TRISTAN
My grandmother lifted her wine glass high in the air, my grandfather behind her, already drinking. We were in Cresthaven’s ballroom, the entire Council present, along with our new Imperator, Her Highness Arianna Batavia. My future mother-in-law.
But of course, the Bastardmaker was here, too. Standing close. His black eyes were on me, commanding me, reminding me. Like I needed a fucking reminder at this point. He could leave. He could leave me alone forever. And I’d still know what to do. Shoulders back. Head high. Smile. Pretend everything was fucking fine. Convince everyone that I was happy. That I agreed with what was happening to my country, to my people.
To vorakh like me.
I was his puppet, unleashing chaos with a smile. And, of course, most importantly of all, I had to show that I was happy. Not grieving for Galen. Or acting as if the murder of my best friend wasn’t still tearing me apart a month later. That I still wasn’t waking from nightmares of the Yellow Room, Galen screaming with no sound coming from his lips, my hand shattering. My soul breaking.
“To my grandson, Lord Tristan.” My grandmother lifted the goblet to her lips. All the Council Members and nobles of Bamaria followed. She grinned, her lips now the same color as the wine. “He has made the Empire proud. And he has made us safe again. Ever since he’s become the head of the vorakh task force, Bamaria—or rather,” she winked at the Bastardmaker and then Arianna, “New Korteria, has never been greater. Thanks to Tristan’s efforts, we’ve arrested two dozen criminals from our streets in just the last three days alone. All shipped off to Lethea where they belong.”
I downed my glass in one go.
Naria took my hand in hers and squeezed. We’d grown closer over the last month. For the first time in all the years we’d known each other, we were actually becoming something that felt like friends. While every other aspect of my life was going to complete shit, Naria was starting to become the best part. The only thing getting me through the day.
“Just a little while longer,” she whispered. “Then we’ll have done our duty and we can retreat to our room.”
I nodded, trying to calm my breathing. My grandmother was still grinning, then her eyes flashed on mine and she deposited her glass on a tray floating past her. Her fingers full of silver rings and precious stones sparkled. The Bastardmaker crossed the room, and took her hand. She grinned even wider. I could only make out part of their conversation, something about overflowing prisons. And a new contract to build more—using Ka Grey silver.
I was going to be sick. But suddenly, the door to the ballroom slammed open. The room filled with silence, every noble turning in the direction of the disturbance. At who had entered.
“I was just wondering …” It was Lord Eathan Ezara, the former Second to the Arkasva. Harren Batavia’s cousin. He’d been about to take the Seat of Power in the interim betweenHarren’s death and Arianna’s consecration. Until the Emperor threw him from the Seat.
Without a role on the Council, I hadn’t seen him at Court in months. Though as Lyriana’s cousin, he remained a noble with considerable power.
It was startling just then to see him in blue robes. For as long as I could remember he was always in gray—the color worn by the Master of the Horse. The color my grandmother was now expected to wear. Only of course, she’d had her robes made of silver.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at Arianna and bowed before her. “Your Highness, pardon my interruption,” he said. “But I was just wondering. Since the task force has been so successful under Lord Tristan’s leadership, and since we have yet to experience another akadim attack in these lands in months, if things are as safe and great as you say, at what point does Bamaria become Bamaria again?” His voice hardened.
Arianna smiled sweetly—too sweetly—and plucked a glass of wine from another floating tray. Her red hair had been curled on top of her head, her golden Laurel of the Arkasva delicately laid across her brow. And now, as Imperator, she wore a golden border through her black robes.
“Lord Eathan,” she said. “First, let me welcome you back to Court.”
“Your Highness,” he said again, slowly eyeing the room. “And my question?”
“Unfortunately, that is a question best left to the Council, a Council you no longer sit on. I would offer more, as I hold you in such high esteem. You have served our country well and for many years. But we don’t want to act too hastily. After all, that’s how mistakes are made. And when you have akadim, and now vorakh running wild, committing acts of terrorism, we must proceed with caution. Lord Tristan is doing admirably.But there are more vorakh out there, more threats to stop, and unifying with Korteria is keeping us safe. But I thank you for the question.”
“Were we not already unified? Under the Lumerian Empire?” he practically barked.
“These are trying times. And I would advise you to accept my answer.” Her aura flared, leaving a startlingly icy chill down my spine.
“Of course.” He stepped back, and from the corner of my eye, I watched as the Bastardmaker gave a signal to another soturion, one of the sentries on duty. A silver wolf.
Eathan stepped into the crowd of nobles.
I wanted to scream at him, warn him. But I couldn’t. My blood wouldn’t allow it.
I turned to Naria, my eyes desperate. We had to help him. Do something. But she shook her head. “We can’t.”
The wolf stepped forward and grabbed Eathan’s arms from behind.
“What are you?—”
The soturion covered his mouth, and dragged Eathan from the ballroom.
Hardly anyone looked up. But the mood had changed. Everyone’s aura suddenly dampened, being pulled back, held close.
“That’ll be us next,” Naria hissed. “If we don’t play the game.”
