Page 54 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire

I clutched my wrist, my hand squeezing over my blood oaths. The skin burned raw there with the new scar, my soturion oath.

“Lyr, do you understand?”

“Get out.”

“Lyr.”

“GET. OUT.” I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care how I sounded or what he thought.

“I’m sorry, Lyr, but—”

“If you won’t leave,” I sneered, “I will.” And when Tristan still didn’t move, I jumped from the bed, grabbed a tunic and sandals, and slammed my bedroom door on him. Then I flew out the apartment before he could follow.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I’DJUSTPULLEDthetunic over my shoulders and laced my sandals when the gravity of what I’d done hit me.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I’d admitted my feelings about Jules. I’d admitted I believed she’d suffered unjustly, that I was sympathetic to people with vorakh. I’d left my feelings out on display, been too open. I’d forgotten my place, forgotten the role I had to play.

I had half a mind to run back upstairs and fall on my knees and tell Tristan I’d been an idiot, and I was sorry, and he was right about Jules, and I’d have him any way I could.

The other part of me worried I’d pick up my dagger and stab him. I couldn’t go back in there, couldn’t face him when my stomach was twisting, my heart pounding, and my grief for Jules—a living, breathing wound inside my soul—was about to explode. That was what kept me running from the apartment; I just needed to keep moving. To think. To calm down.

Falling rain drops quickly gave way to pounding thunks against the waterway. I had to find shelter. Cresthaven was too far, but the Temple of Dawn was near. Tears mixing with the rain, I ran, bursting through the temple doors.

The Orange Watcher of the light sat atop Auriel’s Chamber staring in adoration at the flame, his hands clasped in prayer, his orange veil covering his head. I entered slowly, hoping not to be noticed by the Watcher or the one late night guest in the pews. I tried to move silently and find a seat in the back, but thunder crashed, followed by a flash of lightning. I jumped in surprise, and the visitor turned toward the disturbance.

Rhyan.

With a small nod, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, waiting as I made my way to his row. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, not after Tristan. But he’d seen me, and it felt awkward to avoid him when we were the only two here. I made my way down the aisle.

“Did they let you out on bail, or have you escaped from prison, your grace?” Rhyan smirked as I entered his pew. Raindrops shattered against the stained-glass windows, blanketing the temple in a soothing pattering. His voice echoed into its emptiness.

“Your grace?” I countered. “What? No ‘partner’ tonight?”

“Would you rather I called you lover?” He smirked.

“Are you admitting to it?”

“Are you asking me to?”

I collapsed into the seat beside him and groaned. “You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”

“It’s a gift.”

“You might want to return it to the shop,” I said.

“Damn, I lost the receipt. Instead, I’ll offer you some of my own wisdom regarding prison,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Don’t go back.”

“But it feels so good to be bad,” I purred.

He chuckled. “And she makes a joke! At last. I knew you could do it. Ladies and gentlemen….” He swung his arms out wide as if greeting an audience. “Well, single Watcher of the light. Unfortunately, quite a small audience for your comedic debut.”

“I’ll live.”

“I could try and book you a show, make a tour schedule….”