Page 8 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Seven

T he night was nearly black. Fall had come with such a powerful force, it already felt like winter in Glemaria. Only four weeks remained for us to prepare for the Alissedari.

Tensions amongst the soturi at the Academy had intensified. Since the announcement of the tournament, most of my classmates had begun forming alliances and making secret deals to help bring certain soturi to the victor’s mount while others seemed to be plotting who they could kill in order to win quickly. This was not the time to make enemies. Not when there’d been a pass offered to murder freely.

The thought of it made me sick. Even now in the night’s habibellum, I could see the plotting, the pointing out of rivals turned bitter enemies. We already had too many factions. Kashonim, and small bands of soturi who warred with the group responsible for killing or maiming one of their own were beginning to stand out.

I’d always tried to stay out of the fights, to remain neutral.

But being the son of the Imperator, the Heir Apparent, and being best friends with the son of Glemaria’s Turion, and Master of the Peace… I was always a target. Always defending myself. Always had been.

And now… I had been tasked with winning. With making the kill. Unless someone else got to me first.

Garrett and Dario flanked me in the center of the arena. In the stands of the Katurium, all three of our apprentices were watching, their eyes trained on us. Somehow, we’d also ended up with a set of best friends as apprentices: Anil of Ka Vikken trained Dario; Garrett was with a distant cousin on my father’s side, Carson Hart; and I had been bound into kashonim with Senator Balyr’s son, Thorin Oryyan. Their friendship had allowed the three of us to frequently train together and form our own miniature legion of which I was in command. But it also meant that a dangerous alliance had already formed for the tournament—our apprentices against us. They knew our battle moves inside and out, and worse, they knew our weaknesses. For once, it wasn’t the other novices I’d have to fear—but my own teachers who’d come for me—who’d have nothing to lose. Who could threaten not just me and my friends, but my mother if I failed.

“Thorin’s in a mood,” I said, holding up my arm. I blocked a hit from an opponent, some soturion from Ka Gaddayan that had been counting on his bulk alone to throw me off.

“The fuck cares?” said Dario, spinning on his heels. He barely avoided a hit, and as he turned, he punched his elbow back, taking out the same soturion from Ka Gaddayan that’d come for me. They never learned.

I tensed, seeing the space between Thorin’s eyebrows crease. If I had to admit it, he was a good apprentice and taught me well. But he never budged a fucking inch, never gave me a break. As the son of the senator, he walked around the Katurium like he had something to prove. But since he wanted to win the Alissedari , he was going extra hard on me—not to prepare me, but to break me down. To take out his competition in advance.

I didn’t think he’d have the guts to kill me.

But I wouldn’t put much else past him.

“Dario,” Garrett warned. “Your cousins are banning together.”

“Shit.”

Eyeing the oncoming group of DeTerria soturi, I brought my weight forward. They blamed Dario for breaking a popular cousin’s leg. He’d broken it himself—with his own stupidity—but facts hadn’t really mattered when they’d sworn their vendetta last spring.

“Fuck the defense,” Dario said. “The hell are we guarding back here? Let’s go.”

Garrett’s side-eye said all I needed to know. This was a bad idea. But if we didn’t back up Dario, he’d go into the fray without us, and I’d be the one nursing his wounds all night.

We charged as all eleven of Dario’s cousins closed their ranks, their black curls—the defining feature of the DeTerrias—blurring as they formed a single unit.

Dario released a battle cry as he surged forward, punching his first cousin right in the gut. He doubled over, groaning as he fell to the ground. Instantly, two more emerged from their unit and flanked Dario, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Garrett ran to his defense, pulling the first soturion off then the second as another pair came to fight. This left the rest of his cousins with their attention on me.

Fucking perfect.

Thorin shouted something at me in that moment. I turned though I should have known better than to let him distract me.

It happened fast.

One soturion snuck behind, his hands pinning my wrists to my back before I could react. I sucked in a breath, my whole body freezing with tension.

It’s not a binding, not a binding. Just some idiots from Ka DeTerria who thought they could take me.

I could handle this. I wasn’t bound. I was free. I was strong, and far more disciplined and trained than them. I inhaled through my nose, exhaled through my mouth.

They weren’t binds. They were puny ropes. And I could tear through those.

Within seconds, I released my arms from their prison. They all froze, stunned at my show of strength. With a jerk back of my head, I took out the soturion who’d tried to hold me. One raced down the pathway that led to me, and I roared, running forward, grabbing his shoulders, and flinging him to the side. He knocked out another soturion, leaving four for me to take.

I steadied myself, prepared to hold my ground as they surrounded me.

One punched me from behind as another came at my left, leaving me winded. I’d be bruised, but it wasn’t enough to take me down. With a swipe of my arm, I got the one at my side before I found myself face-first in the dirt. Fuck… I’d forgotten to protect my left. Seething as the sweat coating my forehead ran into my eyes, I kicked out, trapping my attacker’s leg with mine. I had just enough strength to roll us over, and from there, I elbowed him in the nose.

Above the neck. I’d get a penalty. But I didn’t care. I just wanted these fuckers off me.

Jumping back to my feet, I caught sight of Dario and Garrett relinquishing their opponents, but before they could come to my side, another band of soturi—this time from Ka Oryyan—flew at them.

I punched the soturion in front of me, three times in his stomach, my knuckles raw with the effort to push through his leathers. On my last punch, he wheezed and collapsed to his knees.

There were still two soturi of Ka DeTerria frothing at the mouth to hit me. I’d lost track by then of whether or not I’d already fought them. They kept reforming, and their matching curls made them impossible to tell apart.

“Come on, Hart,” one taunted. “Why do you keep getting up? Heard you like it on your back.”

My nostrils flared, and I ran. They charged at once, rushing too far out to my right and left sides for me to reach either. A second passed, and without warning, they both turned at a run, trapping me between them. Each took one of my arms, and before I could get my bearings, I was dragged back, away from Garrett and Dario. The chill of the silver habibellum ring was already at my back, the buzzing of its magic growing louder in warning as we approached.

Fuck. Fuck! They were going to slam me into it.

I dug my heels into the ground, my teeth grinding together. I had only just recovered from my father’s last beating. With a grunt, I threw my weight forward, my arms pushing against them.

“Fuck!” yelled the one on my right.

I took that as a sign I was winning, beginning to overpower him. The freezing burn of the ring was nearly on me. I could feel its fiery ice. If they moved me another two inches, I was going to touch it.

Releasing another groan of pain, I put all I had into my arm muscles, feeling them nearly tear with the effort, but with seconds to spare, I pushed off the soturion on my right, freeing my right arm. I punched left, my fist slamming into the neck of the soturion on that side. There was a wheezing huff of breath as he fell, and I raced forward, wanting to get as far from the ring as possible. Garrett and Dario were surrounded. Again.

Before I could reach them, the time was called. Arkturion Kane yelled out, his voice enhanced by a sound spell from one of the Katurium mages. The rest of them circled the habibellum, their staves out as they removed the silver ring keeping the novice soturi captive.

Cheers erupted from the stands from all of the apprentices watching. I found Thorin; his mouth was tight, frowning.

If anything, I’d just shown him that I was, in fact, his fucking competition.

As Anil nudged him impatiently, I could tell our apprentices were planning to go drinking instead of sticking around to torture us. Thank the Gods.

The apprentices in the stands were cheering as they filed out. It had been a long week. Just as quickly, the field began to empty, the novices headed either for the baths or home. I started to move off the field with my friends when Arkturion Kane called out to me.

I bit the inside corner of my cheek.

“Your Grace. Stay,” he ordered.

I turned to him and nodded once that I’d heard, willing my fingers not to tense.

“Want us to wait?” Garrett asked.

“No. Go on without me.”

Dario’s dark eyebrows narrowed. “The fuck for? You kicked ass tonight.”

I shrugged. As if it mattered. If he’d been ordered to punish me by my father, I could have been the best one out there, and he’d still have found a reason to lash me, to tear me down.

“Not about Kenna?” Dario asked.

I shook my head and waved them off despite the sinking feeling that had begun forming in my gut.

Since that night, the night when our fucking had turned into something else and my heart had been cut open and left raw for both Kenna and Lyriana, our relationship had felt strained. We’d spent the following day stuck to each other’s sides, holding hands, kissing, and falling back into bed, as if we were under some sort of spell and if we broke apart, it would end.

And then we did part, and I didn’t know what to do. I had feelings for Kenna, and I thought she did for me, and that… that scared me more than the akadim attack had. Caring for Kenna made her vulnerable; it made her a potential plaything for my father to use against me, to control me with.

I knew it was cowardly, but I pretended that night never happened. That nothing had changed between us.

Every night afterward when she came to my room and I took her to my bed, it was like before. I was passive. Not present. Not holding her hands as I thrust into her, not holding her gaze as she found her release. My energy had gone into trying to reclose my heart.

She’d noticed. I’d seen the obvious confusion in her eyes. And I hated myself for it. I did want her. And I did care for her, more than I thought I’d been capable of, but caring or not caring, it didn’t seem to matter. Kenna was leaving a hole in my heart, one only rivaled by the one left from Lyr.

The field nearly empty now, I walked before Kane. Instantly, the burning chill I feared from the rings began raining down on me, sputtering out from his aura. He was always so cold, so volatile, a mass of muscles and a cruel angular face made up of rectangles. His hair was the same shade of brown as Kenna’s though noticeably streaked with slivers of gray. The similarities ended there. While Kenna was good and kind and, despite the issues we were having, a true friend, her father was nothing but a wretched killer, a cruel and vile excuse of a man.

“Arkturion,” I said, standing before him.

“You’ve been requested to play ambassador tonight,” he spat.

“ Play ambassador?” I asked. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we have actual ambassadors to fulfill such roles?”

He sneered. “Your father sent word. A foreign dignitary is arriving shortly. Apparently, you made an impression on him some years back. He personally requested your presence. So go bathe and redress in your armor. You’ll be welcoming him to Bamaria in an hour’s time at the Aravian border. A gryphon awaits you outside the Katurium to bring you to the meeting spot as soon as you’re ready.”

The skin of my right palm itched like crazy, and I rubbed it against my thigh as sweat beaded on my forehead.

“An impression?” I asked carefully.

I’m very impressed with you. You’re far more mature for your age than any other boys in the Empire.

The itch intensified.

I swallowed, pushing out the memory. I was an adult now. I was strong. He couldn’t hurt me again. But the idea of facing him, seeing him… I clasped my hands together, but the itch didn’t stop.

“I’m not here to feed your ego,” sneered Kane. “That’s the message. Now go and get ready—sooner rather than later. Bowen’s already been alerted. We have no reason to suspect danger, but Your Grace will be accompanied by a full escort, only proper for the Heir Apparent to the Arkasva and Imperator.” He clapped his hip and dipped his head forward, the most minuscule of bows he could muster. “Your Grace.”

I watched him leave the field, his red arkturion cloak muted as it flew behind him, then I went to shower and change.

Artem was waiting for me outside the Katurium along with my escort and a gryphon to ride. He slapped his thigh when he saw me but didn’t speak, only tightened his hold on the gryphon’s rope as the cold air blew against my cloak.

“This one’s a year old,” he said. “Fully able to carry you for this flight.”

“So, a teenager?” I asked, my voice stiff. I’d never forgiven Artem for killing the baby gryphon, never gotten over the way he’d kicked me out of the stables.

I knew my father was responsible, but it didn’t matter. I was pissed every time I had to see him. He’d been an ally, one of the few people in Glemaria who could offer me something else—offer me some solace. Peace. And he’d let it turn to gryphon-shit at the first test. Let my father condemn an innocent life.

“He’s well trained,” Artem continued. “Won’t give you any trouble now.” He stepped forward, placing the rope in my hand.

I flinched at the touch but wrapped the rope around my wrist before gripping the stirrups to climb onto the gryphon’s back. His tail wagged behind him as he lay prone.

“Entering the Alissedari ?” Artem asked as I found the seat. I tied down the rope, buckling myself in as I took hold of the reins.

“As if I have a choice,” I said, staring ahead.

“The lot you lads will be picking from are all wild and untrained,” Artem said. “Keep that in mind, aye. Attitudes on the bunch of them.”

“As suspected,” I said, pushing down my boots.

“Any gryphon can be used,” Artem said. “None can be shot down once the Alissedari begins.”

Like an innocent baby gryphon with red feathers? I turned back, eyeing Artem carefully. “Your point?”

“Just wanted to warn you. They’re wild.”

I stared ahead, biting the inside of my cheek.

Artem shook his head. “Safe flight, Your Grace.”

I leaned forward, gripping the reins. “Volara!” I yelled.

My gryphon jumped up, leaned back on his haunches, and shot forward, his powerful legs running faster and faster, his muscles tensing beneath me until he leapt, my heart crashing into my throat as we were airborne. I leaned farther forward, keeping my head down, tightening my hold on the reins. Powerful gusts of wind pressed on either side of me as his wings flapped, bringing us above the trees until we were soaring. The temperature dropped, and I regretted not bringing gloves. But at the feeling of flying again, being so close to gryphons, the weight against my soul began to lighten. I’d missed this for the last year, and tried to soak it all in, even the bitter cold gusting in biting waves toward me. Staring ahead, I directed my gryphon through the night, rushing against the oncoming wind to Glemaria’s southern border.

An hour later, I leaned back, ordering the gryphon to descend. He turned, his wings spread wide, feathers erect, as we glided forward, and then with a growl, he lowered his head, and we rushed to the forest floor of the Glemarian border. Gryphons went from flying to practically falling as if they were in a death race to touch grass.

Bearing my weight forward, my heels pressing against the stirrups of my harness, I rubbed the back of the gryphon’s head, and he slowed his descent, just slightly. It was a trick I’d learned years ago from Artem. Three more gryphons swooped behind me, landing in formation. I gave the gryphon another pat on the head to thank him for the safe transport then waited for him to lie prone before I unbuckled myself and stepped out of the stirrups. Holding onto his rope, I slid to the ground.

“Your Grace,” Bowen said, coming to stand beside me. He took the rope from me, tying it to the base of a pine.

The gryphon’s dark eyes watched carefully, tracking the rope around his leg to the tree. With a sigh, he sat back on his haunches.

A dozen of my father’s sentries appeared behind me, all armored to perfection, their leathers tightened and polished. Someone raised a green flag with the sigil of Ka Hart.

I’d still received no word on whom I was to greet. Arkturion Kane had been given the message personally, and according to Bowen, he was “incredibly offended” I’d been requested as ambassador over him. He’d taken it as a direct insult to his Ka and his station.

That gave me some small hope it wasn’t him , the senator from Hartavia. He was the only foreign dignitary to have ever called me impressive, but it had been years since I’d last had to see or endure his presence in my own country.

Fire burst as torches were lit to create an aisle from me to the border, and the wind carried the fresh scent of pine, so prevalent in the Glemarian woods, through the air. I breathed deeply, waiting for signs of our guest.

Several long moments passed, the torches crackling into the rapidly cooling night before the gryphons all at once began to move, their wings rustling against their sides, their beaks emitting small growls—not ones of annoyance or fear but of curiosity.

There was a sudden shift in the air, and I looked up to see small blue lights appearing and vanishing in the sky, casting a bluish glow atop the trees.

An ashvan horse was approaching. Within seconds, it was joined by others as the night sky was lit up by a dozen more of the lights.

I hadn’t seen an ashvan in over two years. Not since Bamaria.

The lights began to lower, lighting up the hooved legs and then the bodies of the ashvan racing over the lights. An onyx horse appeared as the leader, and a horn blew as it touched the ground.

The rider dismounted so quickly, I could only see a flash of red, but it was a red I knew far too well. It was the red of an arkturion cloak wrapped around broad, muscular shoulders, heavily covered in golden armor. Above his shoulders was a head full of short, dark hair.

“Your Grace, Lord Rhyan Hart,” he said, stepping forward, his voice deep and commanding. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, and the golden Valalumir stars on the bottom of his leather belt straps glimmered as if in possession of their own source of light and power. He bowed as his remaining soturi dismounted and lifted a flag with a sigil that made my heart pang. Golden seraphim wings beneath a full silver moon flapped in the night’s wind against a red—Batavia red—flag.

I stepped forward, my arms outstretched. “Welcome to Glemaria, Arkturion Aemon.”