CHAPTER 18
We're still in the Sacred Gardens, and I'm still no closer to understanding why.
The gardens stretch far beyond what I'd seen on my first visit, winding through terraces of dead trees, empty fountains, and marble paths lined with beds of brittle stems that haven’t known life in centuries.
We leave the section where I accidentally brought a flower back to life, following a path that disappears deeper into the grounds.
No one speaks as we trail behind the king.
Thorin walks ahead with the quiet confidence of someone who knows every stone beneath his feet. Mazelle and Onyx trail several paces behind us, keeping their distance without ever falling out of step.
I glance over my shoulder, noticing that they’re far enough away that they wouldn’t hear us unless we raised our voices. He wants us to have complete privacy. Interesting. My pulse immediately begins to race.
We stop at a part of the garden I've never seen before. Here, the silence feels different. Older.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
Thorin turns to face me fully. “Mental training.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He never does.
I spread my hands. “How wonderfully vague. It has to be so exhausting holding everything in all the time, Thorin.”
“Your magic is not only in your hands, Lyra.”
The way he says my name sends a flicker of warmth beneath my skin, and I resent my body with every bit of strength I possess.
Onyx says my name like a warning, sometimes a prayer.
Thorin says it like he owns every syllable of it.
Which is exactly the sort of thought I should never be having while standing in a dead garden between two men I’ve kissed.
I fold my arms tight over my chest. “If this is the part where you tell me magic is in the heart, I may actually leave.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, perhaps because my sarcasm has finally exhausted him.
Good. I hope so. I hope I haunt him in small, irritating ways for the rest of his life.
But then his eyes darken, and I feel warmth creep beneath my skin because I know exactly where his mind goes when he watches my mouth.
Those lips were on mine not too long ago.
I have to stop thinking about last night. I have to get a king that I HATE out of my mind.
“Magic begins with intent,” he says. “You cannot control your magic if you do not understand what it answers to.”
“My magic answers to annoyance quite well, apparently.”
“Yes,” he says. “That is the problem. You need to learn control. I am going to help you train your mind.”
I look over to see Mazelle’s mouth tighten as though she agrees.
Onyx shifts his weight. “Thorin.”
The name cuts through the garden more sharply than any blade could have. Not Your Majesty. Not my king.
Thorin.
Everyone stills, even Thorin’s shadows. My eyes flick to Onyx, then to Thorin. Neither of them looks at me. Onyx’s expression is hard, his jaw locked tight. Thorin’s face remains calm, but the air around him cools.
“Captain,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like a warning.
Onyx holds his gaze for another heartbeat before looking away. I would love to ask what that odd exchange was, but unfortunately, I am standing in a circle with a king who has just announced he intends to poke around near my thoughts. My curiosity has many directions and only so much room to panic.
“You do not have to do this,” Onyx says, and this time he looks at me.
Thorin doesn’t move, but his expression turns murderous.
I should feel grateful to Onyx. Part of me does.
Another part of me, the stubborn foolish part that has dragged me through far too many terrible decisions, bristles at the implication that I need rescuing.
I’m exhausted by men deciding when I’m strong enough and when I’m breakable.
“I can speak for myself,” I say.
Onyx’s gaze softens, just barely. “I know. You do it quite a lot.”
“Great! Then let me.”
He inclines his head and steps back, though the tension in him doesn’t ease.
Thorin watches the exchange with the sort of stillness that makes me want to throw something at him just to see if he will finally react like a normal person. Why is there so much tension between everyone today?
“This lesson requires trust,” he says.
I laugh before I can stop myself. It’s not polite nor is it quiet. “Then we’re doomed.”
The faintest glint of amusement touches his eyes. “Trust can be temporary, Lyra.”
“Trusting you temporarily sounds like stepping off a cliff temporarily.”
“You are afraid I will hurt you.”
“I am afraid you will do exactly what you think is necessary and call it mercy.”
For the first time, his face changes. Only a little, but just enough to let me know the words have finally gotten to him.
I don’t know why that unsettles me. I should enjoy hitting something true within him.
With Thorin, I usually do. But the brief stillness in his expression feels less like victory and more like accidentally touching a bruise.
“I will not force the door to your mind open,” he says. “And I do not intend to harm you, Lyra.”
I blink. “What door?”
His gaze sharpens, but not at me. More like he is choosing his next words carefully. “The mind guards itself. Some defenses are natural. Some are learned. Some are built by trauma. I need to understand yours.”
“You need to understand my mind,” I repeat slowly. “Not I need to understand my mind?”
“You will, in time. But that takes patience, and control. Both are things that you lack right now.”
“How generous of you to eventually include me in the study of my own thoughts. No.”
Mazelle clears her throat and steps forward, her expression making it abundantly clear she’s had enough of me. “Lady Tarethyn, if His Majesty intended to harm you, he would not require permission.”
I look at her. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“No,” she says. “It’s meant to be accurate. You question His Majesty too much for my liking.”
Gods, I hate that woman.
Thorin extends one hand, palm upward. “Lyra, come sit with me.”
The request is quieter than I expect it to be, and it annoys me that he makes it sound like a choice.
I look at his hand, then at him. “If you find anything embarrassing in my head and tell anyone, I will make your life miserable.”
“You already do.” He’s full on grinning now—an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
My mouth opens but no words come out. His expression remains smooth, but there is a glimmer in his eyes that tells me he knows exactly what he has done. The bastard has learned how to spar with me.
I bite back a smile, shaking my head.
I sit on the stone bench across from him, placing my hands in my lap.
I curl my fingers tightly together, resisting the urge to glance at Onyx.
I can feel him watching. That should comfort me, but instead it makes everything worse.
I don’t want him to see me afraid. I don’t want anyone to see me afraid.
Thorin’s shadows gather beneath the bench, dark and silent, curling around the stone legs without reaching for me. For once, they seem restrained, and I wonder if restraint is natural to them or if he is holding them back by force.
“Breathe,” he says.
“I am breathing. You can’t tell?”
“You are preparing to fight.”
“I find it useful in your presence.”
His eyes hold mine. “Not today.”
The words are soft, making my chest tighten. His eyes never leave mine as shadows unfurl from his feet, gliding around me in silent ribbons until they frame us both. The rest of the garden seems impossibly far away.
I draw in a breath slowly.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“I would rather not.”
“Lyra.”
There is that possessiveness again. I close my eyes.
Darkness presses behind my lids, and immediately the garden becomes louder in other ways.
I hear the faint rattle of dead vines. Mazelle’s boots shifting over stone.
Onyx’s silence, which somehow has a shape all its own.
Thorin’s presence across from me is the strongest thing, a cold, immense pressure that reminds me of standing at the edge of a deep lake and realizing the water is much darker than it looked from shore.
Something brushes the edge of my thoughts and I go rigid.
It’s not painful, but pain might have been easier to understand. This feels intimate in a way I am not prepared for. Not like a hand on my skin. Worse. Like someone standing in the doorway of a room I have spent my entire life pretending does not exist.
My eyes fly open.
Thorin’s are already fixed on me.
“No,” I say.
His gaze does not waver. “I have barely touched the surface.”
“I felt you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not helping your case, Thorin. I felt you in my mind.”
“You need to learn the difference between presence and invasion.”
I almost laugh. “Spoken like a man inside my head.”
“I am not inside yet.”
Yet. A truly comforting word that I do not like the sound of.
“I guess the last part should make me feel more comfortable?”
His mouth curves into a faint smile, and I hate that my pulse reacts. I hate that I know he feels it, too. He’s already mentioned as much.
“Again,” he says.
I glare at him for a long moment before closing my eyes again, mostly because I refuse to let him think I can’t.
The cold pressure returns, lighter this time, skirting the edges of my thoughts rather than pushing.
I picture a wall made of thick stone. It’s solid and impenetrable, like the walls of Andell.
Thorin’s presence pauses at the edge of it.
The feeling sends a shiver down my spine.
“You are building barriers too late,” he says.
“Seriously, Thorin? Even my imaginary wall disappoints you?”
“Your imaginary wall is terrible.”
My eyes snap open. “That was unnecessary.”
“It’s the truth. They are.”
“Do you critique everyone’s mind this rudely or am I receiving special treatment?”
“For you, special treatment always, muya quenati.”
Heat rises to my face before I can stop it, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me so he immediately notices.