Lightbringer

Chapter 3 Lyra

Lyra

There are no farewells to be had. Not for me, at least.

Holding back my horse, I glance around at the soldiers that surround me.

Most of them stare straight ahead, the families stood beside them silent.

From the dais behind us in the open courtyard, the High Solar watches on.

The priestess that leads our temple services to worship the old gods moves her hands in a silent blessing.

Her eyes linger on me.

My father is nowhere to be seen.

Turning away from the weight of her gaze, I look back to the families.

Lightbringers are not generally known for their emotion.

But lineage is a language all of us understand, and no Lightbringer soldier would ride through the gates of Solvandyr without their families present to bid them farewell, highlighting the bloodline that will continue on if they fall in battle.

The group closest to me includes a little girl that barely reaches the sole of her father’s boot where he sits astride, waiting to leave.

She stares hard at the cracked red ground, a slight frown wrinkling her brow, her back ramrod straight, little hands clenched at her side.

She can’t be older than five, yet she stands with the bearing of a much older soldier.

For some reason, the sight tightens my throat.

Perhaps it’s her attempt to emulate her father as she peeks up, pulling her shoulders back further.

Or perhaps the way he glances down for a moment before he looks away, ignoring her.

Perhaps it has nothing to do with them at all.

When I tug my hood forward to cover my face, the girl’s eyes slip to me, childish curiosity betraying her as her eyes linger on my braid. I drop my hand to my side and open my palm.

The small warmth barely drains me. But her eyes widen as the glassreavers slip from my palm.

Three of them, small and fast as they flap wings of pure light attached to long, thin bodies and swoop to linger in front of her, twirling in a trifecta that has a smile appearing at the corner of her small lips and eyes widening in wonder.

The tongue that clicks beside me has my hand curling inward.

The reavers vanish as if they were never there, and I look away from the girl’s disappointment to the male standing beside me.

Cindral stares hard at the girl, and she visibly shrinks back, her hand reaching instinctively for the woman beside her before she straightens once more. “Poor discipline.”

“She’s a child.” I keep my voice low, but the sharpness bleeds through.

“She won’t be one forever. She’ll be in training within the year.” Cindral dismisses her without a second thought, focusing his attention on me. I keep still as his eyes crawl over me. “You ready?”

“Of course.” Curious, I look to the families beside us, but none seem overly focused on him. I know little of Cindral’s personal life. Have no idea if he’s even married, although given the direction of my own training, I would sincerely hope not.

Particularly since his expression still holds the same look he wore the last time we were in each other’s company. He runs his hand over the leather reins attached to my mare, testing the grip.

“I already checked them.” I try not to rip them from his hands.

“And I’m checking again.”

I sit silently while he tugs at the straps, tightening them. And when his hand lands on my leg, gripping it through the leathers, I say nothing. But my body tenses at his words. “You’ll ride beside me for now.”

“I’m not supposed to draw attention.”

“Then you’ve already failed,” he murmurs. His hand travels up with a familiarity that flips my stomach, fingering the end of my braid before he pulls away and returns to his usual clipped tone. “Commander’s orders.”

Nodding, I maneuver my way through the mounted group, murmuring apologies and receiving icy looks in return until I reach the space beside his stallion. A pale-haired female glowers at me, her eyes sliding to Cindral as she grips her own reins tightly. “What’s this about?”

“Move, soldier.” Cindral’s voice holds the sharpness of a whip. “You’ve been told.”

She throws me one more glare before withdrawing to the line of four soldiers behind us, forcing someone else to move back. Another three lines behind her puts this unit at sixteen strong, not including Cindral and I.

“A large number for gathering information.” I keep my voice low, waiting until Cindral has barked orders and the unit begins to move. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“From you?” His voice is dry. “Always.”

But he doesn’t answer my question. Pressing my lips together, I shift atop my horse as we cross the gates.

The sentries on guard salute as we pass through into the empty, barren plains surrounding the city before they push the heavy wood closed behind us.

The ground here grows little, preferring to crack in a mockery of rivers that weave across the empty landscape ahead of us.

The sole sign of life is the low hiss of embercoils disturbed by our approach, the rattling of their tails as they slither into the ground the only noise to be heard.

In the distance, the Veilspire beckons. A dozen peaks, each covered in a blanket of white and worlds away from the heat that already prickles the back of my neck through my veil.

Cindral sounds grim. “We should reach it by nightfall if we ride hard.”

I nod, even though I’ve never ridden for that long. And with my skin the way it is…

So long, thighs. It was fun while it lasted.

“Change of plan.” Cindral interrupts my thoughts. “You’ll ride with me.”

When I slowly turn my head, he’s waiting. The faint glow of flames, embers at the end of a long night, flicker in his pupils as he stares at me. At my fire-filled eyes, a visual representation of how much stronger I am than him. He never quite meets them, always looking elsewhere.

Although I don’t feel particularly strong right now. Not with the memory of our last few training sessions embedded in my mind like a nightmare I can’t escape from.

I glance down to his outstretched hand. “That’s not necessary. I can ride.”

I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want him touching me.

But he doesn’t move. “You’re under my orders.”

And in front of a full unit of soldiers, undoubtedly watching the show unfolding before them with wide eyes and questions I would prefer not to answer. I don’t know any of them. Silence stretches out behind me.

I have no allies here. The punishment for refusing the orders of your superior is severe.

But this is no usual situation. I will leave them—leave him—behind in the Veilspire, and journey on alone to whatever faces me in Umbraxis.

Possibly for the first time, I feel grateful for the escape.

I take a breath. “No.”

Getting ready to move, I grip the reins again.

But Cindral is faster. His arm wraps around my waist as he drags me from my horse like a child, yanking my feet from the stirrups and pulling me into him.

My luminth daggers slip free before his hand grips my chin, the growled words icing over my chest. “Ride with me, or I will tie you to my horse and drag you behind for insubordination.”

I swallow. He has me in his lap, pressed against him. My dagger is angled against his heart. Cindral looks down. Pushes himself into the bright tip, until the edge pricks his armour, pushing against the luminous gold breastplate. “Try it, and see what happens.”

I debate it.

His breathing has sped up. “Why do you insist on testing me, Lyra?”

I keep still. Very still, attempting to mentally calculate a way back to my own horse. “I need to focus on the mission. You know that. I can’t be distracted.”

“I know.” His words brush my lips, our exchange hidden by his shoulders. “The Commander has issued specific instructions to me as to how you should be delivered to that mission. Your thighs bleeding and raw from riding was not part of the description.”

I frown, something about his words landing oddly—

“And I only get one more day with you.” My breath leaves my lungs in a rapid, pained exhale as he leans in. His teeth sink into my lower lip. “I intend to make the most of it.”

I yank my head away, tasting blood as my skin tears beneath his teeth. So much for arriving unscathed. “We’re not in training now. I don’t have to obey you.”

I don’t have to go through that again. But his hands tighten on me. “You’ll obey my orders until you leave.”

There’s a cough behind us. We’ve lingered long enough to test the patience of even the well-trained unit observing us, and humiliation flushes my cheeks. “Fine.”

I wonder what they think, as we set off. Cindral keeps his arms wrapped around me, setting a punishing pace as we race across the plains. I stay silent for the first hour, not looking up at him. Eventually, he sighs. “You haven’t forgiven me.”

Taking a breath, I debate my answer. His scent fills my nose—rich, heady, overwhelming myrrh, from the temple.

He must have visited this morning, along with the rest of the unit, to offer tribute to the old gods for a safe return.

I haven't set foot there since I turned six. Beneath that is something almost floral. The familiarity makes my stomach swirl with nausea. “Do you feel there’s something to forgive?”

A few more minutes pass by. Then— “I was under orders. As were you. I didn’t enjoy it.”

Bile fills my mouth. “I think we both know that’s a lie. I want to go back to my own horse.”

His hand tightens around me. “No. I thought it would be better if it was someone you knew. We were friends, Lyra. Better me than someone else, someone who would have…”

He trails off. I twist, staring up at him. Cindral’s jaw is tight. He doesn’t look at me. “Who would have what, exactly? Hurt me? How did that work out for you? Because I know how it worked for me.”

A week under healer care. Nothing compared to what I’ve had in the past, but this felt different. “Maybe we were friends before. But not now. Not ever again.”

An odd sort of friendship, but as close as I’d ever gotten, given I was kept away from the vast majority of Solvandyr society for most of my life.

Rivals, more than anything. Not quite enemies, though the two of us were competitive enough that it colored our every interaction and Commander Vaelion only encouraged it. But I was always a step ahead.

Always. Until I wasn’t.

His fingers land on my cheek. Grabbing them, I twist until a grunt sounds in his throat. “Touch me again, and I won’t care who’s watching us. I’ll remove them.”

But we both know I won’t. Not here. Not in front of the rest, and he uses his advantage. “I asked Commander Vaelion for you, when you return.”

Every part of me turns to ice. Something heavy settles in my chest, pressing down until I struggle to breathe. “You did what?”

“I asked him for you.” Lips in my hair. “It makes sense, Lyra. The mission will be done. You’ll have no further use to him, not really. It will give you direction. A family. And I know your history.”

With him. As if I’m nothing more than a possession to be claimed. I’m going to be ill. “And the Commander’s response?”

“If you make it back, he’ll agree.”

If I make it back. My father is full of silent threats, it seems. Fail to fulfil my purpose in Umbraxis, fail to kill Kaelen Duskbane, and I lose my sister. Dare to return to Solvandyr if I succeed, and face a lifetime in Cindral’s bed.

“I need to focus.” Bile burns at the back of my throat. My hand reaches for the pocket sewn into my dress, searching for the poison. It almost feels like a comfort in comparison to what Cindral offers. Clearly my father hasn’t shared all of his plans with him. “Don’t mention it again.”

Of course he wouldn’t want to offend his favorite pet by refusing him. My father is a far better manipulator than that. Better to pretend that my death was only a consequence of the mission.

He stiffens against me. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. It’s as good as done—,”

I tug my calantia around me, forcing his hand away from my arm.

Once, I used to think that Cindral was handsome.

I would dream of him when I was alone in my chambers, since I had little else to think of.

Particularly as we grew older, in that awkward phase from childhood to something different.

He was enticing, and mysterious, the boy who appeared one day to help with my training at my father’s command, the boy I envied for his freedom to walk out of the training grounds at the end of each day.

I would lay in bed and dream of his broad shoulders, the expanse of golden skin littered with white scars from training.

The dusting of brown hair against his stomach, travelling down beneath his fighting leathers.

The way his hair would look after a full day of training beneath the blazing suns, rumpled and sweat-soaked.

As I grew older, I began to wonder how he would feel against me. How his hands would hold me.

And then I found out.

I don’t think he’s handsome anymore. Now, I see the cruelty written into the strong lines of his face. The danger behind his eyes. The threat behind every touch.

Now, I know how he feels against me. And how much he enjoys pain.

My voice rises alongside my growing rage, above the sound of the hooves pounding the dry ground beneath us. “I would rather spread my legs for a full legion of Darkwielder soldiers than spend a single second under your rutting ass, let alone the rest of my life. Is that clear enough for you?”

Behind us, I hear a muffled snicker.

His hand squeezes my arm through my veil, hard enough to bruise. And Cindral keeps his words quiet, hidden from those eavesdropping behind us, but loud enough that I don’t miss a single one.

“Just remember that you brought it on yourself.”