57 #2
Because Jeryn revealed the explosive components had been sourced from Winter, this implied Lyrik had visited that Season before.
Except I knew bullshit when I heard it. This man had never stepped foot out of Autumn.
He was just being cagey, unaware of Jeryn’s legendary patience and the cunning of every person seated at this fire pit.
Flames swatted the air. The vial pendant hanging from Jeryn’s throat caught the light, drawing Lyrik’s eye.
Clear liquid sloshed inside the glass. Aside from the king, only Flare could say what her lover’s pendant contained. Even so, our clan had known this deliberate man long enough to sense a test coming.
Everyone watched as Jeryn plucked the necklace’s vial and exhibited it to the rogue. “Tell me what this consists of.”
Intrigue flashed in Lyrik’s pupils. Aside from Nicu, dominating this man’s attention wasn’t easy. Yet he also liked a challenge, not to mention any shared connection through science. The two sized one another up, with Lyrik finally internalizing the king’s identity and which nation Jeryn ruled.
Swallowing, the rogue pinched the vial, angled it to the firelight, and scanned the fluid. After uncorking the stopper and inhaling, he furrowed his eyebrows. From there, this man needed all of three seconds.
“Bitter herbs,” Lyrik mused. “The kind that thrive in polar climates. Charred spruce, iradis leaf, silver mint. If we’re placing bets, I’d say the compounds were extracted and refined into a multitasker potent enough to heal more than one problem.” He shrugged. “But then, I’m not a doctor.”
Jeryn and Flare traded looks, a remote memory passing between them. Maybe something having to do with their time in the rainforest.
Either way, Lyrik didn’t need to be a doctor. That wasn’t the point of the exercise.
Jeryn didn’t test people out of boredom. He invested the effort strictly in individuals worth his notice, and based on this bit of impossible trivia, the king had predicted this outcome.
Flare’s astute eyes dissected Lyrik. “Autumn isn’t your birth Season.” Then she dropped the next conclusion like a bomb. “You have Summer’s blood.”
Next to me, Aire froze. Because his senses worked erratically, sometimes stronger or weaker, he never picked up on this. Neither had I.
Although Lyrik possessed the same olive coloring as Flare, it made no difference. Everyone was born with various skin tones across The Dark Seasons. That told us nothing.
But Lyrik’s volatile personality did. Much like Flare’s passionate nature.
To our further surprise, the alchemist read her lips easily. The same way he understood Nicu’s vocabulary without needing help.
But what did this have to do with Jeryn’s test?
Shadows from the branches shrouded Lyrik’s features. “Half of me is from Summer.”
Flare mouthed, “And the other half?”
A long pause. “Winter.”
There it was.
Jeryn didn’t blink. Evidently like his woman, he expected this too. His gaze cut to Flare, then to Avalea, who inclined her head.
At which point, he reconsidered Lyrik. “We have an offer.”
Shit. My heart sank. I knew where this headed even before His Majesty mapped out the conditions. Because of Nicu, Autumn would excuse the prohibited contents of Lyrik’s alchemy chamber. In turn, Winter would make use of them.
If the rogue accepted, Jeryn’s nation would give him a castle residency. A modernized lab. Access to the world’s most advanced scientific wings. Potentially, a Royal appointment.
Last, the widely coveted favor of the king.
Lyrik would elevate his skills, which would help in a war. This part, Jeryn and Flare left unspoken. If it came to a continental bloodshed, our clan would need this rogue’s expertise. The battle at The Lost Treehouses proved as much.
Plus, they would be able to keep an eye on him. Like the rest of us, this couple sensed there was more to Lyrik that he wouldn’t share.
The alchemist reclined in his seat, mulling over the proposition. It wasn’t every day someone caught Jeryn’s interest. Even less that someone impressed the King of Winter.
These kinds of opportunities didn’t come in the lifetimes of most people. And yet… I thought of the one person who wouldn’t take this news well.
So did Aire. “Your Majesty,” the knight growled to Jeryn, then diced his gaze to the king’s mate. “Lady Flare.”
“Lyrik,” I insisted under my breath, dread twisting my gut.
Starlight crept through the leaves, spotting the platform in glaring light. Our fellowship stared, puzzled by this outburst.
Poet’s cunning features darkened. Briar’s astute eyes studied me and Aire.
As for Avalea, Eliot, and the ladies, their expressions ranged from baffled to expectant.
I lasted another ten seconds. “We should wait for Nicu.”
Jeryn’s face sharpened like a saber. “Why?”
Anyone else on the receiving end of that severe gaze would lose their liver. Additionally, the man’s systematic mind challenged every living, breathing entity on this continent to question their own logic. Speak up to Winter, dare to rationalize in his presence, and you had better make sense.
Everyone’s reactions made it plain: If it was acceptable to plot our next move against Rhys while Nicu slept in his cabin, why wouldn’t it be fine to entertain the logistics of Lyrik’s future?
My worried gaze veered to Aire. Other than a close friendship, Poet and Briar had no idea about the connection Lyrik and Nicu had formed. If they knew, both figures would agree to involve their son.
Yet what could we say? Jeryn and Flare’s offer was a solid one, the likes of which no commoner with Lyrik’s skills would take for granted, and his advancements in Winter would further our crusade against Rhys. At this point, Lyrik would be a fool and a deserter not to accept.
Spewing an objection would require clarification. But to explain a goddamn thing would also betray Nicu’s privacy, as well as Lyrik’s. Whatever ambiguous attachment they’d formed, if the rogue refused to open his mouth about it, we couldn’t either.
Lyrik glanced toward the lanterns, which glowed with the colorful flames he invented during our stay. Absently, his jaw clenched. “Count me in.”