhyan’s.
For a second, my heart thundered. I thought I was looking at Auriel again.
I was overjoyed to be with Rhyan. But I hadn’t expected to lose Auriel so suddenly.
To not have a chance to truly say goodbye.
To hug him one last time. To thank him. Rhyan said they’d connected as their souls moved—Rhyan’s into his body, and Auriel’s back through the dimension that led him home.
But I wished I could see or talk to him, just know that he was home and safe, and back in Asherah’s arms.
My arms. Because I was Asherah. And Rhyan was Auriel. And every life he’d lived, every life in which I’d loved him in, was precious.
But I let the thought go. One problem at a time. And we had more than enough to deal with.
Another sweep of my stave, and we were both in Kormac silver.
Rhyan’s eyes widened when he saw my transformation. “By the Gods,” he said.
“You hate it?” I asked, touching my hair self-consciously. “It’s not really my color.”
He pulled me into his arms. “Partner, every color is your color.” He kissed my forehead.
An hour later, we sat in the darkest corner of a pub, Rhyan wearing his new black boots.
He looked longingly at his food as it arrived at the table. I’d ordered everything off the menu. It was his first meal in almost two months. I wanted him to have everything.
There were eggs and bread and dips, berries and melons, pancakes, and fried potatoes. Plates and plates of them.
His jaw tightened, his chest heaving. “Go ahead,” I said. “Eat.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ll have whatever you don’t want. But this is yours.”
He reached under the table, his hand seeking mine and squeezing it, his foot shaking.
His jaw muscle worked. Then he took a fork, and stabbed it through the plate of scrambled eggs, his eyes reddening as he brought it to his mouth.
For a second, he bared his teeth as if he’d extract fangs, then his throat bobbed.
“Sorry. Habit.” He frowned.
“It’s okay. Take your time.”
He wrapped his lips around the fork, then he chewed, making a strangled sound in his throat, his eyes closing.
Swallowing the first bite, he sniffled.
“Is it good?” I asked.
He just nodded, too emotional to speak. I picked up my fork, spearing it through the eggs, but holding it up to his mouth, feeding him as he fed me that last morning.
“Here,” I said.
He accepted my eggs, then smiled, and in turn, fed me another forkful.
We ate slowly, purposefully. Rhyan wanted to savor every bite. I wanted that, too.
Our waiter had just delivered a second carafe of coffee to our table, when the pub doors opened and a group of soturi stumbled inside, speaking in hushed tones.
“The Wall of the Prince,” one muttered. “Just collapsed. How the fuck does that happen?”
Rhyan stilled, and my ears perked up.
“They can’t be far, the akadim,” said one of the soturi.
“No. There’s at least a hundred on the run,” said another. “They’re onto the next fucking destination. Godsdamnit.” Rhyan paled.
Their accents. They weren’t from Korteria. Each soturion spoke with the Northern lilt of Glemaria.
And the last man who’d spoken, I knew his voice at once.
So did Rhyan.
A set of forest green eyes were now staring at him, and Rhyan was staring back.
“Excuse me,” Sean said. “I’ll be just a moment.” He stood up and rushed to our table, his chest heaving as he approached Rhyan. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and then turned to me, his brows furrowing at my hair color, before they lifted in recognition as they swept over my face.
“Lyriana,” Sean hissed. “Is that you?”
I nodded carefully, more than aware that Korterians were dining at the pub, and sitting not far from us.
“Thank the Gods.” Sean wrapped his arms around me, kissing me on the cheek.
Then he turned to Rhyan. “Auriel?” he asked.
Rhyan blinked. “No. Sean, it’s me.”
“What?” Sean said, his voice too loud.
Rhyan reached out a hand to his uncle, squeezing it, and said quietly. “Sean, it’s me. It’s Rhyan.”
Sean shook his head. “But you were—you were—” His chest heaved, and he looked back and forth between us, seeing me nod, my eyes watering, before he drank in Rhyan’s face again. “Fuck. You were—you were a—”
“I know,” Rhyan said again. “I was. But Lyr—” His throat bobbed. “She saved me.”
“Branwyn gave me your message, but I didn’t believe I … It really is you. It is,” he said, his eyes welling with tears. “How? There’s no … there’s never been …” He wavered on his feet for a moment.
“It’s a long story,” I said and jumped up.
I stole a chair from a nearby table and placed it behind Sean before he fainted. But he only reached for Rhyan, pulling him into a hug, his hand clapping around the nape of his neck.
“By the Gods. I can hear it. Hear your accent, your voice.” He pulled back, looking into Rhyan’s eyes. “Your scar. Truly, it’s you? My nephew.”
“Just with a little glamour in my hair.” Rhyan laughed, self-consciously touching his pale blond curls. “It’s me, Sean. I swear. Me sha, me ka,” Rhyan said. “I’m back.” And then Sean burst into tears.