Chapter 8
Eight
Lory
Talking about the Flame prisoners was a matter of near-impossibility within the halls of Ashthorn Ward, even when training with Khayrivven became her new routine and they were unobserved on the parcours most of the time.
They couldn’t risk having a longer conversation without raising suspicion in case someone was spying after all.
Lory didn’t put it past the Triad to do exactly that, and with the ominous comments Khayrivven had made about Lenya having ways to obtain information without needing to be present, she’d become even more careful with what questions she asked and which ones she kept for the next time he’d visit her dreams. Not that he’d done that lately either.
Lory swallowed the bitterness coming with the lack of communication about the things that truly mattered. She was ready to confront him about everything, to ask those difficult questions, but was she ready to hear the answers?
What little he’d told her in the rare moments they got to talk, she tucked away at the back of her mind, hoping there’d be a day when she could use that information to help the prisoners escape.
At least she knew Enya, Olive, and Hadrick were alive and at Ashthorn, and that Khayrivven hadn’t hurt them after the initial battle, though she knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be facing interrogations or worse.
Every other night, he checked in while she slept, but despite the brief conversations they had… Selfishly, Lory wanted to use those short minutes to kiss him until she couldn’t breathe.
The topic of the leonthor had come up, though, in more than just her conversations with him; Hand Dunveil had called her in to describe exactly the form and demeanor of the creature, his questions never-ending, and Lory had done her best to give as much detail as she remembered without giving away that the creature had actually talked to her in her mind.
It could have been her imagination running wild after all.
Second-guessing herself was easy when the events of her trials and what happened after them might have driven the sanest person into madness.
It could have been hallucinations, even though Khayrivven had given her a worried look when he’d asked her about how the leonthor had communicated with her.
How she’d known what it wanted and why it hadn’t attacked her.
Then he’d told her not to answer the question at all until they had the opportunity to speak in private, and by that, he’d meant away from the hallways of the academy, or even the training chambers in the pyramid basements, where the ice pit Frost could no longer freeze over was thawing.
When she’d asked Khayrivven about the ice wielder, his face had hardened, and he’d told her that there were no burials for those too weak to survive the Amrin Mountains. That their bodies would feed the wildlife.
The nausea that statement evoked in Lory’s stomach still tended to return whenever she thought of how many families would never get closure because their sons and daughters never got a proper burial. And every time, the same afterthought shoved to the foreground in her mind: Like Evven.
Her twin brother had never gotten a proper burial either, with Lory forced to flee from the Gargoyles and the guards storming the streets.
She’d put together a small wooden triangle from wooden sticks, tied with thread pulled from the hem of her shirt back then, to mark a symbolic grave for him.
A triangle for Eroth and his children, the Guardians, each of the corners representing one point of deities who used to watch over both continents of the west, Brestolya and Eherea.
By now, the wood would have been sanded down to a needle-thin skeleton, and soon nothing would be left to remind of Evven’s death. Only those memories.
“Are you listening?” Tabi prompted, nudging Lory in the arm to get her attention.
Indeed, Lory’s plate was still full while the others had almost finished their dinner.
Hushed conversation and the scent of fresh bread and meat stew clouded the mess hall when Lory dove out of her thoughts, giving Tabi an apologetic smile.
“It’s been a long day, sorry.” She scooped up a spoonful of stew and led it to her mouth, reminding herself that the spices used in the food were her favorite, sharp and savory with a sweet nuance to it. “You were saying?”
“The entire Triad is here for dinner today. I haven’t seen Lenya since the day after the trials,” Tabi repeated in the same hushed tone that seemed to befall the students whenever the Master of Whispers attended a meal.
“He could stay away for the rest of all eternity if it were up to me,” Thal offered. “That guy creeps me out.”
“Shhh,” Tabi hissed at him. “He can probably hear you from up there.”
When Lory glanced to the platform at the front of the room, where the stained-glass panel featuring the battle with fire wielders and the leonthor throned, magnificent even in the low light of the setting sun, Lenya was locked in conversation with Nefetari Brunn.
The Master of Veils hadn’t acknowledged Lory’s existence since she’d returned from the trials, and today seemed no different.
Beside them, Ycken sat with Khayrivven, the two of them an unlikely pair that seemed to work together perfectly—at least when it came to the role Khayrivven needed to play in this academy.
With the fear of Lenya somehow listening in on their conversations, she’d never asked Khayrivven how he felt about killing all those Flames on the way to finding her, but she had an idea he would have avoided bloodshed if it had been up to him.
Yet another reason to despise this place that corrupted people, made them into killers, into monsters, while giving them the sense of righteousness.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lory murmured into her stew, ignoring the sideways glances the other Ashthorn students were still giving her.
From the other side of the table, Jarek nodded his agreement. “Did you hear what he did to that purple boy?”
Even Brycon, who’d been doing his best to pretend he wasn’t part of the blue group, turned his head, curiosity shimmering in his hazel eyes.
“Tell us.” Thal waved Jarek on but thought differently halfway through the gesture. “Wait—don’t. I don’t think I want to know.”
With a flick of his hand, Thal summoned a string of water from the jar at the center of the table, refilling his glass and then Lory’s, across from his.
“They say he found the boy snooping around the dungeons, and instead of giving him latrine duty or something, he stuck him in a cell with rabid prisoners to teach him a lesson,” Jarek rolled on, expression locked halfway between fascination and disgust. “Can you imagine the sort of power that man must have in order to get away with something like that? The rest of the Triad didn’t challenge his decision. ”
Lead filled Lory’s stomach at the thought of who was imprisoned in the dungeons. If the purple student had been thrown into a cell with the three Flames, who knew what had happened? They might as well have roasted him.
“Is he alive?” Lory barely dared speak the words for fear of another life lost and what would happen to Enya, Olive, and Hadrick if they’d killed him.
Next to Jarek, Eira Moonfell shook her head, her brown eyes darting to Jarek.
Today, she’d braided her dark-brown hair and twisted it into a bun at the back of her head, the look better suited for training than her usual loose hairdos.
“But they say it had nothing to do with the prisoners. Lenya killed the boy ashling himself.”
There it was again, that feeling that Lenya was drawing more strings than the rest of the Triad.
“May he find peace behind Eroth’s Veil,” Lory whispered, and Tabi inclined her head.
The first students were already clearing their tables when Lory allowed herself to take a longer look at the platform, her eyes homing in on Khayrivven, thirsting for the sight of him.
As if he felt her attention, he looked up from the item in his palm he was studying while he listened to Ycken.
A tight knot of heat formed in her belly, radiating throughout her entire body.
If only he could read her mind now the way he did in his dreamscapes, she’d ask him about the incident with the purple ashling, would ask if Enya, Olive, and Hadrick were all right.
Khayrivven’s face remained cold and stony, but even across the distance, she could feel his eyes burning.
“How’s thornling training?” Thal asked as he picked up his tray. He’d finished his meal, as had the rest of her friends, all of them waiting for Lory as if they weren’t anxious to leave her alone with Brycon.
Swallowing her last bite of bread, she shrugged. “Tough.” As if to emphasize her point, the angry bruise on her arm started throbbing as she followed Thal’s lead and lifted her tray off the blackened table. “Falcrest is making the Triad proud by giving me a hard time.”
As if he’d heard her, Khayrivven lifted the corner of his mouth into a smirk, dropping the object in his hand into Ycken’s open palm.
Whatever those senses of his could do, she needed to find out soon.
Maybe they could use them to their advantage.
It would certainly bear some benefits, being able to share information over small distances.
“I can’t wait for thornling training,” Tabi announced with her usual sass. “We’ll finally get more direct support from hands and phantoms. Fuck, I can’t wait to become a tested.”
“Knowing you, you’ll rise to ashmarked before everyone else in this Guardians-damned place.” Lory had to hand it to him; Jarek knew how to pay a compliment, and judging by Tabi’s responding grin, she didn’t mind one bit.
“I wouldn’t mind the trials being over already,” Eira threw in, her gaze bouncing between Tabi and Jarek as if looking for an invisible thread and coming up blank. “Honestly, we’ve been training so hard, and half of the students won’t pass the exams. It would be nice to know if I’ll make the cut.”