Chapter 30
Thirty
Lory
The yard was exactly as Khayrivven had described it—minus the flowerbeds.
From their position between the columns at the edge of the yard, Lory couldn’t spy those in the soft light the night provided.
Torches had been inserted into flagpoles, their orange glow illuminating the stone temple walls.
In a different life, Lory might have marveled at the ornate pillars holding up the parapet in front of the temple.
She might have appreciated the music and the voices mingling with the melodies of lutes and the thundering of drums.
As if in a trance, the nobles were staring at the two priests and the priestess performing a ceremony she’d witnessed at the temples in the slums, but never like this. There, it had been simple rituals to acknowledge the gods had been shedding their tears on these lands. To thank them.
Here, it was what she imagined a theater play would be like. Everything followed a certain rhythm, and even Ulder seemed transfixed by the spiced smoke wafting from golden bowls that were carried across the dais erected under the temple roof, probably just for this ceremony.
“One stands for the Brother Guardian, one for the Sister Guardian, and one for Eroth.” Khayrivven gestured at the two priests and the priestess.
Lory didn’t respond. Her eyes had landed on the woman in a pale silk dress of fine making. Her hair had been pulled half-up, the usually bronze hue glowing a fiery orange in the firelight.
“Elina is here.”
Lory could feel Khayrivven deflate beside her, and thanks to the shadows canceling them, no one noticed as he braced his hand on the column for support.
A slight limp slowed Elina Falcrest as she walked in a circle between a group of young men and women of the court. Lory had seen some of the faces at the dance. Lord Niely wasn’t among them.
For a few moments, Lory held her breath, keeping her focus on Khayrivven’s sister, her graceful gait, save for the small limp, the way she kept her chin high and her arms in a perfect circle before her stomach as she carried the bowl in her hands.
Jewels glittered at her neck and wrists, and her dress flowed on the breeze now driving the raindrops to slant down upon the viewers while the ceremony remained dry beneath the parapet.
“Not tonight,” Lory thought at Khayrivven, taking his hand into hers against all better judgement.
Khayrivven squeezed her fingers once before pulling back and shifting his weight, bringing more distance between them. “Not tonight.”
But through the bond connecting them, Lory felt the ache in his chest as if it were her own.
“Not tonight, but soon.” If Khayrivven didn’t have a plan already, she’d help him make one. He’d made one to help the Flames escape from the dungeons. He wouldn’t leave his sister at the mercy of his enemy forever. He couldn’t.
“Soon.” His whisper was swept up by a gust of wind whipping through the yard, and Lory cleared her mind of everything but the task ahead.
When she put her focus on the crowd in earnest, she spotted Brady Niely a few feet toward the center, his shoulder-length hair bound at the nape of his neck and his elegant clothes as elaborate as when she’d first met him.
His head was tipped back, face toward the sky as he repeated a phrase the priestess called out like she was channeling the Sister Guardian.
Lory should have been up there on the dais, taking the part of the priest representing Eroth, for Lory herself was the one to deliver death upon one of the onlookers. Patiently, she’d bide her time until Lord Niely cleared away from the crowd, and then—
She’d strike hard and fast. If Niely didn’t see death coming, perhaps he wouldn’t be afraid. He wouldn’t put up a fight. He wouldn’t be in pain. For long.
“How did Ulder even pick Niely?” She asked into Khayrivven’s mind. “All he gave us were rumors and suspicions. He isn’t a rebel.” Khayrivven didn’t answer. “Or is he?”
“It’s the name I gave the Triad. They investigated, and apparently, they are under the impression Brady is a traitor.”
Lory knew that tone—the detached cold edge informing her that Khayrivven had withdrawn into the persona of the ruthless captain.
It didn’t matter whose life would end that night as long as it wasn’t that of a Criu rebel—or a Flame.
But when she turned toward him, not even the darkness could hide the somber expression which had befallen his features.
Niely had been his friend a long time ago. Their rivalry was one thing, but was it enough to justify his death?
At the side of the yard, close to King Ulder on his portable, gilded throne at the edge of the dais, ten guards in white and gold stood at the ready, their vigilant eyes surveying the spectators for potential threats.
She’d need to be clever about timing. Khayrivven had mentioned on their way up to a hidden side entrance to the yard that they couldn’t be noticed.
Even if they were dressed to blend into the crowd in case things went sideways, the assignment had been to discreetly kill Brady Niely and return to the Ward.
She had an idea of how she’d lure Niely away from the bulk of people, but for that, she’d need to show her face. No ambush in a dark alley. No slitting his throat in his bed as he slept.
Perhaps, she thought, Lenya had picked this particular setting to make it difficult for her. Failure wasn’t truly an option—not without losing her own life as a result.
So Lory waited in the shadows, her heart pounding her guilt even before she’d shed the young lord’s blood.
The ceremony lasted an hour, all while the rain continued to pour like the gods themselves had decided to drown them in their pity.
By the time the first guests started leaving, Lory had made up her mind.
She’d slipped behind a column closer to Niely, leaving Khayrivven to his own observations as she calculated how many people she’d need to pass in order to get to her target.
She didn’t even allow herself to feel the nausea welling in her stomach at what she had to do, simply waited, counting the minutes until she’d get it over with.
For Khayrivven. For herself.
A part of her wished for the leonthor’s voice to keep her company.
She hadn’t heard him since the dance, hadn’t had much time to consider what it meant or what she’d agreed to by choosing, as he’d called it.
But a part of her always expected his commentary to fill her head at the most inopportune of moments.
The music was still playing when the first people detached from the crowd, withdrawing to the back of the yard and dancing in the rain.
At least that part was the same as out on the streets.
To her surprise, Lord Niely was among them, making his path along the corner of the yard with an older lord whose name Lory didn’t know.
A few more steps, and he’d be close enough for Lory to simply jump out of the shadows and ram a knife into his neck—she had even wrapped her fingers around the hilt of one of the knives at her hips. So easy… One stab, and he’d be lost.
But the older man was in the way, and someone was bound to look their way when she made her move. It wasn’t discreet, as the Master of Whispers had ordered.
But here, he would see her do it. Lenya would witness, without a doubt, that it had been her hand guiding the knife that killed Brady Niely.
So would all the other people, including her father, who stood near the dais, his face unmistakable among the throng of people. Lory ignored the pang of disgust.
With a deep breath, she stepped out of the shadows, putting on her best smile as she blocked the two men’s path. “Lord Niely,” she said with more breathless enthusiasm than she felt. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Niely and his companion halted, the older man frowning while Niely beamed at her.
“Miss Vednis.” He indicated a bow before turning to the man and murmuring something Lory shouldn’t have been able to pick up above the music and the splattering rain.
“I’ll catch you after I’ve had my personal celebrations with this one. ”
A rumbling laugh came out of the older man as he stepped around Lory, inclining his head at her.
It was an effort to keep her smile in place, but she took Niely’s arm as he offered it to her, and they started walking close to the shadows.
“I’ve been thinking of you, Miss Vednis.” He eyed her from the side like he’d been served a particularly delicious meal.
Lory pretended not to notice. “And I of you. Actually.” She tugged him a step closer to the columns.
“I’ve been hoping to see you here tonight.
I’ve been wondering if you had someone to spend this holiday with—” The coy glance she gave him was something she’d picked up at Lu’Shen’s over all those years she’d gone there to find wealthy men to rob.
It wasn’t Lory who pulled them into the alcove between the columns and out of sight, but Niely, his hand finding the small of her back as he released her arm. Darkness engulfed them.
“I’m very much inclined to see this little encounter as a sign the Guardians approve of what I’ve been accomplishing this past year,” he murmured against her cheek, his mouth too close, his hands too explorative.
But Lory held her ground. She more felt than saw Khayrivven shift in the night between the columns a few steps from Niely.
He’d snap the man’s neck in a heartbeat if she didn’t get Niely away from there.
How Lory knew, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was in the growl rumbling through the stone alcoves, or the electricity suddenly charging the air.
Or the whisper inside her mind. The same words that she had climaxed to.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
“I know a much better place for us to get lost in the celebrations.” Lory didn’t try to sound seductive; her voice came out husky at the sensation of Khayrivven’s presence wrapping around her like a shield of darkness that Niely was oblivious to.