13. Chapter 13 #2
Our training lasts for hours and I have managed to coax the tree into acknowledging my power, but I can’t bring it back.
By the time Mazelle releases me, my hands are trembling, my head is pounding, and the tree remains exactly as dead as it was three hours ago—no bursts of green, no cold snap throwing me backward, no arm catching me before I hit the ground.
No protection at all. Mazelle is more than happy to watch me burn myself out and fall on my ass; in fact, I’m sure she’s been enjoying it.
When I’m escorted back to my room by the ever talkative Cadrin and ice cold Mazelle, Onyx is waiting outside my door.
I stop short enough that Mazelle nearly walks into me.
He looks the same as always, except for the way his dark eyes find mine and hold.
I can sense the formal distance from yesterday, making my stomach churn in disappointment.
“Lady Tarethyn,” he says, dipping his head. “Captain,” I say back, mostly to watch him flinch. He does, and I smile inside. It works. Good.
Mazelle looks between us and decides, wisely, that this isn't a conversation requiring her presence, and takes her leave with a small bow and a smirk that's somehow more sarcastic than anything Cadrin has said all morning. Smart choice, because I’m not in the mood to deal with her sarcasm today.
Onyx waits until she leaves before asking if we can talk.
I lead him into my chambers, gesturing for him to sit on the settee. We both stare at it for a minute, remembering what happened the last time we sat beside each other on it.
“Sit, Onyx. Please don’t make this awkward.” He raises an eyebrow before walking over to the settee and taking a seat, his massive frame taking up most of the sitting space.
He exhales, and looks unsure of what he wants to say, which is a first for him. It's such an unfamiliar expression on him that some of my anger falters despite my best efforts to keep it upright. “I owe you an apology,” he says.
I blink, shaking my head. “No, you don’t. You haven’t done anything except annoy me to the continent’s end.”
“I shouldn't have kissed you.” The words come out low and rough, and they cut even though they shouldn’t, because that’s never been mine and Onyx’s dynamic. But it is now, and I feel the shift.
“You came to my room to apologize for kissing me? As if I didn’t kiss you back?” I ask flatly. I know he wants to mend things with the king. But ruining our friendship in the process—that isn’t something I think I can handle right now.
“You were upset. Grieving, maybe, or close enough to it. I should have been the one thinking clearly, and I wasn't, and then Thorin walked in, and now—” He stops himself, jaw tight. “It wasn't fair to you.”
“Fair to me.” I laugh, and it comes out sharper than I mean it to.
“Onyx, I kissed you. In case you've forgotten that detail while writing your apology speech.”
“I’ve never been good at apologies... or speeches.” Our eyes lock for a moment and we look away, both afraid of where this could go again.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, wringing my hands nervously. I know that I shouldn’t ask this question, but I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“No.” He says simply. Just like that—he doesn’t even have to think about it.
He doesn’t have to think about whether he wants me or not.
He knows—knew—that he did, we acknowledged it, and that was that.
But I know now that it can’t happen again.
I stop my thoughts right there. He’s going to find love with a woman from Andell, and they will marry, and have children.
And I won’t hold any grudges against it.
I tell myself that, when the truth is, I want Onyx to be my protector always. But that’s the problem—I want him around always, but I find myself wanting Thorin’s presence as well even though I’ve been plotting ways to kill him since I arrived in Andell.
“I care about you, Lyra,” he says, and I see the emotion in his eyes. “That has never been the difficult part. The difficult part is everything standing around it.”
“I think I understand that part. It doesn’t sound so complicated when you put it like that.”
“It’s more than you think. There are a great many things I am not permitted to explain to you.” His mouth twists, bitterly. “Which I'm aware makes me sound exactly like every other man in this palace who's ever told you ‘soon.’”
“But you’re honest about it, and that I can appreciate. I know if you could tell me, you would. I’m glad you noticed that too.” I give him a sly grin.
“I notice everything about you.” He says it like a fact but I know it’s a confession. The truth? I don’t know what to do with that either. “It's becoming a problem. You’re impossible not to notice.”
“Well—this is awfully tragic.” I frown, patting his hand.
I’m sitting next to him, trying not to think about what happened last time we sat on it together.
It was beautiful and carefree and I felt—for a minute I actually felt something that blunt sarcasm can’t hide.
But, as seems to be fitting for me, I can’t have that either.
Because there’s Thorin, and I don’t know why but I feel pulled to him in a way that I hate, but can’t resist. I don’t know why the gods saw fit to dangle things in front of me that I’ll never have but it will never stop being disappointing when I can’t have them.
I don't know what to do with any of it—not the ache in my hands from using my magic beyond its limits, not the sinking feeling of watching a king who makes my heart stutter turn the corner without so much as acknowledging me, or the man in front of me apologizing for the one thing this week that actually felt like it was mine to choose.
“Please don’t ever apologize for this again,” I tell Onyx, standing to pat his hand. “You should leave now. I don’t know how, but I swear the Shadow King can feel what I’m thinking. Is that one of his gifts?”
“He possesses a great many, so I can’t say.
But I can feel what you’re feeling by sitting next to you.
You should probably turn that off.” He laughs, and for a moment we simply sit together, saying nothing at all.
We don’t need to. A glance, the curve of his mouth, the lift of an eyebrow—they somehow say enough.
I study his face for a long moment, looking for the trick in it, the angle, the thing every other man in this palace hides behind kindness. I don't find one, and that, more than anything he's said, is what loosens the knot in my throat.
“Fine, I’ll try,” I say with a reluctant grin. We stand, and we know our dynamic has shifted somehow. We just don’t say it aloud.
“I’ll always ensure you are safe, Lyra. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. You can’t seem to help but make sure I’m okay. How unfortunate for you.”
He grunts, places a hand on my cheek as he stares at me, then turns to leave. I let him go because if he makes me feel anything else, I'm certain I'll do something even more inconvenient than kissing him again. That won’t end well for either of us.
I cross to the window and press my palm flat against the glass, half daring my magic to get me out of here.
It doesn't listen. I’ve decided I don’t want to perform for the king anymore.
If he wants a miracle, he’ll have to figure out another way to get it.
I may not understand what he intends to do with my gift, or what he wants for me.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I will not be used quietly.