Chapter 13 #2
“This”—he pointed at the row of columns carved with images of creatures Lory was only too familiar with—“is called the hall of history. It shows the achievements of King Ulder’s bloodline.
This one displays what they call the extinction of the leonthor, not that such a creature ever existed.
” A chuckle of mocking humor burst from Niely’s mouth as he guided her to the next limestone column.
Lory eyed the winged and horned creatures, their lion heads raised with pride on one side and lowered with defeat on the other.
A band of carved feathers curled around the foot of the column, and Lory’s stomach tightened with a nauseating suspicion as she realized none of the leonthors had wings in this carving.
“According to legend, those monsters were easier to kill when they couldn’t take to the sky.” Niely winked at her. Apparently, this was funny to him, or he truly didn’t believe in leonthors.
She’d seen the scars on the one leonthor’s back in the cave, had wondered why it didn’t have wings, but this couldn’t possibly be true. Ulder’s ancestors hadn’t—
“According to legend, generations and generations ago, King Ulder’s ancestors stripped those monsters of their wings.
” He gestured at the largest leonthor, one with thick horns instead of branching antlers like the one in the cave.
“Their fire-spitting allies didn’t last long in the war after that. ”
Lory already regretted having asked for a tour, but no matter how her heart raced with anger, she couldn’t let on the harrowing force of destruction building inside of her.
The pleasant smile she pinned was barely enough to convince herself she would get through this, let alone anyone else.
If Niely turned to face her, he’d notice something was wrong.
Just as she was thinking that would steal her chances of learning anything of use, something hit her in the shoulder, and she stumbled into the column.
Niely’s hand slipped off her back as she caught herself against the cool stone.
Instead, Khayrivven’s tall form hovered over her, a smirk on his face that she was sure was meant for a gaping Lord Niely rather than her.
“Apologies, Miss Vednis,” he rushed out the words, placing his hand under her elbow to steady her as she straightened away from the column. “I told my partner I was a lousy dancer, but she wouldn’t listen.”
At that, Lory noticed the young woman in an exquisite wine-red dress which revealed the majority of her arms and covered less of her breasts than Lory found appropriate so close under Khayrivven’s nose.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Vednis? I caught you pretty hard.” Khayrivven ignored Niely’s grumble as he took the woman’s hand, bowing to Lory and letting go of her elbow after her confirming nod. “I’ll be back to my dance.”
Khayrivven and his pretty, black-haired partner were already spinning away as Lory found her voice again.
“Annoying bastard,” Niely uttered under his breath, but Lory caught it anyway. Whatever history they shared, Niely hated Khayrivven, even when he called him old friend.
Which gave Lory an idea.
She’d seen Khayrivven move across parcours and walk the edge of roofs without a foot ever faltering.
His movements were flawless and his steps deliberate.
Crashing into her had been on purpose—to give her something to work with or to save her from being exposed, she couldn’t tell.
Either way, she’d take any win she could get, and this was a fabulous one.
Allowing her anger to surface, she turned to the lord, placing one hand beneath her throat as if she was still in shock.
“Don’t get me wrong, Lord Niely, I am grateful Captain Falcrest brought me here.
The palace is a dream, but let’s be honest…
” She cocked a brow at the man, allowing a grimace onto her face.
“He might enjoy my company today, but tomorrow, he’ll have already replaced me with someone of higher status and better upbringing. ”
The frown vanished from Niely’s face so fast, Lory could barely name the new emotion spreading there in its place: triumph.
“Then I’ll be happy to keep you company instead, Miss Vednis.” He held out a hand, placing it under Lory’s arm, right where Khayrivven’s had touched her not a minute ago, and his black eyes sparked with pity.
Good. Pity was better than the intent interest he’d shown before.
Pity was something she could work with. If she pushed herself, she might even manage a tear or two.
Internally grinning, Lory squinted her eyes, crumpling her chin just a little bit to give the impression she was about to become a fountain of sorrow-induced saltwater.
That was enough to make Lord Niely fumble for words until he put on a conspiratorial look, leaning down a little, and whispered.
“The captain isn’t of court upbringing either, just so you know.
When we met in the army, we were both seventeen, and he’d already been there for years.
The fact that he’s able to set one foot in front of the other on the dance floor, he owes to me and my generous tutoring lessons.
” Niely flashed a grin, studying Lory’s relaxing features.
“I don’t know how many hours I spent drilling the dondura into him.
Honestly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t squashed that lady’s toes yet.
” The fact that he put on a joking tone didn’t hide the portion of pleasure talking shit about Khayrivven seemed to give him.
Forcing a halfhearted smile, Lory swallowed the insults burning on her tongue.
Lory had known he’d grown up between soldiers rather than a loving family, that his life had been hard, but facing men like Niely every day—Lory didn’t need to glance over her shoulder at the Flame-born captain to know his steps were flawless and his dancing graceful, that he would be playing his part tonight as meticulously as he played the part of the cold instructor.
“So you two met in the Brestolyan army?” Lory prompted, letting Niely guide her to the back of the room, where a group of musicians played on a wooden stage, their lutes, neys, and harps sounding out the dondura, a simple dance most Dunaii learned during childhood—even on the streets.
Even Lory had picked up the steps when she was little, observing people dancing in the market squares of the city, and Evven had soon proven to be the better dancer.
“Trained and fought together,” Niely confirmed with a hint of nostalgia as if he’d never seen better times. “That was when he used to get his hands dirty.” His forehead creased. “Since he transferred to the academy”—he lowered his voice to a murmur—“I haven’t seen a speck of blood on him.”
Lory’s stomach folded into a knot at the image of any part of Khayrivven covered in blood.
But her mind stayed vigilant, piecing together more about the sort of relationship the two of them must have had.
Allies, friends, perhaps, until Khayrivven’s magic had shown and he’d been transferred to Ashthorn.
The bitterness on Niely’s face told its own story—one of disappointment and hurt.
Curiosity pushed against her better judgement, urging her to unravel Khayrivven’s secrets rather than those she was here to collect, but she shoved back with all her might.
This wasn’t about the man whose presence alone was enough to make her feel awake.
This was about the unrest, about a mission which thankfully didn’t involve her needing to kill anyone.
“Did you fight in the Amrin Mountains together?” It was worth a shot. At least it would lead Niely toward the topic of the rebels without mentioning anything about their supposed activities in and around the city.
Niely stopped, guiding her in a small circle so she stood in front of him, and gave her a proud look. “Several times.” His eyes grew slightly distant, as if he reveled in the memories of slaughter. “When Falcrest and I fought together, no rebel stood a chance.”
Again, the tightness in Lory’s stomach intensified. It had taken Khayrivven weeks—months even—to share with her his guilt about fighting his own people, yet here Niely was, offering the man’s shame on a silver platter for anyone to pluck. Repulsive didn’t even begin to describe it.
“Fascinating,” Lory commented with as much cheer as she could fake without raising suspicion. “I’ve heard it’s a dangerous task. Only the best soldiers fight in the mountains.”
Instead of gobbling her praise up like sweet wine, Niely’s brows shot up. “Who told you that? Falcrest?”
For a moment, Lory’s thoughts froze.
How was an unsuspecting young woman with no military ties except for the captain who brought her to the dance supposed to know about the Amrin Mountains and what happened there? Would she give too much away if she confirmed? Would she expose Falcrest?
As she stared up at Niely, waiting for him to start interrogating her, he boomed a laugh instead, earning a scolding glance from the lute player closest to the edge of the stage, where purple flowers sat in tall glass ceramic vases.
“Of course he would. He’s always one to boast about his achievements. Every Criu he killed, he sang a song about.”
That didn’t sound like Khayrivven at all, unless—
When Lory turned her head, scanning the dance floor for Khayrivven, she found him in conversation with three new women, one more beautiful than the next.
His hands hung casually by his hips, his mouth pulled into a half-smile and his brows raised as if anxious he might miss a word of whatever they were babbling.
Jealousy wasn’t a pretty look on Lory, she was certain, but there was no denying it was taking over her features.
As if he felt her gaze, Khayrivven’s head snapped to the side, eyes locking on hers for a moment before inclining his head at the three ladies, his shoulders shaking slightly as he chuckled.
Lory’s chest tightened, fire prickling beneath her skin.