“What?” he asks. “You know I read a lot.”
A knock sounds on the door, and Gerith opens it.
“I’ve been released,” Maeva announces. “Just in time for our presentation.”
Novice presentation. I’d almost forgotten. After each Sundering, theroyal family chooses which novices will be forced to shadow them for the next year.
“You shouldn’t be going anywhere.”
“Relax, Arvelle. I can walk again now. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was the Primus’s blood that hurried the healing along.” She gives Tiernon a smile and he gives her a grim nod back.
What’s wrong with him?she mouths at me.
“He’s still annoyed that I went after Albion alone,” I whisper back.
Tiernon glowers at us. “I can hear you.”
I valiantly hide a smirk. “Maeva. This is Gerith, and this is Evren.”
She beams at them, and Gerith grins back at her. Evren gives her a somber nod, likely still preoccupied with thoughts of Mortuus.
“I’ve heard so much about you.” When Maeva takes a seat on the bed, I narrow my eyes at her.
“I thought we could go to the presentation together. Besides, I’ve never been in the imperius quarters before.”
I nod at the love bite beneath her ear. “Uh-huh.”
Maeva’s face turns even redder than the mark Neris left behind and I grin, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Since Tiernon gave me his blood and Axia treated the gorgon poison, there’s absolutely no need for me to be in bed anyway.
“Do you have to go?” Evren’s voice is a low murmur, almost a whisper.
I meet Maeva’s eyes and see the same dread I’m feeling.
“Yes,” I say. “We do.”
AN HOUR LATER,I trail after Calena as we climb the stairs into the stands. She’s tense, her face white—unsurprising considering the emperor is opening the presentation with his usual brand ofentertainment. By the time we novices slip into our seats of honor—just a few rows up from the sand of the arena—a group of Torvellens have begun walking into the arena through another gate.
Most of their skin tones are on the paler side, reflecting the cold climate of their kingdom. Both men and women wear their hair long and braided, the colored beads in their braids a symbol of the various mountain clans many of them belong to.
The Torvellens are chained together, marching as one, ensuring they don’t trip. And still, an enforcer cracks his aetherwhip. Thesmallest woman flinches, letting out a low cry, and the men on either side of her turn toward the enforcer, their eyes lit with rage. Another crack of the whip, and deep wounds open up across their cheeks.
More people enter the arena through the gate directly below us. Their skin tones range from medium tan to deep brown, and most of the women have straight hair, tied back with beautifully embroidered Zevarian cloth bands, although many of those bands are now faded and filthy from their time in captivity.
Zevaris and Torvellen are two kingdoms the emperor considers enemies of the empire. Over the past few decades, he has chipped away at their kingdoms. And still, they fight for every inch of their territories.
Maeva sits next to me, her face white. “I’ve heard rumors of the queens of Torvellen and Zevaris allying,” she whispers.
“That explains what’s about to happen.” I nod at the enforcer currently walking down the row of Zevarians, handing them each a sword. A woman immediately slashes out at the enforcer, and the one with the aetherwhip cracks it, driving her to her knees.
On the other side of the arena, an enforcer is arming the Torvellens. He gestures, and they step forward, facing the Zevarian group. Tears are rolling down the face of one of the Torvellen men as he stares at the Zevarian woman in front of him.
My sigil burns. Rage pours through me, no longer able to be contained.
“Arvelle,” Maeva whispers. “Don’t. It’s not time.”
I know she’s right. But I can’t watch this anymore. I refuse.
Something soars above us. The world turns upside down. Pain explodes across the back of my head, shooting down my neck and through my spine.
