Page 51 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

Blood began to rush through my body. I’d meant to get in a fuck to shut down my thoughts, but if this mage was from the capitol…. I lifted my chin, heart pounding.

I tried not to get my hopes up. I’d gone through over a dozen of the Emperor’s servants during his stay. Talking to them, kissing some of them. I’d only fucked one—and it had been disappointing. Not the sex—but what I’d learned. So I couldn’t get my hopes up. They’d been dashed too many times before. But since Father’s fall, I felt like I was on the brink, like I was getting closer. My heart was racing as I took my next step.

“We have better in the kitchen,” I said.

She turned abruptly, eyes widening as she took in my appearance. “Lady Morgana.” She sounded startled.

I pulled her name easily from her mind. She wasn’t noble, but she did seem to have a rather close servitude to the Emperor in the capitol—just not close enough to warrant a ride home. I’d seen him do that before, leave some of his servants behind. Some made their way back. Some stayed and found work here in the city.

“I’m very sorry about your father,” she said.

“Everyone’s sorry.” I slid my fingers over hers, taking the glass from her hands and sipping what remained. It was a rather good bottle, actually, but I needed to soften her up. “We can definitely do better than this.”

Her aura pulsed lightly with fear that she’d offended me. “I think it’s fine wine, Lady Morgana.” A blush crept across her cheeks.

She was nervous. I outranked her. And she was lonely and liked the slope of my waist, the soft curve of my breasts. She was wondering if being noble made my skin softer than hers. She wanted to know if my hair felt as silky as it was shiny. She liked that it was nearly the same color as hers.

She wasn’t too proud, but she was the sort who was a touch vain, the sort who was attracted to qualities of herself in others.

She was perfect. And if I was lucky, and I prayed I was, she’d serve more than one purpose.

“I’m not insulted,” I said. “Simply in need of a drink. You don’t have to be nervous around me. I am, after all, the one who offered. And,” I wet my lips, looking up at her through my lashes, “I’d love some company. I could use a friend. It’s not easy right now. I was going to drown my sorrow, but maybe….” I twirled a lock of my hair in my fingers. “Would you honor me by sharing a glass? And maybe…by sharing your name?”

“Namtaya, your grace.” Shit! She internally cursed, remembering my new title. “Sorry. My lady.”

I set down the wine glass and threaded my fingers through hers. “Have a drink with me, Namtaya.”

Nerves exploded in her aura like butterfly wings, as a shy yet eager smile appeared across her lips. I led her through the hall into the kitchens, showing off our vast store, then retreated to an unused sitting room off a library, one I knew was empty. We popped open the bottle I’d chosen.

An hour later, Namtaya was three glasses into Ka Batavia’s finest red, the red we reserved for the Emperor himself.

I was, for once, a drink behind. I needed to keep my senses intact until I got all I needed from her—if there was anything to get. I was still trying to decide.

The rulers of the Empire all had shields, magic stolen from vorakh to keep their secrets, to conceal their true thoughts. But we were a limited resource. Not all of us had fallen into their hands. And those who did only had so much magic, meaning we were very expensive. Someone like Namtaya would never be offered the elixir. Nor knowledge of its existence. Which meant she’d never be offered any true secrets to keep.

But servants had eyes and information, if one knew the right questions to ask.

I asked about her childhood and where she had grown up to get her started, watching as she relaxed on the chaise next to me. Her cheeks flushed with wine as she told me how she came to be in the service of the Emperor. I learned from some gentle coaxing how many nobles she had met. How many servants she was friends with. I was given the layout of her bedroom in the palace. Her favorite breakfast food. The way she took her coffee. With every piece of information I gleaned, I inched closer to her, allowing her to trust me more. My hand rested on her knee, then above it. My fingers slid up her thigh as my body angled toward her.

Her eyes zeroed in on my palm’s placement. Her stomach tightened. She’d had no idea that the Lady Morgana was so forward. Or so beautiful up close. I’d seemed so shy before, it was endearing how interested I was in her life. I was such a good listener.

It was almost flattering to hear. She clearly hadn’t been made aware of the rumors of my promiscuity.

I kept talking to her, looking into her eyes—a pretty blue—smiling at each piece of the puzzle she offered, asking for more details, letting her visualize all of her thoughts, strengthening them so that they offered me more information.

She was nervous with me. My fingers danced across her inner thigh. Our eyes met—we both knew where this was going. Namtaya was not really one to do this with complete strangers and certainly not with nobles. At home, servants gossiped too easily, sharing intimate details with the staff immediately after. And nobility rarely looked her way. But I kept asking her questions, and her guard kept going down. Her eyes did, as well, taking in my cleavage, dipping to the slits of my skirt which I had positioned just so to reveal the full expanse of my bared thigh.

The more she talked, the more clearly she visualized her life, her home, her day to day in the Emperor’s palace. In her thoughts, I saw the servants who kept to themselves, who didn’t interact with the others, who didn’t dine with Namtaya or her friends.

They were known in the palace as the chayatim, the cloaked. They were secret servants. I’d heard of them before. Most assumed they were prostitutes, and some were.

But more often than not, chayatim were vorakh. Vorakh walking about in broad daylight, forced to offer their power to the Emperor and whomever he deemed worthy. I’d seen these chayatim in the memories of our spies—servants who looked broken, who winced with every noise, who had permanent frown lines on their foreheads from migraines. Several of the servants I’d encountered in the last week had chayatim in their memories—even if they all didn’t know what they were.

I had not yet seen one that I knew to be having a vision, but I’d seen some with the haunted look of vorakh who’d recently had an episode.

“We’re friends, Namtaya, aren’t we?” I asked sweetly.

She smiled shyly and laughed. “I’ve never been friends with a noble before.”