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I looked at my body, finally taking it in. It was still mine, curved where it always had been around my hips and breasts, and my stomach was still slightly rounded, but there were lines in it now—muscular ones. When I flexed…Gods. I could see it now, the newly defined ridges and the reason why my arm cuff on my bicep felt too tight at times. Three months of soturion training had had an impact. Especially with Rhyan’s private training on top of it.
For a moment, I was elated with my body, with the training it had completed and the strength it had accrued. Then a dark thought clouded my mind.
I watched Meera carefully in the mirror’s reflection, all my nerves on edge. Tristan would be at dinner, along with the full Bamarian Council. We were well into Meera’s danger zone. A vision could come at any moment, and if it did in front of anyone, we’d have to create a distraction as we rushed her to safety as quickly as possible. For the last several weeks, the knowledge of her impeding vision had kept me on edge, made me want to fly back to Cresthaven to check on her every night after combat clinic.
Morgana had talked me out of it, promising the situation was under control, and if I was needed, she’d find a way to get to me as soon as possible. Considering her methods of alerting me to Meera’s last vision—binding her to the bed and flying out to find me—I had my doubts. Still, there was nothing more I could do about it; I had to keep up my training. My time was quickly running out.
The dinner itself was fine in the end. Meera didn’t have a vision, and with the dropping temperatures, the guests seemed inclined to leave Cresthaven early.
My father excused himself, off again for another conversation with Lady Sila. Morgana had told me there’d been a sudden increase in her meetings with Father. They were still tracking the akadim situation, and concern was growing over the Emartis, who seemed to have switched tactics in an attempt to be more subtle. In their new strategy, a single black feather would be found outside a business, some spell used to keep it sticking to the doors and walls of the city buildings.
Turion Brenna, my father’s Master of the Peace, reported an increase in painted graffiti.Shekar arkasvahad been found painted all over Bamaria, and her soturi had enlisted the help of mages to erase the messages.
“Your grace,” Eathan said, pulling me aside after the dinner. “How is training?”
“It’s going.” I eyed the door my father had walked through with Lady Sila. “What can you tell me about the Emartis movements?”
Arianna had joined my side and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “My lord,” she said, bowing her head to Eathan. “My dear,” she said, giving me a squeeze.
“The Emartis are preparing to make a move,” he said solemnly. “I don’t know when. But the influx of their signature across the city seems to be hinting at some coming event.”
I swallowed, noting Lady Romula glaring at me from across the room. She turned, her silver gown swishing at her heels. She loved to pretend she was old and frail when it suited her—moving slowly, stealing people’s time and patience—but she was quick on her feet when push came to shove. She called Tristan to her side, linking her arm with his and falling against his shoulder as if she were too weak to hold herself up. She directed Tristan to a corner where Naria stood and engaged her in conversation, looking back to check I was watching. I turned my face fully to Eathan’s before I could sneer or reveal some other emotion.
“I don’t want you to worry, Lyr,” Arianna said. “We’re watching this all very closely. I’ve had an extra eye on the Academy since that girl thought she could attack you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Eathan bowed. “I must speak to Brenna. But I’ll find you before you leave.”
“Sure,” I said.
Arianna moved in front of me, reaching for both of my shoulders. “How are you holding up?” she asked. “I know these months haven’t been easy for you.”
“They haven’t.” I stared into my aunt’s eyes, her face so like mine. She was my mother’s youngest sister, third in line to the Seat of Power like I was. Growing up, everyone always said how much I looked like my mother, especially when I went into the sun and my hair turned fiery red. Arianna’s hair had faded; it was still red but without the flames that made it true Batavia red.
Though I loved hearing I looked like my mother, I knew I looked more like Arianna. Her paintings from her youth were almost exact replicas of my face.
“I wish your mother were here,” she said. “I think things would have been easier for you.”
If she had been alive, she’d still be ruling Bamaria as High Lady. My father wouldn’t have a limp from being attacked by the Emartis. The Emartis wouldn’t even exist. And even if I was found to be powerless in this alternate version of reality, I wouldn’t be dealing with the threat of a rebellion while I tried to survive the Emperor’s decree.
A tear rolled down my cheek, and Arianna pulled me in for a hug. “Oh, my dear,” she said. My wrist itched, my blood oaths acting up the way they did whenever I wanted to tell anyone our secret.
She drew back, her blue eyes scanning me up and down. “Be safe.” She turned her head toward the dining room doors. They’d both opened suddenly.
Rhyan stepped through them, dressed in his full soturion uniform. His black leather armor shined with the design of our merged sigils, the gryphon and the seraphim. The sun and moon. Gold and silver together.
My breath caught. He just looked so beautiful.
“Looks like your ride is here,” Arianna said.
“What?” I asked.
“To escort you back to Cresthaven,” she said, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “You seem so surprised.”
“Oh, no…no,” I stuttered. “I didn’t know that you knew he was on my detail.”
As far as I’d known, only Aemon, my father, and the select soturi assigned to guard me had this information. It had been kept secret so Rhyan could offer me extra protection in the Katurium, a place where traditionally even heirs were expected to be on equal ground with everyone else. In the Academy where fighting was encouraged, there was no place for a bodyguard to step in. I was the exception.
