Chapter 29 #2
“Lenya is not stupid. He is well aware that you’ve been dreading this day and that you might be hoping to get out of this.
He wants to know you’ll obey his orders.
” He paused, slowing at a corner, shoulders tensing as he checked left and right before following the long, dusty path.
Lory would be surprised if the king even knew this entrance existed.
A small, quiet part of her wondered who held the true power in this palace.
“He did the same thing with me,” Khayrivven continued. “Watched me make my first kill.”
The weight of his words hit her like a punch in the chest. “I’m sorry.”
“She was a year older than me and probably a better fighter. Only her loyalties lay in the wrong place.” He didn’t say anything else, but from the tone of his voice, from the heaviness entering his gait for a few, slow paces, Lory could tell that the woman had meant something to him.
No wonder he’d built a wall so high and solid, no one he didn’t invite in could ever get through.
No wonder he pushed people away, preferred to be alone—
Maybe, when this was over, she should tell him about Princeton Nahrit and how he’d been watching over him. That he hadn’t been alone since that first kill. Maybe—
“What about the Medica Hand?”
Shit—
“Stay out of my head.” Lory clenched her fist. She needed to be more careful with her thoughts, or she might project them into a random head, and the wrong people might find out.
“I would, but you’re practically shoving your thoughts into mine.” By the sound of his voice, she could tell a grin was playing on his lips. “It’s quite useful, actually. Especially while we—”
“Don’t we have a mission to focus on?” Lory groaned, almost forgetting they were setting out to kill someone at what he’d been about to imply.
“Don’t forget you have that ability when we enter the crowd. Share your thoughts with me, every step of the way.” The grin was gone, replaced by a seriousness that brought Lory back to her task.
For long minutes, they walked in silence, their Veiled skills keeping them from disturbing the empty corridors.
The next door they reached was nearly invisible, its outline a mere thin line in the limestone.
Khayrivven stopped, running his fingers over the edges until they disappeared into a hidden groove.
Something clicked, and the door slid aside, soundless as the first one.
Whatever magic was at work, it must have been strong to keep an ancient door that couldn’t be regularly used so quiet.
Useful. Magic could be useful, not only to kill but for domestic purposes, Lory realized as she stared at the gap in the wall, wide enough for Khayrivven’s broad shoulders to fit through.
On the other side, a stone chamber tinted in faint starlight was beckoning.
Without another word, Khayrivven stepped through the opening, and Lory followed, one hand casually by her hip and ready to slide through the folds of her dress to the hilt of the knife strapped to her thigh.
When she glanced back at the corridor, all she saw was a stone wall. She hadn’t even heard it slip back into place.
“It’s an illusion,” Khayrivven explained. “Lenya said it’s been here since the beginning. The illusion becomes deadly, though, if someone should try to slip through whose magic isn’t keyed to it.”
Lory’s stomach knotted. “It’s not keyed to me,” she reminded him.
Over his shoulder, Khayrivven threw her a grin. “I deactivated it long enough for you to slip through. We’ll need to do the same thing on the way back. No hopping through the door by yourself, no matter how dire the situation.”
“Do you expect things to go sideways?” A cold clenched her chest that had nothing to do with the wet clothes clinging to her body and the cooler temperature down in the ancient tunnels.
Once more, Khayrivven shrugged. “All I can say is that your target won’t go down easy. Be prepared for a fight.”
She hadn’t allowed herself to consider whose life she might end, hadn’t wanted to think whether that man or woman had a spouse, a lover, or children they’d leave behind.
Not even the glowing bond connecting her with Khayrivven could warm her as they continued their path through the chamber, Lory’s gaze catching on carvings of winged leonthors and people encircled by fire.
“The Flames built these pyramids,” Khayrivven reminded her when she slowed to inspect one of the carvings more closely.
“You’ll find the same kind of motifs all over Ashthorn’s lowest levels, too.
That’s where no one bothered to hammer them off the walls after Ulder’s ancestors started prosecuting fire fairies. ”
So much history, all in one place. The notes in Aiden’s history book came back to her as she ran a finger over the leonthor’s wings, then the flames in the hand that could be a man or a woman, the carving was too faded to tell.
The Great Purge is a great lie. Conquest of the South.
Criu borders. All those little margins he’d used to note his thoughts.
Had Aiden been a rebel, too? A real one? Or had his friendship with Khayrivven been of a more practical sort?
“Anees once said you’d do anything for what you believe in,” she whispered, turning her gaze at Khayrivven hovering beside her.
“I know you believe in a free Criulias, your homeland. And that you have been toeing a line so fragile it might one day kill you.” Her heart did a throb at the mere thought of such a day. “But do you believe it is possible?”
He cocked his head in silent question.
“Is it hope driving you to follow the Triad’s bidding and Ulder’s orders day after day, or do you actually believe that, one day, Criulias will be free?”
She didn’t know remotely enough about the situation in the south-western province to actually tell what was realistic.
Ashthorn didn’t really educate its students on the politics of the south, other than that Criulias’s strive for freedom was unjust and dangerous.
That the rebels were the enemy, and if the Pervaille family ever got back into power, that would mean the end for a prosperous Criulias.
Lory knew better than to believe what Ashthorn taught her.
Some of her fellow thornlings were Criu, and they didn’t seem to agree with all of what Dunveil said during Knowledge classes.
She wouldn’t need Khayrivven’s word to confirm something was off, or the Triad wouldn’t dispatch anyone at Ashthorn suspected of being associated with the rebels.
When she found Khayrivven’s face in the half-light, his eyes were burning with intensity. “I believe in the freedom of every man, woman, and child. I believe in a people who govern themselves. I believe in a better world for all of us, and most of all, I believe in justice.”
Not the gods—because the gods hadn’t helped him when his parents were killed. They hadn’t saved him from a cruel fate, from being enslaved to the man responsible for their deaths.
“And I believe in you, Lory.” His voice wrapped around her name like a blanket of silk and velvet, as if it were sacred.
To the end of the world, he’d go for what he believed in; Lory was certain of that. And he would consider his own life a just payment for the freedom he believed in.
The breath stuck in Lory’s throat didn’t dislodge until Khayrivven cleared his throat, directing his attention on the chamber ahead.
“The temple has three exits: one north, one south, and one east. The yard is situated between the temple and the palace pyramid. Palm trees line the path connecting the two buildings, and flowerbeds frame the temple. The majority of the yard is open space and will be crowded with nobility, perhaps the king himself and his lords.” He didn’t mention Elina, perhaps to smother whatever hope he fostered inside that strong, spacious heart.
“Lenya will partake in the ceremony, assisting the priests. He’ll have his eyes on the yard the whole time. ”
As he filled her in on the details, everything faded but what she’d have to do. The stone hallways disappeared, and so did the carvings, which became sparse and disappeared altogether as they climbed narrow, steep staircases.
“Even on a cloudy night like this, keep to the shadows. Hide between the columns lining the side of the yard. You’ll be concealed there while you scan the crowd for your target.” He stopped at one more door, turning to face her.
One step up from where she stood, Khayrivven towered over her by two heads, and his muscled frame filled her vision until she tilted back her head to look into those eyes of thunderclouds and salvation.
He’d lived this nightmare for years, had probably killed more people than he could count to maintain the facade he’d built. Whatever it was, she could do this.
“Who will I be looking for?” Finally, she dared ask the question she’d been stewing on.
Khayrivven’s throat bobbed, his voice barely a whisper as he told her. “Brady Niely.”