Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
- LORA -
T he door squeaks softly, despite Lora’s attempt to open it silently. Her footfall on the stone makes no sound. Moonlight bathes Ayc’s kitchen in a mixture of silver and shadow. The cabinets cast long, dark shapes across the floor, while flour dances like fairy dust in the moonlight. Lora glances around the kitchen, but she sees nothing. Whenever she snuck in here in the past, she was always so certain that Ayc was sleeping, but now she understands he could be hiding in the shadows.
In hindsight, Lora should have known that Ayc is Drakr. The way his invisibility works only in shadows should have made it obvious. And she knew something felt wrong about how quickly his hands healed. But Lora never imagined that sweet, silly Ayc would have such power, especially when he never inflicted harm back on the fae children who tormented him.
What did Peregrin say ?
Do not mistake his kindness for weakness.
Indeed.
Still, she creeps to the ice box. She hasn’t been able to sleep. The events of the day keep reeling over and over in her head. Whenever she shuts her eyes, she feels Marcellus’s blood spraying her face and hears the cheering of the crowd, and she is unsure which disturbs her more. She attempted to read, but couldn’t focus on a full paragraph, let alone an entire page. She worked at the loom in her room, but the pictures in her head failed to take shape. So, she did what she used to do as a teenager: she came to raid sweets from Ayc’s kitchen.
She has just creaked the ice box’s door open when a soft whisper of breath teases her ear. “Hello.”
It is instinct that propels her. She spins and drives her forearm into his throat, shoving back until he meets with the wall. In the moonlight, Ayc’s grin shines. They’ve been here, in this same position, many times before. Like always, he makes no attempt to break away from her. It is instinct, too, that dictates she not release him, wanting an excuse to keep her body close to his, if only for a moment.
“Good evening, thief,” he says. “Have you heard the one about the baker who rarely got into arguments? He was a loafer, not a fighter.”
It’s one of the worst she’s heard. She lets the irritation give her the strength to break her desire to be near him. She takes a step back and then another. “Fuck, I hate you.”
He remains leaning on the wall. “Not as much as you’re going to hate me when I tell you I have no chocolate pudding for you to steal. I emptied the fridge before we left. Thought I might be gone for months. ”
Lora bites back a sigh. “I thought that might be the case. I just… couldn’t sleep.”
“Chilling the pudding would take too long, but I can make you some hot chocolate to drink.”
He slips around her, flips on a light, and grabs a pan from where it hangs on a rack above the counter.
“That… would be lovely. Thank you.” She is unsure what to do next, so she stands awkwardly and rubs at her bare wrist and forearm, where the chronicler and the quests lay only hours before. Her chronicler—and she assumes all the others—has been returned to the royal treasury. But she still feels the weight of it, even now.
“Have a seat,” Ayc says, gesturing to a stool by the counter.
She settles onto the wooden stool and continues to fidget with her hands—first setting them on her knees, then gripping the counter, before eventually laying them carefully folded together on top. She watches him work in silence, in the single dim light, the way she watched him work at her grandmother’s house. Each step is confident as he gathers supplies from around his kitchen and every motion is fluid as he measures and whisks ingredients and adjusts the heat of the stove. He wears a soft smile on his lips. Smiles have always felt like effort for her, but he wears it like a habit, like he isn’t even aware it’s there.
He’s beautiful. It’s not the right word, but it’s the only one she has. Her heart swells, the ridiculous, foolish thing that it is. But just as swiftly, it plummets as she remembers. It wasn’t merely the events of today keeping her awake tonight. It's the conversation she needs to have with Ayc. Perhaps, it isn’t fair to wait until the morning, to force him to make a decision with only minutes to spare .
Her tongue feels twisted in her mouth, as though demanding her silence, but she manages to get his name out, “Ayc.”
“Hmm?” he asks, as he stirs a little more chocolate into the mixture.
“I asked you once why you stayed in Wyntra.” His shoulders tense slightly, but she continues, “You wouldn’t tell me, but now I know it was the Binding stone keeping you here. But you aren’t Bound anymore.”
He frowns down at the pan. His whisk rasps against the side, a soft sigh of metal against metal. “And?”
She returns his question with one of her own. “Have you ever thought of what you’d do, if you ever had the freedom to decide your own future?”
He reaches for a cabinet and selects two mugs. They land on the counter beside the stove with soft thuds that he uses to hide a tired sigh. “I’ve never allowed myself the luxury to hope.”
“Hope should never be a luxury. Everyone deserves to have hope in something.”
He pours the chocolate into the mugs and sets one on the counter before her. Steam curls from the drink, which is the perfect shade of brown.
“What are you trying to say, Lora?” he asks.
She picks up the mug and strangles the warmth between her hands. She wrestles with the words, then pries them from her mouth. “You’re not stuck in Wyntra anymore. You don't have to stay if you don't desire it. You could go anywhere. Do anything. Open a bakery, or travel from festival to festival across all of Everadyn. You could go back to Aluina. ”
His eyes narrow down at the drink in his hand. “And what is left for me there?”
“I don’t know.”
“And do you still want to help them, now that you’re Sovereign?”
“Of course I do!” she assures swiftly. “That doesn’t change no matter what you choose. I’m only saying that you do have a choice. You said yes to being in my Five out of obligation. At my coronation, you’ll be asked to give an oath of allegiance. I want you to consider if that’s really what you want to do. Or if you would rather…” She almost chokes on the word, and she takes a quick swig of her chocolate, scalding her tongue, barely tasting it. “If you would rather leave.”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Do you want me to leave?”
No. No. She doesn’t. Many times in the past, she wished she never met him, if only because it would quiet the chaos he causes within her. But now after everything, she wants him to stay. She wants to hear his ridiculous jokes until she wants to punch him, if only because it reminds her that she is not the cold, dead, unfeeling thing she was raised to be. If only because he makes her feel alive in ways no one else does.
But she cannot be selfish. Not with him.
“I want you to be happy, Ayc,” she says softly.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
He scoffs and glares down at his cup. In the silence, she shifts in her chair. Her favorite sweater, which she knit out of the softest yarn she could find, feels uncharacteristically scratchy against her skin. Ayc’s mug shatters the silence, landing on the counter with a clunk that scatters a few brown drops over the edge. Then he lays his arms on the counter and leans across, bringing himself closer to her. He studies her eyes, her cheeks, the shape of her mouth. She longs to hide from his gaze. And she longs to bask in it. How does he always turn her into a walking conundrum?
When he speaks again, he has a soft hum in his voice, something that reminds her of the way he growled earlier, but gentler. “When I was poisoned,” he says. “I had some of the strangest dreams.”
His eyes are blue, but she remembers the way they fired red earlier, when he said he’d defend her. She was forced to close her eyes to hide how her own vision flared silver. Not because she was angry, but because of the image that roared to life in her head: his eyes blazing red as he worked himself inside of her while she laid, spread out for him on this very counter. His rumbling voice has the same impact, and she looks pointedly down into her hot chocolate.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Like baby dragon’s biting at my toes and Bronwen praying.”
“Well, like she said, Bronwen does sometimes—” Lora begins, but Ayc isn’t finished.
“And you kissed me.”
Air disappears from her lungs. She keeps her gaze fixed downward, so he can't see the impact of remembering that kiss.
“Isn’t that strange?” he muses. “In what world would you kiss me?”
In this one. In every one. She would kiss him right here, with her fingers tangled in his hair. She would kiss him in the morning, after waking up entwined in his arms. She would kiss him the next day and the next. She desires to be the only lips he tastes, the only body he fucks, the only one he dreams about. Her rebellious lips part like she might say it, but she bites down on it before the words can escape.
Lora once asked her mother why she never took a permanent lover, why Lora was the product of a single night with an artisan who came to play at a festival at Wyntra. Her answer was cutting and cruel, like most of her advice.
Because love strips you bare, Loraphne. No shield can protect you then.
And she was right. Whatever road Lora must walk, it'll be hazardous. She'll have to fight to keep her throne, even as she's tries to undo all the wrong her mother and grandfather did or ignored. There will be many daggers aimed at Lora’s back. And perhaps that's why Lora hopes that Ayc will leave. Marcellus and Wren used Ayc against her. She revealed her weakness to them, and others will see it, too. As one of her Five, Ayc will forever be in danger. But as her lover ?
Someone would take him from her, and she has felt the pain of his loss once. She cannot survive facing it again.
So she forces herself to say, “That is a very strange dream, indeed.”
He stares at her, and though his eyes don’t turn red, something burns there. He reaches toward her, and she nearly bolts to the door, but she’s plastered onto the stool. His hand cups one of her cheeks, the shape of his palm matching her face perfectly. He drags his thumb over her broad bottom lip—slowly, ever so slowly—to wipe up the chocolate that has spilled there. Every muscle in her body melts at that touch. The fire that she sees in him burns in her own veins. And he’s looking at her like he knows .
I am so completely fucked.
He places his thumb in his own mouth, sucking the chocolate off, and the action feels like a promise. A promise that stokes an ache within her core. A moan builds in her throat. She swallows it down.
“Maybe,” he says, his breath teasing her lips, “we both had the same dream.”
She cannot move. She can’t even breathe. She thinks he’s going to kiss her, and divine help her if he does, because she'll let him. She will let him take her apart, piece by piece, right on this counter.
But he pulls back, smiling like he’s won something. “Good night, Lora. You should get some sleep. Long day ahead tomorrow.”
Through some great feat of strength, she takes the mug and stumbles to her feet. She forces herself to regain some degree of composure, enough to say, “You’ll think about what I said?”
His smile vanishes; the light flicks out in his eyes. He nods.
“Good.”
She forces herself to leave, not looking back, though she's aware he marks her every move. As she walks down the hallway, she sips her chocolate—it tastes perfect—and doesn't cry, though she wants to. She tells herself he won't stay, and even if he does, he'll never be hers. She'll find a way to extinguish the fire between them, even if she’s left in ashes.
She is Sovereign. She does not have the luxury of hope.
- AYC -
The cold water of the Bellum Sea freezes Ayc down to his very soul, but it doesn’t numb the thoughts in his head. As he strokes through the waves, he plays the conversation with Lora over and over in his head. He’s certain now that the kiss was real. It's tattooed to his mouth, to his skin, to the roots on his scalp where her fingers tugged. He knew it the moment his thumb connected with the fullness of her lips, and her eyes tinged with silver. It was real. She kissed him. He doesn’t understand why, but perhaps some part of her feels something toward him.
But it matters little. She denied the kiss, so she must want to forget it happened. And greater still, she tried to send him away.
Tried? Or succeeded?
He tries to picture the paths set before him. If he chooses one path, he will leave in the morning and not come back. He’ll take his savings, enough for a month or two of rent, and start a bakery in Silvae. He’d have to sleep on the floor of his shop before he could afford an apartment with a bed, but it’d be worth it to wake every morning, beholden to no one but the loyal customers who delight in his creations. Or perhaps, he follows the call he's heard every time he looks at the water he swims in and returns to Aluina, to the people he left behind. But what good could he actually do on his on?
If he chooses the other path, Ayc will stay and swear allegiance to Lora. He’ll follow her into the unknown and serve her and her people. No doubt he would hate some of her decisions, and no doubt others, like her desire to help Aluina, would make him want to bow at her feet in reverence. Staying will mean that Lora will have power over him, though he trusts her with that power now... mostly. After all, she chose to set him free.
Is that what she’s trying to do now? Set him free?
He dives deep into the water, pressing his eyes shut against the darkness, trying to tune out everything but the water rushing around him.
When his lungs ache to the point of bursting, he puts his feet beneath him and shoves upward, breaking the surface of the water. He's only chest deep, and he stumbles through the silt toward the shore. He stops as something moves on the beach. He squints through the droplets pouring into his eyes.
“A bit late for a swim!” Bronwen calls.
“A bit late to be spying!” he calls back.
“You flatter yourself. I’m doing blood rituals and catching moonbeams.” She raises her arms above her head, waving them eerily.
He snorts.
She drops her arms and says more seriously, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“That seems to be contagious tonight,” he mutters beneath his breath, then raises his voice to say, “Do you want to turn around so I can get out?”
She mocks a gasp. “Ayc, are you naked in there?”
“Yes.”
She turns her back, and he returns to shore. A slight stiffness lingers in his muscles; it’s not that pain that lived there before, but an echo of it. He wonders how long it will remain, but right now, it's tolerable. He shivers as he quickly dries off with the towel he left draped on a large piece of driftwood and then pulls on his clothes. Bronwen hums quietly to herself. She’s dressed in a nightgown with her thick, green cloak pulled over it.
“All right, I’m decent,” Ayc says.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Bronwen replies as she turns around. “You’re more than decent. Perfectly adequate, at the very least.”
Ayc chuckles, but the humor dies as he catches sight of Bronwen’s face. Despite the lightness in her tone, red rims her eyelids and bits of loose hair cling to her damp cheeks. “You look like you’ve been crying. Are you all right?”
The smile tumbles from her face. “Not really. Ryker was killed.”
Ayc sucks in a breath. “What happened?”
“Lahlis. Or whoever he sent to do his dirty work.”
“Fuck.” Ayc scrapes a hand over his face as he pictures Ryker with his golden hair and dimples. It’s a tragedy that he's no longer in the world. Ayc’s stomach twists with sympathy. For Bronwen and Lora and, yes, even for Wylder. Fuck the Drakr, and fuck Marcellus for making the deal that led to that. Ayc hopes eternal torment is real and that Marcellus’s soul has found its way there.
“I didn’t know,” Bronwen continues. “Not until I ran into Wylder a couple hours ago. I suppose Lora knew, and I guess I can forgive her for not saying anything. She’s had a lot on her mind since—” Her voice began strong, but it trembles and then breaks. A tear tumbles from her eye and careens down her face. “Fuck, I thought I was all out of tears.”
Ayc wraps his arm around her shoulders and leads her toward the path back to Wyntra. “Can I make you some hot chocolate?” Perhaps, it’s a weakness to fall back on that method, but sweet things do help to ease a troubled soul .
She sniffs and wipes at her tears with a knuckle. “Only if it has alcohol.”
“Done,” Ayc agrees. When they reach the cliff, they can no longer walk side by side. He lets her go ahead of him. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“No. Distract me with something else.”
“All right. What did the lizard say to the crow?”
“Not like that, silly. Tell me something real.”
Something real. Now there’s a dangerous thought for someone who is accustomed to living his life surrounded by an abundance of secrets. When he offers nothing, Bronwen suggests, “I know. We could talk about that dragon’s egg you have in your oven.”
Ayc flinches. Earlier, Xylie assisted him in putting the dragon’s egg in his smaller oven. They lit a very small fire, enough to keep the dragon slightly warm like the rocks in the cave. Ayc has no idea if the baby inside will make it, with being carried all the way through Everadyn, but Ayc and Xylie are certainly going to try. That is—if no one finds out and takes the egg from him.
“How did you know?” Ayc asks.
“Tavish looked suspicious, and he can’t keep a secret from me.”
Ayc cringes again. “Is he going to tell, Lora?”
“Oh no. He was terrified of what I’d do if he didn’t tell me. But he’s more terrified of what Lora would do if she does find out. It won't be pretty.”
Ayc can imagine. Lora might make every threat she’s ever hurled his way seem mild in comparison. But he can finally admit to himself that he likes to see her angry, to know he’s gotten under her skin. So, he might die, but there’s a good chance it’ll be worth it .
“So, are you going to tell her?” Ayc asks.
Bronwen throws back her head and laughs. “Absolutely not. This is too much fun. But she will find out you know. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Will you keep her from murdering me?”
“I shall try my best.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As they walk through the village, they talk in low whispers about nothing in particular and absolutely nothing serious. When they pass Peregrin’s house, Ayc catches a glimpse of Irving, Zinnia, and Peregrin through a window, snuggled together on their couch, arms and legs draped casually around each other. Contagious lack of sleep, indeed. Ayc tells himself he’ll visit Ember tomorrow, though he doesn’t know how to explain why he won’t be giving back the leviathan tooth. He retrieved it from where Lora dropped it in the great hall, but it wouldn’t feel right handing the boy a murder weapon.
Briefly, he worries that Zinnia and Irving will no longer want Ayc to be around Ember, knowing Ayc is a Drakr. But then, he doubts Peregrin keeps secrets from them, and they’ve never once hesitated to let Ayc near the most precious thing in their life. Ayc is grateful for the tremendous faith, a testament to their belief in his goodness. He’ll lean on it in days he himself forgets.
When they enter the castle, Bronwen and Ayc are laughing at something Ayc is certain is only funny because of their sleep deprivation. The laughter dies when they round the corner of the hallway toward his kitchen and see the unwelcome visitor lingering by Ayc’s door. Yris strides toward them, head held high .
“Yris,” he greets, feigning warmth into his voice, an old habit. “Shouldn’t you be packing?”
“I wanted you and I to have one more chat. Privately.”
Ayc rolls his eyes. He’s in no mood for games. “Whatever you want to say, just say it.”
Yris draws herself up. “Very well. I wanted to remind you that you’re still not free. You’re foolish if you think you are.”
“Your curse was broken,” Bronwen snaps. Her eyes flare silver in the dark. Power vibrates from her skin. A shadow shifts in the corner of Ayc’s vision. A royal guard, hidden just out of sight. Yris is never truly alone.
Yris narrows her eyes but doesn't look at Bronwen. “That’s not what I mean. Lora has always had power over you. Do you want to know why I suggested that you be one of her Five?
He locks his jaw and says nothing, but she continues anyway.
“I knew that the only thing that might bring the monster out of you would be protecting her. I saw it all those years ago on the banks of the Ever River when you pulled her from the water. Nothing I’ve done, or anyone else could do, has ever brought it out again. But she could. And she doesn’t need a Binding stone to do it.” She comes one more step closer and hisses the next words. “She’ll always have power over you, because you love her.”
Ayc snorts. A habit. An instinctual shield. He feels Bronwen studying him, waiting for his reaction. He ignores her and refuses to give anything else away.
“Deny it all you wish,” Yris says. “But you’ve been in love with her since you were children. You know you can never have her, but you’ll still worship the ground she walks upon. ”
“We’re done here,” Ayc snarls. He storms away, whipping his door open. It should feel freeing to have the power to walk away, but Yris’s chortle robs him of the victory. She’s dealt him one last blow, a revenge for ruining her plans. As soon as Bronwen enters the kitchen, he slams the door closed to cut off the noise.
“Hot chocolate?” Ayc asks, not glancing Bronwen’s way. He doesn’t want to see what’s written on her face. He rushes back to the stove, pulling out the same ingredients he used for Lora earlier.
Bronwen settles onto one of the stools. The air thickens between them, heavy and laden with unasked questions and answers that have the power to shatter souls. Bronwen says nothing, not until he sets a mug before her. It’s two-thirds chocolate and a third spiced rum from an old bottle he found in the corner cabinet. When he makes his own fresh mug of chocolate, he swaps the ratio. The rum blazes down his throat.
Bronwen takes a long sip before setting the mug down. “Remember when I said you looked at Lora like you didn’t know whether to kill her or kill for her.”
He gulps down another swig, knowing where this is going.
“I think you figured it out, Ayc.”
“Is it so obvious?” He forces a laugh. “I clearly hate her.”
Bronwen drums her fingernails against the side of the mug. “I think that’s partly true.”
He glares into the dark pool of chocolate in his mug. And maybe it’s the rum currently warming his body, or maybe it’s his poor impulse control getting the better of him again. Or maybe he wants to admit it. Just once.
He exhales and with the long breath comes truth. “I hate that I’ve been in love with her since the moment she burst into my life and put her blade to my throat.”
“Ah.” Bronwen lifts her mug toward him in a salute. “There it is.”
“I’ve loved her even when she was cruel to me. What does that say about me?”
Bronwen sets down the mug. “Maybe, that you were a boy afraid of his own shadow who needed to believe that people can have monsters inside them and still be worth loving.”
Ayc fiddles with the clasp of a bracelet, still damp from his swim. He hasn’t taken them off nor tried to go invisible with them on to test Lora’s theory. He’s not ready to be rid of shield they provide, even if it’s a fictional one.
“Or more likely,” Bronwen adds, “because you’ve always believed in the goodness she was conditioned to hide.”
Ayc sags onto a wooden stool. That one sounds far more honest, but in the end, it doesn’t matter why Ayc loved Lora before the Trials began, because now he sees her clearly. Now, he’s seen her smile, and he’s tasted her lips, and he’s glimpsed the heart she hardly ever dares show anyone. Seeing her is like staring into the sun. Beautiful, but it hurts.
It’s why he kept up walls for so long, convinced himself she was a villain long after he saw contradictory evidence. Because when walls come down between two enemies, there’s only one way for it to end. In total, wretched ruin.
And that’s probably why he should leave and never look back. Yris is not wrong. He has done things for Lora he swore he’d never do. He revealed his darkest secret and drew blood without regret or remorse. What else would he be willing to do to protect her, even as he knows she’ll never love him back ?
He should go. He should definitely leave. He tries to imagine a life outside Wyntra. Without Xylie or Peregrin and their family and Tempest. Without Tavish and Saga and Bronwen. Without Lora.
And he cannot imagine it.
“I suppose you figured out the novel of Lora and I,” Ayc says, to get a reprieve from his own head.
Bronwen smiles, twirling a finger around the rim of her mug. “Part of it, but the ending is still unwritten. And I think it will be quite an adventure. I can’t wait to read the rest.”
And just like that, Ayc decides. Perhaps, because for once, the freedom to choose is his , and Lora is the one who gave it to him.
“You know what, Bronwen?” He chuckles. “Neither can I.”