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Several floors up, I reached the exhibit and walked under the archway separating the artifacts from the recovered and restored paintings—paintings that had all been created with Lumerian magic so that they moved and told a story, paintings I’d never be able to see come to life unless I found my power.

I passed by the usual assortment of broken staves and daggers, wandering down the aisle of old starfire swords. There was a section of parchment scrolls, too destroyed for the Great Library, all kept under glass. I found cases of broken and useless vadati stones followed by an array of ancient helmets and armor in various shades of silver, bronze, and gold.

I found the jewelry section at last. My eyes were wide as I searched for what I’d come here for. Walking through the exhibit, I passed cases full of old rings with missing stones, bangles, pairs of earrings, waistlets, and anklets. Beyond all of those were several new display cases of necklaces.

I slowed down to allow my eyes to focus on each one. Some were forged in silver, some in bronze, but most had been forged in gold. There were delicate chains followed by thick collars and necklaces bound by pearls and gemstones. One even included a vadati stone. Not one was like my necklace. There were newer pieces I hadn’t seen before at the end of the aisle, but even those were barely a third of the size of what I was looking for. Not one came close in size, scope, or design. I perused the necklace display three times and retraced my steps, circling the exhibit and searching for anything that could be seen as remotely related or similar to the necklace Ramia had “gifted” me.

There wasn’t a single one.

I stared hard at the display cases like I could will the copies to appear.

“Need something to wear to dinner tonight, your grace?” Markan asked.

“Remember when you didn’t talk to me? Or…really talk at all?”

Markan raised an eyebrow.

“I preferred you that way.”

He sneered but stepped back, his eyes assessing the empty exhibit for threats.

I stared back at the necklaces one last time before drawing my own soturion cloak closer around my shoulders as I turned back for the archway leading out of the exhibit.

Ramia had assured me multiple times that there were plenty of necklaces like the one she’d given me on my birthday. She’d insisted they were all sitting here, all useless…so what was the point of one more? But she’d lied. Had the necklace even come from the Lumerian Ocean? It had been in pristine condition. The styling and feel…it seemed so ancient, so authentic. I was sure Ramia hadn’t made it—she would have told me if she had. She would have charged me. Which meant it had to be an artifact of Lumeria Matavia. But it hadn’t been in the Drowning. It had survived, had been carried or worn across the ocean. Not fished from it.

After climbing onto the seraphim, Markan and I headed for Cresthaven to prepare for tonight’s dinner. It would be my first time seeing Tristan and my sisters in days. I tried to relax, to calm myself before the storm that I expected dinner to turn into, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the necklace. Who had made it? Why was it mine? And more importantly—since Ramia was so intent on my wearing it—who did it benefit?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Aloudknockonmy apartment door woke me from my slumber the following morning. I rolled over, groaning, bleary-eyed and exhausted. My stomach was unsettled and nauseous. My head was pounding, and my nightshift was twisted around my waist like I’d tossed and turned all night.

The knock came again, and I groaned, shielding my eyes with my hands from the sunlight that had suddenly decided to parade its way into my tiny apartment bedroom.

I’d had way too much to drink the night before back at Cresthaven. Half of the Bamarian Council had been in attendance at dinner, including Tristan and his grandparents, Lady Romula and Lord Trajan. The whole evening had been so stressful that the wine being poured had seemed like the best thing to ever touch my lips.

Things were still tense with me and Tristan. No matter how many times I’d smiled at him or slipped my hand into his lap or how often I’d leaned into his warmth with his arm around my shoulders, everything had felt wrong between us. Even though we’d touched each other in some capacity all night, the strain on our relationship was palpable.

It definitely didn’t help that Lady Romula had been watching me carefully, her eyes full of judgment and distaste, while across the table, my cousin Naria, who’d had the audacity to proposition Tristan while I’d been imprisoned, had stared with such undisguised lust that my blood had boiled.

But before I had been able to do anything I’d have regretted to Naria, my sisters had drawn my attention away. Morgana had laughed too loudly for a noble, and Meera had looked ready to faint. Suddenly, I didn’t have enough energy to focus on Naria or to really care about Tristan or his grandmother’s impression of me; I was on Morgana and Meera duty.

Just like it had been for over two years, it was my job to make sure they appeared normal. Lady-like. Noble. Strong, yet demure. Two perfect Heirs to the Arkasva who were without scandal or anything for the Bamarian people to feel concerned over.

Neither sister was up to the task.

Meera had appeared frailer-looking than ever, even after she recovered from her near-fainting spell. Somehow, she’d seemed to have dropped several pounds since her vision earlier that week even though she’d sworn up and down she was eating. Her hair was thinning, which had made styling it a challenge. I’d had to apply extra blush on her cheeks to make her look even somewhat healthy. She’d looked hollowed, gaunt, and so far from the demurely beautiful Heir Apparent she’d been growing up. When I was younger, I had always looked up to her, admiring her beauty and delicate grace. She’d always been rather on the quiet side for nobility, but many saw this as refined. She truly would have been a picture-perfect image of the High Lady of Bamaria, and I’d always wished I could be as effortlessly poised as her.

But now Meera’s polite, quiet nature felt like it was fading. Instead, her wild animalistic side was thrashing, bubbling just beneath the watery nature of her aura. The haunted look in her eyes had caught my attention, and my mind couldn’t stop flashing to her attacks on me while in the thralls of her last vision—a vision she still wouldn’t share the details of with me. During the vision, her voice had changed, and I still couldn’t get the sound out of my head. It had sounded like multiple voices, both male and female, thrown into one body.

The only comfort I’d truly had during the Cresthaven dinner—aside from the wine—was that Meera had had a recent vision. We were once again in the safe zone between her visions for at least a few weeks. I’d known her vorakh wouldn’t rear its ugly head that night. But its side effects had seemed to be in full force.

Morgana had arrived at the dinner already drunk—a necessity with her vorakh acting up. Having so many Lumerians dining in Cresthaven gave her a migraine, and she’d needed to dull her senses as much as possible to avoid hearing every person’s thoughts echoing through her mind. She’d been smoking moonleaves half the day, but I knew from past experience that Lady Romula was hypersensitive to the smell and was likely to make some negative comment that would have only drawn more negative attention to Morgana. So, when I’d arrived at the fortress after my failed visit to Scholar’s Harbor and the Great Library, I’d taken away Morgana’s leaves, doused her in perfume, lit all the incense in her room, and left her alone with a silver flask to further wash away the scent and dull her senses.

During the inane dinner conversations, the banal comments about the weather, the snobbish insults and gossip about nobility disguised as compliments, and the leading questions that attempted to get me to reveal some secret or scandal, I had been completely drained. I had downed at least three glasses of wine. Though I was usually the one wound too tightly, insistent on staying in control, I hadn’t been able to help myself.

I’d been feeling a shift since my birthday—a kind of recklessness and an exhaustion when it came to following the rules of embodying the essence of the perfect lady. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It was almost like my mask had been my Binding, and though no magic had been revealed, some powerful will within me had been desperate to get out. I’d been letting my mask slip with Tristan, letting my true feelings shine when I was with Rhyan. Maybe the two years of following every rule, of being the good girl I was supposed to be, had taken its toll on me. There’d been no reward for my sacrifices. Following the rules hadn’t made my life better. It had only brought more suffering.

But I couldn’t afford not to continue playing my part. So, I drank.