CHAPTER 19
Onyx doesn’t speak until we are well into the palace corridors, far enough from the gardens that the air no longer tastes like dead leaves and old grief.
His arm remains steady beneath my hand, though his body is tight with anger.
I don’t mention the kiss that he watched Thorin and me share, as if we’d done it hundreds of times before.
I don’t know if that’s the reason anger is radiating off of him in waves, but he interrupts my thoughts before I can ponder too long.
“You should not have attacked him, Lyra. What made you do that?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Good to know we’re beginning this conversation with criticism.”
“He let you do that.”
The words stop me dead in my tracks. What is he talking about?
I look up at him. “What exactly do you mean?”
“The king let you attack him.”
“I’m aware, Onyx. I was there, in case you didn’t notice. It was infuriating.”
“No.” Onyx’s jaw works. “You don't understand. Thorin does not allow people to strike him. He does not allow anyone that close. Ever. Not even me, and I’m—”
He stops, and I wonder what he was about to say. Why is their relationship so complicated?
I don't answer right away. It feels wrong to discuss Thorin with Onyx, and vice versa.
The two of them refuse to exist separately in my mind, each carrying questions I don't want to examine too closely.
After the night I had with Thorin, I have to force my thoughts away from him before warmth threatens to give me away.
“Thorin is never charitable. I’ve known him for a very long time, so trust me when I tell you—he allowed you to land that blow.”
His confession sounds too personal. Too intimate. I want to ask more questions and normally I would but this time, I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I focus on the safer wound.
“He went into my mind.”
Onyx’s expression darkens. “Yes, I was not particularly fond of that part of your training.”
“He found something I didn't know was there.” I swallow. “It's my mind. How is that possible?”
His steps slow just enough for me to notice. I stop walking and turn to face him. “You know what it is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lyra.”
That answer comes quickly. Too quickly. So I ask another. “Do you care for me... more than you should, Onyx?”
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. It isn't a fair question, and I know it. Neither is anything else in this palace.
He lets out a slow breath. “Yes, I do, Lyra. But it’s… complicated.”
I stare at him. I’ve spent years watching people lie. Most lies come easily. The truth—especially the kind people don't want to admit, even to themselves—takes longer.
Onyx gave me both.
I look away, suddenly regretting the question. “It doesn’t have to be.”
His expression softens. “No.”
Whatever exists between us, whatever almost happened between us, we both know it can’t become anything more. And if I’m being honest—I don’t think there ever could be.
I swallow. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Good.” I lift my chin. “I have more than enough complications without adding you to the list.”
A quiet laugh escapes him, but there’s something sad beneath it. “For once, we agree.”
I meet his gaze again. “Then we leave it alone.”
He hesitates only a moment before nodding. “We leave it alone.”
I nod, letting the matter die between us.
For now.
“What does Thorin need in my mind?”
Onyx looks away, and I see guilt in his expression but he shuts it down quickly.
My pulse quickens because now I know for certain that he's protecting something.
No—not something. Someone. The look he gave Thorin in the Sacred Gardens flashes through my mind.
The disbelief. The anger. The clenched fists.
It wasn't because Thorin entered my mind.
It was because of what Thorin found there. And Onyx already knew.
I hold his gaze.
“You're protecting the king, and you knew what he would find when he entered my mind.”
His silence tells me everything I need to know. I stare at him. He exhales through his nose and looks down the empty corridor as if answers might be hiding somewhere along the stone walls.
“I know that something is there. That is all.”
My mouth goes dry. “No more lies. No more fucking lies, Onyx. One more and I swear—I can’t take much more of this. One more lie and I’ll break and neither of you will reach me. I will never, ever speak to you again. I mean it. Tell me, why would something be there?”
His silence stretches. I hate silence now. It makes me want to rage, scream, and throw things around. I have never had this type of temperament in my life, but manipulation can certainly do that to a person.
I used to live inside it. Silence used to mean safety. Silence meant no one was asking questions, no one was whispering, no one was looking too closely at the girl with silver hair who could work miracles. Now silence is a locked door, and I am on the wrong side of every one.
“Onyx!” I shout his name and his eyes come back to mine.
For a moment, I see it again. Guilt. That one is always so easy to read. But his is not the small kind. Not the guilt of a man who has told a lie to avoid discomfort. This is deeper. Older. The kind that has roots.
“I don’t know what’s there,” he says quietly. “But I think someone made sure you wouldn’t either.”
The corridor seems to tilt and my hand tightens around his arm. Someone. Not something. Someone.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” he says, voice rougher now, “that you need to be careful what doors you let him open.”
My laugh comes out shaken. “I am not exactly handing him keys.”
“No,” Onyx says. “But the king has never been good at leaving locked things alone.”
Again, that certainty, and history. I will get to the bottom of their story at a later time. I take a step back because standing too close to him while thinking about Thorin inside my mind is too confusing, and I am tired of confusion wearing different faces.
“Why do you stay?” I ask.
The question surprises him, and he has to work to put his mask back on now.
Onyx’s brows draw together. “What?”
“With him. In this palace. Serving a king you clearly argue with more than any captain should survive. You are without a doubt the most out-of-line Captain in any kingdom.”
His expression shutters and I almost laugh.
“There it is. The wall. You and Thorin both do that. Different faces. Same miserable habit.”
“Lyra.”
“No, no.” I shake my head, throwing my hand up. “I know what you’re about to say and honestly—I’m tired. I’m tired of what all of you say. You can’t tell me. It’s not yours to say. I’m not ready. The moon is in the wrong position. Pick whichever excuse is most fashionable today.”
His mouth twitches despite his efforts to hold it in. Finally, he says, “I stay because leaving would make some things worse.”
It’s not enough. But it’s more than he usually gives.
I study him for a long moment, trying to decide whether to push.
His face gives me nothing, but his eyes are tired.
Not tired like a man who missed sleep. Tired like a man standing between two fires and knowing eventually he will burn no matter which way he turns.
The anger in me softens around the edges.
I wish it wouldn’t, but it does.
“You looked worried,” I say.
“When?”
“When I hit him.”
His jaw tightens and I expect him to deny it but he doesn’t. “I was.”
“For him or me?”
The question hangs between us.
He looks at me then, and whatever I see in his face makes my breath catch.
“Both.”
Oh. Nope, I don’t know what to do with that.
So naturally, I ruin it. “How noble. Worrying about everyone. You must be exhausted.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Constantly, but that is my burden to bear.”
We continue walking. The silence this time is not comfortable, but it’s gentler when a friendship-that’s-not-a-friendship is on the brink of ruin.
By the time we reach my chamber, the trembling in my hands has mostly stopped.
Onyx pauses outside the door, and for a moment I think he might say something else.
Something important… or something dangerous.
Instead, he reaches out and lightly touches the back of my hand. Just once. A brief pressure, gone before I can decide whether to pull away.
“Rest,” he says.
I make a face. “Yes, I’ve heard that a time or two.”
“Maybe everyone has a point.”
“Here? Highly unlikely, Onyx.”
His smile is small but real. Then he turns and leaves.
I step into my chamber and close the door behind me, leaning against it until the sound of his footsteps fades.
Only then do I let my breath shake. I cross to the mirror slowly and stare at myself.
My braid has loosened. Silver curls frame my face in wild strands.
There is a smear of dirt across one cheek, and my lips are parted as if I have just run a great distance.
I lift my hand and press it against my own chest, over the place where my palm touched Thorin.
For one moment, I feel it again, reliving the past hour. His heartbeat. The recoil of his shadows. The cold edge of his mind brushing against mine. The golden wall inside me, old and locked and not made by me.
I think someone made sure you wouldn’t either, Onyx had said.
A chill runs through me. I should be thinking about that. I should be panicking about that. Instead, traitorous and terrible, my mind drifts back to the way Thorin smiled when I stopped holding back. I’ve never seen him look so proud.
I close my eyes and breathe.
No.
Absolutely not.
I will not stand in my beautiful prison and think about the Shadow King as if he’s anything other than the man keeping me here.
The man who entered my mind, looked at my magic, and smiled.
The man who made me feel, for one dangerous second, not broken or strange.
Maybe because he can relate, being the ‘Cursed King’.
I open my eyes and stare at my reflection until the girl looking back seems less like a captive and more like someone waiting to become a threat. Maybe that is what they all see, and that is what frightens them.