Chapter 17
Seventeen
Lory hadn’t expected to see the dungeons of Ashthorn Ward so soon—or at all. After going up in flames in front of the entire group of blues, Dunveil, Brunn, and General Ycken, she’d made her peace with leaving this world to cross Eroth’s Veil and see her twin brother again.
Everything had happened so fast. Shouts from the balcony bounced off the limestone, Thal’s panicked murmurs, Falcrest’s command to stay where she was.
Frost’s magic had wrapped around her hands, squashing the flames spreading over her palms. Then Falcrest had shown up at her side, saber drawn and tip pointed at her neck, and she’d known that was the end.
How he’d made it across the gap she hadn’t even bothered to figure out; time had become a jumble of uncontrollable emotions, and Khayrivven’s cold expression filled every frantic heartbeat of it.
That mouth, now a hard line, had kissed her a few days ago, and those eyes, now flat and distant, had ignited for her, yet he’d thrown her in the dungeons under the vigilant scrutiny of Ycken and Dunveil, and let her rot for what felt like an eternity.
There were no windows down here, so there was no way to tell how many days had passed, but judging by the gnawing hunger in her stomach and her increasing dizziness, at least two.
One more day without water, and no one would need to bother putting a knife in her heart or an axe through her neck.
She’d die like thousands of other Dunaii, and when they discarded her body, no one would be able to tell she hadn’t run out of food and water—nothing more than a street rat after all.
Lory curled up in the corner on the packed dirt floor, wrapping her arms around her torso and staring at the same torch she’d been staring at since she woke.
The cell was perhaps ten by ten feet, large enough to host a bunch of criminals if anyone wanted them to kill each other.
Thick steel bars framed it on three sides while the back wall was solid, black stone.
The cells left and right were empty, and when she’d spoken into the darkness behind the reach of the three torches lined up in front of her own little cage, no one had answered.
After the initial hours, she’d tried to summon her magic, drawing upon the anger and frustration of losing control like that, but where an inferno had raged in her chest before, cold darkness was the only thing left.
With a sigh, Lory pulled her knees closer to her chest to preserve what little warmth was left in her body. Maybe, if she could fall asleep, she’d escape this place for a few hours; if she was lucky, she would pass smoothly without waking up, and Evven would greet her behind Eroth’s Veil.
Before her eyes, the flame kept flickering and flickering like a restless dancer bowing and flexing in golden tongues.
“Lory,” his voice dripped from the fire, liquid silk shimmering in the ever-changing light. “Wake up.”
With a groan, Lory rolled over, forcing her arms to carry her weight as she pushed herself into a sitting position.
Falcrest stepped out of the shadows, tall and beautiful and utterly terrifying as he studied her from the other side of the bars, gray gaze sliding over her form in uncanny assessment.
“Are you here to kill me?” They were nothing more than a croak, but he cringed at her words anyway, placing a hand on the bars while the other one remained casually by his hip, ready to draw his sword at a moment’s notice.
“Not yet.”
Like a dark bell, the meaning of his words settled in her stomach, weighing her down like lead.
“So, you will kill me?”
With a sigh, Falcrest bowed his head. “This is beyond me, Lory. I’ve done all I could. What will happen to you is in the Triad’s hands.”
For a long moment, they both remained silent, Lory’s gaze glued to Falcrest’s face as he lifted his head again to expose that same emotion she’d witnessed on the roof: Fear. Khayrivven Falcrest was afraid.
“It doesn’t matter that they’ll kill me.” Lory shook her head. “Since the night Evven died, I’ve been prepared to follow him.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Lory.” Lory—not Vednis, not ashling, not Gutter Gem. “They won’t kill you right away. First, they’ll try to wring information from you—anything that will help them find more Flame-born and kill them. By the end, you’ll be begging me to kill you.”
The raw emotion in his tone took her by surprise so much she scrambled to her feet, staggering toward him and holding onto the steel bars separating them.
“I don’t have anyone to give up. My mother’s dead, and so is my brother. What few people I might consider friends have already given their loyalty to Ashthorn and, by that, to King Ulder. They can’t hurt me.”
“Trust me, they can. And they will.” Falcrest held his breath, reaching for her hand and wrapping his fingers around hers, but his expression smoothed over enough to convince her this wasn’t fear speaking but experience.
Lory’s heart stuttered in her chest, the cold replaced by a lick of fire across her skin, and Lory remembered that she had something to lose after all.
It might not be much, just a blossom of feelings for a man whose guarded emotions would never allow him to admit there was something between them, but it was more than she’d ever had with any man.
Every touch was a reminder she was still alive, and his presence here, that he’d come to see her before they’d execute her—
“Don’t interpret anything into my being here, Lory. It’s not real. This is a dream, and when you wake up, you’ll stand trial before the Triad. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But he was wrong. It did. To her, it meant the world that she wasn’t alone in this cell, even if he was merely in her imagination.
“A dream,” she repeated. “If this is only a dream, tell me the kiss was real. Tell me I found something real in this shithole of an academy.”
Falcrest’s mouth tipped up at the corner, but his half-smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“Nothing I could say or do will change anything, so I won’t burden you with truths.
” His thumb brushed over her knuckles as if to reassure himself she was still there.
“I won’t give you a secret to reveal under torture, and I won’t give you anything to cling to when your body is ready to break.
” His eyes shut, the light of the torches throwing shadows over his face, and his lashes, a pair of thick, silken half-moons, fluttered against his cheek.
“Most of all, I won’t give you any regrets. ”
As he turned away, she could have sworn she spotted resolve on his harsh, beautiful features.
Through the bars, Lory reached for him, her fingers grazing his hand just long enough to bemoan the loss of his touch as he continued into the shadows.
When she sank back into darkness, Lory’s heart was full of regrets, top of them that she had never told Khayrivven Falcrest that he had ignited a piece of her soul that she hadn’t believed existed.
When Falcrest entered the dungeon for real, he was the third of three armed men, one of them carrying a set of manacles connected with a heavy chain, while the other was carrying a bucket from which fog was rising.
She didn’t care to wonder what it contained; she’d find out soon enough.
All she could focus on was Khayrivven’s stony face as he halted in front of her cell, holding out his hand in a silent prompt for the man with the manacles.
The guard placed the heavy iron in the captain’s open palm, while his focus remained on Lory like she was a threat, even crumpled on the ground like this.
“I hope you’re hungry, Vednis,” Khayrivven said by way of greeting, in no way resembling the creature who’d abandoned her in her dream.
Lifting her head from where she was still lying on the ground, Lory shook it. In reflex, one arm wrapped around her middle, anxious to hold together the pieces of her, threatening to fall apart at the sight of her biggest regret.
“Too bad.” He flashed a heartless grin. “They promised to give you one last meal before the trial.”
How could he shut out all emotion like that?
How could he pretend he didn’t care in the slightest?
Or was that Lory’s mistake? Had the dream been a real dream rather than one woven by him?
Had he never actually said all those things?
Was this the real Khayrivven Falcrest, who had finally come to end her?
Something told her it was an act as much as his part as the steel-hearted captain who delivers ashlings for slaughter at the second bell every morning.
“I’d rather die with an empty stomach, thank you very much.” Despite all efforts, she couldn’t make it sound like a joke. “No regrets, remember?”
There—just a hint of emotion crossed his features, flashed like lightning at a great distance, and vanished behind the facade he kept up so expertly. But she’d spotted it, and now, Lory Vednis knew that she wasn’t alone.
She might be going to her death, but she was not alone. When her body was broken and shattered, one person would know the truth, and if Thal or Tabi or Jarek dared ask, he might tell it. Or Aiden.
Something heavy settled in her stomach, the knowledge that she’d lied in her dream.
Even when they’d all seen her fire magic and were already loyal to Ashthorn and Ulder, they were still her friends, and she doubted that someone who feared the Flame-born as much as the King of Brestolya did would leave any means untested in order to get her to spill her secrets.
Khayrivven knew. And he hadn’t given her anything. Not one word that she might babble under duress.
“Stand up and hold out your hands.” His tone was smooth, unbothered, like they hadn’t shared a kiss that set her on fire. Like he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her despite all those words of not caring.