Chapter 17 #4
This—this she could get used to. This side of Khayrivven, who didn’t hide the pure need building up in him as he rolled his hips against hers, a deep moan rumbling in his chest. Her hands were burning, but she couldn’t hurt him in a dream, could she?
So, Lory let her fingers slide down his back, over his firm ass to the front of his pants where his hard cock was pushing against the fabric.
A quiver ran through him as she rubbed over it, and he gasped, breaking the kiss for a frantic heartbeat.
“Careful, Lory, you might not be ready for what happens when you make me lose control.”
The thought alone almost made her laugh. Her, unleashing him from whatever chains he’d put on himself in order to survive this place—but it intrigued her. More than the thought of untying his pants and grabbing the hard length of him, the thought of seeing that unchained side of him excited her.
Lifting her chest, she pressed her peaked breasts against his naked skin, moaning at the friction of the lace between them as he shifted over her.
“Lory—”
Again, she rubbed over his cock, only with her thumb this time, but he twitched under her touch, and Lory’s core tightened at the mere thought of having that steel length between her legs. Yet, at the back of her mind, something tugged at her, a reminder this wasn’t real and they weren’t alone.
Khayrivven’s hand coasted along the edge of her breast, his mouth a whisper along her lips. “You’re ready, Gutter Gem. Open your eyes.”
The mess hall seemed brighter than she remembered when she returned to reality, her forehead beaded with sweat and the flesh between her legs throbbing with all the fantasies of how that dream may have continued under different circumstances.
With a slow exhale, she glanced down at her hands, at the gold and orange of the fire living there, and through the glow, Khayrivven was looking at her, pride shining in his eyes, while he adjusted his stance to hide the proof of what Lory’s touch had done to him, even in a dream.
She couldn’t help the smirk spreading on her face. “Is that enough, or would you like me to set the building on fire?” She didn’t ask anyone in particular, but she did grin at Aiden as he caught her gaze with a brilliant, bloody smile.
“That will do.” The Master of Whispers waved the guard with the bucket of ice forward, taking it from his hands. “Just in case you try anything,” he explained, setting it down on the edge of Lory’s table.
From the other side, Brunn and Ycken stepped closer, their curiosity obviously piqued and their fear of the flame-spitting monster she supposedly was under control.
“You are sure your mother didn’t have fire magic? Or your father?” Brunn prompted with that stern look she remembered from her first trial.
Lory shook her head. “I wasn’t aware I was from a magical bloodline at all before the day you conscripted me to Ashthorn.
” They didn’t need to know her father was still alive.
No matter his abandoning his family and kicking Lory and Evven out into the dirt when they’d found him when they were younger, she wouldn’t take any risks.
Every word hurt, her throat dry from two days without water, and her stomach rumbled at the view of the raw meat in the bowls. Carefully, she lowered her palms into the bowl, picking up the thick, red slice.
“If I cook it, I can eat it?” She knew better than to trust any of them—even Khayrivven, no matter the heat smoldering in her stomach at the sight of him.
“That was the deal.” Lenya sat down across from her once more, leaning back in his chair as he flicked his fingers, and Aiden’s face contorted with agony.
What horrible magic did the Master of Whispers have to inflict such pain without even touching a person, without visible proof of what he was doing?
“You’re wondering what it is that I can do?” Lenya guessed right and didn’t fail to smirk at her as he watched Aiden gasp for air.
“Leave him alone,” Lory demanded, ready to get to her feet once more and throw herself at the Master of Whispers, consequences be damned. “You said if I summoned my magic, you wouldn’t hurt him.”
Lenya shook his head. “I said, summon your magic, or he dies.” He took a long, hard look at Frost, at the haze rising from his palms as his magic strained to break free. “He’s not dying, is he? Just a little … uncomfortable.”
Monster, that was what Lenya was. No wonder the students didn’t dare speak of him. He was evil, a sadist.
“Oh, by the Guardians, Espetto, leave the boy alone.” Brunn shifted as if ready to put herself between Lenya and Aiden, but she remained where she was, face hard and eyes sparkling dangerously as she met Lory’s for a brief moment.
“We’ve come to a conclusion, so there’s no point torturing the ice wielder. ”
Frost sagged in his chair as Lenya lowered his hand.
A trickle of blood spilled from his mouth onto his shirt, and his features slacked as he inhaled a deep breath.
Ice climbed from his fingertips all the way up to his swollen lip and his bruised neck, where Lenya’s magic must have done damage, forming a layer to cool the worst of his injuries.
I’m sorry, Aiden, she thought, focusing on the piece of meat cooking between her fingers. The flames were hot, but not uncomfortable, and her pulse had slowed, the panic of what would happen to Aiden smothering the burning need spreading whenever she dared glance at Khayrivven.
The meat was almost done.
“I know.” Lenya gave Brunn a punishing look, but his posture remained relaxed, as if no one and nothing in this room could hurt him.
“Hand Falcrest has informed us of your magic, Vednis, and now we’ve seen it for ourselves.
We’ve also heard about your achievements in Veiled.
” Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Khayrivven, he paused, Lory’s heart rate spiking all over again for fear of what he might see if he looked too closely at him.
“The youngest captain in the common army, and the youngest hand at Ashthorn Ward.” A hint of pride shone through as he turned his back on Khayrivven once more to watch Lory’s reaction. “What has he taught you, Vednis?”
A lump the size of the meat in her hands formed in her throat, and Lory fought to swallow it before she’d give away anything.
“He’s instructed us in Veiled techniques, especially how to master obstacles, alongside his magic lessons, of course.” That was neutral, right? They couldn’t make anything of that except that he was a dutiful and skilled teacher.
“Of course,” Lenya echoed with a terrifying grin. “And has he shown you the sort of magic he holds? Has he ever told you why he’s the youngest hand at Ashthorn?”
The lump moved to Lory’s chest, where it formed an iron fist around her heart until all she could do was shake her head.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Khayrivven turn to stone, his muscles nearly shaking from how still he stood.
“He uses unorthodox methods of teaching, that’s for sure, or he wouldn’t be so valuable to King Ulder and his magical units. But he also carries secrets that would mean your certain death if he ever shared them—and his.”
The fist started squeezing, and her breath stuttered as she forced her panic down, fighting the dark edges of her vision.
What the fuck was happening?
“He told me he used Almelyte powder on you to first trigger your magic. Is that true?”
Wait a moment… Was it her on trial or Falcrest?
She nodded. “He did.” Her choked voice carried into the silent mess hall, and the meat slipped from her still-burning fingers into the bowl.
“And he said you had light magic?”
Again, Lory nodded. Whatever Lenya was trying to achieve, it made breathing hard and her heart leap into a frenzy, hammering against the steel layer slowly constricting it.
“Did he believe you had light magic?” Lenya leaned across the table, studying the flare of fire in her palms.
Lory swallowed, refusing to glance at Khayrivven, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“He never mentioned anything different.” She wasn’t sure why the thought of selling him out was so repellent— he’d thrown her in the dungeons for the Guardians’ sake—but as she glanced at him, she could read his solid mask of I-don’t-give-a-fuck exactly for what it was: fear.
“Interesting.” Lenya pursed his lips. “Hand Falcrest came to us a few days ago with the information that the supposed illusionist isn’t really that. He told us about a Flame-born with formidable powers and no family left that could taint her loyalties.”
Guardians, did Lory want to be anywhere but there. Even the scalding heat of midday sun burning down on Dunai would be better than their glares, the curiosity and verdict in their eyes—and the malice.
Brunn joined them by the table, bracing her hand on the edge, gaze boring into Lory’s. “Is it true he used a torch to set you on fire? Or was that a clever disguise for the first time you set yourself aflame?”
“You mean, is the story about my trying to kiss him true?” Lory couldn’t help the smirk forming on her features. “Have you looked at that man?”
Brunn’s hand slapped the table. “I expect a straight answer, ashling. You’re not in any position to play games of evasion.” As if ready to share a secret, Lory leaned forward, and she amended in a hiss, “In fact, you’re not in any position to play games at all.”
“It is.” Not even a lie. “But that’s not what I’m on trial for, is it?” She reminded the Triad that it was her they wanted, not Khayrivven, even when it would have been so much easier to make up a story to incriminate him, or worse—tell the truth.
Lenya shook his head. “You’re on trial for the type of magic you possess.”
Lory didn’t dare glance at Khayrivven, who was still standing like a statue by the edge of the platform.
“We know exactly what you are and what you’re capable of, Vednis, and we know how to eliminate you for it.” Lenya’s mouth pulled into a cruel grin. “We also know you want to live; you wouldn’t have taken the deal to join Ashthorn Ward otherwise. The question is: how much do you want to live?”