Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
J ust as quickly, Lora stills. She angles her focus away, somewhere past Ayc’s head into the darkness of the room. “I don’t know,” she exhales, and with that breath, the chasm between them reappears. “It’s… nothing.”
Nothing.
There’s no reason that one word should feel like a sword driven through his sternum, but it does.
“Very well, then.” He flips back onto his back and presses his eyes closed, feeling utterly foolish for even thinking for a moment that she might kiss him.
I’m such a fucking ass.
Silence blankets them, broken only by wind chimes jingling close to the window and the snap of the firewood. When her voice comes again, it’s so soft he almost loses it beneath the delicate noises.
“Fuck, I’m trying to apologize, and I’m getting it all wrong. ”
A bark of laughter escapes Ayc's lips, more surprise than humor. “You’re trying to apologize?”
“Yes.”
He twists his head to look at her once more. “You’re right. You’re doing an absolutely wretched job of it.”
“I know.” She shakes her head, a coil of hair springing forward to cover her nose. “I’ve never said sorry for the role I played at Creed Castle. And I am. Truly.”
Ayc has never once imagined he would hear those words from her lips, but they tremor with sincerity. A pool of emotion stings to his eyes. He blinks hard at the ceiling and clears his throat, lest the emotions building make him do something that others might consider unmanly. Like cry.
“Like I said, you were a child,” he says, when he’s sure his voice won’t betray him and his vision is clear once more. “Your mother is responsible for that injustice. It’s not your fault.”
“Is injustice still not your fault if you have the power to change it and choose not to?”
Ayc doesn’t have an answer to that, but it’s clear she doesn’t need one. Instead Ayc asks, “What would have happened to you, then? If you chose not to participate?”
She hesitates, tracing the pattern of the rug between them with a finger. “I didn’t know what was going to happen until I got on the ship to go to Creed. My mother told me nothing beforehand. She only gave me a choice. I could get on the ship and follow her every command, or I could spend that week in the dungeons of Wyntra.”
“The dungeons ?” He's known that Lora hasn't been completely spared from Yris's cruelty. But Yris has always been careful with Lora, never leaving the scars and marks she leaves upon others. It made it too easy to believe that Yris was kinder to Lora than most. But the fucking dungeons? “She would lock you in the dungeons?”
Her fingers pause briefly, before continuing along a different color. “Not often, just sometimes.”
Rage, hot as the crackling fire nearby, broils in his blood. He presses his eyes closed as the heat gathers there as well, threatening to blur his vision. He barely manages to keep his voice steady. “Fuck, Lora, I?—”
“Do not say you’re sorry.”
It’s an order; it pricks like a knife at his sternum. But he wasn’t going to say sorry to begin with. He rolls back on his side, and the space between them narrows once more. He rests his hand on the floor, where her own hand is only a breath away.
“I was going to say that I know what it's like to be your mother's prisoner,” Ayc says. “But at least she locked me in a pastry kitchen, and not a dungeon.”
“I didn’t kill that man because I feared being put in the dungeon.” Her tone contains a sharpness, reminiscent of how she snapped at him about being too nice. Perhaps, it’s a defense, meaning to restore distance between them. But this time, Ayc remains steady and doesn’t recoil when she hisses the final words, “I killed that man because I hoped it would make my mother proud.”
Ayc should add that to the long list he’s carefully assembled in his head of why he should hate her, a weapon he holds to cleave unwanted affections. But he can’t do it. He was a son once, too, who loved his mother enough he would have done anything to make her proud. The oaths he made to his mother are still as binding as the bracelets on his wrists. The fact that his mother was worthy of such affection and Yris is not would scarcely matter to a child .
Maybe love can be a prison, too.
Ayc pulls his lower lip into his mouth to keep back the words. Lora tracks the movement. And she has to stop looking at him. Her gaze means nothing; he knows this. But still, it’s filling his head with all kinds of ridiculousness. It’s making the space between their hands on the floor feel like millimeters and not like miles.
Wanting a distraction, he asks, “Is that why you want to be Sovereign? To make your mother proud?”
“I gave up on making her proud the day she sent my father away without even letting me say goodbye.” A little flash of silver punctures the dark, before her irises return to the deepest of purples. “The only way to make her proud is to be exactly like her. There was a time I tried, but I gave up on that.”
“Then why become Sovereign? To undo your father’s exile?”
“That’ll be one of the first wrongs I undo. But the list is long.”
Ayc dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, Aluina is on that list. She is looking at him with an intensity that certainly implies it, but he can’t hear her say it. If she says it, he’s going to do something—say something—entirely too reckless. So he says, “And let me guess, that list involves giants somehow.”
Her eyes lighten slightly, from a near-black-purple to a royal purple. “Precisely. Before the beginning of my grandfather’s reign, we were friends with the giants. I suspect my grandfather did something to ruin whatever friendship existed before. I’ve tried to search for what it could be in the library, but neither I nor Xylie have found much. The ones in power always write the history that comes after. So I want to hear Laud’s side of the story, and then I want to fix it.”
“So you want to fix what your mother and grandfather have done?”
She nods. She’s being vulnerable and honest, and the trust she’s placing in him to do so is not lost on him. The fire casts patterns over her cheeks, her neck, and just like when she danced on the ship, she looks alive. A shield has come undone between them, and he likes seeing her like this, probably too much.
Perhaps that’s why he pushes, seeking an answer he’s wondered since the night Yris announced the Trials would begin.
“Is that the only reason you are competing to be Sovereign? Because you feel as though you must? That it’s your responsibility?”
Her brow knits together, but she nods again.
“That isn’t the same thing as wanting to be Sovereign,” Ayc says. “That’s obligation, not desire. Lora, do you want to be Sovereign?”
One shoulder tilts toward her ear. She responds with just as much apathy as the shrug suggests. “It’s my destiny.”
Ayc growls in frustration. “Fuck destiny. Is it what you want ?”
“My people need me. What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Ayc insists. “Because you matter.”
Her eyes widen, and he wishes he could yank the words back down his throat. He’s always been a reckless fool, who doesn’t always think before he blurts out words. And words have power. With them, he’s shown far too much of the hand he tries to hide. The air around them grows heavy. Neither of them speak. Neither of them move .
Then her littlest finger flexes on the floor between them. It shifts, sliding just a little closer to him. It’s millimeters, and it’s miles. The space between them is filled with only a tiny sliver of carpeting and ten years of barbed words and shared wounds. More than ever before, he longs to reach across it. He wants to trace the lattice-work of light the fire casts upon her skin, first with his fingers, then with his lips, then with his teeth. He wants to scrape away his lists of reasons and excuses and his measly walls of protection until there is nothing left between them. He wants to know if she would let him. And in this moment, when he’s beginning to see who Lora is behind her stone, he’s beginning to forget all the reasons he shouldn’t cross the line in between them.
He spreads his fingers, until his own little finger brushes against hers. The sparks in his blood ignite. Her breath shudders past her lips once more.
Then she whips back like she’s been burned and tucks her hand beneath the blanket. “There you go again, cinnamon roll,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “Being far too kind to me.”
He forces a smile; it feels like lifting a thousand pounds with the corners of his lips. “It’s what I do.”
“Well, stop it,” she snaps, and then she flips herself around, giving him her back. “Good night, Ayc.”
“Good night, Lora.”
He rolls himself onto his opposite side, so he doesn’t look at her. But the embers play off the walls of her childhood home, and the faint smell of anise taunts his nose with every inhale. His head is a merciless sea, thoughts of her crashing over him again and again. Normally, he’s better at suppressing them. But not tonight. Tonight, they are his torment until he's finally dragged into sleep.
He doesn’t know how long he’s slept when he wakes to hushed voices, but the fire has gone out and dark has overtaken the room. The blankets warm his core, but a chill bites at his cheeks. He holds still and keeps his breathing even, lest someone notice he no longer slumbers.
“The baker, huh?” Hellevi asks. A lilting laugh hides beneath her voice that carries from the kitchen.
“He’s my Fifth,” Lora explains.
“Which guidance is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“The guidance the rest of the Council gave you.” Hellevi clears her throat and deepens her voice as she recites, “Someone who is more powerful than even you. Someone who thinks differently than any other, and someone who sees things others cannot. Someone who challenges you when you need it the most. And someone you hate, to teach you how to make enemies your friends. Which one is he?”
The realization hits Ayc like a punch in the gut before Lora lets out the truth with a sigh. “The last one.”
There it is: the reason he's here—to ensure that Lora earns the luck that comes with following the guidance of the Totus Omni's Council of the People. She needed someone she hated, and that's a complicated prompt to fill. How do you put an enemy on a team you’re supposed to trust? But Yris knew something about Ayc that Lora did not.
Ayc can be controlled. Yris made damn sure of that.
Fuck.
“Someone you hate?” Hellevi repeats.
“Yes.”
Hellevi exhales a long, long breath. “Oh, sweet pea, you chose poorly then.”
The words land like a much needed slap on his cheek .
Of course, he’s only here because Lora hates him. Of course, even Hellevi sees Ayc as the foolish, weak choice he is. The little hope from earlier explodes like the fragile, porcelain thing it is. Tiny shards of glass embed deep. It hurts, but it’s all a fool like him deserves. Really, when the fuck is he going to learn?
“Where is that damn bird?” Lora demands, staring at the branches overhead as she stomps through the forest. The sky past the trees is an angry gray, heavy clouds rolling past, leaving the forest below dark as dusk.
“She’s probably sulking because she heard you call her bird,” Ayc says, as he follows after Lora with far less urgency.
Lora woke him before dawn, eager to get back to the others and back to her quests. Ohen and Hellevi weren’t awake yet, and so Lora and Ayc left without so much as a goodbye. They’ve been roaming through the woods, headed south, for an hour now, but Tempest is nowhere to be found. They haven’t seen her since last night when they neared the village, and she suddenly took to the skies without warning. Ayc assumed that she went off to hunt something more satisfying than a squirrel, but he also assumed she’d be back by morning.
“We’re running out of time.” Lora aims a frustrated kick at an unfortunate fallen and rotten branch. It cracks beneath her boot, but she keeps walking.
It grows darker still. the temperature shifts down a few degrees. He can feel the coming rain like spikes into his spine. He grinds his teeth to push past the discomfort, but after a long night tossing and turning on the floor, he could really use one of Tempest’s feathers right now.
Ignoring the pain, Ayc rushes to catch up with Lora. He catches her by the arm, which is covered in armor once more. “Lora, a storm is coming. Maybe we should go back to Hellevi’s and wait it out. Or at least wait until Tempest finds us. There must be a reason she hasn’t come yet. She wouldn’t abandon us.”
Lora retreats a step. “I can’t go back. I only have until night fall before Lahlis returns, and I don’t want to draw the Drakr to Ohen or Hellevi or the dozens of other people in that village.”
“That’s fair,” Ayc agrees. “But we have hours until nightfall. Tempest will find us before then. And?—”
He stops, his words freezing on his tongue as he catches movement behind Lora. They were not there before; he’s certain of it. But they are now, standing in one of the few remaining patches of sunlight, only half a dozen feet away. Lahlis stands in the center, a smile curled on his face, with two other Drakr—tall and muscular and pale as death—standing by his side. All wear the same dark, spiked armor that gleams red wherever the light touches.
Lora must see it in his face, because she tenses. “What’s wrong?”
Ayc nods his head behind her, and she spins around, her hands flying to the swords at her side. Ayc’s hand is already wrapped around his own, the blade an inch out of its sheath.
“I grew impatient,” Lahlis says, stalking toward them slowly, like the predator he is.
“How did you find me?” Lora demands.
How can her voice be so steady, when Ayc’s own heart is beating much too fast for survival? He ignores the fear and steps to Lora’s side. Are there only the three Drakr he can see or are there more out in the shadows or hiding behind the trees?
“You shouldn’t underestimate what I do and don’t know about what goes on in Everadyn,” Lahlis says with a callous shrug and a cool smile. “I wonder what your mother would have to say about abandoning the Trials for your little side quest. Kidnapping is illegal here, isn’t it?”
The rain doesn’t start in a drizzle, but in a downpour. The leaves rattle overhead in warning moments before water pours down, raindrops pelting Ayc’s face.
Lora raises her voice to be heard over the rain. “What I did is none of your concern.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but do you know what is my business?” Lahlis pauses, as though giving her a chance to guess. Lora doesn’t. “The proposition I gave you. I want an answer, Loraphne. I won’t wait until tonight.”
He reaches into the pouch at his side and brings out the Binding stone. The stone’s green light highlights his pale cheekbones as he holds it toward her. Instinct demands Ayc run from the stone, but he presses his feet into the earth, determined to remain at Lora’s side.
Lora lifts her chin, stoic and strong, despite the water that streams down her face. Ayc can picture her, wearing a crown made just for her—a mighty, fearsome Sovereign. He holds his breath and waits for her to prove to him, once and for all, the queen she might become.
“No.”
Lightning flashes so brightly everything goes white. Thunder cracks, shaking the world. When the light fades, Lahlis’s smile is gone .
A low growl creeps into his words, “Try again.”
“No,” Lora repeats, her voice firm and powerful. “I do not want your help. No, I will not be your butcher in exchange for it.”
Relief releases some of the tension in Ayc’s shoulder. He knows it will be short-lived; that the consequences of her choice will be swiftly delivered. But he is grateful, so very grateful, that she said no.
Lahlis tucks the stone back into the pouch at his side. “How very disappointing. You surprise me, Loraphne.”
“Only because you know my mother,” Lora says. “But you don’t know my father.”
The men behind Lahlis grasps the curved blades hanging on their belts. Lora marks their every movement. Ayc tightens his hold on his sword and shifts closer to Lora’s side.
Lahlis stares at her for a heartbeat more, then flicks his wrist in the air like brushing off dirt. The rain streaks down his face as his smile returns. “Fortunately for us, Marcellus said yes to the offer. It’s a pity. At this point, he’s best positioned to win the Trials, but I would much rather have worked with you . He’s a tiresome fool, and you’re such a pretty plaything.”
A hiss of metal rings out like another crack of thunder. All eyes snap toward Ayc, and it’s only then he realizes it’s his own sword that has been partly drawn.
“She is no one’s plaything,” Ayc growls, in the voice that reverberates deep in his chest.
Lahlis rolls his eyes toward Lora. “Your human’s devotion to you is quite—” He hums and then spits the word, “Nauseating. And it won’t spare you from consequences. Your mother would be quite furious with me if I killed you, but your human has no such protection.” Red spreads through Lahlis’s eyes, overtaking the blue like blood spilling across water. “I’ll take his life as payment for your refusal.”
Another flare of lightning blinds Ayc. When his vision clears, Lora’s blades spin in her hands, and the Drakr hold their curved red blades. Two more Drakr have joined the others, making the ratio an impossible five to two. Lora is powerful, and Ayc is well-trained, better than he’s ever dared let on, but they're no match for five Drakr warriors.
And still, Lora steps in front of Ayc. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me.”
Ayc wants to scream at her to move. She’s being foolish. The Drakr are sparing her, but she’s giving them the perfect excuse to tell Yris that killing her was unavoidable because she got in their way. And she is not allowed to die for him.
But Lahlis laughs. “You can’t protect him. You’re hopelessly outnumbered. You’ll lose.”
“Maybe,” Lora says coolly, lifting her blades. “But not before I make it hurt.”
“Lora, don’t do this,” Ayc hisses lowly. He tries to step around her, but she moves with him, so her body remains his shield.
Lahlis chuckles again, turns on his heels, and sweeps away from them, back into the darkness he came from. As he passes his four fae, he says, “Kill him. And if she gets in the way, kill her, too.”
The four Drakr smile, every one of their teeth elongating and sharpening, until they form an entire mouthful of grinning daggers.
“Ayc,” Lora says. “Run.”
The command wrenches through him like his spine might be ripped through his stomach, but no. No! He won’t leave her. He can’t leave her.
“No,” Ayc says as he plants his feet. His disobedience feels like a hand sealing around his throat, cutting off his air.
“Ayc!” Lora snarls, as all four of the Drakr march forward. “Run! Leave me, and do not come back!”
The invisible hand clamps down harder. He gasps for breath, his eyes watering from the pain, blurring his vision. He has no choice. His feet are already moving, willing him to survive. With a scream of frustration, Ayc turns and runs as the clash of swords thunders behind him.