Anger propelled me forward, my aura pushing against hers, forcing her magic back. “You call this a great outcome! Haleika is dead!”
“And we are fortunate that her death has not interfered with my plans. The Seat of Power was always meant for us. Change is desperately needed. But, I’m not so foolish as to dismiss the fact that power must be granted, not stolen. Harren showed us that. And only when you put an Heir in Naria’s belly,” she said, her voice low, “only then will you guarantee the continuation, and success, of our bloodline.”
I shook my head, too stunned at her brazenness to reply.
“Should Lyriana send word to you,” she continued, “I expect you will use any means necessary to bring her in. Along with the forsworn.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you so keen to give him what he wants?”
“It’s a dangerous thing, my dear, to not have that man on your side.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s been weeks since she vanished. They could be anywhere.” And if they had been in Korteria—if they’d been there when Brockton was killed—they were certainly long gone by now.
“Do not fret,” my grandmother said, “rumor has it the Emperor intends to draw them out, make them easier to find.”
“Meaning what?” My belt suddenly felt too tight, my hands numb.
“Meaning, Tristan, that he gave this task to you. And you will complete it.”
“As you wish.” I practically spat the words. “I’ll take my leave. And I’ll be sure to end my night in Naria’s bed if it pleases you, Grandmother.”
“Such a martyr.” She laughed sweetly and sat back on the couch across from me, her eyes shrewd. “I thought I lost everything when I lost your father. We nearly fell into ruin when that monster—” Her lips tightened, the wrinkles around her mouth severe. “But you, Tristan, you have brought back hope.” She frowned. “A rather fragile thing I possess. Do not break it.”
I straightened my robes across my shoulders and left.
An hour later I sat in a bar with Galen. Urtavia was full of Lumerians from across the Empire, dancing, and playing instruments in the streets.
I stared out the frosted window until a bottle of whisky hovered above my shot glass. Our server tipped it over, and I watched dully as the golden liquid splashed, filling my cup and Galen’s. Wordlessly, I drank, the alcohol burning against my throat.
We’d been doing this several times a week since Valyati. Barely speaking Haleika’s name. Barely saying anything at all. Just sitting together. Drinking. Grieving.
We’d both loved her. Me as a cousin. He—asmore. Discovering her affair with Leander had only intensified his grief instead of assuaging it.
Outside, a woman elbowed her way through the crowd, her face covered by the mask of a black seraphim. The symbol of the rebels, the Emartis.
She walked right into another woman—a mage. Within seconds an argument broke between them. Their staves were drawn, their auras emitting enough heat to melt the frost coating our window, until a soldier approached, shouting.
He wore golden armor with shoulders shaped into sharpened seraphim feathers. The armor of Ka Batavia. Armor I was seeing less and less these past few weeks.
Galen frowned, watching the soturion chase the masked mage down the street, easily catching her.
But then a soldier of Ka Kormac, his armor gleaming with silver, stepped between them. The mage had been on the verge of arrest. Now, she was clearly being instructed to hand over her mask, and walk away. Free to go with barely a slap on the wrist.
The two soturi, one in gold, one in silver, remained in a heated disagreement. A few weeks ago, a mage in an Emartis mask would have been arrested, taken right to the Shadow Stronghold. Now there was only the illusion of a reprimand. That mask would be circulating through the crowd again in minutes.
For now, there was no Arkturion to enforce the law, no one to back up Turion Brenna’s decrees. The Ready was gone. And in his absence, our High Lady and the Imperator had all but signed off on the rebellion that had changed everything.
Galen’s dark eyebrows deepened to a V. “Any updates on Lyr? Or Meera and Morgana?” he asked, pouring a glass of beer. “Did the Imperator say anything?”
I shook my head, ruminating over what had truly happened in Korteria. Four soturi were dead. Murdered. And she may have been there.
Was she okay?
“My lord,” Bellamy said urgently, a hand on my shoulder. The glowing vadati stone in his ear was fading from blue to white. “We have a …situation.”
Galen sat up abruptly. “I’ll help.”
But I was already on my feet, dropping three coins on the table. “I’ve got this. Next drink is on me.”
