Page 192 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

The soturion just barely dodged my attack that time. Had I been on grass, I would have met him, but the snow kept slowing me down. He was used to the terrain and using it to his advantage.

I swung again, using both hands, turning the sword so quickly he was forced to retreat.

And I threw out my foot, tripping him. He rolled to the ground, spinning away from me. His sword fell into the snow. He scrambled for it, but I was on him in a second, my blade poised beside his neck. I pressed it into his skin, not enough to cut him, but enough for him to take me seriously. “Stand, and I let you live.”

He snorted. “You didn’t kill me the first time.”

“I can always correct that mistake.”

“Can you, little girl?” He held up his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes as he stood. He glanced around the mountaintop.

“I’ve killed before,” I said.

“Is that so?”

Brockton’s eyes flashed in my mind. The light leaving them. I didn’t want this. But if he threatened Rhyan’s life, threatened mine—I could do it again.

Instead, I tossed my blade into my left hand, catching the hilt.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, his voice full of derision, “you’re really left-handed, and now you’re going finish me?”

I fisted my fingers, resting my thumb on top, just as Rhyan taught me all those months ago.

“No. I’m right-handed,” I said, and punched him in the face.

He stumbled back. “You bitch.” Blood spurted from his nose. He held his hands over his face.

I turned the sword in my hands, palms carefully placed around either side of the blade, the hilt pointed to me. Just as he removed his hands to see what I was doing, I struck him—exactly where I’d punched him.

He collapsed, his eyes closing.

I rushed back to Rhyan’s side, sheathing the blade at my hip. “Gods, Rhyan! Rhyan!”

But he still wasn’t responding. I reached for his face, cupping his cheeks, and pressed my forehead to his.

He sniffled, his chest heaving, and suddenly he was looking at me, really looking at me. His eyes filled with the same recognition I’d seen in Meera’s when she was finally free from a vision.

“You’re okay?” I asked. “What happened?”

“I remembered,” he cried, his eyes searching mine. “It was like last time. But I couldn’t control it. It took me, and I had…I had another memory. I know for sure, Lyr…I was him. I was Auriel. And it’s all coming back.”

Tears ran down my face, the truth of what he was saying plunging through my heart. Every pull I’d felt towards him, this sense of destiny, this hold he’d had on me, even before we ever spoke, before we were even able to form such a connection…his soul had been calling out to mine. And I’d been calling back, tugging on the thread that bound us together. That had linked us for centuries. For millennia. For lifetimes.

“Lyr,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. His voice deep, layered, like he was somewhere in between himself and Auriel. Like his love for me had just grown, surpassing this life, encompassing the other, the first. I was sure of it, because that was how I felt in that moment, too.

I pulled him closer to me. “What did you remember?”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at me again. “I was here. I brought your body—Asherah’s body to this place—and I…I’m the one. I’m the one who put her to rest at the end. I—” His voice shook. “I used my magic to create the tomb. I used my magic to seal it. I’m the one who made the inscriptions. The one who created the key. Red. Batavia red.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Asherah’s red.”

Tears were falling down my face. “So it really is my tomb?”

Rhyan wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands before pushing his fingers through his hair. “Whoever sent you that note, I don’t know if they truly understood—or if they’d planned it this way. For me to also be here. It was never supposed to be you who opened it. It was me. Auriel’s blood. Auriel’s soul. Auriel’s key.”

“But Auriel’s blood,” I said urgently. “We don’t have that.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “We do.”

I shook my head. “How?” Awakening our memories may have connected us to our souls. But blood was blood. Blood was physical, material. “Rhyan, you don’t…”