Page 162 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

“I’m okay,” I said. “The stone was buried in my clothing.”

His jaw tightened. We’d been making an active effort to keep things light, to not delve into the horrors of Vrukshire Keep, but these small moments when Rhyan worried about me were happening more and more frequently. He always tried to cover them up, not wanting to worry me with his own anxieties. But we knew each other too well. One look was all I needed to know if he was in distress.

I reached for his arm. “You don’t have to hide this from me,” I said.

He shook his head. “No. I’m going figure this one out, too. It’s just…still too soon.”

“I know.” Everything felt too soon.

“You know it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

I narrowed my eyes, suddenly insecure. We’d barely touched in any kind of intimate way since that night. We held hands, we kissed a little, and Rhyan almost always slept with his hand on my belly. But that was it. Everything we’d been progressing toward, almost racing into after so many months of deprivation had come to a screeching halt. “What do you mean?”

“I still see you as a warrior. As an accomplished soturion.”

I nodded, my stomach untwisting.

“I just…worry about you,” he admitted.

He feared losing me. And I feared being naked and vulnerable. Rhyan had been warming water by the fires, creating makeshift baths so we could be clean each day. I’d tried to pretend it was the cold keeping me from fully undressing even when he turned his back to give me privacy. But every time I removed my clothing now, I saw Brockton cutting off my tunic, cutting through my shift. The wounds he’d inflicted had long scabbed over and healed. The bruises faded. But I knew exactly where they were. They were invisible now, but he’d still left scars.

We both just needed time.

“Was everything okay inside the cave?” I asked.

One eyebrow furrowed. “It appeared empty. But I found something strange—something I think you need to see.” He extended his hand.

“Far?” I asked, knowing the gesture meant a jump.

“It’s okay. I can handle it.”

I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. By now, I was used to the tug on my stomach I got when traveling. It no longer bothered me, but I still felt startled every time my feet touched down somewhere new.

A lit torch was stuck in a crevice of the stone wall where Rhyan had left it. He pulled another stick from his bag and lit it then waved the flame before the cavern wall.

I gasped. A series of paintings were before me. They’d been stylized in a very familiar way. The broad brushstrokes, the use of color, the technique in which the eyes had been drawn, the way the paint was texturized—I wasn’t exactly an expert in art, but I knew one artist’s work when I saw it.

“These look just like Meera’s paintings.” I clutched at my chest, staring at the lines.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Rhyan had only seen them once, the night of Meera’s last vision—right before Morgana scrubbed the walls clean.

“These can’t be hers!” It hadn’t been a month yet. It was too soon for her to have had another one. But we were on the verge.

Gods. The thought of her having a vision alone, scared, surrounded by akadim, made me sick. And that was still the best-case scenario—that she was alive.

But she was supposed to be in the Allurian Pass. In Glemaria, not Aravia. West, not east.

“Do you think they came through here?” Perhaps they’d had to stop along the way, camp in different caves to reach their destination.

Rhyan squeezed my hand. “They could have. But it’s also possible someone else with vorakh made this painting.”

My stomach twisted. Would Jules have painted like this, too, after visions?

She’s alive. But if I die, she dies, too.

I pushed the thought down. He was trying to mess with me. To manipulate me, to stay alive. That was all.

Rhyan’s eyes scanned it again, focused and intent. I was reminded of a night months ago, before we were kashonim. I’d wandered into the Temple of Dawn and found him there alone, staring at the pictures adorning the walls and ceiling. The art told the story of Auriel and Asherah, of them becoming Guardians of the Valalumir, forbidden to be together, but falling in love anyway—until Moriel betrayed them, and Asherah was banished for the affair. Rhyan had explained each painting to me, pointing out details I’d never noticed before.