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I rolled my shoulders gingerly. “Still sore.”
He nodded, his expression tense, like he was holding back quiet fury. “No new pain?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said roughly. “Can I check your ankle?”
“My ankle’s been fine since Mercurial healed it.” I’d sprained it trying to get to Meera quickly enough to help her through her vision. Mercurial had healed me with a snap of his fingers the other morning, claiming it was a free gift—except the Afeya never gave anything for free.
I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with Rhyan’s line of questioning, though I was skeptical myself that the healing would last. I didn’t like thinking about Mercurial’s motivations or the fact that Afeyan magic had been used on me. For him to have done so meant someone had ordered him to. Someone must have struck a deal with him and requested he heal me. Had it been the same person who’d ordered him to visit me?
But right then, my main source of discomfort came from the fact that I didn’t want Rhyan contemplating how I’d gotten the sprain in the first place. I had to keep him from connecting the dots back to Meera and her vorakh.
“What’s with the sudden health check?” I grabbed my left wrist in my hand. My fingers pressed into my skin, into the mutilated flesh where my blood oaths lay at the edge of my Valalumir tattoo.
Rhyan gave a somewhat harsh laugh. “It’s been one day, partner,” he said. “One day since you sprained your ankle, or whatever happened to you. One day since you were lashed by Aemon.” His voice broke saying Aemon’s name, his fingers flexing and curling into fists at his sides.
I looked up at him. “Did something happen with Aemon to upset you?” I asked again.
Rhyan’s eyes ran back and forth across my face, his expression incredulous. “Lyr,” he said. “He lashed you.”
My mouth fell open. “No. He—He didn’t want to hurt me. It wasn’t his choice.”
The Imperator had arranged it. He’d planned to be in Bamaria to test me. When it was revealed that I had no magic at my Revelation Ceremony, which was confirmed by the examiner from Ka Maras who’d used nahashim to inspect my body, I’d been given a deal. I had seven months to become a soturion. I had seven months to train and pass a test given by the Emperor himself. I had seven months to prove I wasn’t wasting everyone’s time by training without magic—a feat that had never been accomplished before. But the Imperator had never meant to allow me the full extent of my time or our bargain. He’d made it his mission to ensure that the smallest mistakes were penalized. My time had been cut in half. My test by the Emperor to determine if I’d be allowed to continue training or if I’d be permanently banished had been moved from spring to the winter solstice, Valyati. And I’d been lashed four times across my back.
Aemon had been the one to do it, but it hadn’t been his choice.
“I know Aemon didn’t sentence you,” Rhyan said. “I know the Imperator was behind it. But that doesn’t make me want to kill the arkturion any less when I see him. Or strangle him for touching you like that, for hurting you.”
A chill ran through me. “He was trying to help. You said so yourself, he spread the lashes so I wouldn’t scar. And I…I’d rather him than Turion Dairen.” Dairen was Aemon’s Second, the one who usually doled out punishments to soturi, and he was a total asshole. But after my father had become Arkasva and the riots had broken out, Turion Dairen had saved my father’s life when he’d absorbed what would have been a killing blow—meaning he was praised as a hero in Cresthaven despite being a piece of gryphon-shit.
The moment Aemon had said,I’ll do it, and taken Dairen’s place to whip me would be burned into my memory forever. It had horrified me. But…it was still a better outcome than if the punishment had been doled out by Dairen, who would have no doubt derived some sick pleasure from it.
Rhyan folded his arms across his chest, his biceps flexing as his shoulders tensed. “Just because Aemon didn’t do the worst doesn’t change the fact that he hurt you.”
“I know, but he didn’t want to. He’s like an uncle to me.”
Rhyan’s face softened. “When did you learn it was okay for people close to you to hurt you?”
When Jules had been taken and I’d had to sit still and watch like a good little girl. When I had to endure Meera’s vorakh taking over her body and attacking me every time she had a vision. When I’d been forced into a blood oath because revealing that Meera hurt me could get her killed and turn us into the next Ka Azria. When I’d endured it all again to protect Morgana. And every day when I played the good daughter of the Empire, madly in love with Tristan.
I stiffened, staring back at Rhyan.
He was watching me expectantly, hand running through his hair and down the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s just…I was raised by an Imperator. I understand the nuances here. The politics. Doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make me any less….” He exhaled sharply, looking like he was doing all he could to calm down and contain his emotions. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“I know.” I blinked back tears, the lids of my eyes burning. Every time he did this, every time he came close to the truth, I started to lose control and unlock the cage I’d so desperately tried to conceal my emotions within. “It’s fine,” I said dully.
Rhyan looked pained, his mouth opening like he was ready to argue with me, then seemed to abruptly change his mind. “Will you have a seat, Lyr? I really do want to check your ankle and change your bandages. If that’s all right with you.”
My hands shook at my sides, but I pressed them against my waist. Though I trusted Rhyan and had let him tend to my wounds before, old habits died hard.
He turned from me, crouching low over his bag and pulling out his medicinal supplies: clean white bandages and what appeared to be uncured golden sunleaves.
I made my way over to a stack of mats and sat down, reaching gingerly behind me to loosen the ties of my tunic. I winced, gasping in pain from the movement. I was feeling far better than I’d expected considering what had happened, but everything still hurt, most of my body still sore and raw.
Rhyan glanced up at me when I made another noise of pain. “Don’t strain yourself,” he said. “I’ll get your tunic off.”
I bit my lip, feeling my skin warm, half from liking the idea of Rhyan removing my clothing—liking that idea too much—and half from embarrassment that I couldn’t even do this one simple task myself.
