Page 70 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

Morgana stiffened at his words, her aura tense and pulsing. I turned, seeing Meera looking faint, but then she straightened and reached for a glass of water.

Gods, I was never going to be able to relax with them.

I smiled back at Aemon, schooling my face to appear calm. “I would like that,” I said, praying I sounded neutral. It was taking all I had to keep myself from demanding he be the Ready and march straight to the border himself to drag Rhyan back.

Aemon pulled a small flask from his belt. “This is for you, Lady Lyriana. I can’t do much for your situation at the moment, but you look like you could use this.” He pressed the cool silver metal into my palm.

“What is that?” Morgana asked.

“Fine wine for the soturion,” Aemon said. His eyes pierced Morgana. “I dare say, my lady, you have had enough already?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “If you say so, Arkturion.”

“Drink up,” he said quietly. “Try to relax tonight. Because after the weekend passes, everything must return to order.”

I nodded, watching him walk away. I felt the chain around my waist and itched to touch the stone, to call Rhyan right then. But instead, I drank Aemon’s flask, surprised at how sweet and how strong it tasted.

The night carried on with more inane gossip and chatter and Morgana continuing to drink until I had no choice but to help her up to bed, bringing Meera along as well.

We curtsied before Arianna on our way up, my skin crawling as she touched my hand.

“Have a good night, my dears. You must be exhausted.” She squeezed my hand, and I felt the eyes of every noble in the room on us.

How many supported her?

How many supported me?

Now the phrase “shekar arkasva” has true meaning. Not all support the illegitimate black seraphim. You’re not alone.

No other messages had come to Cresthaven or my apartment, and I was no closer to solving the riddle of the signature.

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Arianna released my hand, her blue eyes assessing. I lowered my chin.

“Good night,” I said, making one last sweep of the room for clues. Attention had returned to the small talk happening at each table.

I got Meera to her room first despite feeling slightly drunk from all I’d had downstairs. I’d finished Aemon’s drink when Naria had begun kissing Tristan in the middle of the room and then I’d borrowed what remained in Morgana’s cup while they’d danced across the floor. Lady Sila had sent over a glass to me, worried I was upset at the news of the Emartis’s release. She’d been right. I’d downed the entire thing.

When we reached Morgana’s bedroom, she gripped my arms, her fingers cutting into my skin.

“Morgs—”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

I froze. “What?” Did you hear something?

Her eyes widened, as her grip on me tightened.

Morgs? Ow!

She shook her head, true fear in her eyes.

I tried to empty my thoughts to let her hear while I strained my ears, listening for whatever or whoever was nearby. But I couldn’t sense a thing.

Morgana’s chest heaved, her dark eyes searching mine.

Is it Meera? I’d never seen her like this—so scared, so vulnerable looking. Not in years. Morgs?