Page 24 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Twenty-Three

I was nine. I remembered clearly. The senator from Hartavia had come to visit. He’d been so kind, always had something for me when he saw me, tiny gryphon figurines made of stone that I’d proudly displayed above my headboard. I’d been excited every day to wake up and see him, had looked forward to talking to him.

Bowen had hated him. He’d growled every word he’d spoken to the man, and had always been urging me to do something else, go somewhere different. He’d made a hundred suggestions of things I could do instead of whatever activity the senator had suggested. His hatred had only made me like the senator more. Bowen had been a bother and no protection against my worst enemy: my father.

When the senator had announced he’d invited a singer to perform at Seathorne, I’d been thrilled. She’d sung stories of the Wars of Light, which I’d been obsessed with. I’d read scrolls from the library about the war, visited the temple, and listened to my mother retell the stories while she’d pointed out their paintings on the walls.

Even as a small child, I’d been expected to be at Court every day, but I’d always been told I didn’t understand what was happening or that I was a nuisance or in the way of the proceedings. Not the senator. He’d told me how bright I was, how smart.

And he’d told me I was handsome.

I’m very impressed with you. You’re far more mature for your age than any other boys in the Empire. It’s only fitting that you attend this concert. I don’t think the others would appreciate it. They’re not like you. They’re not as smart. Not as special.

I hadn’t had any friends at the time. I wasn’t yet being tutored with the other nobles. I’d only seen Aiden and Dario from a distance. Garrett hadn’t yet been allowed in Seathorne.

My mother hadn’t wanted me to go that night, but my father had said I could. He’d looked right at Bowen and told him to take the night off while I attended. After all, he’d said, what harm could come to me with such an esteemed member of the Hartavian Council as my companion? Bowen had looked ready to riot, and my mother had been furious—I understood why now.

At the time, I’d felt victorious. I’d finally gotten something I’d wanted, and I’d thought I was getting some kind of revenge on Bowen, getting back at him for not liking one of the only people I could have called a friend.

I’d had no idea what would happen as I entered the concert hall alone…

I stood now at the edge of Blackthorn, Hartavia’s fortress, my palm itching fiercely. A sharp gust of wind blew. Winter had nearly reached Hartavia. It had been a week since I’d flown from Glemaria. A week of hiding, camping in a cave, and the Afeyan gryphon my only source of warmth. I’d been on edge, barely sleeping, barely thinking about what had happened, what I’d done. I had killed two men. And gravely injured a third.

I just kept remembering one fact. I had to survive. So, I did. Every day I went out and scouted the grounds, keeping my cloak on as I walked through the woods and ventured in the evenings to the nearby villages. I’d looked for my father’s men, and, more than anything, I’d looked for the courage to do this.

Tear the rope apart .

My first thought was to go to my aunt and uncle’s and throw myself at their mercy. But the Soturi of Ka Hart had expected that and searched their manor on four different occasions, tearing their home apart while I watched, hidden in the woods.

I was almost ready to abandon the plan. To head to my cousin’s in Payunmar. But I’d seen my aunt’s distaste for my father’s rule. She was potentially my strongest ally—the most likely to believe my story. And she was most likely the one who could convince others of the same.

When my father’s soturi retreated, leaving Hartavia, I remained hidden an extra day. I knew some had been left behind, that his spies were watching my aunt’s home.

Which meant going directly to her would never be an option—not with an order of protection from the Arkasva. I only had one shot at requesting sanctuary. I had to go to him directly, and no one could know before I made my appearance.

The red gryphon nuzzled my hand, the one that’d been itching, the one the senator had taken…the one he’d placed on his…

The itch faded as I wiped the sweat from my palm against my riding pants. Exhaling, I stepped out of the shadows and emerged from my hiding place amongst the bushes. I’d been in the woods beyond the capital, keeping to the shadows of the fortress walls.

Two soturi stood before the black gate, their green hoods up, their eyes staring past me. They couldn’t see me, not with my cloak as glamoured as it was, not when I had the trees behind me to add to the camouflage.

I took a deep breath and removed my hood.

The soturi’s eyes immediately widened.

“Hold!” the first yelled. Their armor was similar to ours, made of black leather. The cuts were different, the pieces braided together, allowing for more movement but also more opportunities to be pierced by an opponent’s blade. “State your name and your business.”

I’d practiced what I’d say for the past hour. “I’m the nephew of Lady Sheera and Lord Marcus, of Ka Telor. I seek an audience with Arkasva Taria.”

The second soturion stepped forward, his blade drawn, his blonde beard cut close to his chin. My heart sank as his gaze went immediately to my left eye, to the scar running from my forehead to cheek. I still hadn’t seen it, hadn’t had access to a mirror—much less the courage to look in one—but I could feel it.

I kept my chin up, willing my body to still, for my noble posturing to carry some weight, but I barely felt like myself. My cloak was roughened, my boots needed to be polished, I’d grown a beard, and my hair was in desperate need of a cut. I felt like a fraud of my former self.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged, praying I’d masked the sound of my heart drumming. “Got cut.”

His nostrils flared. He was clearly dissatisfied with my answer as his eyes ran down my uniform, my black leathers and the sigil of Ka Hart—gryphon wings and the sun—stitched across my torso. “Lady Sheera, eh? Glemarian armor. That makes you the son of Lady Shakina.”

“Yes,” I said.

“That also makes you the son of Imperator Hart?” asked the first, sounding almost afraid.

“Yes,” I said again. “I came to seek assistance from Arkasva Taria.”

“Imperator Hart has been looking for you. He’s named you forsworn,” he said.

“He has,” I said evenly, my heart thundering. I was terrified I’d waited too long to approach the High Lord. But if I’d come sooner, I’d have been dragged back. “I believe the Imperator is mistaken.”

The two soturi stared at each other with disbelief in their eyes before they turned back to me, each one gripping their sword a little tighter.

I doubted my decision again. Maybe I’d waited too long–maybe I should have risked coming sooner. I’d expected word had been sent to the Arkasva of my crimes long before I escaped. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here at all.

Straightening, I said, “I came to request temporary sanctuary as is my right. No harm may fall on me while I make my request. I ask for nothing more, only to be brought before Arkasva Taria and to summon my aunt and uncle so they might vouch for me.”

“Bring him in,” said the first, announcing my presence into his vadati. “Weapons?”

I bit my lip, not liking to be separated from them, but I’d known this was coming. I removed my dagger from my belt, unsheathed my swords, and removed the straps across my back.

The gates opened, and five soturi stepped through. I braced myself, knowing they were about to tie me up again, and held my hands out in front of me, compliant. I bit down on my cheek as they tied the rope in a knot, and then I was led forward, down the waterway to the front doors of Blackthorn.

The halls were full of nobility. All of them paused their gossiping to gawk as I was hauled forward, bound like a prisoner. Some pointed, and others whispered. The words mother-killer and eye were uttered over and over again. I felt my face heat and stared ahead, trying not to hear their voices, wishing desperately I could free my hands, cover my face with my cloak, and hide.

But this was part of it. I needed them to see what he had done to me, see his cruelty. My father controlled what everyone saw, but he couldn’t control this—the mess he’d made of my face. Letting them see what he had done to me, his anger, his loss of control, was important.

He hadn’t expected me to be scarred. He didn’t like visible evidence to remind him of what he’d done. There was a reason my mother always covered up, a reason the ropes he chose to bind me in were invisible to everyone else.

Even my scar had been meant to go unseen—it was a blood oath. A blood oath he’d planned to go beneath my diadem. He hadn’t counted on my breaking it, on it being real enough to scar me. But it had, and he’d missed his mark. Now, I needed it to earn the sympathy of Hartavia, enough that they’d hear me out and, at least for a little while, offer me protection.

We came at last before the doors to the Seating Room. A golden sun and silver moon were painted across the center and covered in a mosaic. Shining pieces of gold and silver configured in a braid-like design swirled behind the sun and moon.

The herald was a young mage, perhaps fresh from the Academy and just starting his post. He looked barely older than me and lacked the ability to hide his thoughts as he gawked openly at my eye.

I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to take a deep breath.

“Your… your name?”

“Lord Rhyan Hart—” I froze. “Just Rhyan Hart. Soturion.”

The soldier leading my escort leaned forward. “This was the Imperator’s son. Former heir. Forsworn.”

Recognition flashed in the herald’s eyes, and he turned, suddenly appearing confident and official as he shouted, “The former Heir Apparent of Glemaria, Rhyan of Ka Hart, recently named forsworn by our Imperator.”

My fingers rose to my palm and itched before I stilled my hands. Lord wasn’t my title anymore. I was no longer a lord, the Heir Apparent, much less an heir… I was no longer even of Glemaria. I was exiled.

I was ushered into the room’s center to another room filled with chatter and laughter and hissing whispers, which, upon my arrival, fell to a sudden silence that left me dizzy. A few nobles I passed looked away in embarrassment as they saw my face and the state of my hair and clothes, but most nobles treated me with open stares and looks of horror at my scar.

The whispers turned into cries of forsworn and killer . My eyes started to close, as flutters of panic rose inside of me. My scar felt like a flame drawing everyone’s attention to my face. It wasn’t earning me sympathy, only disgust, and they weren’t even trying to hide it. I knew my father’s men had been here, that Hartavia submitted to my father’s rule, but I hadn’t expected public opinion of me to be this low this quickly. I hadn’t expected for them to view me as the monster my father claimed me to be.

The soturi who was pulling me along down the center aisle finally tied my rope to a post in the floor just before the raised dais of the Arkasva’s Seat of Power. I’d seen that pole before on previous visits to the Court, but I’d never seen its use. I felt like a caged animal to be used for entertainment.

Arkasva Taria was a middle-aged man, completely bald and unassuming-looking with a blonde beard. His wife, Lady Estraya, stood beside him. She was far younger and wore her blonde hair in long twisted braids that reached her waist. Their two daughters, both in their early teens, stood by her side, their hair braided in a similar style.

I felt a pang in my chest. I hadn’t been allowed to stand beside my mother on the dais like that. Not for years.

There was a loud cough, and I looked up at a glaring High Lord. Arkasva Taria’s aura trickled toward me, full of annoyance. Shit. I’d broken protocol, having forgotten to bow.

Quickly, I folded forward, waiting a few extra seconds to remedy my mistake. As I stood, I held out my hands in supplication.

“You’re some distance from Glemaria,” he said.

“Yes, Your Grace, I am. And I thank you for the audience, and your generous hospitality. I came here to—”

“To lie?” he asked.

The room burst into laughter.

“Your Grace,” I said, “I merely seek sanctuary. I’ve always known you to value justice and honesty. You’ve always honored the truth, and since I have my aunt and uncle—”

“I gave you the courtesy of coming to see me,” he said, “but I have no intention of dealing with you despite what your aunt or uncle might say.”

“Please, if I could share my story. I don’t ask for anything in return. No soturi, no money. Just sanctuary and immunity from my father…only for as long as you please.”

“We did hear a story from your father, His Highness, Imperator Hart. You killed your mother. We are in the midst of grieving her death. Your aunt is grieving her sister.”

“As am I,” I said, voice hoarse.

“And your role in her passing?”

I sucked in a breath, the backs of my eyes burning. “I loved my mother. Dearly. I would never—”

“Your father has said otherwise,” Arkasva Taria said.

My chest heaved. “I fear that I have a different story from my father.”

“Your father is the Imperator to the North. His word is sacred. To say he is a liar is treason. A crime I do not intend to commit. I suppose you’re already forsworn, what more can you risk?”

“I just… I never got to tell my side of the story.”

He waved in dismissal. “Your side? I am sure you believe your side has merit. I am less inclined to share your belief.”

“If I could just—”

“We shall play a game, you and I,” he said. “A game of good faith . I shall assume that you will say the Imperator is a liar. Dangerous for you to suggest, but I will entertain the hypothetical for a moment. Say he is? Why should we believe you when we also have the sworn word and testimony of his twelve guards.”

“His guards have no choice but to be loyal to him.”

Arkasva Taria nodded. “Perhaps. We also have eyewitness testimony of Glemaria’s arkmage, a man full of honor. He has also named you guilty. Is that not enough for me to know who speaks the truth? This now makes fourteen men who were witnesses to your crime—who swear you’re a murderer.”

“My father is a powerful man. Many fear him,” I said carefully. “Many agree to say what he wants to hear.”

“I understand,” Arkasva Taria said. “As I said, I am playing a hypothetical game. I will entertain this one step further. Twelve guards, one arkmage, and an Imperator is quite a lot. But in determining your guilt, I shall take this one step further. Do you agree?”

I already knew I was walking into a trap. But I nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Let’s say we can cast doubt on your father, on your arkmage, on these twelve noble soturi of Glemaria.” Arkasva Taria emphasized each word to an almost comic degree. The nobles beside me began to laugh, tittering quietly into their hands. “We can pretend that they all felt obliged to lie on behalf of your father. It would certainly add credibility to your claim.”

It was my whole fucking claim.

“But there is one person whom I believe should have been at your side, who should have defended you, particularly if they were a witness and also,” he paused, “your soon-to-be betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” I asked, and my heart sank.

“We were all sent a witness account of Lady Kenna Gaddayan, eldest daughter of Arkturion Kane Gaddayan, Warlord of Glemaria.” I squeezed my eyes shut as Arkasva Taria unrolled a parchment. “She said she came into the Seating Room, worried about your violence. She said that not only did you kill your own mother a short time after killing one of your best friends, but you always had trouble controlling your anger, and often fell into fits of rage. Rages that were so violent, your father had to have you bound for your own protection. Like an animal. According to her, even your friends feared you. And after seeing what happened to Soturion Garrett, I can see why. She said in her testimony you frequently left her bruised after… intimate activities. She claimed on multiple occasions to wake in your bed with bruising around her neck and arms. Even her,” he paused, barely concealing a chuckle, “backside.”

My fingers clenched. Her fucking father had pressured her to write those details. I had asked Kenna to lie and call me a violent lover. To denounce me. I’d begged her to. But those injuries had been real, and private, and pained her.

And this Godsdamned bastard was laughing, making a mockery of her abuse.

“Lady Kenna claimed she had intended to wait for marriage for such…intimacies. But you, as the Heir Apparent, wouldn’t wait.” He curled his lips in disgust. “I will spare my nobility the rest of the gruesome details. But I must say I am not surprised. I had heard many stories of your…unnatural proclivities.”

“My what?” I snarled.

“You don’t know what I speak of? Your offenses have gone beyond Glemaria. Do you truly claim to have no knowledge of these stories?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. He was speaking to me like I was a child.

“I do not.” I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“A shame, since as you said, I value justice and the truth. But I am afraid I cannot take you at your word after I heard enough tales of your whoring. It seems that you not only tried to control Lady Kenna by abusing her body in the vilest of ways, but wanted to secure the power of Glemaria’s warlord by wedding his daughter, attempting to turn her against your Imperator. I heard that you slept your way through the Glemarian nobility, attempting to do the same, to secure power from each lover, from their Ka, much as you once attempted to gain the most protected secrets of the Hartavian Council by propositioning our own Senator Dorjan.”

I bit my lip, hearing the name. “I never—he—” Then, I saw him, his rat-like face, his black greasy hair. His eyes were wide as he stared at me in alarm, his aura vibrating with some feigned mix of fear and disgust.

What do you know about sex, Rhyan?

Oh, I…um, well…

Have you ever touched a man?

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t… I was nine, and I was helpless, and I knew I’d made a terrible mistake and it was all my fault and I was completely on my own, and no one, not my mother, not Bowen, not anyone could save me. I’d wanted to be here, I had chosen to be here, I had fought my way here, and now I was trapped, and powerless, and it was my fault, and I deserved it…

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain my focus, to take back the narrative, to get what I had come here for.

But I couldn’t because Dorjan was speaking now, and his voice was the same as it had been all those years ago, the voice that had haunted my nightmares as a child, and my skin was crawling in disgust and fury, and my hand was itching as he said something about me propositioning him and using my body to gain protection in Hartavia. That I’d been like this for years, always using my body to earn secrets, to try and turn anyone I could from any Ka against the Imperator. That my lovers in Glemaria had gone as far as to confide in him of my violence.

The lies spewing from his mouth were endless. And Dorjan, the middle-aged rat sitting in his seat of honor as the senator, his neck collared in gold, actually had the audacity to look scared of me.

A low growl erupted from my throat. He fucking should be. I could see now that if I were at full strength—perhaps even in my current state—I could fight him. I could smash in his skull before he knew what was happening. And I’d fucking enjoy doing it. I’d relish taking his life. I’d already taken others. This one I would not regret.

But it was too late. I couldn’t touch him now. The damage had been done. In the eyes of the Hartavian Council, I was the liar. The killer. The whore.

Dizziness washed over me. Because I’d done it again. Chosen wrong again, and walked into a situation I shouldn’t have. No one was coming to save me. No one could. There was no one left.

I could barely hear the words coming from the senator, the Arkasva, and the nobility that surrounded me. I was in a foggy haze of panic and anger.

Then, the words came bursting through the fog, loud and clear.

“Whore.”

“Whore!”

“Betrayer.”

“Forsworn.”

I took a step back, and the rope tightened at my wrists. “I apologize for taking your time,” I said, my accent thick and heavy. “I came here for sanctuary, with no harm intended to you nor anyone of Hartavia. I hope you will honor the old ways of the North and allow a stranger who entered the land for sanctuary, a stranger who has not been convicted of a crime against Hartavia, to leave freely. As is the custom.”

“Just as you honored your friendship in the Alissedari with your friend Garrett?” Arkasva Taria crossed one leg over the other, his fingers walking up the armrest of his Seat as if he were deep in thought. “And what do you think the Imperator will say if we simply let his wife’s murderer walk freely?”

“I…” My mind was whirring now, trying to keep up, to keep me safe. There were rules. I could be caught by my father in Hartavia. I could be brought back to Glemaria in chains by his soturi. But I was legally permitted to ask for protection and to be unharmed during that period.

Arkasva Taria remained silent, allowing his Court to again erupt, louder this time.

“Whore!”

“Murderer!”

“Forsworn!”

“He’s a monster.”

“Looks like one, too.”

The auras of everyone in the room were intensifying as their anger grew. I contemplated fighting my way out, but even unbound, I couldn’t fight this many soturi or face off against Hartavia’s mages. And my weapons…they were all outside.

There wasn’t going to be a Kenna, or a Bowen, or an Artem here to help me escape. I wouldn’t be lucky a second time.

“Your Grace!” Aunt Sheera shouted; her voice magically amplified to rise above the yells. “Pardon, Your Grace.”

Everyone turned, and I craned my neck to look back. I hadn’t seen her when I’d walked in, I’d been so distracted.

Arkasva Taria stood. “Quiet, quiet. Lady Sheera, you may speak.”

She stepped forward. I could see the sorrow in her eyes, feel her grief. Gods, please… please let her know. Let her see the truth. She made no indication either way. She stepped forward.

“Your Grace, I will vouch for my nephew long enough for him to have free passage to leave Hartavia at once. Let him go, and let him have until nightfall. I do not wish to go against the wishes of Imperator Hart. My home has been disturbed enough this past week while I still grieve my sister. I do not know the truth of the matter, but in all the years Imperator Hart has been my brother-in-law, I know that he believes and respects the laws and traditions of the North. Rhyan sought sanctuary for crimes committed in another country and nothing more. He is unarmed. He has been fairly denied. I have no personal knowledge of these stains you’ve assigned his character. As his aunt, I ask that you allow him to leave in the same manner in which he came. To honor the rules of sanctuary. And to honor my late sister. Should he be found within our borders after sunset or should he break honor in Hartavia in any way, break any rules, cause any harm, then we shall administer justice.”

Sympathizer!” came a yell.

Uncle Marcus stood. “Hush! My wife merely follows the law. As do I! As I believe all good Hartavians do. Imperator Hart originally hails from Hartavia, does he not? The laws keep us together. He has the right to ask. If he commits an offense here, then and only then will we remind him of the justice and honor we carry in Hartavia.” He bowed to Arkasva Taria. “Your Grace.”

I looked back to the High Lord. His eyes were still thin. I could almost see his mind turning, deciding what move would earn him more favor with his Court. Releasing me, the son of the Imperator and the murderer of his wife, certainly sent a bold message. So did arresting me on his behalf, as if he were the Imperator’s servant.

“Rhyan Hart, formerly Lord and Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North, your request for sanctuary has been denied. We will not interfere with Glemarian justice. However, we will not shield you either. I suggest you take your leave of Blackthorn and take it quickly. By nightfall, this promise ends.”

Senator Dorjan’s eyes found mine, a rat-like sneer to his lips.

Do you want to know what it feels like? It’s all right…

I turned in a blind rage. I was free to go, but that didn’t mean the humiliation was over.

The shouts and accusations picked up again, and the soturi of Ka Taria threatened to hunt me after dark.

I grabbed my weapons at the gate, sheathing and armoring myself in a blind panic before I pushed my cloak over my head and ran.

My legs burned, running far slower than I needed them to while my arms ached. My vision was blurry as I found the Afeyan gryphon again and climbed on his back.

We flew non-stop the rest of the day, the insults and jeers of the Hartavian Court racing through my mind. I kept pressing the gryphon onward until night fell and I was too tired to go on.

We’d reached Aravia in the middle of the night, not far from the coast. We were as far east from Hartavia as we could be but too close to Glemaria for my liking. I knew I needed to find shelter; akadim were often reported here, so a cave seemed like my safest option.

We searched for about an hour, my sword drawn. The final promise to my mother was the only thing that kept me going until, at last, I found a cave. I led the gryphon inside and managed to drag enough loose sticks and bramble together for a fire. Inside the cave was a small pool, not warmed, but clear and clean.

I leaned over it, brushing my hand in as the fires reflected in its ripples. When the water stilled, I had my first glimpse of my face since that night.

Now the outside matches what’s within.

He’s a monster. Look at him.

Half of my face was covered by the red scar. I was mangled from forehead to cheek.

There was no way to not see it, no way to hide it. Every time I saw my reflection, every time anyone saw me, they’d see what I truly was. I’d never escape the reminder of my failure, of the fact that I was an oath-breaker, forsworn. Even if I hadn’t been the one to stab the blade, I knew the truth. I’d killed my mother. I’d killed Garrett. It was my fault Bowen wasn’t here. It was my fault the soturi at the border were dead, that Dario’s father had been mauled.

And for what? All those deaths. All those lives lost. To save this? To save me? To save a monster who managed to get everyone he’d ever cared about hurt in some way?

I was a fool to think leaving Glemaria meant leaving my father behind. I knew now there was no escape. No matter where I went, he would follow. He’d either send his men, or his lies. They were one and the same at this point. My life was in his control. The only choice I could make was to go where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. Not on my behalf. I had to disappear. For good.

I smashed my fist into the water, blurring the image, then crawled back to the fire, and closed my eyes.