Chapter 19 #2
But Aiden seemed to be of a different opinion.
With long, ice-coated fingers, he reached for the jar, holding it up between them.
“Don’t tell me he hasn’t visited your dreams.” The pale brow he raised said it all.
“Falcrest has been having trouble sleeping lately, and trust me when I say you’re one of the reasons. ”
A thin smile sought its way onto her face. “One of them?”
Aiden gently nudged the biceps on her good arm. “Hey, don’t get cocky, fire spitter. The captain has a whole unit to command. You can’t be the only thing he dreams about.”
The momentary lick of warmth in her chest was as much a surprise as it was a reminder of what she’d seen in Khayrivven’s face, his eyes. More than a coldhearted commander and yet the most fearsome of them all.
He’d held her fate in his hands before, but now, it was more than that.
As Lory let the thought settle that Khayrivven might have helped her not just because he believed a power like hers was worth more if utilized for assassination than five feet below ground, her heart might very well be resting in those dangerous, powerful hands.
Khayrivven didn’t visit her in her dreams again until he showed up exactly one week after Lenya had seared her flesh with the branding iron.
As he opened the door to the plain, furniture-less room at the back of the infirmary, Aiden got to his feet from his usual spot by the wall under the window and left with a nod at the captain.
Lory wasn’t certain what sort of understanding passed between them as they marched past each other, but Aiden’s shoulders straightened an inch and Khayrivven’s chin dipped just noticeably, before he paced the length of the room once, coming to a halt with his back to where Lory was sitting by the wall across from the door, her good shoulder leaned against the cool stone to protect her injured one.
A familiar tension defined his posture, as if he was expecting her to attack, but he didn’t reach for the saber sheathed along his spine or the sword at his hip.
Lory used the unobserved moment to study the lines of his tall frame, the powerful legs and muscled arms the loose-fitting uniform couldn’t conceal.
A small, silver knife peeked out of his boot, and a bracelet of black beads circumvented his wrist. And his shoulder…
Right by the edge of the hilt of that beautiful saber, a barely visible branding was hidden, marking him as Flame-born.
In her chest, Lory’s heart hammered like a drum, but she forced down one calming breath after the other.
She forced herself to stop staring.
“It’s been a week,” Khayrivven opened without turning around, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her, but his tone was casual as always.
Lory swallowed the dryness in her throat. At least, the thornlings specializing in Medica had taken her to a bathing room every other day, and behind a small door at the back of the room, she’d found a toilet. Aiden had helped her get there the first time, Guardians bless him.
Her plain, beige linen clothes were clean, and she didn’t smell like she’d been locked in a room for a week after spending two days in the dungeons.
“Feels longer.” Lory forced herself to stand up, finding her legs relatively stable for what she’d been through.
Khayrivven’s shoulders twitched as if in a silent chuckle, and he turned around, facing her from the other end of the room. “You look better.”
“Better than after you left me here, dirty and bleeding? Or better than in that last dream?”
Khayrivven absently gritted his teeth, folding his arms over his chest. “All right, no beating around the bush. Let’s jump right in, shall we?”
Why he would be surprised she had questions was beyond her. “You didn’t expect me not to bring it up after what you showed me.” Gaze flicking to his shoulder, she got to her feet, leaning her good side against the wall.
Khayrivven dipped his chin. “I assume you have questions.”
Lory gave him a tight grin. “How did you guess?”
That painted a smirk on Khayrivven’s face.
“If it wasn’t for the fact that you want to bite my head off right now, I’d tell you how sexy you look in those.
” He gestured at the shirt and pants, not so unlike the color in the dream, only without the embroidery and a more functional, lighter material, and tighter fitted—now that she was thinking about it, they looked nothing like the soft fabrics from the dream.
Khayrivven cocked his head. “Maybe the fact that you want to bite my head off is exactly what makes you so appealing.”
“Part of my charms.” Lory instantly regretted faking nonchalance with a shrug, the movement sending a flash of pain down her arm and spine, and she suppressed a flinch.
This time, Khayrivven’s grin was genuine. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he prowled closer, stopping a few feet away and gazing down at her from those storm-gray eyes. “Let me explain a few things before I let you ask questions, and lay out some ground rules.”
“Ground rules,” Lory echoed, wondering which version of Khayrivven Falcrest she was talking to: the captain or the man.
“Yes, ground rules.” He didn’t pause long enough for her to interrupt again.
“You can’t talk to anyone about my magic or your ultimatum.
Second, whatever this”—he pulled a hand from his pocket to gesture between the two of them—“is, I’m still Veiled Hand at Ashthorn Ward, and you’re in my direct chain of command. ”
Lory inhaled a deep breath to tell him there was no this—at least none that either of them had acknowledged—but Khayrivven rolled on. “Third, you have three months to get your powers under control. If you don’t, there will be nothing anyone can do to save you.”
I don’t need saving. The words built in Lory’s throat, but Khayrivven shook his head. “Ask what you want to know.”