Page 56

Iwokeearlythefollowing Thursday. The day before, we’d all celebrated the final fall holiday of the season, Days of Shadows. I was looking forward to my morning routine with Rhyan. The schedule, the consistency of it, was one of the few things I felt I had control over in my life, especially as Tristan continued to pull away and the whispers ofShekar arkasvareturned. But instead of finding Rhyan outside my door at the usual time with coffee, there was a note written hastily onto a scroll:

Away until this afternoon. Back for training. Sorry.

-R

My stomach knotted. The last time he’d canceled our training session, he’d been called away to hunt akadim. If he had been called away again, it could be because the threat was growing. Maybe the packs were larger, or they’d moved closer to Bamaria.

I poured myself a glass of water, trying to process whether I was jumping to conclusions. Aemon had been consulting with Rhyan more often, almost interrogating him about the akadim kill he’d made. That was why he’d been summoned to Cresthaven. Aemon had heard more reports, and he’d wanted to make sure our soturi were equipped with every detail needed. But Rhyan hadn’t been called away until now.

Where had he gone this time? Elyria again? If he was in Elyria, he must have left last night after dinner, or even in the middle of the night. Which meant he probably would be returning this afternoon without any sleep. Unless the akadim were closer.

I sipped my water and tried to relax. I’d been meditating every morning with Rhyan for two months, and it had done wonders to calm my nerves and relieve my anxiety—I hadn’t had a panic attack since we’d started. Now, I was having trouble focusing by myself. I was too used to listening to Rhyan’s soft breathing and guidance as I visualized. I slowed my breathing like I’d been trained, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his note and worrying about him.

So, I went to the Katurium early, sensing Markan and Bellamy following me. The stores hadn’t opened yet, leaving the city’s waterways nearly empty. The air was chilled, and fog clouded the sky, leaving me shivering down to my bones. We were at the end of fall, when the weather reached that in-between phase of cold that left my teeth chattering.

As I walked, I caught flashes of silvered armor, of wolfish pelts. Ka Kormac was on guard duty this morning. Their presence in the streets had been a growing shadow in my mind the last two months. During my morning walks, I usually spotted soturi from Ka Batavia, their golden armor flashing from their camouflaged cloaks. On sunny mornings, I saw their starfire blades light up in the sun. But everything today was cold, gray, and silver. I wrapped my soturion cloak tighter around me as I passed through the sleeping city.

I was one of the first to arrive at the Katurium. I ate a full breakfast in a nearly empty dining hall before heading out to a silent track to digest and stretch in peace and quiet. I fell forward, my fingers easily reaching my toes. I exhaled, deepening the stretch until the palms of my hands were flat on the ground. Slowly, like I’d practiced countless times with Rhyan, I rolled my body up, my arms reaching for the sky as I completed the stretch.

After I moved through the 108 Postures of the Valya, I took another walk to clear my head before everyone else arrived. I lost track of time, the walking becoming its own form of meditation as soturi spilled from the doors into the arena. The usual groupings began to form on their designated parts of the track. Loud laughs and chatter sounded as they each began throwing themselves into their stretches and warm-up routine.

Though I knew he said he’d be back this afternoon, I still watched every time a door opened, hoping I’d see Rhyan’s tall frame, his brown hair curling, and golden in the sun, and his black leather armor and belt shining with Valalumirs.

I was in my usual starting spot, my dagger hilt jutting from the ground, when Viktor and his beady-eyed apprentice Brockton tossed their daggers on either side of mine.

“Where’s your bodyguard, Lady Asherah?” Viktor asked. “Get called away again?”

Viktor and the wolves of Ka Kormac constantly casted their lewd stares my way, always trying to intimidate or throw me off balance. But since I’d increased my training with Rhyan, I’d noticed them keeping their distance. I hadn’t been called Lady Asherah in weeks. Even Naria, Pavi, Tani, and every other soturion from Ka Elys who hated me had been quiet.

“Brave now that he isn’t here?” I snarled.

Brockton, his face resembling the Bastardmaker’s more and more each day, leaned toward me. “You scared now he isn’t?”

“A real soturion wouldn’t need her little protector to keep her safe,” Viktor said.

Glaring at Viktor, I pointed at Brockton. “Then what do you call that?” I asked, my pulse spiking.

“You—” Brockton started, but Viktor cut him off.

“Don’t say something you’d regret, Brockton. She’s still Heir to the Arkasva. For now.” His nostrils flared, his eyes focusing in on me, so predatory and wolflike I wondered if Ka Kormac had a connection to the animals closer than merely as a symbol for their sigil.

I stood taller even as my mind reeled. Had that been a taunt, or was there a threat laced in there? Viktor’s father was the Imperator, the one funding the Emartis, who didn’t want my father on the Seat of Power. If my father was deposed, depending on who took his place, I might no longer be an heir. My stomach twisted. The Emartis had been ramping up their messaging recently, and perhaps the quietness of Viktor and his supporters these past weeks should have also been a warning sign.

Sweat beaded at the nape of my neck despite the chill in the air. My mouth opened to form a retort, to show him I was still Lady Lyriana, Heir to the Arkasva, High Lord of Bamaria, no matter what the Emartis thought or how well Ka Kormac paid them, but in that moment, everyone stood at attention, including Viktor and Brockton.

Aemon had entered the field, followed by Dairen. I locked eyes with the Ready, wanting to run over to him and ask about Rhyan. But he was clearly already in a mood, his dark aura swirling through the cold morning mist. Whatever was bothering him was now bothering everyone in the arena as his aura pulsed and darkened the already foggy stadium. Clouds moved across the sun, shadowing the sky further and filling the air with moisture.

“Something’s up,” Viktor sing-songed. “If the all-mighty Ready is in such a sour mood, that spells trouble for Bamaria,” his voice became low and deep, “and trouble for you.”

“Shut up,” I sneered. I didn’t have the energy for anything else. “Just shut up. You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Do you?” he asked pointedly.

I stared straight ahead. Viktor had been a gryphon-shit asshole his entire life. He was a nasty, spiteful, cocky know-it-all. But he was Heir to the Arkasva, son of the Imperator, and grand-nephew of the Emperor. My heart pounded in my chest, nearly beating out of my tunic. The Imperator was far more calculating than his son—anyone who’d observed them longer than five minutes could see that. I found it unlikely the Imperator would involve Viktor in his plans or arm him with dangerous knowledge that he could leak.

And yet, Viktor had seemed aware of the Emartis’s last attack over the Katurium. He’d delighted in it beside Naria, not showing an ounce of fear even as sharpened blades of glass had fallen from the sky.

“Not one to chat in the morning?” he crooned. “Or do you only like talking to the forsworn?”