Page 105 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

Icy wind brushed against my cheek now, and I burrowed deeper into my soturion cloak, pulling my hood over my head. I shivered, watching Rhyan dodge an opponent, lunge to his left, and nearly sit himself on the ground before he sprang back to his feet, spinning and slamming his fist into the stomach of a wolf sneaking up from behind.

“You fuck him yet?” asked a snide voice.

I turned and found Tani Elwen sitting behind me, wearing the orange of Ka Elys, an ashvan horse on her tunic. Lady Pavi was beside her, smiling and laughing. Loyal to Naria, both of them had made it their mission to torture me since I’d started soturion training. My hatred for them ran so much deeper knowing Tani was a member of the Emartis. Because of her accusations toward me and Rhyan, I’d been forced to vouch for her in the sham trial meant to determine if she was a member. Gods. Arianna had been there, standing behind Tani. It had been right in front of my face. Arianna had been the one who’d allegedly reported Tani, but Tani had been working for her all along.

Had she been in the stands that night? Had she had some direct part to play? Arianna was the killer, but I wondered who’s stave made the killing blow. Whose actions that night led directly to his fall.

“Please, Tani,” Pavi said. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. I heard she was too frigid for Lord Tristan.”

I stiffened. It was none of their business whether or not I’d slept with Tristan. No one knew what had happened between us when we’d been alone. Most assumed we had been sleeping together all along, but if Pavi was suggesting otherwise, suggesting what only Tristan and I knew, that meant….

I felt like my heart slammed into my chest. That had been private…. Fuck.

I refolded my arms across my body and turned back to the field. It didn’t matter.

“Maybe she’s not frigid,” Tani said. “Maybe she just has her eye on someone else.”

Brockton Kormac, Viktor’s disgusting apprentice and the son of the Bastardmaker, charged across the field, pushing every opponent he saw out of his way. He was heading straight for Rhyan. The last time they’d met in the arena, Brockton had nearly beaten Rhyan, fighting out of bounds and brutally biting his face. He’d been exhausted after having traveled to Elyria and back within a day. But Leander had thankfully come to Rhyan’s aid.

My heart panged. Leander was dead.

A wave of nausea rolled through me as Rhyan came face to face again with the son of the Bastardmaker. They were fighting so close to the spot where my father had taken his last breath. Where his eyes had closed. Where my dreams kept taking me against my will, again and again.

I tried to breathe as Rhyan missed a hit, taking a punch to his jaw. The taunts from the crowd were starting up, growing in vigor. Shouts of mother-killer, forsworn bastard, and whore echoed across the field. This had happened last time. But now with an audience full of northerners, the jeers felt louder—more intense. More vitriolic. It felt personal.

Someone sidled next to me, sitting too close; their thigh pushed against mine.

“Lady Asherah,” Viktor Kormac crooned.

I stared straight ahead, crossing my legs to angle away from him. The insult he tried to give me. The way Ka Kormac all tried to make Asherah's name mean whore. He had no idea. No idea the truth of his words. What they actually meant for me now.

“I have some news for you,” he said, shifting closer.

I straightened my back, determined not to let this Moriel-fucking-bastard get to me.

“I doubt it,” I said curtly.

“Of course, I do. A certain…contract is in negotiation.”

A marriage contract? Had the Imperator made a deal with Arianna already?

I didn’t want to take the bait and give him the satisfaction of admitting I didn’t know what he was referring to.

Brockton pushed Rhyan onto his back. I leaned forward, grasping my cloak in my hands.

“I promise you,” Viktor continued, “what I have to tell you is far more exciting than my cousin beating your forsworn-bastard apprentice. Again.”

Rhyan rolled aside, just avoiding another soturion slamming on top of him. He jumped to his feet, feinted to the right, then spun and landed a punch to Brockton’s jaw. The Kormac apprentice stumbled back, and for a second Rhyan looked up into the stands, somehow finding me, meeting my gaze. Then he turned, arm swinging, anticipating the next fight.

“You were saying,” I snarled.

But Viktor only laughed.

And in that moment, the bells rang. My heart jumped into my throat, and my blood ran cold as the distinctive pattern of notes beat against my ears. The pattern haunting, familiar.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

Not the hourly bells, but the warning bells.