Page 22 of Son of the Drowned Empire
Chapter Twenty-One
“ I can fight,” I said, rain streaming down my face. I’d already reached for my sword, my body remembering how to prepare for battle. Even weakened, I felt a sudden strength in my fingers. Adrenaline was already kicking in like it did at habibellums. “I’m ready.”
Bowen pressed his palm to my wrist. “No,” he said. “I swore an oath to protect you. And I didn’t come this close to fulfilling it to fail now. I’ve seen you hurt too many times. I won’t see it happen again. Not on my watch. In a minute, I’ll go out and draw their attention. You stay back, stay hidden, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Wait for the gates to clear. They won’t see you in the dark, not when they’re coming after me. That should give you enough time to run. Clear the gate and head straight for the woods beyond the wall.”
“But there’s already a dozen soturi looking for me. More are on the way.”
He blinked rapidly before his expression stilled. “Aye, there are.” He took my hand. “But I swear on your mother, they won’t find you. Not while I still draw breath.”
“Bowen, please,” I said. “Let me help.” I felt like I was meeting him for the first time after twenty-one years. I’d spent my life resenting this man, thinking the worst of him, believing his sole loyalty had been to my father, that he’d hardly cared for me, that he’d repeatedly betrayed me. I couldn’t have been more wrong about him. This whole other life, this whole other relationship between us was suddenly filling in the gaps of my knowledge; a whole new reality was coming to life. I was finally seeing Bowen for who he was, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet. Not when I’d just found him.
He guided my sword back to its sheath.
“Turn around,” I begged. “Go back to your post. Claim I fought you. You don’t have to do this, you can live. I’ll run. I’m fast, I have the cloak.”
But as I spoke, more soturi were marching past the wall, their boots splashing in the rain as they joined the others at the gate.
“Find him!” came a roar.
“Third rule of being a soturion?” Bowen asked.
I frowned. “Bowen.”
“Answer the question. Third rule?”
My throat tightened. “Follow the chain of command.”
“Right. And I’m in command now. Once you reach the pinewoods, you need to head west, right to the clearing of moon trees. You know the one, about a half mile in. Keep your hood up, don’t stop until you reach it. Artem’s waiting for you there. He’ll help you cross the border.”
Alarm bells were ringing, and the energy between us shifted. We were out of time.
“Don’t you worry.” Bowen squeezed my hand, and I wasn’t sure anymore if he was reassuring me or himself.
I squeezed in return. The soturi were closing in on us.
Light shined on his face. The guards had scrambled to replace their torches with crystals.
“Rhyan. I want you to know. It’s been an honor being your guard. I wish I could have done things differently for you. But I can go in peace, knowing I did what I could.” He smiled. “I’ve always thought that if I hadn’t been born to this station, if your father hadn’t set his eyes on the Seat, I would have been proud to call you my son.” He stood. “The moment the gate clears, run!”
“Bowen!” I cried.
But he’d already leapt over the wall, his swords withdrawn, steel shining beneath the crystals. “This is right,” he said. My mother’s final words. He turned back to me, eyes shining. “It was never about breaking an oath. It was about keeping one.” Then he ran.
“Soturion Bowen,” came a yell. “Surrender! Now!”
“You want me!” he roared. “Fight me!”
“Where is the prisoner?”
“Cowards!” he roared.
I watched in horror as he reached the center of the field. The soturi raced toward him as his body came into full view beneath the lights.
The first soturion reached him. Their swords met, and with a violent clash, Bowen knocked him back, pushing him into another guard.
His other sword was already battling the soldier on his right, and again Bowen defeated his opponent. He kicked the third soturion, knocking him onto his back, and spun, elbowing the next in the face. He roared, stabbing the next through his armor. The soturion fell instantly, and those who remained at the wall sprang into action.
Bowen was winning, but I knew he couldn’t keep up this energy, not when the soturi kept coming, kept attacking from all sides.
The sword in his left hand fell, and Bowen was punched in the face. He stumbled back but recovered quickly, lifting the sword in his right hand overhead. He lunged forward, taking out two soturi. But as he reached for his dagger, another came from behind him.
I threw my hand on my mouth to cover my cry as the blade ran through Bowen’s stomach.
Suddenly there was a blue light in his hand, casting a halo over his body. “SHAKINA!” he yelled out, something like joy and relief in his voice.
I ran—for once away from a fight instead of into it.
As I made my way through the gates, miraculously unseen, I could have sworn I heard Bowen laugh before one final clash of metal.
Then, I heard nothing more.
I kept running, flitting through the pine trees that surrounded the prison, away from Seathorne, from my home, from everything I’d known and held precious, deeper into the woods, heading west. I kept running without stopping, just as Bowen had said to. The trees lightened, the pine giving way to silver-leaved moon trees. I could see the clearing up ahead, the grass glowing with silver.
A gruff voice yelled out, “Your Grace.”
I slammed my hands against a tree, catching my breath. Sweat was pouring down my neck. “Artem?”
“Aye, lad, it’s me.” He stepped forward carrying a lit crystal in his palm for light. “Reckon I don’t need to bow down to you anymore.”
“I wouldn’t say you ever did bow to me.” I slapped my knee, imitating the gesture he’d used all these years to greet me. “This doesn’t count.”
“Yeah, well, no one asked ye.” He glared. “You’re all right now?”
I threw my arms around him, breathing out a sigh of relief. He smelled exactly as he had the last time I’d been in the stables, like hay and gryphon shit. I’d never been happier to smell it.
Thin, wiry-muscled arms tightened around me, and his palm clapped the back of my head before he pushed me back. “What I’d tell you about being too soft?” he scolded. His eyes searched mine. “Bowen?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back the tears, and shook my head.
Artem swallowed, wrinkling his nose. With a cough, he said, “What the lad wanted. Come on, then.” He moved ahead of me, gesturing for me to follow. We walked quickly in silence, staying close to the trees until Artem turned and stepped out into a clearing. Moon trees grew in a perfect circle against the pines, their silver leaves glittering and full of light that reflected and expanded the faint glow of the moon. Lying in the center of the clearing was the bronze gryphon I’d ridden into the tournament.
The moment she lay eyes on me, she stood at attention and shook her head as if to admonish me. There was a definite attitude in the turn of her beak as she stomped her clawed front legs.
Artem nodded appreciatively. “She likes you.”
The gryphon growled in annoyance.
Artem was already in motion, checking her saddle despite me having ridden her into the tournament saddleless. I stepped closer and realized the saddle was holding several bags.
“Provisions for you,” Artem said. “Listen to me. You’ll need shelter first. Aye? And another Arkasva to vouch for you. It’s the only way to get protection against your father. Swear to someone. It’s that or…hiding out west in the human lands. But I don’t think you’re cut out for that. No gryphons out that way. Think where you have connections. Friends. Family. Get them to put you up.”
Already, my mind was working. I had family all over the North, family that was directly related to my father or had proven time and time again that their allegiance lay with him. The ones whom I suspected of not being unconditionally loyal had all been paid off or forced into blood oaths. Not one would offer me shelter, would even consider it.
But on my mother’s side, I had a cousin in Payunmar, a respected mage, only a few years older than me. He was an option but barely noble, his family small. I wasn’t sure I trusted they had the ability to protect me or that my presence wouldn’t put them in danger.
There was Sean. Sean was in Bamaria.
The realization left both an ache and lightness in my chest. A flash of hazel eyes and thick black lashes beneath a sun tree came and went in my mind. I could almost feel the warm breeze against my skin, smell the salty ocean air, feel her.
But Bamaria was on the other side of the Empire, and I was still bound. There was no way I could cross all of Lumeria without getting hurt, or worse, caught.
Aunt Sheera and Uncle Marcus were the closest, and they’d clearly been displeased with my father’s actions before the Alissedari. They were my best bet. But that meant I needed to go to Hartavia. And he was there. The senator. The idea of being in the same country as him made my stomach twist.
But my aunt and uncle would be there, and once I was strong enough, once I had freed myself from these ropes one last time, then I would head south.
“There’s food in the packs for you. Blankets, some gear. Extra knives. You know what to do.”
“Thank you, Artem.” I gripped his arm. “The red? I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Artem’s mouth tightened. “Said I’d help, didn’t I?”
“You did. I’m sorry.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just do this old man a favor and don’t get caught, aye? I’ve enough work to do without some Heir Apparent causing trouble for me,” he joked, but his voice broke, and his eyes were wet. Shaking his head as if he could deny the emotion in his voice, Artem stepped aside. “One hug was enough. Now get on her. Get out. And stay alive.”
I nodded one last time, resisting the urge to reach for him. My heart thumped with fear that he’d be in trouble for this, that he’d lose his life like Bowen had, but I knew Artem wouldn’t want me to be afraid for him, and every second I stood here, my escape window shrank. We’d already lost enough time, and the alarms were going off. My father would be after me any minute now, combing the country to find me.
I rubbed my palm over the bronze gryphon’s beak, stroking between her eyes. They closed, as she made a low purring sound in her throat. I climbed up her back, settled my boots into the stirrups, and belted myself into the saddle, my chest tightening. “Volara!” I yelled.
She reared back, emitting a squawk that burst through the clearing and ended in a loud, resounding growl. The rain continued to pour down, and I tightened my grip on her reins, as her front claws touched the ground, launching me forward. I leaned in, my face nearly against her feathers as she raced toward the trees, her wings tucked back. With another resounding squawk, we lifted, soaring above the forest.
I tried to catch my breath as I looked back. The rain had knocked out the torches across Gryphon’s Mount, but I could still make out the faint outline of Seathorne. Of my home. My last view of it…
When we’d flown far enough, the outline fading into shadow, the rain shifted to snow, then stopped altogether. I tightened my belt at my waist and lay my cheek against the gryphon’s feathers, watching the dark shadows of my country pass me by. I recognized the landmarks beneath me, the flames on the mountaintops marking the miles, providing light to the soturi on guard. They would soon be looking for me if they weren’t already.
We were nearly at the border. I sat back up, thinking about the last time I’d been there. It had been over two months ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. In that life, I was still Heir Apparent. Still Lord Rhyan Hart, riding out to greet The Ready. Aemon.
I hadn’t heard any word of the Bamarian arkturion since I’d entered the tournament. But he’d been there in the Gryphon Pits, watching. He’d seen me kill Garrett. He’d heard the jeers of the crowd. Had he also been in Glemaria while I’d been held in my father’s prisons? Had he heard what had happened to my mother, what I’d been accused of?
The idea of Bamaria suddenly seemed impossible. Even if Sean vouched for me, even if Arkasva Batavia had been friendly to me two years earlier, he wouldn’t offer me sanctuary if Aemon believed me dangerous. Being forsworn was enough reason for me to be turned away, but if I were accused of murder, too?
I thought of the bruises on Kenna’s neck and what she’d had to negotiate to see me. Of Bowen, the sword slicing open his belly. Of Artem saving the red gryphon. So many people had risked their lives to get me out of Glemaria, but none of it mattered if I had no Godsdamned place to escape to.
Ahead was Aravia. There were some solid cave systems that could offer me shelter. Dario, Aiden, and I had camped there one summer before Garrett had fully integrated into our circle. But I couldn’t live my days out in a cave, certainly not one that close to Glemaria.
Fuck. I knew where I had to go first. But Hartavia didn’t feel any safer than my father’s prisons.
I’m very impressed with you. You’re far more mature for your age than any other boys in the Empire.
I resisted the urge to scratch the itch running up and down my palm. It would be different this time. I was stronger than him. I wasn’t going to let some pervert senator ruin my chances of survival, my ability to uphold my mother’s final wish, or Bowen’s sacrifice.
Even as I decided that, I could feel the gryphon shift her flight pattern, a nervous, unsettled energy in her wings. I wasn’t sure if she’d picked up on my distress or if something else had scared her.
I tensed, sitting all the way up, scanning the horizon. Night’s darkness still blanketed the land, but a shout below had me on high alert. We were crossing over the border.
I leaned forward, burrowing into my cloak.
Something whooshed past my head, nearly slicing through my ear. An arrow. And attached to it, a rope. The exact rope used to tie down gryphons.
Another arrow flew at us, and then another.
“Mahara!” I commanded, urging my gryphon faster.
She uttered a terrified screech.
I leaned over, looking down past her wing. She hadn’t been injured, but one of the arrows had made its mark. The ropes had no special magic associated with them—not like I’d believed they had as a kid—but mages spelled them to self-tie around a gryphon’s leg if they needed to be brought down.
I caught sight of the rope knotting, the arrow falling away.
My stomach burst into my throat, my heart thundering as we dropped several feet at once.
My gryphon growled in distress, her wings flapping in desperation, trying to escape as I rubbed her head, trying to calm her, to slow her.
My efforts were pointless.
The wind pushed against my face and cloak, ripping it off my head as the rope tightened and we plummeted to the ground. My hand shook, my breath seized, and my stomach twisted as I imagined being somewhere else. Anywhere else.
The tug against my stomach came, almost nauseating with its violence, but it wasn’t enough to free me. I was still bound, still unable to touch my vorakh.
Within seconds, we hit the ground. The gryphon’s legs sprawled unceremoniously out to the sides, her tail thumping in agitation. And without warning, I was thrown from her back, my shoulder hitting the fields first.
Ignoring the pain, I rolled over, jumping to my feet, dizzy for only a moment. Just as I recovered, two soturi came up behind me, grabbing hold of my arms, twisting them behind my back, angled and tightly enough to break them. Sweat beaded my head, as I was brought before a tall soturion with short dark hair.
He stepped forward into the faint torchlight, and I paled.
Ronan DeTerria, my father’s Master of the Peace and Dario’s father, stared down at me, his dagger pointed at my neck.