Page 41 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

At some point, I was made to bow before Arianna. My skin crawled with my newfound hatred for her, the sensation tingling over the parts of me that still clung to and wanted her love—the parts of me I needed to die.

With all the care of an actual mother, of a blood relative, of an aunt who loved me, Arianna removed my diadem from my hair. Her fingers carefully unpinned it, gingerly brushing my locks back, and my head instinctively pushed into her touch.

The moment I sought her comfort, my stomach turned.

I sank back to my knees. Cold, wet grass seeped into my dress. I felt like the cold was beginning to seep into my bones. I’d never felt more naked in my life, never more stripped of my sense of self. My diadem glittered as it dangled in her hand, the golden circle in its center fiery as it reflected the glow of the torches around us.

Morgana’s diadem joined mine next, hanging between Arianna’s long fingers, and then she had Meera’s, the symbol of the Heir Apparent. Arianna’s knuckles whitened, her grip tightening over the chains, her sigil ring standing out in stark contrast. A small shake of her hand had the diadems tangling, lightly jingling as they swayed and twisted around each other.

We’d had those for nearly our entire lives.

Words were spoken in High Lumerian, words I could no longer hear as Arianna used her stave to produce a small fire, and then one by one, our diadems—the symbols of our stations, the gifts we had been given as young girls by our father and our mother—were tossed into the rising flames. For a moment, they all lay there, immobile in the fire, and then it began. The flames licked the cold air, hissing and crackling as the diadems slowly heated, lost shape, lost purpose, and melted, losing all semblance of form. Becoming nothing.

“Time to stand and step back, my lady,” said a soturion behind me.

I came to, startled at my new title. It hadn’t been the first I’d heard it, but it was the first time it’d been uttered with my station stripped: my lady. I was no longer your grace. No longer heir to Ka Batavia. No longer third to the Seat. And despite how many times I’d gone without my diadem, my forehead felt unbelievably bare, just like my soul.

Even when I’d been found without magic, I’d still been an heir. I’d still had my station. I’d thought I’d felt vulnerable before, but I’d been a fool. I’d never realized just how reliant I was on my title to protect me, and just how exposed and in danger I would feel without it.

If Aemon thought the Imperator would leave me alone now, he was so wrong. The Imperator was going to come for me—if Arianna didn’t get to me first.

And now, almost nothing could protect me. Staying here, remaining without power, was never going to be anything other than a constant threat on my life.

Somehow, I made it to my feet, pulling my cloak tightly around me, every inch of my body shivering with cold.

My head felt heavy as Naria approached Arianna. A golden diadem, gleaming with its newness, was placed against her head and pinned into her golden blonde hair as Arkmage Kolaya chanted. The crowd cheered and yelled with encouragement. They yelled at Tristan and Naria as if we were already at their wedding feast, as if they’d sworn their oaths to each other, as if I’d never been. The cheers grew with excitement and fervor. Tristan’s eyes found mine, deep and sorrowful, his mouth tight. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and then he took Naria in his arms and kissed her.

My stomach twisted the moment their lips touched. I was going to be sick. But I couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.

His hands slid up her arms to cup her face, and she pulled him closer, their bodies pressing together in a way that was almost unseemly, considering their stations and the fact that they were in public. But the ease with which they came together, the closeness….

This was no first kiss.

Tristan had confessed he’d once been with Naria years ago on the solstice—the same night I’d first kissed Rhyan. But over three years had passed since then. From here, it looked like no time had passed at all.

The Imperator clapped, and the entire audience behind me roared in approval.

I looked away. I couldn’t stand to see their mouths moving against each other, his tongue swiping past her lips in a pattern I knew far too intimately. I knew the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the exact pressure he used with his hands. He’d been touching me only the other night at the ball. Before Rhyan…before everything else had happened.

Lady Romula caught my eye. Someone had brought her a glass of wine in a silver goblet. I could see the mage beside her who’d done it—his stave pointed at the tray floating past and offering its service to every member of Ka Grey standing behind them. Her dried, cracked lips widened, as she lifted her glass to me.

Bitch.

She’d finally gotten what she wanted. Her grandson was not going to marry a Lady of Ka Batavia, third from the Seat. He was finally marrying the Heir Apparent.

If the old crone lived long enough for Naria to become High Lady, Lady Romula would be the Arkasva in truth. Tristan would bow to anything she wanted. And I didn’t believe Naria to have any agenda other than what was fed to her by the most powerful influence nearby.

I wasn’t sure whom I wanted to lose more in that moment, Arianna or Romula.

Tristan broke free of the kiss first, his cheeks red as he looked out at the audience—the mob—toasting and applauding. I could see the guilt and sorrow all over his face, but I didn’t want to see him or for him to see me. I looked away.

More words were spoken. Congratulations. Announcements for the official consecration and anointment. Announcements of the invitation of the other eleven arkasvim of the Empire and the return of Emperor Theotis in one month. With each statement made, Arkmage Kolaya stamped her stave against the ground, the crystal on top emitting rainbows of light over the crowded field.

“Congratulations, Lady Arianna, Bamaria’s future Arkasva and High Lady. And to Lady Naria Batavia, your new Heir Apparent.”

The crowd clapped. Finally, it was over. Many of the noble Kavim who’d been present in the field for the finale, surrounded by their personal escorts and the soturi who kept the regular crowd back, began to disperse. Ka Shavo’s representatives slowly vanished into the edges of the field. Senator Janvi of Ka Elys and her niece Lady Pavi rushed forward to congratulate Naria and admire her ring.

Tristan looked up at me then, and I stumbled back. I had to get away. I couldn’t face him. I turned, trying to bolt, and ran right into Aemon’s arms.