Page 14 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

Meera nodded and curtseyed to the Imperator in response. “Your highness.”

“Thank you all,” Arianna said, “for welcoming me, for your support. We’ve done enough for tonight. I believe Bamaria to be on the mend.We shall convene in the morning and begin to make further arrangements. Now I shall retire to the Arkasva’s rooms.”

My stomach turned. Arianna was going to sleep in my father’s bed. She was going to stay in Cresthaven. She’d have access to every floor, every hall, every room—including ours.

Including Meera’s, with her paintings. The proof of her vorakh.

Meera’s vision of Arianna as the black seraphim was painted from floor to ceiling in full color in her room. I had no doubt in my mind that if Arianna saw it, she would not make the same mistakes we had—she’d know exactly who was in the painting. She would recognize herself, her treachery.

Morgana stiffened, her eyes following some soturion I wasn’t familiar with, before she whipped her head back at me, her dark eyebrows furrowed into a V and her mouth tight.

Arianna was surrounded by a host of sentries and escorted outside, as the Seating Room was slowly beginning to empty. Tristan looked up at me, his eyes red, his bottom lip quivering. He was duty bound to follow his Ka from the room; most likely he’d go home to the Grey Villa, where they’d mourn Haleika in secret. At least, I hoped they would. Someone had to mourn her. Someone had to remember who she was—who she’d been before her soul had been stolen. If Tristan didn’t grieve, he’d shut down even more than he already had, turn into an empty mask like I’d been after Jules—until Rhyan had pulled me back to myself.

Tristan offered a sad smile and left the room, his feet heavy on the ground.

I turned back to Morgana. We had so much to discuss, but first, we had to protect our own secrets.

We need to remove all of Meera’s paintings.

Morgana nodded and pulled Meera toward her. She took Meera’s hand in hers, and then she took mine.

Across the room, Rhyan stood guard. His eyes moved slowly down my body, lingering on my chest, on the armor I hadn’t been wearing when he had left me outside—on the armor concealing the mark Mercurial had branded onto me. Rhyan frowned and bit his lip, his good eyebrow furrowed with concern.

I could still feel his touch from just an hour ago, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin over my heart, over the place where an akadim had tried to suck out my soul. It was the same place where Mercurial’s bargain had entered me—and now trapped me.

Even at this distance, I could see the anguish in his expression. I could sense the worry he felt over what exactly had occurred in my meeting with Mercurial after he’d left.

For a second, I wasn’t sure if it was my heart or the piece of the Afeya’s soul that was beating so profusely against my ribcage. I didn’t want Rhyan to see what had been done to me. I didn’t want it to hurt him. I didn’t want it to be real.

Aemon called out to Rhyan, ordering him to more guard duty outside in case any Lumerians were still riled up by the Imperator and decided to return.

The longing expression in Rhyan’s eyes made me ache for him, and it took all I had not to break free of Morgana’s grasp and run to his side. But we still had roles to play, duties to perform.

He lowered his chin, his eyes blazing, before he turned on his heels and headed through the door, his hand already reaching for the hilt of his sword.

I stared after him, watching his body vanish beyond the threshold, wanting to call him back.

“Lyr,” Morgana hissed. “Not now.” She turned her head toward Meera.

I nodded.

“Lady Lyriana, Lady Morgana, Lady Meera,” Aemon said, turning toward us. He reached for his belt, as he frowned. His aura darkened, and I could feel the guilt coming from him for having failed his arkasva, for having failed in his duty as the Ready.

Morgana’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, as she released our hands, her arms folded across her chest. She despised these types of gestures, the formality and expectation of condolences.

“I am sorry for your loss, your graces,” Aemon said, his words conveying all the heaviness I felt. “I am sorry I did not stop them this time. I will carry that knowledge my entire life. I lay my sword at your feet.”

Meera sniffled again, but Morgana’s impatience was growing. “Thank you, Arkturion,” she said coldly.

“I’ll be in touch. We should discuss your security details as soon as possible. Know that the fortress is well protected tonight.” He nodded once at us, throat bobbing, and turned.

We were protected from the outside perhaps, but not from our enemies within.

“Gods. We need to get upstairs,” Morgana said urgently, groaning as she spoke.

I turned toward her, my heart stopping. A sudden sensation of freezing rain poured down on me.

Meera’s aura.