47. Lora
Lora
Wind whipped loose strands of hair across my face as I peered over the railing, my hands tied behind my back.
The ground stretched impossibly far below, forests and clearings reduced to miniature versions of themselves.
The evening sun bled low across the horizon, stretching the shadows of every tree and ridge into dark tendrils across the landscape.
My stomach lurched as the ship veered sideways.
I’d never been on an airship before, and the swaying floorboards made nausea claw at my throat.
Erion’s eyes snapped shut beside me, his face ashen. Kestrel lounged with his back against the railing, legs stretched out like he rode airships every day. Maybe he did.
I still couldn’t wrap my mind around what had happened back there, outside the Archives.
The prince had been waiting for us. Those amber eyes had locked onto mine with an intensity that had made my pulse stutter.
For one breathless moment, I’d been certain he would expose us.
The words had practically hung on his lips, ready to condemn Erion and me to whatever fate the Sun Kingdom deemed fitting.
But he hadn’t.
My fingers dug into my palms. Why? What game was he playing? The exiled prince had every reason to hand us over, to prove his loyalty and reclaim whatever scraps of honor his father might throw his way. Yet he’d stepped aside.
His tight expression lingered in my mind. What had churned behind that rigid posture and those too-intense eyes? Hesitation? Regret? Or just cold calculation?
Stars and sea, I needed to stop thinking about him. We had more pressing matters at hand.
Beneath us, a massive stone fortress materialized through the haze, ringed by walls taller than the surrounding trees. Tiny figures took shape, prisoners milling around a gaping hole in the center of the courtyard.
Erion peered over the railing. “Is that a mine?”
My gaze tracked the prisoners as they hauled up ore and carted it toward forges with smoking chimneys.
“Looks like it. But why don’t they just wield all that metal against the guards and escape?”
“Those are all non-wielders.” Kestrel’s voice was flat, stripped of its earlier brightness, and he wasn’t even looking at the ground.
His grudging resentment only added to the anguish reeking from below. The airship shuddered to a halt atop a tower jutting from the Keep’s corner. The ship guards shoved us onto the gangplank.
On the platform, prison guards took over. A few of them stripped us of anything remotely resembling metal. As they took our backpacks, Erion shot me a worried look. Silt and rot, our two moon stones were in his bag.
A tall guard with a hollowed-out face snatched my waterskin from my belt, my gift from Father. He turned it over in his hands, then hooked it onto his own belt with a smirk.
Rage burned up my throat, but I clamped my mouth shut. Somehow, I had to figure out a way to get us out of this mess and get our things back.
The guards shoved us through a door and down a spiraling staircase carved into the tower. Floor after floor opened onto long corridors lined with barred cells, each with two narrow beds. All stood empty, their inhabitants busy laboring in the yard.
At the bottom floor, the guards shoved us into a side corridor. But instead of barred rooms, massive stone doors lined the walls. Heavy stone beams rested across each doors, locking them shut. The air tasted stale, thick with dust.
“Ah yes, the sun wielder floor.” Kestrel’s voice took on a mocking cheerfulness, brittle as cracked glass. “These luxurious accommodations are wasted on me, you know. I’m not a wielder.”
I took in the corridor with new understanding. Not a single piece of metal or flammable material in sight.
The gaunt-faced guard smacked the back of Kestrel’s head. “Shut up and keep walking.”
“Ow!” He stumbled forward. “Why does everyone keep hitting my head?”
Another slap tousled his hair. “I said shut up.”
The impertinence of that gaunt-faced bastard crawled under my skin like splinters.
Another guard pulled open one of the stone doors with a grinding groan. The small room was barely ten paces across. A pit carved deep into the floor, perfectly round. On the far side, a slit in the stone wall allowed a sliver of light to seep through.
A guard unhooked a ladder from the side wall and lowered it into the dark opening.
The gaunt-faced guard stabbed a finger toward the pit. “Get in.”
“Aw, come on.” Kestrel’s voice climbed higher. “Can’t you at least untie us first?”
The guard smirked. “You’re wielders. You’ll figure it out. Now get in.”
“I’m not a wielder,” Kestrel whined.
Another crack to the back of his head. “Do you want to climb… or plummet?”
Whimpering, Kestrel crouched by the ladder. With his hands tied behind his back, he had to use his knees and shoulders to support his weight as he slid down the ladder. Erion and I followed with equal awkwardness.
The moment my feet touched the bottom, the guards yanked the ladder up. The door slammed shut, and silence descended upon us.
The curving stone pressed close on all sides. Darkness swallowed everything except a glowing sliver of evening light along the upper rim of the pit.
Erion and I slumped beside each other, our backs pressed against the wall. The rope bit into my wrists, rough fibers chafing with every movement. Across from us, Kestrel’s silhouette slid down the opposite curve.
“Erion,” I murmured. “Burn through the ropes.”
His sharp inhale bounced off stone. “I—I can’t. It will burn my skin.”
“Not if you bolster at the same time.” I nudged his shoulder with mine, forcing playfulness into my tone. “You can do it.”
“But my hands are bound. I can’t wield.”
As my eyes adjusted, his silhouette emerged from the shadows, the worried crease between his brows just visible.
“Your fingers are still free.” The words came out bright and easy, like I was coaxing him through a training exercise, not rotting at the bottom of a stone pit. “Just relax and have fun with it. Like we used to, remember?”
A beat of silence, then he exhaled, long and shaky.
He leaned forward, fingers curling and flexing behind his back.
A small flame sparked from his palms. Light flickered against the stone wall as he angled it toward the rope. The fire caught the hem of his sleeves.
He cried out in panic, waving his bound hands from side to side, as if the frantic movement would smother the fire.
My heart lurched. “Easy! Just breathe, Erion. Keep focusing on controlling the flame.”
He shook his head, his cries only intensifying.
I twisted my hands behind my back, desperately searching for a source of water. Nothing. Just cold stone and stale air. Fine. Cold would have to do.
Drawing in a calming breath, I threaded a frigid chill into the flames clinging to his wrists, careful not to freeze his flesh. The fire sputtered and vanished in wisps of smoke. Angry blisters surfaced across his skin, and patches of frost clung to the edges of his sleeves.
I angled my back toward him. “Stay still. I’ll heal you.”
His jaw clenched. “Useless. I’m so rotten useless.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, distracted by my efforts to channel my soothing glow into his wounds.
I was a lousy healer to begin with, but this angle and my tied hands made the connection threadbare. But Erion needed this. I drew a deep breath and let the exhale seep into the blue glow.
He sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. The movement was enough to break my connection, and my magic fizzled out. I turned to inspect his wrists. The blisters had vanished, but redness still marred his skin.
I grimaced. “I’m sorry. That’s all I can manage for now.”
“No.” His voice came out rough. “I’m the one who messed up.”
His hands shifted behind him, and with a grunt he tore through the charred rope. Brushing away blackened pieces, he shuffled behind me, fingers fumbling at the knots.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmured. “I can’t trust my magic with the smallest things anymore. What if next time—what if I—” His voice cracked.
The rope around my wrists slackened, and I could finally move my arms.
“Erion.” I twisted to face him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You just need more practice.”
The words tasted hollow. Even if he wasn’t getting worse, he wasn’t improving much either. And each failure chipped away another piece of his frail confidence.
I reached out, brushing his cheek. “Erion, look at me.”
He glanced up, his hazel eyes catching what little light filtered from above.
“You are not your mistakes. You’ve been given a great task, a burden heavier than anyone should carry.
But I’m right here with you. I’ll help you carry it.
Together, we’ll see this through. And after you seal the rift, you’re free to do whatever you want.
” My mouth quirked into a crooked smile.
“You’ll never have to wield again if you don’t want to. ”
Something shifted in his expression, tension melting away like ice in spring. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Every time I feel like I’m drowning, you’re there to pull me up.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “When everything withers inside me, you… your smile…” He swallowed. “You’re like the sun. Giving me strength.”
His callused palm brushed my cheek, fingers trembling.
“That was beautiful,” Kestrel murmured across the pit.
We both ignored him.
Erion’s gaze stirred a slow warmth beneath my ribs. His attention always did. But being with him wouldn’t make me happy. Not just because I didn’t deserve happiness, but because I knew in my heart he wasn’t the one.
I’d once thought myself a plant leaning toward the sun, toward him—but Erion wasn’t the sun. He was just someone with a lantern he kept aiming at me. The attention was nice, but it wasn’t what I needed. Wasn’t what my body craved.
But maybe I was what he needed.
He was the Dual Wielder. The prophesied hero. Our savior. His destiny was to save the world. But to do that, he needed to shed the insecurities dragging him down.
He needed joy.
And my mission was to help him succeed, by any means necessary. The thought settled in with crystal clarity. This was my life’s purpose. This was why I’d survived when Mother hadn’t. My destiny was to give myself to the Dual Wielder.
Besides, if anyone deserved happiness, it was Erion, with his selfless heart and stubborn faith that goodness existed in everyone.
He leaned closer, his breath ghosting across my mouth. I blinked, then closed my eyes. As his lips brushed mine, soft and tentative, I didn’t pull back. I tilted my head, welcoming the gentle kiss.
I’d give him comfort, happiness, even love. Whatever it took to help him save the world.