Chapter 20
Twenty
With trembling hands, Lory smoothed out the fabric of her shirt, buying some time to find the words to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue. Was any of it real? The kiss, the fire in his eyes, the unquestionable heat between them, but they kept evading her.
With a steadying breath, Lory decided on the more obvious question. “Why are you alive if you are Flame-born? Why didn’t Ulder have you killed? Why am I alive? Why this ultimatum? Did you convince the Triad to let me live? Why—”
“That’s a lot of questions.” Khayrivven was smiling, as if her open curiosity was the highest praise anyone could give.
“You told me to ask, Captain, remember?” Ignoring the lick of warmth inside her belly, she held his gaze, determined not to crumble under the intent in his eyes or the way he casually took a step closer.
“Are you ready for a long story, Lory?” The fact that he used her name rather than Gutter Gem made her want to bridge the three-foot distance between them and tell him she was ready for anything as long as it was the truth, but this wasn’t a dream where she could be bold and demanding.
This was the harsh reality, where her pain told stories of his power in these halls and his eyes of the moments he wished he didn’t. “Perhaps we should sit down.”
With two strides, he was at the wall, bracing his back against it and sliding into a cross-legged position, the saber at his back unsheathing itself with the motion and landing, hilt down in his waiting hand.
Had this not been about to become a life-altering conversation, she might have asked him to show her how that worked.
He didn’t wait for her to sit; instead, unsheathing his sword and placing both weapons beside his hip, on the side farthest away from Lory, as he spoke.
“When they discovered my powers, I had already received the captain title. I was on active duty and—” He paused, watching Lory sink into a sitting position next to him, strands of hair dancing around his head as he ran a hand through it while his eyes roved the long, black braid dangling over her shoulder.
“And?”
He rapidly blinked a few times. “And I’d proven my loyalty in the Brestolyan military and Ulder at the front lines.”
Now it was Lory who became flustered. “Front lines? Brestolya isn’t at war. It hasn’t been since the uprising of the…”
“Flame-born, you can say it. Our ancestors fought Ulder’s; that’s why he’s so afraid of us.” The way he said it… as if there were more than an accidental Flame-born captain and ashling he regularly interacted with.
“But that was an attempt at a revolution, right? Our ancestors tried to take the lands from the kings of that era.”
Khayrivven gave her a knowing look. “After the Great Purge, one would think fewer magic wielders were left, yet they keep popping up in the streets of Dunai. Have you ever wondered where they come from?”
She hadn’t, actually. Not when she’d inhabited the back alleys of the city—she’d been busy with merely surviving back then—and not when she’d found out about Ashthorn Ward and its purpose. She’d merely assumed they were rare relics of a time when magic had been a natural part of these lands.
When she didn’t answer, Khayrivven continued, “Brestolya lies south of Eherea, the Northern Continent where, north of Tavras, the fairylands of Askarea are situated. You know the stories about the immortal, magical, beautiful nightmares who once saved all of Eherea from the bride-seeking crow fairies, then saved Tavras from kneeling at the feet of a king in possession of magic.” Again, he paused, watching for a flicker of recognition on her face.
“I grew up on the streets where those of a full stomach and a safe place to sleep were the only fairytales I’d been told.”
The touch of pain and compassion on his features appeared so unexpectedly she wanted to reach out and comfort him.
“That war ended over seven hundred years ago, and I’m sure parts of the story have been lost to history, but the pieces we do know include fire fairies—Flame-born, who those stories say used to dwell in Brestolya before the first of them fled the lands after losing their reign to the first magic-hating king thousands of years ago.
They were said to have made a new home in Askarea, but not for long.
They lost it to the crow fairies, and whichever of them didn’t die in the wars on Eherean soil fled in all directions of the wind. ”
“Including Brestolya.” Lory nodded to herself, trying to keep up with the bits and pieces of that story she already knew and the ones she needed to fit into it.
“Some of them returned to their homelands, living peacefully—and mostly unrecognized—among the Brestolyan people.”
“Until they decided to take back their lands and laid siege to Dunai,” Lory remembered.
“The Starborn Siege,” Khayrivven amended, correct.
“Lontio the Starborn successfully beat them back, securing the human reign over the city and thus over the lands of Brestolya. By that time, fairies from all over the world had set foot on these lands, and trade and culture had thrived. But with the siege that era ended, the only reminder of the days fairies walked Brestolyan soil was the watered-down magical bloodlines they left behind.”
“Fairy? You’re a fairy?”
Khayrivven’s brow quirked. “Only you could focus on that little detail when I’m speaking about war.”
That his words sounded like a compliment was probably only in her head, but Lory took it anyway. He was sharing insights, and history, and every word trickling from his mouth was like a caress of silk, even if they spoke of pain and bloodshed.
When she didn’t speak, he gestured at her with his chin, pulling up his knees and bracing his forearms on them. “You and I, we’re both descendants of the ancient Flames, a people who used to rule Brestolya and have never been entirely forgotten.”
Fairy blood… She had fire fairy blood. “That’s why Ulder wants all Flame-born dead because he is afraid they might want back that power.”
“As they have tried ever since they were driven from their own lands.” With his toes, he tapped the floor.
“The stone this very pyramid is made of was carved from Flame territory. It was placed here during the ancient rule of our ancestors. They layered rock over rock to create the building, including the side buildings and outbuildings and the pyramid hosting the seat of power of Brestolya.” His breathing was agitated as his gaze bounced around the room, lingering on the iron brackets holding torches and blackened steel of the door. “This used to be their home.”
Lory kept very still as she studied him assessing the rock that had stood here for millennia. “I thought Lontio the Starborn founded the academy.”
“Founded,” Khayrivven interjected. “The palace had been built long before his time.”
For a long while, they stared at the dark rocks surrounding them, Lory counting the heartbeats until she dared speak again.
“So, why let me live? I haven’t proven my loyalty to anyone other than my own survival.
” Why the question came harder this time could have had something to do with the way Khayrivven turned his head, assessing her with vigilant eyes, the thin strands of daylight illuminating the rooms, casting soft contrasts onto his features.
“You’re right. You haven’t.” He sucked in his lower lip, gnawing on it as he seemed to ponder his next words.
“After you set yourself on fire on the roof at the Veiled test, I knew the Triad would want to kill you for two reasons: your magic and your skill.” His expression turned hard, the calculated, cold captain she’d first met.
“I have never seen anyone climb the way you did, Lory. You didn’t only master the parcours; you became one with it.
The way you flew across the walls and gaps, I don’t know what impressed me more—your speed and assurance or the utter recklessness driving you in your need to protect the ones you care about.
” He leaned closer as if sharing a secret.
“That’s another thing you and I have in common, Gutter Gem.
We’d do anything to protect the people we love. ”
In her chest, her heart gave a painful throb, proving it hadn’t stopped beating under the intent scrutiny of the man who willed her future.
“That’s when I knew there was one thing they wanted more than to kill you.” His mouth tipped up at the corner in the sort of familiar smirk he put on whenever he knew he was right about something. “They want you to kill for them.”
Lory sucked in a breath as he admitted his hand in her deal.
“I reminded them of how handy our magic can be and how I’ve never failed to execute an order given to me.”
“But my loyalty…”
“Doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. “I’ve taken care of it.”
With what Lory identified as perhaps the most bitter expression she’d ever experienced on the young captain’s face, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small enough to hide in his palm.
For a few long moments, he stared at his closed fingers, weighing whatever he was clutching like his life depended on it.
When he finally opened his fist, a small, slender vial filled with swirling traces of purple dust rested in his calloused palm. Lory had never quite noticed when her own hands were leathered from the exposure to rough sand and rocks, from climbing too many walls and pulling too many ropes.
Khayrivven’s callouses were different: defined on the sides of his fingers and the tender web between thumb and index finger, clearly from handling weapons for years on end.
“This is Almelyte powder. A very small dosage, probably not enough to trigger anyone’s magic, but more than enough to jumpstart yours if you ever fall short of summoning it.” Unceremoniously, he took her hand with his free one and placed the vial in her palm.