Chapter Two
A lone in my bedchamber after one of the king’s parties…
Now, that is a gift.
And a rare one.
As his prized attendant, I am expected to entertain his guests for the whole night. He made that crystal clear four years ago when I turned seventeen and was formally transferred from the kitchens, forced into the role of night attendant—his version of poetic justice.
Though, I personally would label it as sadism.
I fall back onto my thin bed, spreading my arms out like a raven in flight. The mattress has little give, and the wooden bed frame creaks as the weight of my body falls against it. I blow air from my lips, puffing out my cheeks, and I replay the night’s events in my mind.
Eri is self-righteous and entitled like many others I’ve served before, so I simply write him and his actions off, not deigning to give him further thought.
He isn’t worth my energy.
And the dark cloud of magic was an interesting turn of events, leaving me to wonder if the display was some unspoken political commentary, or a cryptic statement directed at one of the three kings.
Outbursts are rare, yes, but they do still happen.
And if one was attempting to make a statement, The Founding celebration would certainly be the perfect place to do so.
Then, there is King Yarum Calliva of the Anatolé Kingdom .
Throughout the night, there had been something largely unspoken in his gaze.
I could see it when I caught him glancing at me sidelong.
Yet when the celebration ended and King Yarum made for his chambers—me trailing behind, expecting to fulfill my duties—he simply cupped my hand and softly instructed, “Go and get some rest. I no longer need your services.”
And that had been that.
I have spent many years learning to recognize what lies behind a person’s gaze.
Humans are capable of great deception, but the eyes almost always betray the truth.
Most of the time, motivations, actions—they are tied to a specific agenda.
Sex, political advancement, favor with the king—there always seems to be something.
But with King Yarum?
I haven’t the slightest clue what he was after. Why he helped me, only to dismiss me by the end of the party.
Even stranger yet, I couldn’t help but notice the way King Erasmus and King Alastair sauntered off in the direction of King Alastair’s council chamber once the festivities were trickling to an end, leaving King Yarum behind.
Though, he seemed completely content to be without an invitation to whatever activities their after-party entailed.
Still…
Odd. It was all so odd.
A familiar rhythmic knock sounds from the other side of my chamber’s door, putting an end to my contemplations.
The first true smile I’ve worn in hours appears on my face. “It’s unlocked,” I say to the door.
The all but rotted wood creaks open, and Gray walks in, looking regal and handsome.
I remove the woven diadem from my head and place it on the small table next to my bed. “Hi, Gray.”
He latches the door behind him before sitting next to me on the bed. Gray sighs. “My father told me what happened in the hall. Are you okay? I heard things were…not great tonight.”
I muster a weak smile. “I’m fine. It wasn’t anything I’m not used to.” I start unraveling the half-braid stretching across the crown of my head. “ The unauthorized magic certainly made for an interesting spectacle.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Leave it to you to find such a thing amusing.”
My fingers tug at the lilac strands until they are unbound and falling freely. “Well, what else would it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He makes a show of thinking. “Alarming? Worrisome? A bad omen?”
I snort a laugh. “A bad omen? Really? And when is it you became so superstitious?”
He pouts his lip. “You wound me, Lyra. I have always been a man of the gods.”
“Of course you have,” I say through mocking laughter while tugging my sad excuse for a shirt up.
“Here,” Gray says, leaning over and unlatching his satchel. “I brought you my most comfortable tunic.” He pulls out the cream-colored shirt featuring baggy sleeves and a tie closure, placing it in my hands.
I squeeze the soft fabric, glancing down at it. “A true man of the gods after all.”
Gray Nightenjoy.
Though not in blood, he is the closest thing to family I have. We first met one night when I was six. I was out far too late playing in the gardens, and while navigating the dimly lit halls, trying to return to my chambers, I somehow got turned around—finding myself in Gray’s instead.
“Who are you?” he had asked me in his tiny six-year-old voice.
“I’m Lyra. Lyra Izacalli,” I had answered. “Who are you?”
Through the dark, I heard a clanging sound as something metal was set down.
“I am Gray Nightenjoy,” he replied, his voice softening. “Why are you in my family’s chambers, Lyra Izacalli?”
It still makes me laugh when I think of the defensiveness in my voice when I replied, “ Your family? These chambers belong to my mother and me. I should ask why you’re here.”
“Afraid not,” Gray had said. There were padded footsteps as he walked over to an oil lantern and lit it, revealing the wing’s standard living room— same layout, same tiny kitchen, but completely different furnishings.
I remember swallowing hard when I saw a metal candlestick resting on their wooden table—Gray’s weapon of choice.
The rest was history.
Gray and I became inseparable. It was a convenience that our mothers were both Gardners and were also already friendly with each other.
They adored our budding friendship, and I can still recall many evenings where we would sit around a burning hearth together, my mom and Gray’s parents enjoying a nice wine while Gray and I sucked on sweet fruit, giggling obnoxiously and wrestling on his family’s rug.
I have many sleepless nights where I long to return to those evenings.
Us all together, smiling and laughing without a care in the world.
But my mother has since passed on to the Hanging Gardens—the paradise all Gardner’s ascend to once life has fled their bodies—making my desire nothing more than a baseless dream woven from untieable threads.
When King Alastair demanded I be placed with a ward, Gray’s family insisted it be them.
They argued they were the most fitting choice, seeing as I was already familiar with them, and Gray’s father had just become the king’s closest advisor.
From what I was told, the king reluctantly agreed, but he agreed nonetheless.
The Nightenjoys spent the next six years raising me as their own.
Providing me food, giving me shelter, an education, and a proper upbringing—despite the tasks I was made to complete after my mother’s passing being anything but proper.
But when I turned seventeen and began to officially work as a night attendant, the king forced me out of their care, demanding I take residence in the crumbling, all-but-abandoned wing of his estate.
And it’s been that way ever since.
I stand up, the tunic nestled tightly in my grip, and shuffle to the back of the room. “How did training go today?” I ask Gray as I remove the gods-awful top from my chest.
“It went…as expected.”
My brows furrow at the odd note in his tone, and I steal a quick glance at him before stripping off my pants and tugging the oversized tunic over my head. The smell of cedarwood and amber wraps me in a familiar hug, its calming effect immediate.
I return to the edge of the bed, plopping myself down and folding my legs comfortably. “Why’d you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest.
Gray sighs—long and deep—and runs a hand through his brown hair, the waves flowing down his neck, grazing his shoulders. “Well, my instructor decided something today.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
He fidgets with his fingers, and my heart suddenly finds itself skipping at strange rhythms. “He decided that, given the way my magic has developed and progressed over this past year, I am the kind of wielder Bathara Academy looks for. He said as much to my father and my mother as well, and…” Gray exhales loudly through his nose.
“Well, I am to participate in this year’s entrance exam into Bathara. ”
I blink, equal parts stunned and overjoyed for him. “What? Gray, that’s…that’s amazing! And a huge compliment. Are you excited? What do you thin—”
My sentence falls short when I glimpse the grim expression lining Gray’s face—notice the tension stiffening his posture.
I tug at my brows. “Why don’t you look happy about this?
” I drop my head to catch his lowered eyes.
“If you pass the exam and gain admittance into Bathara, you get to become a Jurafen, Gray. A gods-damn Jurafen. You’ll be granted respect, honor, status, comfortable wages—be celebrated as a hero.
You’ll get to have full control over your life.
” I swallow against the cruel tinge of envy the sentence makes me feel.
“I know,” Gray murmurs. “It’s a privilege to have someone think I’m capable of such an honor, but…” He finally lifts his eyes to me, and his expression looks pained. “I have to leave Keziah, Lyra. I have to leave you .”
Though I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t split my heart in two, I still manage a smile and put on a brave face. “We have time. We’ll just have to make the most of—”
“—I leave in two days,” Gray interrupts, his words tumbling from his mouth like they don’t belong on his tongue.
“Oh,” is all I can seem to find for a reply.
Gray blows out another loud sigh and drops his head into his hands.
I shimmy across the bed, closing the distance between us, and I place a comforting hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.
“I wasn’t expecting to lose you so soon, but there’s nothing to be done about it.
This is a good thing—a good opportunity. ”
Without lifting his head, he mutters in a low tone, “I can’t leave you.”
“You must.”
He finally lifts his head, only to prop his chin on his fists instead, staring off toward the other side of the room. “I can’t. It’ll feel like I’m leaving half my heart behind. For fifteen years, we’ve been at each other’s side.”
“I know,” I mumble, well aware of how lonely—how lost—I’ll feel once Gray is gone. “And believe me when I say my heart will never be whole in a life where I can’t knock on your door because I finally remembered to return your shirt.”
He lets out a small laugh, and my heart is happy at the sight.
“But you and I both know you can’t pass up this opportunity. Plus, the realm deserves to have someone like Gray Nightenjoy protecting them.” I lift my hand from his back, choosing to instead let my head fall to rest on his broad shoulder.
“How will I know you’re okay? That you aren’t hurt or worse…” Gray’s eyes darken as he silently considers the risks of my position. “Since you possess no magic, the Ever-Know Quill isn’t an option.”
I intertwine my fingers through his. “Then I shall write you letters the magic-less way.”
Our fingers still clasped together, Gray guides my hand to his lips and presses a kiss softly against the back of it. “Two days,” he muses in a soft voice.
“Two days,” I repeat through a small smile.
“What should we do with them?”
I think for a moment. “What we’ve always done,” I finally answer. “Spend them at each other’s side.”