Page 96

“I can see the fortress lights in the distance,” Meera announced, still staring out the window. “We’re close.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering I’d abandoned Tristan at the festival. All the reasons I couldn’t be with Rhyan raced through my mind, the same list he’d tried to cite to me this morning. The list I should have remembered before I’d mentioned our morning together or wiggled against him. I stared down at my wrist—calm for the moment—but the sinking feeling in my stomach grew.

“We’re at the walls,” Meera announced a short time later. Sticking her head out the window, Meera signaled to the sentries on duty that our carriage carried two Bamarian Heirs, and we were immediately allowed to land inside the fortress. My stomach crumbled with dread. I could see even from our vantagepoint that the fortress was crawling with sentries on duty.

“It’s probably safe for me to….” I pushed against Rhyan’s hold on me, sliding to sit next to him.

He coughed and straightened in his seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the bench for our landing.

Once we landed, I stepped outside, immediately coming face to face with an entire row of escorts waiting to march us inside Cresthaven.

Markan glared at me from under his hood. “A more foolish heir I’ve never met,” he growled. “And you, Hart!”

“I’m going to take their graces inside,” Rhyan snarled. “I still need to see them to safety. Then we can talk. Oh, and you should alert someone—this seraphim and carriage will be out of commission for a while.”

My body full of tension, we all walked down the waterway to the double doors, an army of guards surrounding us.

The Great Hall was flooded with people—sentries, house staff, members of the Bamarian Council and their immediate families—rushing around; it was protocol for everyone to be called to the fortress during a terrorist attack.

A terrorist attack. I’d been in such shock over the chaos of our carriage ride, it only then dawned on me. We were under attack. And if everyone from the Bamarian Council was here with their immediate family members, then—

“Lyr!” Tristan shouted my name from across the hall. He was taking long strides to get to me, his eyes narrowing when he saw Rhyan was with me. He reached my side in a second and pulled me into a hug. Too tight of a hug. He pulled back, eyes darkening. “What the hell happened to you? You vanished, and then the Emartis—it doesn’t matter. You’re safe.” He pulled me against him again, his hand around the nape of my neck, as I wrapped my arms around his back.

Pain sliced through my wrist, and I let go.

“Is my father here?” I asked. “Morgana?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I need to speak to him,” I said, unable to hide the urgency or pain in my voice.

“Did something happen to you?” Tristan asked. “You look….” He ran his hand through my hair, smoothing it behind my ear.

I caught sight of Morgana at the other end of the hall. Her expression was pained, and her akadim mask was pushed to the top of her head, pulling her raven hair back. Her eyes widened as she heard me and turned in my direction. I watched as her mouth in opened in horror. She started toward me but stilled when she saw Tristan.

Where were you?I thought, unable to suppress the anger surging through my body.

“Lyr?” Tristan asked again. “What happened?”

I exhaled sharply, knowing Morgana was sifting through my thoughts, putting together the events of the night she’d missed—and in part caused.

“The Emartis,” I told Tristan. “One of their birds attacked our carriage.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes widening.

“No, just shaken,” I said, automatically underplaying what had happened. I didn’t want him digging deeper. I didn’t want him to request to see my injuries—not when the blood oath was so close to giving itself away.

A sentry stepped into the Great Hall, ordering everyone to the Seating Room.

No, no, no.I needed to get away from everyone, to avoid people until I could stop the pain. But Tristan took my hand in his and moved quickly through the crowd.

The Seating Room was in chaos. Around a hundred people were moving about, speaking in a mixture of anxious shouts and nervous whispers. Nobles pulled their hair or rearranged their clothing, sliding cuffs up and down their wrists. Council members, their significant others, and children crowded the space so completely there was hardly any room for the servers to slide by with golden trays of wine and plates of figs and dates. It was almost impossible to distinguish one body from the next. Everyone was wearing black for Days of Shadows, and some still had their masks resting on top of their heads or around their necks, partially covering their mouths.

My father stood with a commanding presence at the front of the room, next to the golden Seat. Beside it was the small table from which he’d pulled out the blade with which he’d spelled my blood debt.

He called the room to attention, and everyone began to file into the rows of chairs until there was at last only silence echoing off the tall ceiling. I sat with Tristan beside Lady Romula and Lord Trajan, both looking grim. Lady Romula turned to me, her dried lips painted blood red. She shook her head in disapproval, as if I were behind this attack, as if my inability to single-handedly bring down a secret organization that had been plotting treason my entire life was the reason we were all here. I turned away before my face revealed my anger and disgust and pain. I was finished playing the demure lady she preferred me to be since she’d so boldly reminded me that Tristan had other options at our last meeting.

Across the room, Meera sat with Morgana, surrounded by Meera’s escorts. My mouth fell open. With the torchlights filling the room, I had a better view of Meera than I’d had all night, and she looked awful. Her skin was nearly white. Her cheeks seemed to have been swallowed, completely devoid of color, and her lips were white as her skin. She looked more an apparition than a person, more spirit than human. She glanced toward me, her hazel eyes the only aspect of warmth in her appearance, her ash-brown hair messy and unkempt. She looked farther than Lethea.