TWO #3
Lyra leans into Garrick, but she still buzzes with excitement. “Oh, that I can appreciate! I want to see more of the fashion in the capital.”
Sienna offers a small, measured smile. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Amara,” she says smoothly, then turns to Lyra. “And I’m sure we can arrange that.”
I get the sense she means it. The rest feels . . . conditional. I could be reading into things, but I get the feeling that she doesn’t believe in the prophecy in the same way Thane now does.
“Likewise,” I reply, matching her tone.
Sienna’s gaze flickers and I think I just passed some kind of test.
“And finally, Master Orlon Revic. Our resident expert in magics and history, and scholar of things that most of us don’t understand.”
A rotund man with a deeply wrinkled face steps forward beside Sienna. His bald head gleams in the sunlight as he offers a toothy smile. His brown eyes catch mine—Earth Clan—and I feel an immediate fondness.
Orlon inclines his head, eyes sparkling.
“A pleasure,” he says. “It’s sensational when I can welcome a fellow Earth Clanner to the capital. At dinner, please tell me all about the region—it’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”
“I would love to, but I never traveled the region. I never left my village or farm before going to the outpost.”
“Then tell me all about your village and what you grew,” he says, his voice softening. “I miss that fresh air and those open fields. The capital can feel stuffy and smelly at times.”
He gives me a conspiratorial wink, and I grin. From the corner of my eye, I see Thane watching me, smiling. A piece of home, here of all places. It steadies something in me.
“And you have already met Malek, the Fire Clan’s Spymaster.” Rowena waves a hand toward him.
Spymaster. The title hits, cold and sharp as a winter wind. The man standing before me suddenly makes sense. He’s not a soldier or a courtier, but something else entirely. He doesn’t watch like the others. He assesses. Calculates. Catalogs.
I straighten slightly, my instincts on edge.
“Malek.” I repeat.
“The Spiritborn herself,” he replies, inclining his head. His voice is too even, too practiced. Like he’s already decided what I am before I’ve even spoken a word.
“Malek has a habit of appearing exactly when it benefits him most,” Rowena says, a little too pointedly.
Malek smiles like her words are a compliment. “It’s my job to be informed.”
“And yet, here you are, suddenly very interested in my brother and the Spiritborn,” she muses.
“That I am. As are we all.” Malek smiles again, but his golden eyes remain flat.
“Let’s get you both settled. The staff will bring your things to your rooms,” Sera says, her voice calm, redirecting the conversation. She looks at me first, then Lyra. “I’ll take you to your rooms, give you a tour of the castle. The sooner you know your way around, the better.”
I nod, grateful for the excuse to leave the tension behind. Lyra, of course, takes a different approach.
“Are we being escorted, or are you just trying to keep an eye on us?” she teases, one brow arched.
Sera doesn’t rise to the bait. “Can it be both?”
Lyra grins. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”
“You’ll have the run of the place soon enough,” Sera continues, turning slightly toward Thane. “But your Warlord has more pressing matters.”
She nods toward the council members, who are already gathering.
Thane’s gaze flicks to me just for a moment. It’s brief, but I catch it. A silent acknowledgment. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t quite want to leave.
But he does because he’s Thane. Duty always comes first.
His fingers tighten around mine, then he reluctantly lets go. In the past, he would have pulled away too quickly, too sharply, like touching me was a mistake.
This time, it lingers.
He isn’t choosing between duty and me.
He’s choosing both.
Garrick gently guides Lyra into my arms. “Will you just make sure to keep her wrangled?”
Lyra clicks her tongue. “Would you stop fussing? I’m okay.”
Instead of responding with his usual smart remarks, he kisses Lyra on the forehead then turns away. Garrick claps a hand on Thane’s shoulder, guiding him toward the council chambers, Valen at their heels, after a quick glance at Malek.
Rian and Jarek are walking towards us now, carrying with them documents hidden in their bags.
“Rian, Jarek—can you help this old man carry his belongings to his quarters,” Valen says loud enough for everyone to hear. He shifts the satchels and bags he’s carrying.
I know he’s saying it for whoever is in earshot. This was part of the plan to sneak the documents we found in the chamber to Valen’s quarters without notice.
“Of course, Valen.” Rian takes a couple of the larger bags from him.
“You’re not that old, Valen,” Jarek teases, taking two other bags.
They peel off toward Valen’s wing, moving casually, but with purpose.
“Try not to cause trouble while we’re gone,” Garrick calls over his shoulder.
“That depends,” Lyra replies, grinning. “What do you consider trouble?”
I laugh, catching the way Garrick doesn’t even look surprised by her answer.
“Anything that makes my life harder,” Garrick says dryly.