Chapter 28 #2
Lyra stared at me. Rainwater slipped from the broken arch behind her and struck the stone in a steady rhythm. “Of course you did.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means every road in my life apparently leads back to that fucking word. Yesterday the Crucible showed six versions of me. One of them was surrounded by Shadow. Another looked like a dead queen everyone apparently recognized. The Codex has been calling me Starborn since I found it, and today I discovered that apparently half of Alareth grew up hearing stories about a prophecy I didn’t even know existed. ”
“How many versions have you heard?”
“Of the prophecy?”
“Yes.”
“Vareena knows several. Emrin knows one from Tharellan. Raiden knew a particularly charming version where I murder everyone.”
My jaw tightened. She noticed.
“Apparently that one bothers you.”
“Most stories where you murder everyone would.”
Her expression changed at the answer, but she kept going. “Deylan gave us the Sanctum version of Nirael. Saint of Light. Star-touched. Shadow corrupted her. She broke because she tried to wield both.” Her voice flattened. “Convenient story, considering what everyone would do if they knew I could.”
“The Sanctum teaches the version most useful to the Sanctum.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“Meaning history written by institutions tends to preserve whatever makes the institution look necessary.”
“You don’t believe Nirael was corrupted.”
“I believe someone decided that was the cleanest explanation.”
“Do the Starborn records mention her?”
“Some do.”
Her gaze sharpened. “And?”
“They disagree about her too.”
“Of course they do.”
“Nirael appears as a warning in later texts. In older ones, sometimes as a guardian. Sometimes as a gatekeeper.”
“Gatekeeper to what?”
“That part is missing.”
Lyra laughed without humor. “Naturally.”
“Some fragments connect her to Starborn accounts. Others never name her. There are copies where the same passage appears with an entirely different figure in her place.”
“So someone changed it.”
“Possibly.”
“That word is doing a lot of work for you today.”
“It’s doing the amount of work evidence allows.”
Her frustration sharpened. “You know what? You sound exactly like Halos.”
I held her gaze. “Be careful.”
“With what?”
“Comparing me to Halos.”
“Then stop sounding like him.”
Fair. I chose not to tell her that. Instead, I asked, “Who approached you today?”
She didn’t answer quickly enough. “Damon?”
Her attention snapped back to mine. “How do you know about Damon?”
“I saw him.”
“That still doesn’t answer how you know him.”
“He was sent here on behalf of the Light Council. Why wouldn’t I know who he is?”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No. You asked how I know him.”
“And?”
“I’ve crossed paths with him.”
“Doing what?”
“Existing in the same places.”
She let that answer sit for a beat. “That was impressively useless.”
“It answered the question.”
“It answered a question.”
I folded my arms. Damon had been circling the Council for years, clever enough to make powerful men feel smarter for using him and young enough that they occasionally forgot clever men were dangerous.
Halos studied people until he found weaknesses.
Damon studied them until he found uses. I didn’t know what the Light Council wanted from Lyra yet.
I knew I didn’t want Damon helping them decide. “What did he ask you?”
“My background. Edenlo. Maia. Whether I knew anything about my parents.” She watched my face too closely. “He said the Council wants to understand why the manifestation wards reacted the way they did.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
Good.
Lyra adjusted the satchel. “What about the Queen?”
I kept my face still. “What about her?”
“You recognized her.”
“I suspected the projection wasn’t random.”
“None of them were random.”
“I know.”
“Who was she?”
Rain whispered through the leaves growing between the stones of the southern wall.
“Kieran.”
“I don’t know.”
She stepped closer. “Look at me and say that.”
I did. “I don’t know who the woman in the Crucible was.”
Her eyes searched mine. “You think you know.”
“I have a theory.”
“Who?”
“I’m not giving you a name I cannot prove belongs to her.”
Her fingers curled at her side. “That has never stopped anyone else from telling me what they think.”
“I’m not everyone else.”
“No.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “You’re worse.”
“You know how much I hate this.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
There were truths that reached backward once you learned them.
They got into memories you had thought were safe and changed them.
A punishment became preparation. Kindness became leverage.
A person you loved became someone you could no longer remember without wondering what they had known while they smiled at you.
My father had taught me that before I was old enough to understand the lesson.
Lyra wanted names. I had names. Too many of them.
Names buried beneath destroyed records and altered histories.
Names connected to bloodlines she did not yet understand.
Names my father had spoken in rooms he thought I was too young to remember.
None of it was proof. Some of it was far worse than proof because once spoken, it would send Lyra searching in exactly the places I needed her nowhere near.
So I gave her what I could afford. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. ”
She didn’t even let me finish the thought. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.”
“I do many things.”
“You decide for me.”
I went quiet.
“You decide what I can know and when I can know it. You decide when I’m allowed to use Shadow and when I should hide it.
You decide what parts of the Sanctum are safe enough for me to see.
” She took another step closer. “You decide when you can touch me and when you suddenly remember you shouldn’t. ”
That landed exactly where she intended. Neither of us moved. “When I can touch you?” I asked.
Color rose along her throat. “Don’t.”
“You brought it up.”
“I was making a point.”
“You were doing very well until that part.”
“Fuck you.”
I nearly smiled. “There she is.”
Lyra turned away. I caught her wrist. Bad idea. She stopped. Rain whispered against the broken stones outside the ring. Her pulse moved beneath my thumb, quick enough that I became far too aware of my own.
“Let go.”
She didn’t pull away. I loosened my grip without releasing her. Her gaze dropped to my hand.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
She looked at me. “Touch me like you’re afraid of it.”
Every answer I had disappeared. I let her go. “That isn’t what I’m afraid of.”
Her eyes stayed on mine. “What are you afraid of?”
You.
The answer came too easily. She had walked into my ruined ring and kept returning until it no longer felt entirely mine.
She had looked at Shadow and asked how to understand it rather than how to destroy it.
She challenged every answer I gave her and somehow trusted me anyway.
Last night she had let me put a needle through her skin while she sat half-dressed in front of me, and the worst part was that the trust in that had felt more dangerous than the attraction.
I bent and picked up the practice sword from beside the wall. “Your stance.”
Lyra stared at me. “You are unbelievable.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She dragged both hands over her face. “I cannot fucking stand you.”
I held the sword toward her. “Again.”
“No.”
“Again.”
“Kieran—”
“You want answers?”
That stopped her. I picked up another practice blade. “Ask while you fight.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re bribing me with information.”
“I’m making sure you don’t spend the afternoon standing there glaring at me.”
“I’m injured.”
“You walked across half the Sanctum to interrogate me.”
“That does not mean I’m fit to spar.”
“You’re standing.”
“Barely.”
“Then you’ll learn not to rely on the injured leg.”
She stared at me. Then snatched the sword. “Fine.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I hope Damon’s nicer than you.”
My smile disappeared. Hers appeared immediately. Menace. She attacked. I blocked. Steel cracked through the ring. Her balance had improved since we started. She still protected the wounded leg, but not enough to destroy her stance. I turned her blade aside. “Again.”
She came faster. “What did you find while researching Starborn?”
“Contradictions.”
Steel met steel.
“What kind?”
“Old copies disagree.”
“Vareena told me that much.”
“She was right.”
Lyra ducked beneath my blade and turned. “About what?”
“Depends on the copy.”
“Kieran.”
“You wanted answers. Those are the answers.”
She attacked harder. I stepped aside and let her momentum carry her past me. “Some versions name Light. Others name Shadow. The oldest surviving fragments refer to both without clearly saying what either means.”
Her next strike slowed. “Both?”
“Yes.”
“Like me.”
I caught her blade against mine. “Possibly.”
Her eyes flashed. “You know damn well—”
“Possibly.” I shoved her sword aside. “Again.”
She came at me. “What else?”
“Starlight appears repeatedly.”
She struck. “Obviously.”
“Not always under that name.”
Another strike.
“What does Umbrael call it?”
That question I had expected. I stepped backward. “The oldest Shadow copy I found calls it light that survived the fall.”
Her sword lowered slightly. “The fall of what?”
“No surviving copy says.”
“You have a theory.”
“I have several.”
“Give me one.”
“No.”
She swung hard enough that the impact rang through my wrist.
“There are also records where entire passages disappear,” I said.
Her sword stopped against mine. “What?”
“References appear in one copy and vanish from another written a century later. Sometimes it’s a line. Sometimes several pages.”
“Translation?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Translators generally don’t tear pages out.”
She stared at me. I stepped away. “Pay attention.”
“Someone destroyed them.”
“Some of them.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
“Explain.”