Chapter 13 #3
As if that wasn’t enough, Niely studied her with the same pity. “Already replacing you, is he?”
It didn’t matter what the role Khayrivven played demanded, Lory told herself. What mattered was their mission. She had a target right in front of her, and Niely, at least, didn’t need more than a prompt to start talking.
“As you said,” Lory said with a half-smile of her own.
“I have you to keep me company. You might as well entertain me with some more stories about the mountains. Is it as hot there as it is in Dunai? Is it crawling with rebels, or are they just using it as a base camp? I bet you’re a hero, just as the captain. ”
Everything was recoiling inside of her as Niely offered a hand, gesturing at the dance floor with his chin, but Lory swallowed it down, made her hand lift and her fingers land in the man’s palm, and allowed him to draw her closer.
“Such flattery, Miss Vednis. One might think you have ulterior motives.” With a chuckle, he spun her and caught her with his arm, locking her into the perfect pose for the dondura.
Before her heart could stop, Niely started moving them across the dance floor at a quick pace, keeping her feet busy and her thoughts swirling. “I—”
“I know,” he cut her off. “Just eager for a good boy who’ll guide you safely in your endeavors, am I right? But let me assure you, Khayrivven Falcrest is not that.”
Lory was about to tell him that she could handle a bad boy, and she didn’t need a man to guide her in anything, when Khayrivven appeared behind Niely’s shoulder, turning his dance partner away so he could lock eyes with her.
A muscle feathered in his jaw as Niely’s grip tightened on Lory’s back as if to demonstrate he could do such guiding, and a warning flared in his expression that Lory wasn’t certain was meant for her or for Niely.
Blowing out a breath, Lory shook her head an inch, beaming up at Niely with her best smile. “Let’s not talk about the captain. Tell me more about the rebels. Is it terrifying to fight them?”
Lory didn’t know much about war, but she knew that people fought best when they had something to fight for. Their own land and autonomy seemed like the best possible reason.
Niely shrugged, all in his element of bragging as he listed the number of rebels he’d killed during his missions. Apparently, Anees had been right. A dress and an innocent grin were as good a weapon as the steel safely tucked into her skirts at her hip. Better perhaps, in this particular case.
“To make it short,” he ended his lecture, “the rebels aren’t terrifying at all. It’s the magic wielders I’m concerned about. Those are the real threats to Brestolya.”
This time, Lory’s heart did stop, if only for a beat or two, and her eyes darted over Niely’s shoulder to find Khayrivven, who was still dancing close by, but his attention was on the chestnut-haired woman in a deep-blue silk gown who was rapidly blinking at him like she’d gotten something in her eyes when she was probably trying to flirt.
The smile Khayrivven wore was perfectly polite, and his shoulders relaxed, but a muscle feathered in his jaw, one of his few tells.
Had he heard Niely’s statement? Or was he merely annoyed from being trapped in a role?
Then she noticed his occasional peek to the other dais in the room—a dais of carved, white marble.
On top of it stood four guards in beige and gold uniforms, framing an empty, gilded throne.
Left and right of the throne stood four chairs, their dark wood a stark contrast to the brighter colors of the room and the shimmering throne. Two women were sitting on one side of the throne, three men on the other.
When Lory was about to take a closer look, Niely spun her to the side, slowing the dance with the music as the dondura finished.
“It’s a shame we can’t kill all of them, isn’t it?”
As if something had hit her on the head, Lory jerked back into the conversation, realizing two things at once: one, she’d forgotten to pay attention to her form and movements while dancing—she might have made no better impression than the street rat she was.
Two, she hadn’t noticed when Niely had called Ashthorn the academy earlier.
He knew. About Ashthorn Ward, about the magic wielders being honed into weapons there, and he didn’t seem too happy.
If he suspected anything about her gifts, he didn’t let on, but Lory couldn’t help but wonder what his position in the military was. Lord Niely was too well informed to be a nobody.
“Indeed.” That little word cost Lory all her self-restraint, and its bitter aftertaste was that of betrayal, even when this was a role and she’d shed the mask the moment she was out of there.
“I just hope they’ll catch the magic wielders responsible for the attacks in Dunai soon.
” It was a dangerous line she was walking, but if she didn’t push, she might waste all of the evening with someone who wouldn’t deliver a morsel of useful information.
And so Niely wouldn’t suspect where she’d known about the attacks from, she amended, “It was magic wielders, right? When my aunt told me about what she witnessed from her house, I couldn’t believe it.
I’ve heard magic was dangerous, but not like this…
” She gave him a half-pleading, half-flirtatious look she didn’t feel.
“I feel unsafe alone in Dunai. Perhaps that’s why I feel drawn to military men. ”
By Eroth, protection was the last thing she needed. As if in response, fire crackled in her veins, spreading in a carpet of heat along her skin.
Shit!
She needed to move and now, or Niely would very soon become very much aware of the forbidden magic living beneath her skin.
“I’m”—she panted for emphasis—“a little winded.”
Niely, gentleman that he wanted to come across as, instantly moved them off the dance floor and into a corner, where Lory pulled out of his grasp to pick up a crystal glass filled with something spicier than water, praying that her hands wouldn’t heat so much that the liquid would boil and dissipate.
“Breathe.” His voice came out of nowhere, and her back met the wall as she leaned into the corner, forcing her frantic heart to slow.
“In and out, Lory. In and out. You’ve got this.
Don’t let Niely upset you.” Khayrivven’s voice in her head meant that he’d pulled her into a trance-like state and that he’d overheard the entire conversation.
Much to her surprise, Lory wasn’t upset about it either. The trance actually helped her mind stop spinning, and her heart slowed its violent beat to a calm thud.
“As long as Niely won’t touch me, I’m certain no one will notice I’m about to go up in flames,” Lory responded, not allowing herself to search the dance floor for him, as in her mind, she saw the room as if she wasn’t in a state of half-awake, but the colors swirled in a kaleidoscope of shapes and patterns.
“You can hold on for a little longer, Lory. You’re so close.
” The confidence in Khayrivven’s tone eased Lory’s rising panic.
He trusted her to handle herself, even when she was about to become a living torch.
“You are strong, Lory. Powerful. You don’t need to set a palace on fire to prove it.
Control over your magic is the power no one can take from you.
It means the difference between life and death. ”
His face appeared between the moving couples on the dance floor, expression polite, but his eyes filled with the fire of the rebel she now knew him to be.
Guardians, how she loved that face, how her entire world narrowed on his eyes, on the secrets hidden behind them.
So much about this man she still didn’t know, but one thing she was absolutely certain of.
His lips twitched in a half-grin before he spun his dancing partner around, vanishing in the crowd, and when Lory finally focused again, Niely’s warm brown face was filling her vision.
Her breathing was accelerated, but her skin no longer threatened to catch fire from within, and when Niely placed his hand on her bicep, lowering his head so he looked directly into her eyes, he didn’t cringe away as if he’d just touched a furnace.
A breath of relief whistled from Lory’s throat as she inclined her head at him. “I’m sorry, I… I feel better now.” She caught her composure.