Page 35 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

He poked around, sliding his hand around the cuff. “Why wear jewelry no one can see?”

“Who gave you permission to ask me questions?” I snarled.

“You’re only heir a few more minutes, princess.”

“Even if not heir, I am and always will be a Lady of Ka Batavia. Daughter of two arkasvim. And now I’m niece to the coming High Lady. My blood is ancient, and nothing your Imperator does will change that, you dog.” I sneered. “Do not call me princess again.”

The soturion growled, his fingers tightening, but Markan pushed between us.

“Myself to Moriel,” he snarled. “You can’t ever make my job easy?” He pulled the soturion off me. “Remember your orders from my High Lady and your Arkasva and Imperator. She’s to remain unharmed and untouched.”

“And remember yours.” The whiskered soturion took hold of my arm again, and Markan moved to stand directly in front of me.

“I don’t leave her side.” Markan glared.

I willed myself calm. My arm cuff was safe. Meera’s secrets were safe. My message of support was safe. I couldn’t touch the vadati stone chained to my waist, but as long as my guards didn’t become too handsy, then my secret with Rhyan was also safe.

“Shekar arkasva! Shekar arkasva!” The chants began at once, and my soturi surrounded me.

The streets had been cleared, and within seconds, I was marched out toward them, the Imperator’s guards still closely surrounding me. The air was so cold and the wind frigid I began to shiver. My cloak wasn’t enough. My fingers were growing numb. I stared straight ahead at the empty street, keeping my head high, refusing to meet the eyes of the audience crowded on either side of me.

I thought we’d arrive at the Temple of Dawn, say the words, lose our diadems while watched by the nobles, the Council, and the few members of Bamarian society who could get to the temple, and be done.

The Imperator’s plans had been far grander. He’d meant for us to parade about, to be seen by as many Bamarians as possible. It wasn’t enough that our father had been murdered, that we were to hand over our power and publicly acknowledge his murderer—we were meant to be humiliated on our way to doing so.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Once again, the Imperator had outmaneuvered us and made it clear that Korteria was conquering Bamaria. His show of support for Arianna was just part of the game. We were losing more than our status and position.

We were losing our country.

I swallowed, sensing Morgana and Meera lined up beside me. I had to remain composed for them. To protect them.

The shouts kept coming, louder and louder, until soturi wearing silver and gold appeared on the edge of the street, using their bodies to hold back the crowd.

Minutes passed during which we just stood there in the freezing cold, shivering and being gawked at. I bit my lip, tapped my fingers against my sides, pressed my palms into my hips—anything to keep from going completely numb. I had to keep my wits about me, to stay alert, to fight back if possible.

At last, three more seraphim arrived. The one carrying the Imperator featured a banner of his sigil, a snarling wolf. The next carriage to land showed off a flag of the sigil of Ka Batavia, and Arianna and Naria emerged from it. The third seraphim to land waved a gray flag; a silver moon above silver seraphim wings blew back and forth in the wind. It was the sigil of Ka Grey.

Tristan, along with his grandmother and grandfather, emerged, surrounded by a full escort of mages. Including Bellamy.

What?

Lady Grey looked smugger than I’d ever seen her as she stepped out of the carriage. She quickly joined Arianna’s side, and her eyes found mine. She offered a quick lift of her eyebrows in acknowledgement, her wine-colored mouth tight. She wore a cloak of silver velvet with silver satin on its borders and white fur at the collar. At least half a dozen of their mage escorts had been waiting in the crowd for her arrival and immediately surrounded her.

I eyed Tristan as his boots touched the ground, his blue velvet mage robes blowing in the wind behind him. His mouth was tight, his hand on his stave, his entire expression alert and ready for a fight. The moment his eyes met mine, his face fell with an unusual amount of emotion: sorrow, grief…and guilt. The oversized silver sigil ring on his finger caught a flash of torchlight, shining like a small beacon before he covered it with his hand.

His lips quivered before he mouthed from the distance, Lyr, are you okay?

My gut twisted. I shook my head.

He closed his eyes and frowned, his head cocked to the side and red rising up his neck, before he looked back at me.

I’m sorry, he mouthed. He shifted and glared toward the Imperator. For once, he seemed as angry with him as I was. His hand slid to the hilt of his stave tucked into its silver holster. There was a fierceness in his stance, a fury, before he looked to me once again. I am so sorry.

I couldn’t hear him, but I could imagine the anguish in his voice, and my heart began to pound in response.

Lord Trajan stepped down from the carriage with every finger dripping in silver rings and silver arm cuffs that pushed back the sleeves of his blue robe. At once, everyone began moving toward the street to join the Imperator, who was standing in the center of the entire commotion. Before I could signal anything back to Tristan, the Imperator’s voice amplified, drowning out the noise of the crowd.

“Greetings, Bamaria. Greetings to all my fellow Lumerians who have come here to study, to live, to work.” The Imperator’s voice boomed as he stepped into the street, slowly strolling past us as if we didn’t exist. “And a belated happy Valyati to you all if I were not able to personally wish you so before.”