He snorted. “Just do it. Don’t wait for the Valabellum. A letter has been sent to your grandmother. You will head for the capital tomorrow to begin your hunt. Find the forsworn, and bring him to the Imperator.”
“And Lady Lyriana?” I asked.
He grinned. “You’ll bring her to her wedding bed.”
My throat tightened as I swallowed back bile. “As he commands.”
“Good.”
“I am sorry for your loss, by the way,” I said, unable to let it go. His son had died … orsonsif the rumors were true. And he should be grieving, should be sad. He should feel fucking something. Like I did.
I stared, waiting. I needed to see some emotion in him, see that these men I’d followed my whole life were human. I needed to know that I’d been right to ally with them all these years. That I didn’t have to worry about Bamaria, or Lyr. I needed some proof that these soturi, who had complete power over us—whose power I had helped increase, whose power my grandmother funded, had been for something good. I needed to know that I hadn’t sold out my country.
“Brockton was a very strong warrior,” I said. “Bar Ka Mokan.”
The Bastardmaker squeezed my shoulder, painfully tight. Bruising. Tears pricked my eyes.
“Bring the forsworn, and Lady Lyriana,” was his only reply. Then he shoved me back. I stumbled, caught only at the last second by Bellamy.
Another shout of protest in the audience was smothered, and two mages were dragged away.
“Oh,” the Bastardmaker said as calm as ever, “If you find anymore vorakh out there,” he eyed me up and down, and sweat beaded on the nape of my neck, “you know what to do.”
“Of course.”
His eyes pierced through me, and I felt faint. Did he know? Could he see it on me? Smell it? Was there some remnant of cold that clung to my aura? He looked away, and I almost sighed in relief, until his gaze fell on Naria. Onallof Naria.My hands fisted. But a moment later we were led off the field, to take our seats in the stadium. A set of doors opened to a hall lined with the contestants fighting in the trials.
I kept my head held high, never having interacted with many soturi before.
But then a familiar voice shouted, “Tristan! Hey!”
I froze, finding Galen dressed in his golden uniform, his sword shining and sharp.
Stepping back from my entourage, I grabbed his arm. “The fuck, Galen. You didn’t tell me you were doing this.”
“I just decided.”
“Well un-decide,” I hissed. “If you’re cast into the Valabellum, they could kill you.”
His jaw was set. “I know the risk.”
“Then stop this. Sit with us instead. I can have an escort bring you to our seats.”
He shook his head, “I’m going to win,” he said. “I know I can.” He cracked his knuckles. “I intend to see inside the capital. To fight in the Valabellum. And I intend to look the Emperor in the eye.”
To seek revenge for Haleika.
“It won’t change what happened,” I said. “It won’t bring her back.”
“I don’t intend for that.” His eyes turned to slits, looking out in the arena, the sun casting a glow on his muscles, his aura pulsing with anger and vengeance.
He was going to win. I could feel it in my bones.
And it was going to get him killed.
CHAPTER NINE
LYRIANA
