Parthenay entered the room, her golden Valalumir star shining against her cheek as she gestured behind her. Suddenly, my heart pounded with traitorous hope. Had Aemon been lying to me? Toying with me? Could it be Jules?
But as soon as the chayatim came into view I knew it wasn’t her. She was far taller than Jules was, and possessed a frail looking body with long black hair.
She was beautiful, perhaps ten years older than Aemon, but without a touch of gray in her locks. She was gaunt in the same way Parthenay was, a result of having served the Emperor for so long. But Aemon’s guest had the frame of someone who had once been curvy, had once been built thicker, sturdier. Her skin looked like it had once been tanned, like she had once come from the South.
There was something familiar about her, something I recognized, though I was sure I’d never seen her before. She had deep set eyes, dark like Aemon’s, and full lips. Maybe it was because she was so clearly Bamarian when I’d been deprivedof my people for weeks. Or the mere fact that she was vorakh that gave her a sense of familiarity to me.
“May I present, my queen,MaraakaEreshya, reborn,” Aemon said. “Lady Morgana Batavia.”
The woman curtseyed. “It is an honor to meet you,MaraakaEreshya, Lady Morgana.” She spoke with a smoky voice, deep and powerful. Immediately I could feel the coldness of her aura, the specific kind that came from visions. It was almost identical to Meera’s in its feel and its temperament.
“And what is your name?” I asked.
She dipped her chin, before her dark eyes settled on me. “Andromeny,” she said. “Your Majesty.”
“Andromeny,” I said. “A beautiful name. And your Ka?”
She nodded. “Ka Melvik of Bamaria.”
My eyes widened. “Ka Melvik?” I looked again at the shape of her eyes, the familiar way her features came together. Dark, and beautiful. Likehis. The similarities began to jump out at me then, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it at once. The coloring, the details—she was so similar in every way, except she was a softer, more feminine version of Aemon. She could have been his twin in so many ways. Except for one marked difference.
Andromeny had a prominent beauty mark, just above her lip.
I turned to Aemon, my heart pounding as I took in his features again, as if for the first time.
He nodded. “Andromeny is my sister. She’s the one who told me who I was when I was a boy, she helped me remember. And she helped me control my vorakh. It was she who predicted the birth of every Guardian to be reborn, and many more things, until she was taken to Lethea and forced into the service of the chayatim.”
I shook my head. “No one should be taken from their home or forced into servitude. You have my sympathies. And my understanding, Andromeny.”
She nodded graciously. “Your Majesty. Thank you.”
“When were you taken?” I asked.
“Twenty years ago,” she said, her voice sounding suddenly much older, and tired.
“You survived your Revelation Ceremony?” I asked. If she was Aemon’s older sister, she would have turned nineteen thirty years ago at least.
She nodded. “I survived the Imperator’s scrutiny that night. As well as the High Lady of Bamaria’s—your mother’s. But I felt the power of it, I knew what I was. I redirected the magic that night, and tricked them all. They never knew. Not for years.”
My jaw dropped. I’d heard so few references to the time when my mother ruled. Even fewer references to those Lumerians who survived the Revelation Ceremony if they already had their vorakh. Most weren’t like us—most developed their vorakh later.
“What happened?” I asked. “How was it that you were discovered?”
“I was in a vision, a powerful one. It told me what had to be done. And I listened. I killed two.” Her eyes flashed with gold, like a bolt of lightning. “Two mages.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Two mages? Killed? In Bamaria?” I asked, too stunned to stop myself.
“A lord and a lady,” she said, her aura pulsing with something like agitation. “Nobles. High ranking. Wealthy. They were … in my way. Blocking me, hiding it. I was close. So close,” she said, her eyes distant. “So close to ridding the Empire of an ancient evil.” Suddenly her gaze focused, and she stared right at me. “To protect my brother, to protect Moriel, to protect my God, but they tried to stop me.”Her voice rose. She was angry, agitated and frantic. Clearly still angry she’d been thwarted. Angry she hadn’t finished what she’d begun. But within seconds, her frenetic energy dissipated, replaced with something I could only name as satisfaction.
Andromeny smiled, her lips lengthening into something almost sensual. “When they refused me, I didn’t give up. I listened to my vision. I ripped them to pieces.”
I barely held in my gasp. Aemon covered my hand with his, his grip steadying me.
I ripped them to pieces.
I knew of only one nobleman and noblewoman who’d died that way. And it had happened twenty years ago. In Bamaria.
Aemon held my hand, his grip tightening to keep me still.
