Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
LYRA
My fingers glide along the seams of a velvety petal.
It is a shade of blue unlike all the others.
Light and creamy with a distinct translucence, adding an ethereal flare to the flower.
I bend down to inspect the peculiar color more closely, just before plucking it from its spindly stem, walking back to my work table and setting it down in the stone mortar after.
Finding my previous spot on an amber-hued page from a large tome, I read about how to properly extract the medicinal properties from the flower.
I am just feeling confident enough to begin the process when he walks in, seizing my peace and quiet.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I grit my teeth, slowly setting down the jar of alcohol I had just picked up back onto the table. “I was enjoying myself.”
Casimir Vivaldri hums, the sound a low rattle in his throat, and I hear him step toward me. “I just received the finalized list of all our dead. I’d like to have a ceremony for them tonight, and I’d like for you to attend.”
I don’t even spare him a passing glance. “No.”
His soft, answering sigh is swift. “It is the perfect opportunity for you to meet the people here, and for them to finally meet you.”
“Not interested.”
I glimpse his moving shadow from my peripheral, allowing me to internalize my wince as his palm contacts the table next to me. “I’m not asking.”
I still don’t look at him. “Fine.”
Casimir’s hand remains planted onto the face of the wood as he lingers, watching me.
“I have done everything you’ve asked.” His voice is a sharp whisper.
“I have given you space to acclimate to this new way of life. You were informed of the truth surrounding your friend’s death when you awoke.
I have allowed you to spend your days in this greenhouse, unbothered and without obligations.
I have respected your wishes to not meet any of my family—a kindness to them, mind you.
I have given you the choice of your room.
Offered you books and supplies. What more can I possibly do to get you to open yourself up to this place and my people? ”
I finally whip my eyes to him. “You can give me my freedom. You can let me go. Or, I don’t know, you could have tried not kidnapping me in the first place.”
Casimir is dressed in a black shirt lined with gold stitching—his usual attire, I’ve come to learn. His shoulder-length, raven-black hair is half-tied back by a leather band, and his glowing amber eyes are piercing. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
I hold his stare with defiance in my own. “Then I’m afraid we will both remain disappointed in the other.”
Despite my cold tone, I feel weakened by the mention of Gray’s death—or rather, the illusion of his death.
Even now, after demanding Casimir offer me proof of Gray’s survival, given to me in the form of a memory shown through Caster magic, there are times I have to repeat the sentence in my head to remember it’s true.
Gray is alive. Gray is alive. Gray is alive.
I reach for a necklace no longer resting at my throat, now reduced to broken fragments discarded in the rubble and ashes I left behind at Bathara.
Casimir slides his hand from the table. “I’ve tried offering you the luxury of choice, but I’m afraid that will no longer be possible.”
I snort, reverting my gaze back to the blue flower resting on my work table. “Please,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head at the absurdity of his words. “You haven’t given me a choice—only the illusion of it.”
He draws in a tired-sounding breath. “After tonight’s ceremony, you will begin a new routine.
One where you wake up and train with me.
Where you open yourself to learning more about this place and its people in the afternoons.
Where your evenings remain yours, with the exception of one evening a week, where you will be required to meet with me to begin entering the Veil. ”
I stiffen. “Why the Veil?”
“Because it is necessary.” I hear the clack of his boots as he spins and walks toward the door—until the sound stops. “By the way, I’ve appointed a guard to keep watch over you. They will be responsible for escorting you around.”
“Or in other words,” I grumble back, not bothering to hide my disdain. “They will be responsible for making sure I’m doing as you’ve ordered me to do.”
“However you want to frame it.”
I shoot him a sharp look. “Can’t wait to meet him,” I mutter under my breath.
Casimir grunts a low laugh as he leaves the greenhouse, leaving me alone at last.
I finish with the final twist, resting my hands in my lap after, blinking at my reflection as I adjust to the girl staring back at me.
My frosty lilac hair now grazes just above my shoulders, and sometimes I swear the missing length is like a phantom limb—my fingers still reaching for long strands that no longer exist. I can’t recall the last time my hair was short.
In fact, I’ve found myself wondering lately if it has ever been short.
King Alastair required me to keep it long, declaring he and his guests liked something to wrap their hands in—something to hold onto.
Yet Casimir explained to me a few days after I woke up that this length was the best the healers could do.
I tuck the short strands behind my ear, and I lean forward, inspecting the next change in my appearance—my right eye. It never fully returned to its original color, instead maintaining a silvery hue while amethyst weaves like cracks in ice.
Casimir still has yet to explain that one to me.
Though I don’t mind it. Because as twisted as it sounds, looking at it reminds me of Draven—of the way his eyes are mismatched, yet are the most beautiful pair of eyes I have ever seen; even if his dual-colored eye is like a washed gradient whereas mine is like a silver quilt threaded with purple stitching.
At the thought of Draven, a sudden pang appears in my chest. I wonder how he is doing—if he is alright and well and continuing forward. I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the words Kiran said to me the day he and I walked together between gilded hills as he escorted me to my training.
He has a lot of weight on his shoulders—weight that I fear he will never share. He takes responsibility for everything and everyone he cares about. I need you to understand that—it’s important you know.
There was always something about the way Kiran said those words that stuck with me. Yet they never felt like as much of a warning as they did these past few weeks, leaving me to wonder…
Is Draven blaming himself? Is he driving himself mad, replaying all the ways things could have been different? Is he assuming the weight of my own failure—my own sins?
Every time I consider the possibility, I feel my heart splinter, losing another fragment of itself each and every time.
Still…
I miss him.
Gods how I miss him. What I wouldn’t give to hear his voice. To feel his fingers sweeping along my skin like they did in that cave. To have him hold me, even if only more time, like he did in that greenhouse. To—
A knock rapping at the door interrupts my thoughts.
I suck in a sharp breath and steal another glance at myself in the mirror, my gaze lingering on the final change in my appearance. I rise from the vanity and stride over to the door, throwing it open as I prepare my tongue to be extra sharp toward the unlucky bastard who’s been assigned to me.
My plan ends before it even begins when the hinges squeak and the wood swivels back, revealing a face younger than my own, dotted with freckles at the nose and complimented by a pair of gray-tinted eyes.
I blink. “Ah… who are you?”
“I’m Neilina. And you’re late.”
She reaches for my arm, but I sidestep her, cocking my head. “That’s a beautiful name and all, but perhaps it’s better if I ask why you’re here.”
She scrunches her brows together. “To escort you. I thought Master informed you of my coming?”
“Wait,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Casimir assigned a child to watch over me?”
Neilina clicks her tongue. “I’ll have you know I am seventeen and not a child whatsoever.
I have spent the past three years training to be a member of his trusted guard.
And now he’s finally giving me a chance by making you my first official assignment, so I will not let you mess this up for me.
” She shoots me a very, very pointed look.
I study her. “Admitting you’ve never done this before probably isn’t the best thing to tell the person you’re guarding.”
Neilina blinks. “Why not?” A silence stretches between us, and I am beginning to wonder if she actually expects a response to her question, but then she reaches for my arm and tugs it up toward her, leaning forward to inspect it.
She lets out a low whistle. “Wow, so this is it, huh? The wielder’s mark of a Binder?
” She turns my arm over, raising it higher in the air.
And I’m so stunned at her carefree boldness, I just watch her, a slight crease between my brows.
“It’s really quite pretty,” Neilina muses. “Has Master explained any of it to you yet?”
“No. No, he has not. Though I really wish he would. At the least, I’d like to know why some flowers remain asleep while others are fully bloomed.”
Neilina lets go of my right arm, her eyes gliding toward my left. She reaches for it, brushing her thumb across the skin. “Do they hurt?”
I resist the urge to wince, choosing to instead lift my chin. She’s asking about the third and final change in my appearance.
The scars.
Not even the healers can get rid of them.
To put it simply: My body was so wrecked that, despite piecing me back together, there was nothing more they could do about them.
They run down my left arm like jagged seams stitched poorly together, rising up my neck and stretching over my jaw, into the lower portion of my cheek.
For whatever reason, the right side of my body—the side where my wielder’s mark resides—is perfectly unblemished.
“No,” I answer, my voice soft. “I can’t feel them at all.”
Neilina smiles weakly at that, then resets her features. “Now then. Are you ready to go? Master is expecting you.”
I snort. “Your Master expects a lot, it would seem.”
Neilina tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I wave her off. “Nothing.”