Chapter 55
Fifty-Five
- LYRA -
Devin’s grip is tight on my arm, eyes wide as he scans the hallways and runs us down it.
Flashes of the beast race in my mind. Horns protruding from his skull, talons cracking the tiles.
Long tail whipping back and forth as those black eyes found me in the night.
That indescribable, all-consuming heat of magic that pulsed over me.
Infatuated me.
Until all I could be was desperate and hungry for it. I became addicted to the power. Drawn to touch the beast and take more. Willing and eager for anything he’d give me. And when he took me as he did, I couldn’t help but be a willing participant.
Maybe I should be ashamed I gave in. But I can’t. It felt like fate somehow wound itself into my bones, my soul. Not a lick of fear quivered within me.
Even as the beast’s voice still echoes within the halls.
You cannot run from me.
I shudder at the intention in its voice. A death threat to all who dare stand in the way.
Devin pulls me into the hideaway room he took me all those nights ago. The pain in my head returns as soon as Devin closes the door. Winding with the roaring of the beast. Every time it spikes through me, I flinch forward.
Devin gently guides me over to a chair as I struggle to keep a straight spine. I collapse down into it, overcome by the rushing wave of the creature’s presence in me.
“Lyra,” Devin pants, searching my face and kneeling in front of my chair. Those golden eyes search my face with intense concern. “I am so, so sorry. That—” His shoulders fall in a deep sigh. Voice tight with desperation as he repeats, “I am so sorry.”
I hold a hand up to him before the room begins to spin. That familiar shot of pain rips through my head even stronger, forcing me to arch back against the chair with a cry.
The beast’s magic courses through my veins, pulsing and burning.
What if I’m not strong enough to contain? To handle it?
Warm hands grab mine. Warm, calloused, and—
I’m swept into a memory.
Three years ago.
I jiggle the key into the lock, shivering despite how much I tense against the cold. The lock itself is rusty, sure, but it likely doesn't help I can’t even stand still. Eyes are heavy on my back.
“S-sorry…” I murmur as I work the key harder. “I-it tends to st-stick.”
A warm hand brushes over mine. “Here, let me try it.”
I freeze, glancing up at the soldier who offers to open it. Slowly I slip my hand out of his, his golden eyes round on mine for a long moment before he blinks and works to unlock the door. He does so after a moment, twisting the handle and pushing open the door as it swings wide with a creak.
Seems silly to be locking a place like this.
I imagine it’s going through their heads, too, as the soldier and his other three comrades peer into the dark building.
It’s not nearly as impressive as it once was.
Once upon a time it had been a gorgeous forge for dragonblades, but now it’s little more than a stone frame with its roof caved in.
And the rain only highlights the ruin. Sheets of droplets pour in through the center of the building, collecting in a massive pool.
Other parts of the roof still standing leak, littering other muddied puddles around the space.
I gesture them inside, waiting until they all enter before I do. While the building does provide some shelter from the wind, I’m already soaked to the bone. My thin flats are drenched.
“Where were the materials originally stored?” one soldier asks.
I walk toward the direction of the far corner, finding no opportunity to miss the puddles. My flats sink and squish in the mud, and water slips up past my ankles.
“Why don’t we come back tomorrow?” a man says.
I stop, slowly turning to find the soldier who helped me open the door.
He continues, “When the weather is a bit kinder?”
The others agree, but I don’t miss the subtle glance he takes toward my shoes.
My father is worried when I return home and inform him the King’s auditors will come back tomorrow.
He’s suspicious that they saw something to spur a need for a deeper investigation.
But when we return the next day, the rain now a soft drizzle, the soldier who postponed the audit has a brand new coat for me.
At first I think it’s a test.
But when he’s adamant I take it so he and his men can get a tour without interruptions, I comply. Perhaps he’s simply a kind man.
That, or a pitying one.
The audit goes as smoothly as it can. Later that night I return to my family’s bakery. Since we have to be mindful of my mother around others considering her delicate situation, and we can’t afford the king and his men discovering her illness, I’m the designated delivery girl.
As I drop off a delivery of freshly baked bread to our town bar, I catch his eyes from across the room. That golden-eyed soldier, having a beer with his fellows. I slip out, my business done. But as I turn off the street back to the bakery, he catches me.
I can’t help but think I’m in trouble. That something was wrong with the audit.
“Sorry, I…” He drops his hand off my shoulder. “I just wanted to ask if the coat fit well. If not, I’m in town for a few more weeks and would be more than happy to have it tailored for you.”
“Oh…” I blink, unsure how to respond. Dipping my head, I finally breathe out, “It fits well. But I thank you for your kindness.”
“I’m glad then,” he murmurs. Then adds, “Would I be able to buy a loaf or two from you? My men and I tend to get hungry after a few drinks.”
“The bar’s delivery is the last of our stock for tonight, I’m afraid. But…” a small grin lifts my lips, and I jerk my head to the south, “come two streets over and we’ll have more tomorrow.”
A smile warms his features in the night. “Tomorrow, then.”
The next morning, thirty minutes before we open our doors, he’s outside. As I tie on my apron, my father’s peeking at him through the window. “What business does a king’s soldier have here?”
Without looking up from kneading dough, I respond, “He caught me at the bar last night and wanted to buy a loaf. I told him we were out and to come by this morning.”
He drops the curtain at the window and turns to me with narrowed eyes. “Did he now?”
The soldier waits outside alone for the next thirty minutes. Well, thirty-five. My father makes him wait an extra five minutes past opening just because.
“Hi…” I breathe when he comes up to the counter, dusting my hands off on my apron. “You came.”
He smiles, brilliantly. “I did. I’ve been up all night dreaming about what kind of loaf I’d order.”
My father, across the room sweeping, rolls his eyes.
“What do you normally like?” I ask, then gesture to everything we have on display. “We have white, wheat, rye, sourdough—”
“Everything.” He leans up onto the counter.
I nod. “Okay, so, one of everything then?”
“No. Everything, as in, I’d like to buy every loaf you have in here.”
My father drops the broom to the floor with a clatter before scrambling to pick it up. Mirroring my own shock.
Once I get my breath back, I laugh incredulously. “You aren’t serious?”
He pulls a bag heavy with coin out of his coat and drops it onto the counter. “Oh, on the contrary, I’m very serious.”
With wide eyes, I slide my gaze over to my father, unsure how to respond.
He leans the broom up against the wall and scurries over, appreciation completely washing away his original skepticism.
My father agrees to selling half the stock to him today, and the other half tomorrow since we still have a delivery, and it’ll give us time to make extra.
The next day trickles by. He doesn’t show to claim the last half of his purchase. My father curses the waste of bread and effort. As I stay late to close the shop and clean, a knock comes at the door.
It’s him.
I’m not supposed to let anyone in after dark, especially when I’m alone. Especially because I don’t even know the soldier’s name. But I do. Swept in by that charming smile of his. The warmth in his voice.
“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t leave my duties any earlier,” he tells me. The distress in his voice is genuine.
As I slide the box of loaves to him on the counter, his hands brush mine as he takes it. We stand there still for a moment, staring at the other. Our fingertips touching.
Quietly, he asks, “Do you know of any families in town that might benefit from these?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He dips his head and laughs before looking up at me. “I might have spent all my wages just to see you again. There are only four of us soldiers here in town, and I would hate to waste it on us when there might be others who would benefit from a free meal.”
A blush forces me to drop my hands from the box and look down at my feet.
“I know, ridiculous, right?” He laughs again. “I am…so entranced by you. And yet, I don’t even know your name.”
“Lyra,” I say as I meet his eyes again.
There’s that handsome smile of his again. “Devin.”
We spend every night together for the next few weeks until he leaves.
Innocent at first. Chatting for hours, learning about each other—the families we come from, our dreams, our fears.
Our similarities and differences. The second-to-last night, as we say our goodbyes, I pull him into a sweet kiss.
And on the very last night before he leaves, he confesses he’s in love with me.
That he’ll do whatever he can to come back and see me.
I spend months staring at the bakery door. Every time it opens, it breaks my heart into smaller pieces when it isn’t him. I can only wonder if I was some passing fantasy for him. If he was just lonely on a mission from the king. Wondering if he found someone else.