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“You think I don’t know everything that concerns your safety?”
I coughed, feeling like an idiot. Of course, she knew. I was so used to hiding everything to do with Rhyan that I’d overcorrected. “I just didn’t realize I was getting picked up,” I said, trying to cover myself.
“You can leave whenever you want. I’m making sure you’re watched over. At all times.” She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tightly to her. Her giant golden arm cuff cut into my arm, and I flinched. Arianna immediately pulled back. “Gods! I’m sorry, Lyr. Us Batavia women and our big jewelry. Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I said, noting her eyes darting to my own arm cuff. Immediately, my wrist itched again. My cuff held Meera’s vision log, on which I recorded every vision she had, its duration, her symptoms, and the date, always leaving space to record the next one. “I probably should retire for the evening.”
“Be safe, my dear,” she said.
Rhyan’s eyes blazed as he strode across the room. He reached my side at the exact moment a second set of arms wrapped around me. I caught the familiar scent of mint and salt.
“Lord Grey,” Rhyan said jovially.
“What are you doing here, forsworn?”
“Taking in the scenery.”
“Forsworn don’t attend formal functions at Cresthaven.”
Rhyan squinted, looking around the room. “The formality appears to have left this function in particular. In any case, don’t bother reaching for your stave.” He held up both hands. “I know how stick-happy you get when you see me. I’m just here after being summoned by Arkturion Aemon.”
Even in Rhyan’s snarkiest voice, the one he seemed to have tucked away specifically for his interactions with Tristan, I could still detect the undercurrent of anger he felt toward Aemon.
Lyr, he lashed you.
“Ah, speak of the Ready,” he said, turning to Aemon, who had appeared across the room.
“Let’s get you home,” Tristan said. He was frowning in disgust, looking at Cresthaven’s formal dining room with its high ceilings and golden columns inscribed with text from the Valya as if we’d gone to eat at some dump in the city.
“Fine,” I said, making my way through the room to formally excuse myself from all the remaining guests. Gods forbid I left in a timely manner. After Tristan and I had seen every last Lumerian present—including his grandmother, who pulled me aside and whispered into my ear as she smiled sweetly at Tristan,He has other options—we reached the carriage outside the front doors.
“Your grace,” Aemon called, marching across the room with Rhyan beside him. “Soturion Rhyan is going to fly back to the Academy in your carriage. I want extra security with you.”
Tristan cocked his head to the side, his nostrils flaring. “She has a full team and my mages, does she not?”
“One might argue that her grace can never have enough. Wouldn’t you want her to have the most protection possible?”
“As long as it’s someone sane and balanced. I don’t put my trust into the hands of criminals.”
“Luckily, neither do I,” said Aemon darkly, and he turned and marched back to the dining room.
Rhyan raised his hand. “If I say that I don’t trust criminals either, does that mean we have something in common and can be friends?”
“You’re sitting behind the partition this time,” Tristan said.
“Hmmm,” Rhyan said. “You cut me deep, Lord Grey. By the way, did you ever decide to reach out to the Imperator? You know, see if her grace could have an extra month to train?”
Tristan stiffened. “You know that’s not possible.”
Rhyan leaned forward, his voice low, “If given the choice between you and the criminals, I’d choose them.” Rhyan climbed inside the carriage and sat behind the partition.
Tristan gripped my hand, holding it too tightly throughout the ride as if Rhyan could see through the partition walls.
I stared out the window, watching as the landscape shifted from the fields beyond Cresthaven to the city. Beside the Temple of Dawn, the building shaped like the Valalumir, bonfires erupted in the field. Viewed from above, the bonfires spelled out a very simple message:
Shekar arkasva.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
