Page 18 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Seventeen

T he day of Garrett’s funeral passed. And then the next day. And then the next. I was left alone. No visitors. No contact with the outside world. I was watched only by Bowen, alone in my grief. The bindings remained on me, tight and impossible to forget. They kept my skin too warm, kept me from sleeping, kept me from escaping.

By the third day of my imprisonment in Ha’Lyrotz, I’d stopped begging Bowen for news. I’d stopped asking for any hint of what had happened, how Aiden was doing, or Dario, or Kenna, or my mother. His lips always tightened at the last request, but he gave me nothing.

I could no longer feel anything. Not in my heart and barely on my body. I’d grown numb.

When a week had passed, I heard the doors down the hall open and the sound of at least a dozen soturi marching toward my cell. I sat up on my cot, my fingers scratching at the rough sheets beneath me. The sound of the boots echoed against the walls, the soturi’s steps in perfect formation.

“You’ve been requested in the Seating Room, Your Grace,” Bowen said quietly.

I stood up, my ankles shaky and my knees weak after days of hardly standing. Bowen unlocked the cell door, and I stepped forward.

Immediately, I was surrounded. There was soturi to my left, my right, before me, and behind me. As if I could escape in these ropes. As if I had the strength to fight back. I began the march, walking outside for the first time in a week in the cold dark of night, from Ha’Lyrotz back to Seathorne.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before we stood outside of the doors of the Seating Room, and I listened for the millionth time as they creaked open. The wooden gryphon carved across their expanse split in half, the wood groaning as the herald announced my presence. On the opposite end of the room, my father sat on his golden throne, his fingers drumming impatiently against his thigh. The golden border of his Imperator robes gleamed as brightly as the golden laurel that sat atop his head. My mother stood still beside him, her hands clasped before her, her voluminous sleeves falling to her knees.

I paused at the threshold. Bowen placed his hand on my shoulder. It was a reassuring touch, so unusual from him and so surprising I looked back. But his gaze wasn’t on me, it was ahead. He squeezed and released his hold, and then I was alone, hearing the doors close behind me with a deafening thud.

I shivered, moving slowly, finding it difficult to keep my usual pace. The binds felt heavier and heavier as I moved through the empty room. No guards. No soturi.

Bracing myself for his ire, for his aura, I bowed as much as I could when I reached the edge of the dais. “Your Highness.”

“Rhyan,” my father said, his voice gentle.

“You sent for me?” I asked, my voice shaking with fear. My heart pounded thunderously as I stood and focused my gaze. I grimaced as I rolled my shoulders back; even now, the practices drilled into me were trying to make their way through.

“The time has come. I managed to bring some order back to the Council. Remind them of their duties. Keep them from coming for your head.”

“Shall I assume your methods of persuasion did not involve the truth of what actually happened to Garrett?” I seethed.

“Rhyan, it’s time you learned that there has never been any other truth beyond what I’ve told you.”

“The akadim,” I snarled, feeling a sliver of my own aura escaping my binds.

“There were no akadim,” he said, a note of finality in his voice.

I bit my lip to keep from shouting.

His eyes narrowed. “Luckily, the tides have turned in your favor. Thanks to my great efforts on your behalf.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively, crossing one leg over the other. “Garrett was weak. He was jealous. He was never as good as you, not noble. He had everything to prove—a reputation to uphold after that one lucky akadim attack. Everyone knew you were the strongest, the most noble, the Heir Apparent.” His nostrils flared. “He tried to fight you—he dared to threaten you on your gryphon after he lost his own. It didn’t matter that you had lowered yourself, degraded yourself to befriend him. You merely defended your honor in the tournament. That is what I’ve told everyone. That’s what everyone believes.”

Tears rolled down my cheek. The disgrace, the dishonor to Garrett, to his life, his memory. He’d been so strong. He’d killed not just one but two akadim all before he was a soturion apprentice, and no one would ever know.

Not unless I found a way to reveal the truth.

“Ka Aravain?” I asked. “They’ve accepted this… this story?”

“Ka Aravain took decades to climb the steps to status, but they’ve only come far enough to merely sit amongst the nobility. To claim a seat that they’re hardly holding onto.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. They had no choice but to remain silent and swallow his lies, just to keep their position.

“My friends will never believe that. They knew Garrett. He had nothing to prove to them. Or to me. I don’t know what they’re thinking now, but they’re going to figure it out. They’ll know the truth.”

“Just like they figured out your secret? Your vorakh? What about all your scars? Your bruises? They’ve showered with you at the Academy, have they not? Bathed with you? I’ve never heard word of them thinking or asking where the additional bruises you earned came from.”

“I…”

“Did you really believe they valued your friendship over their own status and livelihoods? Did you truly think you were worthy of them risking everything?”

My whole face felt hot.

“And what about you?” he taunted. “Did you ever confide in them? Did you ever trust your best friends with your secret? Despite your promises to me, I know all about your childish defiance. But you didn’t. All these years, you kept your mouth shut. Why? Because you knew they wouldn’t accept you. You knew you weren’t worth protecting.” He reached into his pocket and produced three small vadati stones. They were clear and scuffed, rolling over in his palm.

My mother stiffened.

“They were using these during the Alissedari. Items like these,” he turned them over in his hand, examining them, “they’re rare, precious.” He looked up at me. “And illegal. The status of each vadati stone is carefully regulated by the Empire. And with the rise of the threat of akadim, these should be turned over at once. Handed directly to Emperor Theotis. The consequences for having been in possession of them, for having kept them, used them, would be quite severe.” He threw the stones at my feet.

“Devon!” my mother cried out, breaking the silence she always held when she stood at his side.

I bent down, quickly picking them up and stuffing them into my belt pouch. I couldn’t listen to him, his lies, his manipulation. My friends would protect me. I had to believe that. And yet, the doubts were always present, always creeping in.

How many times had I sworn they’d finally ask me about my bruises enough that I’d answer, break down and tell them the truth? But they hadn’t. Even if I could ignore my father now, he’d still won. With these vadati stones, he had complete control over Aiden. And with his father’s position on the council, he had control of Dario.

“So what?” I asked. “What now? You got what you wanted. I won your little tournament. And now everyone is falling in line with your story.” I held up my hands to showcase the black ropes crisscrossing against my skin that kept my power inside. “What more do you fucking want? You want me to parade around Glemaria? Fly into each town on a gryphon with a fucking victory flag?”

“Rhyan,” he said softly, and his face was transformed by the expression I always looked for, wanted, needed—something akin to fatherly concern. Then it was gone, and his eyes narrowed into slits. “You forget that all I’ve done is to protect Glemaria, to protect the reputation of our Ka. But I can see now… you’re too wild. Too disobedient. Too foolish for your own good. And for mine. I am a busy man. I can’t spend all my time convincing the Council of Glemaria that you aren’t its greatest fuck up over and over again. It ends now. I should have ended it a long time ago.”

“Devon.” My mother stepped before him. There was a sudden and unusual blast of power from her aura, like a bright, warm light that filled the room. “He’s your son.”

“Then he should have known better.” He withdrew his sword, the red stone in the hilt catching the light of the fire before small flames danced across the starfire blade.

“Devon! Stop!”

“Shakina, sit down. Now.”

Our eyes met, and I nodded, a barely there shift of my chin, trying to communicate everything I needed. For her to sit. For her to listen. For her not to get hurt—not again, not on my behalf, not when I was trying to protect her. Not when there was nothing she could do to help me.

“Kneel,” he commanded.

“Devon!” my mother screamed.

“Mother, please!” I begged, falling to my knees. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” My heart was pounding, alive… alive. The desire to live, it was there, despite everything. Despite how alone I was. Despite the fact that everything I’d touched had turned to shit, that everything in my life was completely fucked.

“Don’t hurt him!” she pleaded. “Please! Devon, stop! I’ve never asked you for anything. All of these years. Do this one thing for me.”

“Our boy’s had far worse, haven’t you now?” He stood over me, holding the blade I’d cleaned and sharpened myself so many times over the years. “We’re done. No more surprises. No more games. You’re going to swear your oath to me now.”

I blinked, realizing he wasn’t going to kill me. My heart seemed to pound harder in response as I asked, “Swear what?”

“To obey.”

I looked up at him. Hadn’t I done every fucking thing he wanted? I’d even kept his abuse secret all these years out of some fucked-up loyalty to him and our Ka.

“I have obeyed,” I seethed.

“Not enough. I want your oath. To follow every command. Without question.”

“Why now?” He could have asked for this years ago—demanded it, forced it—but he never had because I was a liability. He knew I’d inevitably break my oath to him, because he knew I would become forsworn and our Ka’s hold on the Seat of Power would be in danger.

“You will swear that you will obey everything I tell you. No more objections. No more opinions. No more questions. What I want, I will get from now on.”

I wanted to live, but not at this price. The cost was too high, it would take too much of my soul. “You’ll never get that oath from me.”

“I think I will,” he said, reaching for my mother.

It happened so fast, his hand behind her neck, the blade sliding across her collarbone.

I was on my feet in an instant, running for her.

The back door opened, revealing the Arkmage. Connal stepped forward, the crystal atop his stave alight. The flash nearly blinded me, and I crashed to my knees, my head pushed back by the force of his magic.

My father pressed the blade into my mother’s neck, drawing blood, as Connal stalked toward me, the light blinding.

“Rhyan, you will swear your full and complete obedience to me. You will give me your oath in blood.”

“No!” I shouted, my hand slamming into the floor, my muscles straining as I tried to crawl forward, to reach my mother, to escape from Connal’s power.

But then I sat back—not on my own. Connal was controlling me, moving my body like a puppet. It was worse than the ropes, the feeling of having no autonomy, no agency, no power, no strength.

I was brought to my feet, and as I opened my mouth to yell, I found my lips sealed shut.

Blood trickled down my mother’s neck, and the doors opened. Twelve members of my father’s personal guard marched inside. Bowen still stood outside, his aura nearly across the Seating Room. And then the doors closed.

My father pulled the blade back and handed off my mother to two of his guards: Soturion Baynan Gaddayan and another asshole related to Kane. They pulled her arms behind her back.

NO! STOP! DON’T HURT HER! I yelled. But no one could hear me. My mouth didn’t move. I couldn’t make a sound no matter how hard I tried. The shouts only echoed in my head, useless. Sweat was rolling down my forehead, my nose. My arms burned as I fought against Connal’s hold.

Leave her alone! I tried again. But nothing. My chest hurt. I couldn’t breathe. My fingers were numb as I kept fighting.

Then, my father stood over me, his blade poised above my head. A drop of my mother’s blood fell onto my cheek. I couldn’t flinch. I was frozen, forced to feel the blood drip down my face.

“Lord Rhyan Hart, my son, your Heir Apparent,” he said, addressing his guard, “has agreed to submit himself fully to my will. To the will and the good of Glemaria. He is ready to give me his oath in blood. You will all witness.”

I didn’t stop fighting. I kept trying to move, to escape. I felt a pop in my shoulders, a painful ache in my back, then something like a release.

My arm broke free of Connal’s hold, and my wrist snapped forward. The light on his stave weakened. I had only seconds to act. If I could break free of his will, maybe I could break my other binds, too.

“That’s not possible.” My father’s face was red.

He’d said the same thing when I fought back in the Bamarian prison, when I overpowered him then.

“Now!” my father said, but there was a hint of worry in his voice.

My arm lifted, and I was rising to my feet. Connal grimaced. My muscles burned.

I’d sworn my will was stronger than my heart. Now I was going to prove it was stronger than my body, stronger than mage magic, stronger than my father.

My teeth clenched, and I took a step forward, every muscle in my body screaming in agony.

My father’s eyes widened. There was a slight jerk of his chin, and I felt the nervous vibration of his aura. Biting down on my cheek, I drew blood as I focused on my power, the one that I’d developed, the one he couldn’t touch. That couldn’t be bound with magic. I was beating him, and he was too slow to hide his fear of me.

But then his mask was back up, tighter than ever, his unease swallowed by shadows swirling around his aura, darkening the room. “Swear yourself to me now,” he said.

The word “no” was on the tip of my tongue, so close to being uttered, the sound almost there. Gods, I was close—so close to breaking free. To ripping through these binds. To tearing these ropes apart.

His fingers pressed into my arm, as his sword pressed against my face. I stilled, my stomach twisting. The steel was hot, warmed for the oath, for the magic to unleash itself, to bind itself and curse me. My father clicked his tongue, the gesture subtle but victorious.

My heart sank. Even though I’d moved against my binds, even though I’d shown strength that should not have been impossible, it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t fucking enough. I was still no match for the magic’s full force, not while also bound.

My chest was seizing, and my father’s eyes lit up as if he’d seen the defeat in mine.

I opened my mouth, but I hadn’t wanted it to. Connal’s magic was in control again, but I forced it shut. Maybe I was fucked, but I wouldn’t give them this. Even if I didn’t survive, I would die as myself. I would never swear to him. I would never submit. If I gave him my oath, I gave him my soul. And maybe it was already torn apart from Garrett. Already half-dead. But it was all I had. I would not give him what remained.

My father lifted his blade. Drops of blood slid to its hilt. I caught my father’s eyes with a desperate plea of mercy. One final appeal from a son to his father.

It didn’t matter. The steel rose above my head. His mouth was set with a grim determination, and a wild, vindictive madness danced in his aura, and his eyes.

“Now, you’ll never forget your promise to me. You won’t be able to forget your oath or manipulate your way out. Every time you touch your face, every time you look in the mirror at your Godsdamned reflection, every time you feel the sting of the diadem against your scar , you’ll remember where your allegiance lies.”

“NO!” my mother screamed.

The blade lowered.

I jerked my head, closing my eyes as pain erupted through my skull. My eye was on fire, and I felt warm, thick blood dripping down my cheek.

The pain was almost unbearable. I couldn’t see past the blood, the heat. My left eye wouldn’t open; my forehead was on fire.

“Ani dhara me sha el lyrotz.” My voice, but not my voice, echoed in my ears. My accent, my essence, everything that made me me , was gone. Through every syllable of the ancient High Lumerian forced from my lips, my mother screamed.

I give you my oath in blood.

I fell to the ground. I couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel past the pain in my forehead.

Some of the soturi laughed, and a sudden release of my muscles left me sprawled on the floor before my father’s boots. Connal’s magic released me. It was done. I’d sworn the oath. And if I broke it…I’d die.

My heart thundered, and I struggled to balance back on my knees, to fight every ache and pain as I rose to my feet.

“Shall we put it to the test?” my father asked. “Connal, bring her in.”

I frowned. My mother was already in the room. Connal nodded with a sinister turn of his lips as he pointed his stave at the back door. Blue light flashed.

Chest heaving, I tried desperately to wipe the blood from my face, but my heart sank before I could see past the shadows. I already knew. I’d known the moment my heart had beat for her, the moment I’d decided I’d wanted to live, to feel again. I’d always known she’d be in danger. I’d always known it’d be my fault.

Kenna was ushered through the door.

“Rhy!” she cried out, a look of anguish on her face that vanished almost instantly. Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips thinned, and her face turned stoic as my father wrapped his arm around her, his leathers crushing the satin of her green dress. He took her hand in his, forcing her arm to tremble, her skin to go white.

He looked down at her, and she glared in return, but he leaned closer, whispering in her ear. Kenna’s arm stilled, and a small smile appeared on her face.

I bit back a sob. I knew better, knew he was crushing her fingers. He’d done that to my mother’s hands too many times to count.

“Lord Rhyan has sworn his oath to his Imperator. I know how close you once were. I thought you’d like to be the first to see how devoted he is to our Ka and Glemaria.”

Kenna’s nostrils flared before her smile widened. “How…fortunate,” she said, her words stilted.

My father pushed her forward, right into my line of vision, showing me exactly where he was twisting her arm. “Kneel,” he ordered. His hand turned, and red splotches ran toward her elbow.

Kenna cried out, quickly trying to cover the sound with a laugh.

I wanted to scream. Garrett had died just so my father could maintain this vile balance of fear and control in this country.

It didn’t matter that I’d sworn the blood oath. It wouldn’t matter if I obeyed his commands to perfection. Kenna was never going to be safe. My mother was never going to be safe. Nor was anyone else whom I loved, who dared get close to me, befriend me, or care for me. I couldn’t risk one more person being hurt because of me.

“Kneel!” he said again, his voice cutting like glass.

Right then and there, I made my choice.

I was forsworn.

I took a deep breath, my last one like this—free, alive—and I ran. I brandished my sword, fingers sinking into the hilt like my hand and blade were one. My forehead burned as I pointed the tip at my father’s belly, right where his leather was weak, right where I could stab in and up to pierce his blackened heart.

His soturi all moved at once, screaming, their swords singing as they were thrust forward one by one. We were surrounded. A dozen blades pointed at my neck but they all came to a halt from a single jerk of my father’s head.

“No,” he ordered. “He’s mine.” He tossed Kenna to the side, and she stumbled toward his Seat, grabbing the armrests for support. My Imperator held up his sword, his mouth tightening as he stared at me.

“Rhyan,” my mother yelled. “My heart! Your oath!”

I didn’t listen to her. I couldn’t. It was the only way. While I lived, everyone would suffer. Our swords clashed, the metallic ringing echoing through the room. Again, he struck, and I deflected. I hit and struck, pulled back and thrust, just before he caught the blade, forcing me to the side.

I recentered, leg forward, the sword an extension of my arm. I thrust and made my hit.

My father stumbled back. Quickly, I attacked again, my arm swinging above my shoulders, my vision still blurred with blood, my head on fire. I couldn’t see out of my left eye. The oath was like a living flame burrowing into my skull, burning me from the inside out, taking its debt, the blood and life it was owed.

I didn’t care.

Let the Godsdamned oath kill me. Let my father’s blade swing true. Let it finally end. If I died now, then I’d take him with me.

He could see it, the farther-than-Lethea look in my eyes, the fire in my soul that said I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to protect. I’d risked it all before and won. I’d done it when it was all I had to save Lyriana, and I was betting now on doing it again, on sacrificing everything.

But he wasn’t.

It happened fast. The order was given, and a light flashed before me, white, consuming. I couldn’t see out of my right eye now either. I couldn’t move.

Connal’s magic had snaked around my body once more.

I stumbled backward, my sword too heavy, slipping from my hand under Connal’s sway. His eyes were alight and slit like those of a snake, a cruel imitation of my father.

My hand shook, my fingers shivering before I reclaimed my grip.

Connal’s mouth fell open, shock momentarily breaking his grip on his spell.

I sneered. Even tied up, even bound, he could not hold me. Not for this.

With a cry, I thrust my blade over my head and raced forward, but the weight of it was too much. My arm spasmed and the sword fell. Its metallic clang was like a death drum as it hit the floor.

I cracked my knuckles, balled my hands into fists, still determined. I continued racing for my father, pushing through every restraint, every bind.

I didn’t slow down. I raised my hands. I would choke him. I would snap his neck. I would end him. Even with a sword in my belly, even bleeding and dying, wherever my soul was going next, he was coming with me; I would drag him along. Down to hell if I had to.

My father’s eyes locked with mine, and he thrust, the blade aimed perfectly for my belly. I tensed, prepared to take the death blow, but it didn’t come. My father’s gaze fell from mine.

A shadow had moved between us, small and quick like a wraith.

“Shakina!” he roared.

“NO!” I cried, realizing far too late.

My mother stood between us, her body where mine was meant to be. The blade with my name on it, my death blow, had pierced her body.

She stumbled forward into my arms.

“Mom!” I clutched her arms, trying to hold her upright. Blood flowed from her stomach, dripping down her white dress.

She stared into my eyes and nodded, like this was right, like this had been her plan. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For… not protecting you.”

“It’s okay,” I cried. “It’s okay.” My throat constricted, and I clutched her tighter, trying to drag her away, praying, praying, praying that she was all right, that we could fix this, that it could be me with the blade through my belly because I was forsworn, I had broken my oath, and I was meant to die.

Not her! Gods! Fuck!

I started pleading. To Auriel. To Asherah. To anyone who would listen. Please. Let me trade with her. Let me be the one. Let me do at least one thing right in my life.

But the Gods had never listened to me. Nor had they ever been kind.

There was a grunt, and the blade was removed. Steel and starfire and blood all flashed across my line of sight.

“Hold on,” I begged. “Just…”

There was something like relief in her eyes. “Tell him it was right,” she gasped.

“Tell who it was right? What does that mean?” I asked desperately, trying to make sense of it, to keep her awake, to keep her here.

“He’ll know… he knows.” Blood spilled from her lips. She was bleeding out, dying. “It’s okay,” she said, as if to herself.

Her legs gave out first, and her body sank to the floor. I dropped to my knees to stop the bleeding.

“My heart,” she whispered. One hand curled up, and her fingers caressed my cheek. “No oath. Just promise. Survive. Just survive…” She went still. Her arm fell limp. “My love,” she said. But she wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze had grown distant and I felt the last whisper of her aura brush past me, and then I couldn’t feel her at all.

No. No. No.

“Murderer!” my father screamed, his blade coming down on my head again.

I couldn’t move. I was frozen. Holding onto her. Trying to turn back time to her being alive and breathing, and here.

A fresh gush of blood poured down my face. The blood oath reopened. The cut was so deep, I could feel it pushing through to the bone, scarring me, branding me. If I lived, I’d be disfigured.

“Now the outside matches what’s within.” He laughed, the sound was cruel and devoid of joy. “You are no longer Lord Rhyan Hart. I revoke your title. I name you forsworn and an enemy of Glemaria. I name you mother-killer and cut you from your kashonim .”

I was vaguely aware of Connal pointing his stave, of a sudden sharp snap inside my body, the cutting of my oath. My kashonim was gone.

My father’s voice rose. “You no longer have the power of your lineage to draw from. You no longer have the right to be a soturion in Glemaria. And for your crimes, you will die in Ha’Lyrotz.” He turned to his soturi, his twelve most trusted guards. “You all witnessed. You will all swear to what you saw. Testify to this monstrosity, this spawn who killed the wife of your Arkasva, your Imperator.”

Through the haze and the blood rushing into my eyes, I saw Kenna. Alone. Forgotten in the chaos. She’d been stepping slowly away, inching toward the back of the room to the door that led to the servant’s hallway. In all the violence, no one noticed.

Our eyes met at the threshold. She pressed one hand to her heart, a wavering look in her eyes.

I nodded, hoping she understood.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she clutched the door frame.

Go, I mouthed.

Her lips thinned, and she vanished, the door closing behind her.

At least I had saved one person.

I looked back at my mother’s body. And felt what remained of me tear itself apart. The pieces shattered, falling inside of me.

I closed my eyes, finally letting the pain consume me. I wasn’t sure in the end what took me—the excruciating agony of my injuries or the churning tide of my grief.

All I knew was I couldn’t hold on. My eyes were closing, and some part of me hoped they’d never open again.