Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Lory
A black tunic and pants adorned with leather pieces at her shoulders and forearms, black leather boots with enough compartments to house at least three blades each, and a weapons belt slung around her waist, Lory’s Ashthorn uniform felt exactly the same as she made her way to the training yard, Niely’s note burning a hole in her pocket.
A full day of rest had been enough to restore her health, and another ten days of her normal routine—sparring and magic training with Hadrian and Anees, some knowledge classes with Dunveil, and Medica sessions with Nahrit—things had almost returned to the way they were before.
Much unlike what she had expected, Lenya hadn’t brought her in for questioning after Jarek’s disappearance.
The fact that a thornling had vanished right from under the Triad’s nose should have brought more uproar, but Lenya had declared Jarek dead at breakfast the next morning, rather than admitting a student had left Ashthorn in a way different than as an ashmarked or via the cremator.
It had taken three days to convince Maes that her brother was alive, not only because they barely got a spare moment, which they could trust wasn’t infiltrated by Lenya’s spies.
By now, Lory knew a few of the faces, and she still wasn’t a hundred percent certain Brycon wasn’t one of them.
At least, the knowledgist hadn’t tried to get information out of them, the way others had.
Everyone knew Jarek had been close with Tabi, Thal, and Lory, and so people kept asking the hows and whys of his death.
At first, Thal had felt left out when they’d spoken to Maes before they’d come to him, but after he learned the truth in an unobserved moment during Nahrit’s Medica class, he almost spilled the salve he’d been working on all over the table of the small, sunlit laboratory they’d been spending the afternoon in.
“It all makes so much sense now,” were the only words he said before he’d squeezed Tabi’s shoulder, his chocolate brown eyes full of understanding as they’d met Lory’s across the table, his black curls bouncing on his forehead as he glanced around the room.
The three of them had spent every free moment together since, making sure they kept an eye on Maes, who preferred not to spend too much time with them until people stopped asking questions about Jarek. Not that staying away would steer the Triad’s watchful eyes away from them.
Ycken had made it a habit to make all three of them miserable with his regular check-ins, demanding demonstrations of their fighting skills, and by that, found every possible weakness in their defense, and left them with cuts and bruises more often than not.
Lory didn’t complain, though. She kept her head down, the way Nahrit had suggested, and so did the others.
Anees and Hadrian played the perfect phantoms, instructing with deadly precision and not showing any favoritism of sorts in front of the others, while every evening, Anees and Lory stared out the window together, musing how far Jarek and Olive might have gotten—and if they’d run into Khayrivven on their way south.
Every time she asked Anees for Khayrivven’s whereabouts, the phantom had no answer, and Nahrit didn’t seem to know either. She’d dared to ask only once, to the effect of him shaking his head. “He’ll be back soon enough.”
Lory lived by those words, holding onto the golden bond originating in her chest and stroking it with all the love her mangled heart had to give.
She hadn’t asked the Medica anything else, despite the questions about Niely’s note.
blood
fae
portal
An answer to that riddle would need to wait until they could risk an open conversation lasting longer than two minutes, tucked between Medica tasks and polishing weapons.
As Lory made it to the end of the yard, she tucked away the questions and worries, the fears and dreads.
She didn’t allow herself to think of Jarek, of the men she’d killed, the implications that someone had tipped off the city guards about Niely’s body.
She didn’t think about Lenya’s agenda or Brunn’s sudden hints that she didn’t agree with the Master of Whispers’ plans or methods.
When she reached the end of the yard, today’s sparring partner was already waiting, his eyes sparkling with challenge as Lory picked up a training sword from the rack, casually prowling across the dry ground, and faced him in the makeshift ring.
A wicked smirk curved his sensual mouth, and a lick of heat through the bond spoke of all the things he planned to do with her once they were alone.
“And so it begins,” Lory whispered in her mind, dragging the tip of her blade across the sand to mark the line she promised herself she wouldn’t let him cross.
She’d gotten better, faster, her instincts making her swifter in both her offense and defense, and she would do her best to convince all of Ashthorn she wanted to put that man on his back for other reasons than how amazing he felt beneath her.
Baring her teeth in a dangerous grin, she lifted her sword.
“On your mark, Captain,” she drawled, watching Khayrivven pull a saber from behind his shoulder.
He took a casual step forward, every inch the predator she’d always believed him to be. For a fraction of a heartbeat, she allowed herself to look into his storm-gray eyes. And when she did…
“Hello, Little Flame.”