CHAPTER 7 #3
We pass beneath the first watchtower not long after our tedious conversation.
Torches line the stone wall with bright blue fire, and the guards stationed there straighten when they see Onyx.
I barely have time to take in my surroundings because I’m so interested in their interaction.
One of them raps a fist to his breast in salute.
Onyx acknowledges him with a slight nod before continuing through.
I watch the exchange and hate the way it unsettles me to see Onyx this way.
It shouldn’t because I have known, in the broadest sense, that Onyx belongs to the king’s guard.
I’ve travelled with his sword, endured his orders and his infuriating composure long enough that this should not surprise me.
Yet seeing men fall silent at his approach and the city receiving him in this way makes the truth of him feel larger than the man who shared Otto’s food with me back at the inn.
The gates come into clearer view as we descend.
Dark iron rises between towers of black stone etched with blue lines that pulse faintly, and I feel the magic beneath its surface.
The blond-haired guard at the arch glances once at Onyx’s face and steps back immediately.
His gaze slides to me then, and lingers just long enough to note my travel-stained cloak and the silver hair tucked half beneath the hood.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.
I can practically smell the disdain rolling off of him.
He calls for the gates to open and they do, opening with a sound like distant thunder rolling through the mountain.
I stare ahead to keep from gaping. The palace is beautiful—and terrifying.
I stiffen in the saddle, inhaling deeply to remind myself that I am not afraid.
But that’s the second lie that I’ve told myself today.
The first is that I will leave Andell of my own accord—I know that I won’t.
Onyx notices my discomfort immediately, because of course he does. Does he have to notice everything?
“What is it?” He wears an expression of concern that I’m not used to seeing and it catches me off guard.
I force my fingers to release their death grip on Bromir’s reins.
“Nothing I intend to discuss right now,” I say through gritted teeth.
I don’t feel comfortable talking in this place, much less about what’s making me uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s the guards eying me, some with disgust, some hungrily with what I hope I’m misinterpreting.
Onyx’s eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t press the issue. Right then, Bromir tosses his head at the noise from within the outer court and Onyx raises his hand again, steadying the bridle before he can sidestep.
“Careful,” he says, and I’m noticing a pattern of his voice softening just enough for me to notice it. Only with me, though. That much I’ve picked up since we’ve travelled together.
“I always am. Isn’t it obvious?”
He looks at me for a long time before throwing his head back in laughter. “No, Lyra. You are many things, careful is not one of them.”
I open my mouth to answer, but what can I say? He’s one hundred percent correct, and I detest being seen accurately by a man who is still keeping whole pieces of himself under lock and key.
Onyx dismounts first. For the briefest moment he looks as though he wants to offer me his hand, but I shake my head slightly, wanting to exude confidence in this strange den of vipers.
It’s a ruse, and I’m sure he knows it, but he doesn’t say anything.
His fingers flex at his side and I make the mistake of looking.
I notice that because the gods have seen fit to burden me with extraordinary observational powers and very poor judgment about where to apply them.
His hands look so strong that I’m sure he could probably lift me off of Bromir in one fluid motion—gods I should have let him help me.
But showing weakness in a place like this does not seem wise, and I’m nowhere near a mindreader but I’m sure Onyx knows this.
I slide from the saddle on my own, though my legs protest the descent in a way I choose to ignore for the sake of pride.
Onyx’s gaze travels over me once, swift and assessing, taking in the set of my shoulders, the tension in my hands, perhaps the fact that I am pretending the world has not shifted off its axis beneath my boots.
“Stay close to me,” he says.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am right next to you.”
The genuine impatience on his face is clear, I can tell that he’s actually annoyed now.
“Lyra.”
The way he says my name carries two meanings at once, a warning and an anchor. The warning is wasted, because I know I’m in a city that has no love for someone like me. The steadiness—that is what I need from him because I’m on the brink of losing my shit.
Two men step forward, taking the horses' reins before leading them away. My gaze lingers on Bromir for a heartbeat, the perfect traveling companion, before I cross the distance to stand beside Onyx.
I match his stride as we walk down a long corridor that leads to a polished marble staircase, rising toward a massive archway thrown open to warm torchlight.
Beyond it, the palace interior waits in shadowed gold and blue-white flame.
Guards stand on either side of the entrance in black armor, and they look intimidating as hell.
They don’t move or speak, only dip their heads in acknowledgment toward Onyx.
As soon as I get to the threshold, I stop. It’s so sudden that I almost smack into Onyx.
Not because I mean to, but because the instant I step close enough to cross into the palace, the warmth inside me surges so suddenly that I lock my knees to keep the reaction off my face.
It’s not pain, but rather my magic reacting to this place as a protective barrier.
Whatever lies beyond those walls feels as if it has been waiting for me, and my magic surges in warning.
Is it too late to run away? Should I keep going?
I stand there for a moment, debating all of my life’s choices that have led me to this moment.
Onyx notices the pause and his hand brushes the small of my back, giving me the courage I need to move forward. I straighten, glancing over at him.
“We are here,” he says.
Together, we step into the palace.