Page 11 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Ten

L ater that night, I found my way back to my apartment after hours of training with Garrett and Dario. My body ached, and I could barely move. We’d taken a single gryphon into the mountains and taken turns flying on its back for hours. There were a limited number of gryphons available for practice. Most were busy with their previously assigned posts—transporting, guarding—and those who’d been designated as part of the tournament were completely off-limits. Plus, the locations to reach them were too far to travel to each day. That left a very small supply of gryphons for soturi to use to prepare, even for sons of three of the most powerful men in Glemaria.

Luckily, Aiden was perhaps the most talented mage in the Academy—if not the entire Empire—in the magic of glamours. He was able to transform the appearance of anything he’d ever seen. Aiden even could—if he wanted to—change himself into our exact likenesses. It wasn’t uncommon when he’d first mastered the spellwork, for me to sit down for lunch with Garrett and five minutes into the conversation discover it was actually Aiden in an enchantment.

Despite being rather on the quiet, and stoic side, when he was in his glamour, he did some of the most spot-on impressions I’d ever seen. He not only captured each person’s appearance but their mannerisms, their speech patterns. And if I was being honest, he was rather funny, though he rarely let anyone know beyond those moments. If the day came that I truly did outlive my father and took the Seat of Power, Aiden would be my first choice for spymaster for this reason alone.

Tonight, his magic had allowed him to transform the local falcons circling overhead into gryphons. Garrett, Dario, and I had taken turns riding on the actual gryphon we shared, and then riding on the falcons in disguise. Flying on the falcons wasn’t quite the same—they didn’t move with a gryphon’s speed or instincts. They also seemed completely befuddled for the first few hours on why their bodies had grown so large so quickly.

Still, it was helping all of us to become comfortable with combat in the air. And Garrett and Dario had desperately needed to clock more hours on gryphon-back before the tournament began. They had not had the same interest in the animals I’d had as a boy.

The day and night had been separated into training segments: one hour of mounting, jumping on and off our gryphons; one hour of flying, practicing soaring and directing; and one hour of descent, which was mainly me talking Garrett and Dario through the severely fast drops gryphons made and how to slow them. Unfortunately, they could only practice that on the real gryphon. The falcons in gryphon glamours didn’t give a shit if you rubbed their head, nor did they descend as quickly as real gryphons did despite their additional weight.

We ended with several hours of fighting on gryphon-back—sparring and attempting to knock each other off—with Aiden below prepared to slow our falls with his stave. Hitting the ground after tumbling off a gryphon from twenty feet in the air at a slow pace couldn’t kill or break any bones. But I hit the ground enough times to know it still really fucking hurt.

So, when the night ended, and I’d successfully stumbled back to my room, I could barely feel my legs, and my arms ached so badly, I couldn’t even lift my arms, forget removing my armor.

Bowen announced Kenna almost at once, and with a groan, I sat up, my stomach burning with muscles I was positive hadn’t been there that morning.

“Hard ride?” she asked, her eyebrows lifted.

I winced. “You could say that.” Managing to sit up all the way, I gestured for her to sit, stealthily trying to see her neck. It was still bruised, but like my mother had a thousand times before, she was doing her best to conceal the marks with her hair, wearing it long and over her shoulders. My fingers clenched at my sides, which triggered a spasm in my biceps.

Kenna sat next to me, her brown eyes searching mine, her lips pressed together with a look of defiance, as if daring me to mention what I’d seen last night or what had happened to her. Daring me to call her weak. I never would.

I knew now how strong she truly was—how much she carried inside. I could see it more clearly by the day.

“How are you feeling?” I asked anxiously.

She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Today, was he—?”

Kenna glared. “I’m not discussing him.” Her eyes flashed with heat. “You don’t discuss yours.”

My gaze fell to my lap. “No.”

“I’m okay,” she said, and again, I felt that separation between us—that fissure that would never fully close, never allow us to connect.

The hollowness inside me grew, but there was nothing I could do tonight to ease the ache. I couldn’t talk to Kenna. And I couldn’t use my body to mask the pain, couldn’t use hers to forget my own.

Silence fell between us before she asked, “Do you need any help with your armor?”

I started to shake my head, my own instinct to hide myself, to conceal my body and bruises and any tiny sign of weakness, rearing its head. Then I relaxed, forcibly untensing my fingers. “Actually, yes.”

Kenna leaned over. She unbuckled and unhooked each piece, carefully, almost reverently, replacing all of my leathers on my dummy and setting my weapons on the table beside it. Then, she removed my clothes, her eyes constantly checking my face to see if I was okay, if I’d changed my mind, or if there was an article of clothing I didn’t wish removed.

It occurred to me then, that I had forgotten what it was like for someone to check in with me. To ask for my consent. To ask first if it was all right. I was so used to being ordered around, bound, used, and hurt. My body not my own, feeling less and less mine, every time I was tied up. Not since I was a child alone with my mother had I been given a choice over my own person. The choice to say no, to decide if it was what I’d wanted. I hadn’t received anything like this in so long. Not from my previous lovers. Not Amalthea. Not my father or his soturi.

My stomach turned with the realization, and my heart pounded with Kenna’s gentleness. Until now, I hadn’t known I was missing it.

The last touch that had been this soft on my skin, this consenting and admiring…

Is this all right?

It’s more than all right. You feel so good.

I coughed, clearing my head of her , of the scent of lemon and vanilla, of visions of pink lips and golden skin wrapped up in Batavia red silks.

“Can we just sleep?” Kenna asked, already lying down beside me and drawing the covers up around us.

I suppressed a pained groan as I turned on my side to face her. “Of course, we can. We never have to do more than that.”

Kenna rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, chanting under her breath, the end of her stave lighting with blue as she removed all sources of light. Shadows filled my bedroom, and she dropped her stave on my night table. Only the fire roaring in my fireplace provided enough light to give me a faint outline of her profile.

“He was in a sour mood again,” she said quietly, her voice confessional as if it were easier to speak the truth in the dark.

I rested my hand on her arm beneath the blanket, gently, not wanting to hurt her further and not having the strength to do much more.

“Did he do anything else?” I asked.

“No.”

Her hand found mine, and our fingers clasped together. Her skin was cold, and I inched closer, pulling back my aura to allow only my body heat to reach her.

“Good.”

“You said something to him?” she asked.

“As much as I could,” I admitted. I should have said more. I wished I’d said more. Done more.

She released a heavy sigh. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I stilled. “Did he hurt you for it?”

“No, he….” She swallowed. “No.”

“He deserved it,” I growled. “Deserves so much fucking worse.”

I could feel her shaking her head against my pillow. “You’re a good person, Rhy.” Kenna’s voice was low.

I shrugged, always uneasy when I heard this. I hadn’t believed it for such a long time. Instead, I’d believed my father when he said I was terrible and unworthy. He’d said so enough times, I’d made it part of who I was. Pretended I’d chosen to be that way. Relished in it. I still found it difficult at times to remember it wasn’t true, wasn’t who I was anymore.

“You are,” she said. “So good.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “So are you.”

Kenna went quiet save for the even sounds of her breathing.

“Have you,” I started, an idea taking root in my mind, “Ken, have you ever thought of leaving here? Leaving Glemaria? Leaving it all behind, your title, your station?”

Kenna’s fingers twitched against mine. “All the time.”

“Would you?” I asked.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice sure.

“What if I went, too?”

Her hand stilled against mine; the steady sound of her breathing paused. Outside, the wind howled, loudly enough to drown out my breaths.

Kenna shifted beneath the blankets. “Are you asking me to run away with you?”

“Would you come with me?”

There was a long silence before Kenna said, “I’d want to.”

“But you wouldn’t?”

She let out a sharp exhale. “No. This is my home. What else is there for me beyond these borders?”

“I don’t know. More?”

“More what?”

I swallowed, visions of hazel eyes staring up at me, clouding my mind, alongside golden, sun-kissed skin, hair that turned to fire in the sun, and delicate hands turning a scroll for hours on end beside half-eaten slices of lemon cake.

“Just more,” I said, my voice hushed. Tears burned the corners of my eyes, and I was glad for the darkness Kenna had brought forth.

“Rhy,” she said softly, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know you don’t. But what if I want to?”

She laughed, the sound empty and joyless. “You’ve always got to be protecting someone, don’t you?” She squeezed my hand, her thumb rubbing my palm. “You can’t save everyone, you know? It’s not possible. Some of us… some of us don’t want to be saved.”

The backs of my eyes burned as I thought of my mother, of the hundreds of times I’d gone to her crying, begging, pleading on my knees for her to leave, to find a way out, to escape.

To save herself.

To save me.

“Sometimes,” Kenna said quietly, “sometimes the ones you most want to protect, they are the very ones you can’t—the ones who need to save themselves.”

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. She was right. And it was all so unfair. And I was running out of time. I hadn’t been able to save Jules beyond a single season. I was no longer sure if I’d truly protected Lyriana two years later. And I was beginning to understand that I couldn’t help Kenna.

In that moment I knew, deep in my soul, the days I had left were numbered. Soon, it would be too late to save my mother.

I didn’t even know if I was capable of doing it. Of winning for her. Of killing.

If it would even matter. If my father was even going to honor his word in the end.

But it was all I could do. So, I would.

A tear finally escaped my eye, and then another.

And still, at the end of the day, after everything that had happened, no matter how much I wanted it, wished for it, needed it, felt like I couldn’t breathe without it, there was no one. No one was coming to save me.

Aemon's stay in Glemaria was extended when my father invited him to attend the Alissedari. The Imperator could barely resist having two of the Empire's most esteemed arkturi present for his tournament, not to mention his birthday and anniversary.

Not only that, he was going to show off his restoration of the Gryphon Pits, the location of the Alissedari. The giant arena was located in the center of Glemaria, equidistant from all the wild locations and large enough to seat most of Glemaria and the northern nobles who’d travel here to watch. It had fallen into disrepair after so many years of disuse, and if my father wasn’t bragging about his long and successful rule, he was bragging about the updates his mages were making to the Pits.

I almost wished Aemon would leave just to see the insult on my father’s face.

I liked the Bamarian arkturion well enough. He was polite, and he was respectful in his interactions with my mother and my friends. But his continued presence was leaving me uneasy.

He seemed to be the sole reason Kenna’s father remained in an extra shitty mood, taking his anger out on not only me during trainings and clinics but Kenna as well.

In the weeks leading up to the tournament’s start, she’d come to my bed bruised again and again. Each time she’d remained stoic, refused to discuss what had happened, and only barely allowed me to give her the most minimal care.

And every time I saw Aemon, I saw his Bamarian armor, the golden seraphim wings cutting across his shoulders. When I saw the sigils of Ka Batavia flying in his path, the golden seraphim wings, the full silver moon on its red flag, I saw her . I felt her. I lost myself to her memory.

It was its own kind of torture, and all the while tensions were rising in the Academy every day. It hadn’t mattered much when I’d begun my soturion training that I was Heir Apparent. I had a target on my back the first time I strapped on my armor, the moment I had my left wrist cut by Arkmage Connal and became a soturion, the moment I’d spoken the words at the Oath Ceremony, joining my bloodline and power to my kashonim .

My apprentice Thorin had made sure of that. Those from the noble families who wished to challenge my father had made sure of that. And those whom my father had forced me to become prey for when he’d bound and beaten me to the point where I’d been too weak to fight back—they’d made sure of that.

But I started to strengthen. I started to grow. I started to remember the power that had been buried deep within me, the one that had risen to the surface and allowed me to defeat my father in an old Bamarian prison, the one that existed even when my magic was cut off and I was tied down by ropes.

I’d called on it again and again until it hadn’t mattered if I was bound or not—my strength, my skill as a soturion, was one to be reckoned with, even by the anointed soturi. I saw the outcome I wanted in my mind, I saw the ropes torn, and I fought, and I didn’t stop until I won.

That made every moment of my life since the announcement of the Alissedari even more dangerous. Bowen had begun working overtime, actually doing his fucking job, but inside the Katurium, no escorts were allowed to protect soturi. This meant Dario and Garrett had taken to never leaving my side. Ever. Not even to piss. If one of us took a shit, we all took a shit.

Which, in its own strange way, was the kind of fierce protectiveness I’d dreamed of having with friends as a boy. But also, it was really fucking annoying.

The guidelines around injuries during combat clinics and habibellums had also gone lax.

While there were always a handful of soturi who were forced to drop out of the Academy from injuries each year, we’d lost a dozen novices and apprentices since my father’s announcement alone.

Even Garrett’s father, Efraim, who never encouraged unnecessary violence, had gotten bloodlust in his eyes at clinics. Fouls were no longer called out. And when the fights intensified, his aura flared with excitement, especially if Garrett was in the center of it—something that happened frequently, as he so often followed Dario into the middle of all of his ill-advised brawls.

In the week leading up to the tournament’s start, Dario, Garrett, Aiden, and I had been spending every waking moment together inside the Katurium and out. Strategizing. Planning. Practicing. Kenna even began attending our training sessions and meetings, finding us with Aiden once their classes at the Mage Academy ended each day.

And all the while, the temperatures continued to drop, the early fall chill in the air already at a wintery blast that seemed to always be present in Glemaria with the small exception of a few measly months.

The weather mages called for snowfall. It would make the gryphons happy, but the idea of flying them and trying to fight soturi in blizzard-like conditions left me full of dread.

If the Gods had any mercy, they’d have held back the snow for at least one more week. But the Gods clearly had none. I woke the day before the tournament to a fresh coat of snow across my windowsill, the glass frosted, and snowflakes falling in thick, heavy clumps.

Outside, a gryphon squawked a trill of excitement as it soared past.

Kenna stirred from my bed; her eyes still full of sleep as she found me by the window. Stretching her arms overhead, she looked through the glass and frowned.

“I’ll reinforce the enchantments over your gloves and armor.”

I nodded. Inside the tournament we’d be bound by silver rings—both meant to keep us trapped inside, and keep mages and their magic out. Keep them from interfering. Any assistance I received had to happen in advance.

Kenna could ensure my armor and gloves repelled moisture, kept me dry if it continued to snow, and provide extra warmth before I entered the tournament, but she’d be unable to help me beyond that.

Aiden was adding an additional glamour to our cloaks, one that would help us further blend into the scenery around us. Lately, his spell work was so precise, that even staring right at Dario and Garrett before a moon tree, I could barely see their outlines if their hoods were up.

We were counting on this in the arena—on being too hard to be seen by our opponents, allowing us to strike quickly before they could anticipate or evade our hits.

A knock on my door turned my head. Before I could answer Bowen, the lock unclicked, and the door swung open.

“Bowen!” I yelled but froze as Arkturion Kane entered my bedroom instead. His muscled body like a dark shadow.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” he sneered, “but I need Lady Kenna. Now!”

She was dressed in a nightgown, but the material was sheer enough to be worthless. I immediately stepped in front of her to block his view.

“You’ll wait outside,” I growled. “Let her dress first.”

Behind me, Kenna had pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, her face pale as she leaned back, burrowing into my headboard as if she could get away from her father by disappearing into the bed.

“I’ll wait right here,” he said. “When I want my daughter to come, she comes. You’re not her husband. You have no say.”

“You think I care? I’ll fight you,” I said. “Arkturion or not.”

His eyes slanted into thin, cold slits. “You’ll lose.”

Stepping forward, my hands curled into fists. “My father said the same thing.”

Kane shook his head, his face full of derision. “Kenna! Get up.” His face reddened. “You’ll pay for this insolence.”

“Father, please,” she begged. “There’s no need.”

I looked past him to my opened door. Where the fuck was Bowen?

Then, right on cue, he stepped into the doorframe, his face sullen. He wasn’t interfering. Wasn’t even attempting to protect me. There was only one person he didn’t interfere with. Only one.

“What does he want?” I snarled. “My father, what did he say?”

Kane’s fist smashed into my skull. Once, then again. My head snapped back, as my vision went out of focus, everything a bright white, before shadows filled my eyes and pain exploded everywhere. Something had cracked. And my knees buckled.

“Rhyan!” Kenna screamed.

Forcing myself to stand back up, I faced Kane. My nose was bleeding, and I could barely see. I caught only a faint outline of Kane’s hulking figure leaning over my bed, grabbing a protesting Kenna. She kicked and yelled as he pulled her from my blankets, hauling her in her sheer nightdress to his chest. A low growl, deep in his throat, left me covered in goosebumps.

Kenna’s body went limp. Silent.

My stomach twisted. I was going to be sick. I’d never seen Kenna docile. Weak. Scared. Not like this.

Kane chuckled like this was all a game. Like he’d known that the small sound would win him the upper hand, force her to obey. What had he done to her to earn such an immediate reaction?

“You’re going to be a good girl,” he said.

Her chin shook then stilled as she stared up into her father’s cruel eyes. My vision blurred again, my throat tight as I coughed up blood, feeling bile gather behind it. I sank back to my knees and tried to crawl forward, to fight past the blinding pain.

Bowen entered at last. His large hands wrapped around my arms and pulled me to sit up. The room spun, my head pounded, and I resisted the urge to punch Bowen, though in that moment I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to hit him. I felt like Kane had punched my nose into my brain.

Slowly, Bowen’s shadowy figure moved away from me, and I watched him bend over, retrieving Kenna’s yellow dress and her shawl. “Her clothing, Arkturion.”

Kane sneered, dragging Kenna to the door, everything on display. The fucking bastard was going to parade her basically naked through the halls of Seathorne.

“Colder than it looks out there,” Bowen said. “Wouldn’t want the lady to catch a chill.” He held up Kenna’s dress again. She was looking straight ahead, not at Bowen, not at Kane, not at me.

Kane stared down Bowen. The two men were silent, assessing the other, while Kenna stood frozen between them, a small tremor in her fingers.

At last, Kane grimaced and jerked his head at the clothes. “Cover yourself up,” he spat in disgust, as if she’d tried to leave the room naked, as if he hadn’t been the one to burst in here without permission.

Her eyes red, Kenna turned toward Bowen, who held her dress out for her to take, but Kane struck out at Bowen’s arm before they could make the exchange, and the fabric dropped to the floor. Kane grunted as Kenna was forced to bend over and retrieve the items.

Bowen’s back remained to me, as he was unwilling to turn it on Kane. But he did turn his head to my window, keeping his gaze averted from Kenna while she dressed in silence.

Kane offered his daughter no such decency. Nor did he offer to help as she struggled with the ties, her fingers trembling.

I tried to go forward, my entire body shaking with rage and the need to reach her, to scream. But I couldn’t move. Everything throbbed, and every breath hurt worse than the last. I knew if I stood, I’d be on the floor in seconds, covered in vomit.

Fully dressed, her hair a mess and her skin flushed with embarrassment, Kenna stepped forward, and then she left with Kane.

“Your Grace.” Bowen sounded worried for once, as he moved across my room.

“My father,” I spat, recoiling from Bowen’s touch. He’d crouched down on the floor, trying to steady me, to lift me into his arms. “He ordered this?”

Bowen’s arms wrapped around my waist, and more gently than I’d ever known him to be, he lifted me up and carried me to the bed.

“You already know,” he said.

“Move!” I yelled and retched bile over the side of the bed. It made the ache in my skull double.

“Rhyan! The fuck!” Dario yelled.

I could hear my friend’s boots stomping into the room, followed by two more sets, as my stomach twisted and blood spattered to my floor. My head spun, and I knew I was seconds from passing out.

“Oh, shit!” Dario stopped in his tracks.

“Bowen, what happened?” Garrett asked.

“Broken nose,” he said. “Kane punched him.”

“Fuck! Is that why Kenna looked so…?” Dario trailed off. “Shit.”

“I can fix it,” Aiden said, his voice far calmer than everyone else’s. He looked like he’d been deep in thought, calculating his spellwork, his gaze hyper-focused on the injury to my face. “You’ll be okay, Rhyan. Good as new. You’ll never know.”

I closed my eyes. Like I cared if my nose had a bump in it.

“Garrett, get some towels,” Aiden ordered.

My bedroom door slammed shut.

Dario turned on Bowen. “Where the fuck were you? You’re not supposed to let this shit happen to him. He’s the Heir Apparent.”

“I’m well aware. I was exactly where I was told to be,” Bowen said curtly.

“Sit him up,” Aiden said. “Gently.”

I groaned, feeling like I was going to puke again—and actually puke this time.

“Is she…?” I tried to ask, but my voice was weak, shaking. “Is she okay?”

“She’s with her father,” Dario said. But the darkness in his voice said all it needed to. We knew she wasn’t safe. None of our fathers were safe.

I felt weight beside me on the bed, the mattress shifting. Someone took hold of my ankles to hold me down, their calloused fingers against my skin, and I caught the vague outline of Aiden’s beside me. His nose large and beaked like a gryphon’s.

“I tried,” I said, my chest heaving. “Tried to get to her.”

“I know,” Aiden said quietly. “We all know.”

The tip of his stave rested on my forehead, and I tensed.

“Garrett, restrain his hands, too.”

Firm hands clasped around my wrists, slightly smaller than the ones by my feet, and I tensed further.

It’s just my friends… Not ropes. Not ropes. I’m free… not bound.

“Hey,” Garrett said, “Rhyan, relax. Aiden’s got you.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aiden said quickly. “We’re all here with you. I’m going to fix this. Now close your eyes. Deep breath. This is going to hurt.”