I looked out of the glass window, the city coated in night. Another chime, another bell. My heart pounded with every ring. Every reminder that time was still moving and slipping away. Night had fallen hours ago. Too many hours. And there was still no hint or sign of Lyriana. Or Rhyan.
Neither had returned. Neither one had sent word. There’d been no news at all coming out of Numeria. No confirmation if Rhyan had been stripped. We had no idea if Lyr had saved him; if she needed to be saved herself.
Or worse.
It was like Numeria had shut down. Gone silent.
The clock tower rang out its final bell, and the note lingered in my ears longer than usual, echoing before the sound faded. Before the room fell back into silence.
I turned from the window, facing my five companions. My constants since I’d escaped the Palace. Meera Batavia, my cousin and the former Heir Apparent in Bamaria. And two more Bamarians with us whom I’d known my entire life. Perhaps the last two I’d have expected to be part of a plot to defy the Empire,particularly Lord Tristan Grey. His Ka had always been close with Ka Kormac, and he himself had spent years cozying up to the Imperator as his star pupil. “The Great Vorakh Hunter,” we’d called him. And not in a good way. And beside him was our childhood friend, Soturion Galen Scholar.
Once I’d come to, able to stay awake, and remain alert without panicking, I’d been sneaking glances at them all, mentally charting the ways in which they’d changed over the years. And the ways they looked like no time had passed. Like everything that I’d been through had just been a dream. Or a nightmare.
Meera’s ash-brown hair was longer than before, her body thinner, and her face more gaunt—more haunted. There was an equally haunted look in Tristan’s and Galen’s eyes. Though Tristan still moved like himself, like I remembered. He had a casual arrogance in his demeanor, one not unusual amongst the nobility. But while he carried himself the same physically, his aura had shifted, had diminished somehow. Smaller. I could almost smell the guilt in his energy field.
As for Galen, he’d grown to twice his size, become even more handsome, his dark arms had thickened dramatically with the muscles of a soturion. Muscles that were currently torn up and bruised from a night of torture at the Palace. Because somehow, unbelievably, he was the man who’d murdered Theotis. At least, he’d been the knife used to deal the killing blow. I didn’t need to hear the whispers that had been drifting in the Palace hallways for weeks. Anyone with half a brain knew who had actually orchestrated the assassination. Avery Kormac, nephew to Theotis, Arkasva of Korteria, Imperator of the South. Our new fucking Emperor.
And then there were the two Glemarians, men I’d only known of from letters exchanged between me and Rhyan. Letters that stopped when I was taken.
Lord Dario DeTerria was closest to where I stood. He was a burly soturion with black curls that fell to his shoulders, and dark eyes that remained narrowed in focus. The other was an equally muscular man, but he was a mage. Lord Aiden DeKassas had the pale skin of the North with auburn hair, and a shockingly large gryphon-like nose—but one that beautifully fit his face. Rhyan’s best friends. Two of them, at least.
We were all spread across our small room at the inn, and had been silent for the last two hours. Meera was sitting on the bed next to me. Dario stood before the door, looking like he was about to attack anything that moved. Aiden and Tristan both had their hands poised on their staves, ready for battle. And Galen, like me, stood still in a corner, his eyes alert, observant, but wary.
In the silence, somehow louder now without the bells, my stomach churned violently. Because now a truth we’d been dancing around for too long felt ready to consume me. The hours had been passing, and still we remained in a place where we’d already been found once. Distance wouldn’t save us. Nor would Meera’s and Aiden’s wards. We would be found again. I knew imperators. Too fucking well. And when it came to Kormac, he didn’t let anything go. Not any insults, not any power, and certainly not anyone in this room. Especially me, his favoritepet.
Every second we remained here, every second we waited, we were more in Godsdamned danger. No one wanted to admit it, but it was so fucking clear.
Rhyan wasn’t coming back.
And neither was Lyr.
The scar around my finger heated, suddenly burning against my skin like a warning. I traced the shape of the ring again, my heart pounding harder. I was trying to stay calm— trying to have hope for the first time in forever. I was out of the Palace. Away from my tormentors. I’d seen Lyr, and I was with Meera—familyI thought I’d never be with again. But any second now, it would all be ripped away.
We needed answers. I had a feeling that until we could confirm Rhyan’s and Lyr’s fates, Dario, who’d been left in charge, wasn’t going to budge. There was a stubbornness to him I’d never seen before.
In the end, it was Tristan who said it, the thing I couldn’t. “It’s time for a new plan. We need to make a decision.”
“A decision?” Dario snapped. “About what? What kind of room service to order next?” He spoke with the same Glemarian lilt Rhyan had—but with a much deeper accent. Combined with his stubbornness, there was something almost feral about him. He was missing the polished mannerisms ingrained in most nobles.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Tristan said, his voice darkening.
“Do I now?” Dario challenged, turning his body toward Tristan’s. His hand was already at the hilt of his sword, and his shoulders lifted as he tensed, his biceps flexing.
Galen stiffened, moving beside his best friend in a protective stance. He’d been like that with Tristan ever since we were kids. Always on guard.
Tristan’s lips curled as he stepped forward, ready to retort.
But I couldn’t take it anymore. This stubbornness from Dario wasn’t getting us anywhere, except into more danger. And I didn’t care what experiences he’d had before—how much training he’d completed, or time out in the field he’d spent as a soturion. When it came to our new Emperor, I was the expert.
And before Tristan could say anything, I shouted. “Yes! You do, Dario! You know exactly what he’s talking about.” It was the first thing I’d said in hours.
Everyone’s eyes turned back toward me. Since my rescue, they’d all had this look on their faces whenever they saw me, whenever I spoke. Like I was broken, or about to break.
Maybe it was both—like they expected me to break further.
Except for Dario. He didn’t even flinch as he whirled in my direction, his jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”
“You know we need to make a decision!” I said, my voice shaking with a rage and fear I’d been tempering for hours. “Stop playing dumb. We need to decide what to do next. We should have decided a long time ago.”
