TRISTAN
I rolled over in Naria’s bed, barely awake as the sun streamed through her windows. There was a loud knock on the door. Soturion Markan entered. His eyes met mine with a familiar fury. The bald guard had protected Lyr since she’d been a baby, hiding in her shadows for our entire courtship. It felt so stark to be here in her home, in her wing, with her guard, but not with her.
Instead, it was Naria lying naked beside me. Naria whose snores of sleep I’d become intimate with. In recent days, the sound of Naria’s theatrical whines as she came had replaced my memories of Lyr’s hushed sighs. It was as if Naria had simply taken over Lyr’s life with Arianna’s ascent to power. None of this felt real. None of this was what I wanted. I was collateral, a game piece to move about the board as my grandmother saw fit.
“What?” Naria groaned, tossing her arm over her eyes. “What is it?”
“Your Grace,” Markan said. “I am sorry to disturb you.”
“Then don’t.” She rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head.
“I was sent by Arkturion Waryn to request a meeting,” Markan said. “With you, Lord Tristan.”
I sat up straight, clutching the blanket so tightly my knuckles were white. “When?” I asked.
“He’d like to see you at once.”
Fuck. It was too early to face the Bastardmaker. “Where shall I meet him?”
“He’s in the main hall, having breakfast. A meal has already been ordered for you.”
Groaning, I slid out of bed. I was expected to leave for Numeria today, to follow the Imperator’s command to go hunting for Rhyan and Lyr.
But I hadn’t packed. I hadn’t even begun to prepare. Instead, I’d spent the night trying to convince Galen not to go to the Valabellum. The Godsdamned fool had won the trials. He’d been crowned victor by the Bastardmaker himself along with a dozen others, half of whom were Ka Kormac. He’d be leaving for the capital in another week to participate in the next set of tournaments, the ones that would determine his role in the Valabellum. And that would decide if hemightdie on Asherah’s Feast Day—or if hedefinitelywould.
Idiot.
“What does he want?” Naria asked, throwing her pillow to the ground. She sat up, letting the blanket fall to her waist, her nudity on full display in the morning sun.
I turned away, opening the closet. “You know what,” I said. “I have to leave today.”
She crawled out of bed, coming to stand behind me.
I pulled out a fresh set of towels and laid them on the dresser, catching her eye in the vanity mirror. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, her bare breasts pressed into my back.
“You shouldn’t have to go,” she said. “I don’t understand. Why are they sending you anyway?”
I shook my head. Good fucking question. “I’m a trusted confidant for the Imperator,” I said blandly. “And I know Lyr.”
“So? I know her, too.”
I pulled out of her hold. “I need to get ready.”
Naria shook her head. “But, you’re a vorakh hunter. Why would they send you after Lyriana and Rhyan unless …” She shrugged, scrunching up her nose. “No. That’s stupid.”
I froze. Was it possible? Not Lyr. She had no magic. She’d been tested by the Examiner from Lethea. But Rhyan … How had he gotten her out of the Shadow Stronghold? How had he done it when I’d failed? The question had plagued me for weeks. Was it possible that he was vorakh? That he could travel?
I’d never encountered one of those before. I couldn’t even imagine how dangerous someone like that could be. Surely, Lyr wouldn’t allow someone like that to be free in Bamaria, to go unreported to me and the Empire?
But then the truth sank in all at once. Yes, she would.
I remembered all the times she’d mentioned Jules the last few years. The hurt in her eyes whenever the topic resurfaced, the way she seemed fearful after I’d hunted.
Jules had been her cousin. I could understand that sorrow. But she’d been a monster in the end. And I didn’t think I could ever forgive that.
At least, not until Haleika. She’d become a monster, too. But that hadn’t stopped me from seeing her as my cousin. It hadn’t stopped my love for her. Hadn’t stopped me from wishing, deep down, that they wouldn’t kill her. That we could have kept her alive. Found a cure, done something—anything—to let her live. She hadn’t deserved that ending. None of it had been her fault.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
