Page 12 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

There was a white bandage on his neck—an injury he’d gotten after taking me home last night. I’d been unconscious after defeating Haleika and watching my father die.

Beneath the cuffs on his wrists was another set of bandages helping to heal burn marks from the bindings he’d been tied up in while I’d fought in the arena.

It took all I had not to go running into his arms to throw my arms around his waist, feel his solid sturdiness, breathe in his pine and musk scent. I remained in place, held by his gaze and warmed by the reassurance of his presence.

“I commend all of you for your efforts,” the Imperator said. “It is more important now than ever to keep Bamaria safe, to defend Ka Batavia and show a united front. And this is why we have all decided to forgo the month’s long wait for Lady Arianna to take her Seat as Arkasva.”

Rhyan stiffened from across the room, the look on his face indicating he immediately understood the situation.

Only he didn’t—not fully. He didn’t know that Arianna was a traitor. But he understood the terror and overreach of Imperators better than most Lumerians ever could. Even without knowing Arianna’s role in leading us here, I could see in Rhyan’s face his awareness that if Imperator Kormac wanted her to rule tonight, it was for his benefit—no good could come of it.

And while Aemon’s presence in the Seating Room seemed to have placed the Soturi of Ka Kormac at a standstill, it was not enough to stop the proceedings.

Eathan was still being stripped of his duties as acting arkasva. A weight settled on my heart as he stood from the Seat, something final in the slope of his shoulders.

It was like seeing my father die all over again.

Eathan lowered his head, his expression grave. He looked so bare without the laurel even though he’d only had minutes to wear it. He walked past us, his aura heavy.

I’m sorry, he mouthed.

“Lady Arianna Batavia,” said the Imperator, “please take your Seat.”

Every Ka Kormac soturion in the room tensed. Their feet separated into fighting stances, their arms strained, their hands reached for their blades, and their eyes shifted between the members of the Bamarian Council, me and my sisters, Aemon, Rhyan, and the soturi who remained loyal to us.

I sucked in a breath, my hand sliding down my leg as I found Rhyan’s gaze. His jaw was tensed, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, his arm flexed. One word from the Imperator or Aemon, and war would break out in the room.

The Imperator’s aura swept out. I felt his predatory energy poking and prodding, looking for an objection—a reason to call his men to action.

Everyone remained still, silent, watching as Arianna swept her gown out from beneath her. The skirt fell in delicate folds as she sat, elegant and regal, on the Seat of Power.

Aemon’s posture remained stiff, but his hand fell from his sword to his side. Rhyan pursed his lips in response, watching the movement. Many of the soturi wearing gold seemed to take this as a signal to relax and released their grips on their sword hilts, but Rhyan remained tensed—his fingers locked into place, his eyes sweeping the room. I watched his gaze land on Arianna, and I followed suit, saw her carefully eyeing the golden Laurel of the Arkasva, embedded in its roses, a hint of longing in her expression. She lifted her piercing blue gaze back to the Imperator, who was approaching with the silver laurel.

“Lady Arianna,” he said, “this act restores order to Bamaria and, at last, returns your country to its traditions of female arkasvim in power.”

The Bastardmaker smirked. Several of the nobles, either clueless to what was truly happening or secretly having supported Arianna all along, grinned widely and clapped quietly. The Godsdamned Moriel traitors. The snakes.

“I place the silver laurel on your head. And I trust you will know the right choices to make over the next month before we can replace your laurel with gold.” The silver leaves nestled over her crown of braids, a stark contrast to the golden beads she’d threaded through them.

Arianna smiled solemnly. “I will make Bamaria proud and secure our borders. I promise to calm the tension within.”

There was another round of applause. I tried to clap to keep Arianna from harboring any suspicions, keep the soturi in the room from turning against me, and Rhyan from alerting to my unease. But my hands were glued to my side. Morgana wore a horrified expression, her face paler than usual. Only Meera was capable of playing her role correctly.

Only Meera didn’t know.

“Your grace,” drawled the Imperator, his voice mocking, “together we shall expose the negligence of the Soturi of Ka Batavia. Whoever allowed the beastly akadim in, blood is on their hands.”

Haleika’s blood is on your hands. And Leander’s! Ka Kormac let them in, not Ka Batavia! My teeth grinded.

Morgana pinched my hip.

I sucked in a breath, straightened my back, and forced my mouth into a small smile.

Control what they see. Gods. I wasn’t going to last much longer. I was too angry, too emotional, too hungry for vengeance. I wasn’t the girl I’d been the past two years, able to smile prettily no matter what. Sit still, follow orders, maintain our reputation at all costs. I needed this to end. I needed to get away, to be alone.

Arianna nodded. “Your highness,” she said sweetly, “I spare no soturion to this cause of keeping the demons out, ensuring we never let such a tragedy as the one borne now by Ka Grey befall us again. You have Bamaria’s resources and our soturi at your disposal, including Arkturion Aemon’s legions.”

Aemon’s eyes narrowed, his aura pulsing with darkness.