Page 27 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Twenty-Six

I didn’t move for the first day after Sean left. I felt once more like I had when he’d found me. Alone. Lost. I’d heard his words. Repeated them in my head over and over, trying to remember it was different this time. I wasn’t where I was before. I’d made progress. Had taken steps to being alive again, to doing more than fulfilling my oath to merely survive.

I knew even just being in this room was a big deal for me. Being in a city, near people. Sleeping in a bed. Not the floor. Not in the wild. These weren’t things I’d planned to experience again. Not in Lumeria.

But Sean’s absence still hit harder than I’d expected.

He’d given me so much—more than anyone had in a long time. It was hard to accept it all.

Hard to process, hard to take in.

But mainly, I just missed him.

Cal and Marisol checked on me a few times that first day, bringing me meals, and still acting so happy to see me each time. I was a wretch. A right gryphon-shit asshole. I wasn’t sure how they could stand me. But I at least managed to say thank you, when they came to the room at the end of the day. It was a start.

The following morning, I got up. My body ached—not in the way I was used to it aching. Not from hard work. Not from exhaustion or brutality. But for once, from too much stillness. I needed to stretch. To move. To run. This was the longest I’d gone without exercise since my imprisonment.

Cal knocked on my door once I’d dressed. I’d tentatively opened the curtains, letting the morning sun stream inside. I’d even cracked the window open, feeling the spring air enter on a cool breeze. It was warmly spiced with the scents of the city, mixed with flowers, and blooms from the nearby park and woods.

“Heading out today, Rhyan?” Cal looked hopeful.

I bit my lip. “I’m going to try.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said with a clap. Then, he eyed the food he had floating on a silver tray between us. Smoke billowed in waves from a small opening on the platter’s lid. “I’m sorry, I assumed you’d eat up here as usual. Would you prefer to take your breakfast in the dining hall? It’s no trouble at all.”

I shook my head, my throat already dry. I was going to go outside of Auriel’s Flame. But socializing with anyone besides Cal and Marisol… that was still too much.

Still too dangerous. As it was, I’d need to keep my hood up, and drawn close. I had to remain invisible.

He nodded, his stave directing the tray to one of the room’s small tables. “You need anything at all, let me know. And Marisol knows every place in the city worth visiting if you need recommendations. Museums. Libraries.”

I stared at my boots. “No… I–I’m just going to take a walk,”

I’d been here before, with my father on a state visit to Arkasva Zarine. I’d spent hours exploring Thene with Bowen… well, with Bowen walking sourly behind me. I remembered he’d been in a particularly grumpy mood. My mother had been meant to accompany us that day to visit the temple and art galleries. She loved art. But my father had demanded she stay behind to attend Court. Apparently Arkasva Zarine found her attractive. We had no choice but to leave her at the fortress.

Cal smiled, running his fingers through his white hair. “Enjoy then,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, and Cal left the room.

But my stomach was already twisting. Guilt wracked through me. How was I supposed to just walk around when Bowen would never trail behind me again? When he and my mother would never steal an extra secret glance at one another? When Garrett… Garrett would never even get to see Thene?

I stared at the room in disgust, at my hot platter of breakfast so carefully made, at the bed with its soft mattress and warm blankets, at the door that gave me safety and privacy. I didn't deserve this, living here for free. Being served like I was—like I was noble. Like an Heir Apparent.

I was no longer a noble. I wasn’t an heir. Not anymore.

I was not Lord Rhyan Hart . Just Rhyan now.

Nothing else.

I braced myself for a new wave of grief, but it didn't come. The thought didn't plague me as it had before. I realized, for the first time, that I didn't actually miss it. I didn't want my title. I didn't want anything he'd given to me. Not when it tied me right back to him, to being his son, his likeness. His property.

I took a deep breath, sat down, and forced myself to eat.

Then, I wrapped myself in my cloak, careful to keep it folded over my Glemarian armor. I put my hood up, concealing my face. My stomach churned, and my heart thundered violently as I crossed the threshold. And then, for the first time in days—I left my room. With tears in my eyes, I left the inn.

The sun was warm on the small area of my face I kept exposed. I made my way through Thene, slowly remembering what it was to be part of the world, to be someone.

To be alive.

There were conversations happening all around me. Soturi on patrol discussing their schedules, their annoyances with the turi who were in command, as well as hushed talks of recent akadim sightings. Mages gossiped while on holiday. Scandals amongst the nobility, petty disputes, or simply comments on the weather were exchanged everywhere I went. Vendors were set up around the street selling their wares, calling out to anyone who passed. Jewelry and charms took up most of the tables. But I also found knives and daggers for sale, stylized sheaths for staves, followed by endless rows of food.

I didn’t shop. Didn’t interact. If I saw someone approaching, I moved out of their way, crossing the street to avoid crowds. But after a while, the smells of the food I'd been admiring suddenly turned my stomach. The conversations caused my head to pound, and the gentle spring sun was suddenly too bright, the air too hot. I started to retrace my steps and went to a small park near Auriel’s Flame to sit down. With grass beneath my feet, and trees hiding the buildings of the city, it was the closest to Glemaria I’d felt in months.

A pair of soturi marched through, both wearing Cretanyan armor.

I stilled, and stood slowly, stepping behind the bench to the walking path between the trees, attempting to vanish into my cloak.

One paused, looking me up and down. I felt his eyes linger on the way I wore my cloak to conceal my armor, the drawn hood that shielded my face. I tensed.

I thought the search for me had died down. No one had seen or heard from me for months… I wasn’t as exciting as I’d been when everything happened. And I wasn’t recognizable here, at least not by my actual face. But my armor, and my scar…

The soturion’s eyes darkened as he took a step toward me.

“Ashten, did you hear me?” His companion grabbed his shoulder with a teasing shove. “Are you listening?”

The soturion's eyes slid past me, back to his friend. “I heard you. Paid for her own drinks. Flexible.”

“Bend in half flexible.”

They erupted in laughter and I was forgotten.

Barely breathing, I stepped back, sinking deeper into the shadows, letting myself blend in. The trees behind me grew thicker and darker, the pathway coming to a dead-end. A strange sense of foreboding wound its way down my belly. I turned, goosebumps forming across my arms.

Something…or someone was in there. Watching me.

For a moment, I feared betrayal. That Marisol and Cal had been compromised. That someone had looked too closely, had recognized me.

I waited for the soturi to pass, their patrol taking them back to the city streets. I immediately returned to my room.

I didn’t even say hello to Cal and Marisol as I returned. I just locked the door, my back sliding against it until I hit the floor, taking deep breaths.

I was okay… I was okay… I told myself that over and over, the mantra repeating for hours. My heart was pounding as if I’d just completed a habibellum, and my hands shook, even as I tried to focus on my surroundings. Small details. A random loose thread of my bed cover. A faint scent of a coffee stain on the carpet. The crackle of the torchlights in each corner.

I threw my cloak to the ground and stripped off my armor. Underneath my tunic was soaked in sweat.

Eventually, I made my way to the bathing room, to shower. And as I laid in bed that night replaying the events of the day, I remembered the warm sun, and the soft grass under my feet, the smell of freshly baked food and spices… the comfort of people chatting around me. Laughing. Smiling.

It was worth it.

For a full week, I ventured out each day. Staying out longer and becoming braver. I knew I couldn’t speak to anyone. Couldn’t risk a report of Rhyan Hart, the forsworn murderer, being spotted in Thene. I couldn’t risk being reported to the Imperator.

I knew I needed to be in the South, outside of his jurisdiction. It was the only way to buy myself time to figure out what to do next. But this wasn’t going to last forever. I was playing with fire, attempting to heal as I exposed myself each day. I needed an arkasva to vouch for me, to offer their protection. And it needed to be Arkasva Batavia. I needed to go to Bamaria. Where Lyr was. I just needed the courage to go.

When I returned to the inn at the end of the day, I finally found some courage for another thing I’d been avoiding. I entered the bathing room with the torches lit and looked at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were red as I stared at my reflection.

I looked…not like myself.

But less strange than I’d imagined.

My hair was too long—nearly at my shoulders. I had a full beard—something I’d never had before.

I’d been expecting those changes.

What had scared me was the scar. The blood oath. The constant reminder that my mother was dead. That it was my fault.

It was shiny and red, running through my left eyebrow and over the skin around my eye, the edge tapering off at my cheek.

Now the outside matches what’s within.

When I looked in the pool of the cave that night, it was all I saw. The mark of a murderer. A forsworn. A failure. I’d felt like all I was had vanished, had been eaten by the wound. No face. No me. Just the scar.

I splashed cold water on my skin and looked again. It was still prominent, still noticeable, but… now it seemed just a part of my face. It was no longer the only feature.

Still, I pushed my hair back over it, fingers curling.

I’d never be rid of it. Rid of his touch, rid of the reminder.

That wasn’t a choice I’d get to make.

But everything else…

I opened my belt bag, searching for the razor I’d used to shave.

Instead, I found a torn piece of rope. The piece that had been tied to the red gryphon. The piece he’d torn the night we escaped.

I clutched it in my hand.

It was time. Time to tear my own rope apart.

I wasn’t Lord Rhyan anymore.

But I was still a soturion.

As I replaced the rope, a small, rolled parchment poked out.

Rhyan,

You’re going to be all right. I promise. And it’s okay to take your time. As long as you keep your word and make your way to me. As I told you, the room is yours indefinitely. Marisol and Cal are more than happy to keep you safe, and keep you fed. Please keep eating!

I can’t wait to see you. I know Branwyn is looking forward to meeting you. But until you’re ready, I want you to find some comfort. Some joy.

I know nothing’s been easy for you. I am sorry for that.

So, until you’re ready to meet me in Bamaria, I left some money for you. Check the back of the desk drawer. Use it however you want. Get yourself something that will make you feel better. Even if it seems silly. Don’t feel guilty about it. I want you to have it. I want you to have whatever you need. There should be plenty. Use it when you’re ready for safe lodging, and for food every day as you make your way south.

I’ll be waiting in Bamaria. We’ll go to the arkasva together. We’ll make this okay. We will find a way.

I love you,

Sean

My heart was pounding as I went to check the drawer, pulled out the carefully tied linen bag, and opened it.

The money wasn’t just enough to get me comfortably to Bamaria. It looked like an entire year’s worth of soturion pay.

“Sean,” I whispered, taking a fistful of gold coins in my hand. Almost immediately, I realized what I’d do with the money. What I’d needed to do before I could go.

I took a few nights to walk the city, quietly hiding in the shadows, slipping into bars, listening to talk. I frequented the shadier parts of Thene, the parts where those who had something to hide would go. I found who I wanted—a mage that specialized in permanent glamours and body modifications—one who operated quietly, changing the appearance of criminals. A lot of highly skilled mages could have done what I needed—but I needed silence.

I waited until midnight, and I marched into her shop, a small rectangular room off an alleyway. There was no sign. No way to know she was there. Not unless you’d listened for days like I had.

The mage had raven hair that flowed freely down her back as she lounged on a chaise, reading a scroll. A small bell rang, but she continued reading. There were no items in her shop. No décor. Just her chaise, and a small table.

“Can you clear the skin of scars?” I asked.

Setting aside the scroll at last, she stood up. Violet eyes assessed me slowly as torches crackled in each corner of the shop. She sauntered forward in a blue dress that hung off her shoulders. “Can you pay?”

I held out a bag full of gold. Enough to house and feed her for a season.

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Up front.” She nodded. “Always appreciated.” She reached for the gold.

I pulled my hand back. “Terms first.”

“You have no aura. Bound?”

I nodded.

“I can remove your binds. I can replenish your skin. Heal scars.” She placed her hand on her hip, her head tilted. “Only physically though. Can’t touch what’s happening up there.” She pointed to her forehead. Right where my scar lay.

“I understand.”

Stepping forward, her eyes lingered on mine, and she made a clucking sound. “Can’t touch broken oaths.”

“No…didn’t expect you could.”

“You’re not supposed to survive them.” Her mouth thinned.

“They’re not supposed to be forced from you either.”

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“Discretion,” I said, “Is also—”

“Don’t insult me,” she snapped. “I know who you are. Why else would you come here? Why else do you think I’m so expensive?” Her violet eyes held mine. “Hope you don’t expect me to curtsey.”

“You have no reason to,” I said stiffly.

“Good. Show me, before I agree.”

I turned away, unbuckling my armor, and pulling them off my shoulders. I tossed the leather to the ground along with the cloak I wore underneath. Nerves crawled up my spine, sweat beading at the nape of my neck as feelings of being exposed, of being vulnerable rose to the surface. I remembered hiding my scars, mentally mapping each wound, lash, and injury. I exhaled sharply, standing tall, my back bare and on display. “Can you take care of these?”

I felt her step in toward me, a small shiver as her finger touched between my shoulder blades. I flinched, my hands balling into fists, but I forced myself to remain still.

My body had always healed quickly. But there’d been so many injuries upon wounds that were still raw when they were received, the process had slowed down. And the healing of scars had stopped completely when I was bound.

The bindings Connal had put on me… they’d been digging into my body for half a year now, unrelenting, keeping me from my power.

The mage clucked her tongue again, a flash of blue light glowing behind me. It cast its light onto the wall before it went out. There was a small rustling sound as she slipped her stave back into her sheath.

“Who bound you?” she asked. There was a small note of horror in her voice—as if one in even her profession didn’t come across Connal’s type of work often.

“Does it matter?” I turned around to face her.

The mage shrugged. “I’m nosy. Those binds are deep… nearly embedded into your skin.” She scrunched up her face in disgust. “How have they not been making you farther than Lethea?”

I glared. “They have.”

“I’ll remove the binds first. Then, I can clear the scars. But only on your back… and arms.” Her eyes dipped low. “Any other parts?”

“No.”

“It’ll cost double to clear you, and remove these bindings, considering how deep they are.”

I’d been expecting that. Plenty of experienced mages could have removed the binds… but between how severe they were…and my true identity… I couldn’t just go to anyone. I reached back into my belt pouch and produced a second bag.

“You’ll be tired after,” she said. “Sore. Are you staying far from here? Might not make it home without a friend to help.” Her lip curled. “You could stay here after if you want—”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“It hurts,” she warned.

I forced myself not to roll my eyes. I didn’t doubt her. But I also knew my own tolerance. I wasn’t scared. Pain couldn’t hurt me. Not anymore.

“Do it.”

She gestured to the table by the chaise. “Lie down.”

Hours passed as I lay on my stomach. Every rope she took off felt like a weight lifted, like my body was scratching an itch it had been dying to reach for months. Like my skin could breathe.

She paused on my lower back, the warmth of her stave hovering above my spine.

“A second blood oath,” she hissed.

“Yes,” I gritted through my teeth. “Can you remove it?”

“No.”

“It’s not broken,” I said.

“It’s still active,” she said.

“That’s impossible,” I said. Garrett was gone.

She ignored my protest, moving past it to other scars.

I closed my eyes, trying not to think about it as she continued working.

After what felt like hours, she helped me stand, and I walked before a three-way mirror. For the first time, I saw my back.

Bare. Muscled. Pale. Sweating.

But the skin was pristine. Healed. Every touch of my father, of Kane, of Connal…gone.

She looked away as my eyes reddened, the shop silent save the crackling flames, slowly dying. I stretched, reaching my hand back, feeling how soft, how smooth I was.

Except for Garrett’s blood oath. It was invisible as always. Only the skin was still raised.

But then, I felt a surge of strength. Of energy. Energy like I hadn’t felt in months. I felt like I could run forever. The power that had been beneath my skin was radiating through me. My aura was awakened, and I blasted myself with its cold, drying my sweat. Even just lifting my arms felt easier than it had in months. And a smile spread across my face.

Then, just as rapidly, I fell from the high. Like I’d called on kashonim and had burned out.

She narrowed her eyebrows, understanding. But before she could make another proposal for me to stay, I dressed and stumbled from her shop.

I took one step into the shadows of the blackened alleyway, my hood pulled tight over my face, my heart pounding. I had just enough energy left for one more thing. The one thing I’d wanted—needed to access. The one thing that would always remain a secret. My stomach tugged.

I was back in my room at the inn a second later. I laughed, almost uncontrollably my tears. And then. I flopped onto the bed, my chest heaving—half terrified of what I’d done, half relieved. And I passed out.

I remained in bed all of the next day as I recovered.

Over the next few weeks, I slowly began to come out of my shell. I started helping Cal and Marisol with chores around the inn, assisting with furniture repairs, and picking up food deliveries. They didn’t really need my help. Not with their skill and years of perfecting their routines. But I was happy to offer it—to show some small piece of gratitude for their kindness, for letting me stay. For giving me shelter as I came back to life.

And in between assisting them, I used half of what remained in my fortune from Sean to see a tattoo artist. Maybe I wasn’t ready yet to tell my story to the Empire, to drown out my father’s voice. But I was ready to be the one in charge of my body—to have the final say in its modification.

Every day she added more details, drawing out the red gryphon on my back, the mountains of Glemaria, the talons. The torn rope. All in intricate, exquisite detail. The kind of art that was reminiscent of the Temple of Wind.

The kind of art my mother would have loved.

On the last day, she inked my shoulders and my collarbone with gryphon wings. So I would remember. So I would never forget.

I’d never be tied down. Never bound. Never caged.

Next time I was going to remember. I had to tear the rope apart.

And at the end of the day, my skin itchy and sore from healing, I fell onto my bed. I was careful to not disturb the ink healing on my shoulders and chest. But my back seemed to burn… burn in a way that it hadn’t in months. Something niggled in the deepest corners of my mind, but I was too tired to catch the thought. I reached blindly onto my nightstand, found a jar of moon tree oil. I gathered as much as I could on my fingers, sat up and slapped it onto my back. Then, I passed out.

Waves crashed against my face, cold and salty as my body rocked back and forth. Panic fluttered in my belly, until I opened my eyes.

I lay on a raft, floating in the center of the ocean. There was nothing but endless miles of blue water, and darkening blue skies. I sucked in a breath, terrified at how isolated I was. How far from civilization. How alone.

Violent waves rose in the distance, rising higher and higher, stretching farther into the sky than I could see. These were the kinds of waves that could swallow a city. Drown a continent. Change the face of the world.

“They can’t hurt you,” Lyriana said. Her voice sounded distant, but she lay on the raft beside me, her hand holding mine, thumb rubbing soothing circles over my palm. Her hair fell in loose waves, flaming red beneath the sun.

She wore a red dress. Batavia red.

And for a second, she seemed to glow. Stars shimmered above her head. Her skin shined golden with firelight. There was no more ocean, no more sky, no blue. All I could see was Lyriana.

All I could see was red.

My heart thundered.

“Lyr,” I breathed. “You drowned.”

“I know,” she said, her voice like the rush of the waves. “It’s okay. I came back.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. It’s not like last time.”

“Last time?”

She smiled sadly. “You don’t remember yet. You will.”

I blinked, not understanding. “Are you okay?”

Her hazel eyes held mine, blinking slowly. “I found you a raft.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll lay on yours.”

“But I’m lost. I don’t know how to get us out of here” I swallowed, my throat tightening as I glanced around at our surroundings. At the endless expanse of ocean. The waves were still rising. Violent. High. But above us the sky was blue, the clouds calm. It felt like we were on the precipice of disaster.

Lyr’s eyes held mine. A soft brown, full of flecks of green and gold. “You’re not lost. You never were. You just forgot.”

“What did I forget?” I asked.

“Who you were.”

I frowned. “And who am I?” I’d lost my title. My home. I still wasn’t even sure I could call myself a soturion anymore.

“Ani janam ra.” Her lips curved. “I know you.”

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand, the other still holding mine. She brought it to her heart, pressing it against the soft bare skin of her chest. My fingers curled against the curve of her breast.

I stiffened. Everywhere. A sensation I’d lost suddenly returned, with full force. I coughed, trying to shift.

“It’s okay,” she said, shifting closer, her body pressing against mine. Everywhere I was hard, she was soft, and warm, and welcoming.

“Lyr,” I slipped my hand from hers, fingers dancing to her collarbone, up the smooth skin of her neck, until I cupped her chin.

The raft began to rock harder, and I tightened my hold on her, afraid she’d slip away.

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

She nodded.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You know. But you’re not done,” she said. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rhyan, you have to wake up.”

I shook my head. “It’s a dream. And you’re here. I don’t want to wake up.”

“Rhyan, you must. You have to wake up now.” Her voice had grown in urgency, the clouds darkened above.

“Please,” I begged.

“Wake up!”

My palm cupped her cheek, and she pressed her hand to mine, her thumb rubbing over my fingers.

Her hazel eyes vanished, replaced with blue eyes. Blue eyes I knew. Blue eyes I’d watched close forever.

And then the blue vanished, leaving behind eyes that were red.

“Wake up!”

A bell rang. Louder, and louder the sound pounding in my ears, vibrating in my chest.

Lyr screamed.

I opened my eyes, sitting right up, as my blanket fell to the floor. Warning bells were ringing through Thene.

And downstairs, Marisol screamed in terror.

“Akadim! Help!”

I flew from the bed, throwing on my boots, and armor. I grabbed my sword, and with a tug on my belly, I was down the stairs.

A beast twice the height of Marisol and Cal had cornered them in the lobby of Auriel’s Flame. Marisol was holding Cal up, there was a slash to his stomach, his tunic torn open.

The monster wore a soturion cloak, ratted and caked with dirt. Its armor was gone—wouldn’t have survived the transition–but a leather soturion belt was strapped to its back.

“Hey!” I screamed, running forward with my sword raised.

I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t afraid. I only saw a demon trying to hurt my people. Cal and Marisol were mine. In the past few weeks, they became my family.

I wasn’t Lord Rhyan anymore.

But was I still a soturion.

Only three words were in my mind.

Stop the threat.

The akadim froze when it heard me and growled low. But rather than turning and fighting, it raced for the door, running into the night. And I was right behind it.

Stop the threat. Stop the threat . The words repeated, growing louder and louder. Stop the threat.

My back burned like I’d irritated some old wound, but I ignored it. It didn’t matter. I was going to kill this beast.

I wasn’t going to let one more akadim live. Not on my watch. Not when it targeted the people I cared about. I couldn’t save Garrett. Couldn’t kill the monster who’d turned him. But I swore to the Gods, I would kill this one.

It ran across the street, into the park, its body nearing the woods. Soturi shouted in the distance, calling out. But they were too far away. It was up to me to take it down.

I retrieved my dagger, my fingers curling around the familiar hilt, and I threw it, using all my strength. The akadim swerved, the dagger just missing its body. But the blade sliced through its belt, and the bag it wore crashed to the ground.

I ran faster, the speed I’d spent years building up suddenly returning. Months of training and practice while bound now allowed me to move faster than I’d ever dreamed. The muscles in my calves burned. I was nearly on the akadim.

And then it stopped suddenly and turned. I froze, watching in horror as it pulled its hood off, red eyes boring into me. Sharpened fangs protruded from its lips.

Sharp pain shot through my back; it was on fire like it never had been before. I cried out.

“How does it feel?” the akadim asked, its voice low, gravelly. Monstrous. And yet there was an undertone I knew. Something familiar in the tenor. In its accent. “Your broken promises?”

My eyes widened, taking in the blonde waves, the familiar shape of its eyes, the face that I’d loved, now enlarged, grotesque, a demon’s.

And then I saw it. Truly saw.

This wasn’t just any akadim.

“Stop the threat,” Garrett hissed, mocking me. Mocking us.

My stomach twisted. All the lies I’d been told in prison.

My father had never had him killed. He’d allowed him to turn akadim—allowed Garrett to become exactly what he feared, what he hated, what he’d fought against. I’d sacrificed everything to prevent it from happening. But it had. And he’d escaped.

I held up my sword using both hands, understanding now why my scar still hurt. Why the mage said the oath was still active. I’d thought I’d seen him in the cave before Sean rescued me. It had been him. All this time… I hadn’t known because I’d been bound. Because I’d been hiding.

It wasn’t over yet.

Garrett laughed. “Aren’t we forsworn now?”

And then he was gone.

I turned, raising my sword, expecting to see him behind me. But there was nothing. Akadim were fast...but not that fast. There was only one way Garret could've escaped so quickly.

He'd traveled.

I thought back to the night of the blood oath. Of the way the akadim had hunted us, singled us out over the easier prey. How we’d feared they were hunting vorakh, how we’d theorized how catastrophic a monster with vorakh would be. It was why it had been so urgent that Garrett not become one.

I fought the urge to throw up, looking into the empty park. I needed to move. I needed to do something. Warn someone. Check on Cal and Marisol, all the guests of Auriel’s Flame. But all I could think was we had been right. And now there was an akadim on the loose, one who was strong and trained in combat, who was already deadly alive. One who could travel.

I noticed the discarded belt bag again, lying a few yards away from me. I picked it up and opened it. Trash fell out. My stomach churned. It was proof of what Garrett had become. Proof I’d failed him.

There was mainly dirt inside and ripped papers. But there were also odd trinkets, a man’s wedding ring, and a broken compass. Trophies. Trophies of victims he’d killed.

Gods. Garrett.

And then something that looked like a string of rope fell out. I picked it up to examine it, and my throat went dry. It wasn’t rope. It was banners, banners of sigils of the ruling Kavim, all tied together. I recognized the colors right away though the banners were filthy, covered in dirt. And blood. Each one had been rolled up so tightly it was as if the movement had been obsessive. I could almost imagine Garrett as an akadim, sitting in the dark, twisting and twisting until the banners were hardened.

I unraveled the edge. Silver gryphon wings. A golden sun. A green background. Glemaria. Ka Hart.

And then the next one…the banner showed the sigil for Ka Lumerin in Aravia. The golden Valalumir of Emperor Theotis in Numeria was next. And then the sigil for Ka Zarine in Cretanya…

My heart pounded. The banners were in geographical order, the northernmost Kavim at the top. It wasn’t just a regular akadim trophy. It was a clue to where he was going. Garrett had been turned in Glemaria. And he’d been in Aravia. That was where I’d first seen him. And now Cretanya. I could lay the banners down on a map, and create a near-perfect southern route across the Empire.

Only two countries remained to complete the path.

Elyria and Bamaria.

He was heading south. Did he know that was where I was going? Or did he have his own reasons for going there?

I gripped the banners in my hands, my fingers tightening painfully around the material as it all came together.

This wasn’t normal akadim behavior. But nothing about this was normal.

Garrett was more than just an akadim. He’d become the weapon we fought against, and he’d been deadly in life. Worse. He was now an immortal with vorakh. And he was killing his way south.

Killing his way to Lyriana.