Chapter 15
TERRAN
Before she could respond, I headed into the solar to prepare for our mission. If Lyra gave any hint that she would do as I asked, the Stone would remain precisely where it was this night.
I slipped on my leather boots, still seeing her face clearly in my mind. Hearing her intake of breath in my ears. Until now, I couldn’t be certain if her “interest” in me was part of her ploy.
She is a Shadow Diplomat.
Until I could talk to one of the Gyorian elders, or find a text that spoke of the supposed legends, I had to rely on my memory of how extensive Lyra’s training might have been. But what I was fairly certain of. She desired me as much as I did her.
And I desired Lyra very, very much.
Finished lacing, I sat. Attempted to clear my mind, as if such a thing were possible after this eve’s revelations. A memory that resurfaced about my father replayed itself.
“I heard him,” my brother had said, years ago. “Speaking to Valdric. Why would Father be using Drelshade?”
“He wouldn’t.”
Drelshade was outlawed in Gyoria. Its king would never access it, unless he wished to lose the faith of his people.
A night-blooming vine native to the caverns beneath the palace, when distilled, its sap induced a dreamlike state.
Given too much, it slowed time and perception, clouded memory, and left its recipient susceptible to suggestion.
Like many of the skirmishes and battles throughout the years, Drelshade was the root of a war that led to its use being strictly forbidden, relegated to a category of similarly potent dark magic.
I might have dismissed my brother, not wanting to believe our father would use outlawed magic, but I’d done some digging, nonetheless. The moment Lyra told me Father had “somehow erased” the queen’s memory, Kael’s words from many years ago had slammed into my skull.
“We should hope he, of all people, does not,” Kael had said. “’Tis said when combined with the power of the Stone, the effects deepen into a less temporary suppression of memory.”
I had no doubt he’d used both to ensure the Queen of Aetheria never sought to return to Elydor. Which meant he realized returning, even after he closed the Gate, would be possible. Unless he did it to ensure she’d never return, even if his attempt to close it failed.
Either way, he had lied.
To me. To Kael. To his people.
“Are you ready?”
She stood at the entrance, all Aetherian warrior. Head high, wearing an expression of calm and determination, Lyra waited for my response.
Tell me. That you don’t just want to ensure Elydor’s balance returns. Tell me you want the Stone of Mor’Vallis for your king. For your friend, Mev. For the humans.
Say it.
“What do you intend, after I retrieve it?” I found myself asking.
She hesitated.
“I’ve already given my word I will not attempt to take it from you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She stepped inside.
“Retrieving the Stone of Mor’Vallis is essential if balance is to be restored.”
“Also not what I asked.”
I closed the distance between us. I considered grabbing a fistful of Lyra’s hair, holding her head in place, and crushing her lips with a kiss so consuming it would leave no doubt who in this chamber wanted the other.
Instead, I waited for her to take the next step toward me.
Say it, Lyra. Tell me why you’re really here.
She either thought so little of my intelligence that Lyra had no notion I’d worked out her true purpose, or she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.
Her gaze dipped just slightly to my mouth.
“If you mean to distract me from my question—”
“I mean nothing of the sort,” she quipped. “Your closeness is simply… distracting.”
Just one touch.
I reached up, brushing my knuckles along her cheek. “When I did this before, how did it make you feel?”
Her cheek was so very smooth.
Lyra swallowed.
“Tell me,” I said, the question in my tone replaced by a more commanding one.
She licked her lips. “It felt like… I didn’t want it to stop.”
Wiping her lower lip dry with my thumb, I tugged it down until her mouth opened.
“You take orders well for someone unaccustomed to it.”
Her eyes flashed. Lyra’s instinct was to refute me… to deny she would ever take an order from me, a Gyorian.
“Voren vel’kora,” I said, holding her gaze before pulling my hand away.
Lyra’s mouth closed. Neither of us spoke. Or moved. Instead, we stood toe to toe, our breathing syncing.
“What does it mean?” she asked finally.
It was bad enough I’d uttered the ancient Gyorian phrase without thinking.
“When you speak your own full truth, perhaps I’ll tell you.”
With that, I spun from her and left the solar. Not because I wished to make a dramatic exit, but because, if I stayed a moment longer, the Stone of Mor’Vallis would remain hidden.
* * *
“A torch? So very… human of you.”
Peering over my shoulder, Lyra’s face illuminated by the very torch she teased me for carrying, I slowed my pace. The caverns beneath the palace were built to connect each wing but were strictly forbidden from use without explicit permission from the king.
“To walk the tunnels without decree is to tread the footsteps of traitors. Even by me. Using any sort of Gyorian magic down here would be courting destruction. These walls remember what the palace would rather forget.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nay, she would not. I stopped and turned, once again illuminating her face.
Voren vel’kora. What had I been thinking?
“Lord Thalric, High Minister of Infrastructure during King Vornar’s reign, oversaw these magical channels beneath the palace when they were still used regularly.
He also used them to stage a coup against the king, believing himself more powerful.
He attempted to steal the Stone of Mor’Vallis to prove his claim after King Vornar denied his request to challenge him during the Rite of Stone and Soil. ”
“Vornar,” she mused. “The shortest reign of any Gyorian king.”
“Which makes some believe Thalric may have had a legitimate claim. But he was caught and executed as a traitor so none will ever know. In the incident’s wake, these caverns were seen as cursed, likely by design to keep anyone from using them in such a way again.”
“Do you believe they’re cursed?”
“Nay.” I turned back and began to walk once again.
Pushing all thoughts of my father and Kael, of the princess and her mother…
and most especially what I’d blurted to Lyra, from my mind, I concentrated on navigating us below the exit closest to the throne room.
It had been many years since Kael and I used these caverns as a way to quietly defy our father when he became so overbearing even Mother couldn’t placate him.
“I believe this is the exit.”
“You believe?”
“As I said, these caverns are rarely used. This way.”
If memory served, the rock stairs carved into the mountain which we ascended would lead to a corridor to the east of the throne room. None, by design, would lead directly inside.
“There will be a guard at the front of the throne room,” I said as we reached the top. “And another now positioned at the entrance to the entranceway leading to the Vault. If something goes amiss, I will—”
“Nothing will go amiss.”
She said it with the confidence of one who had performed this particular type of mission many times. It wasn’t a loud, boasting confidence but one of quiet resolve. Lyra would do what was necessary to achieve her goals, and this time, our goals were one and the same.
“You mentioned that it will work best on a small number of targets. If other guards are alerted?”
“I will take care of them. You doing so risks discovery.”
I was about to open the door when a bit of the Shadow Diplomat lore came back to me. A story I assumed was legend…
“Performing the rite on too many targets?” I asked.
Lyra was close enough behind me as we stood on a small landing atop the stairs that, if I leaned forward, we would be touching. Her eyes sought mine in the flicker of the torchlight, pleading with me not to ask questions.
My grandfather, who had long since faded, used their legend to keep Kael and I in line.
They are difficult to kill, but a Shadow Diplomat has one particularly gruesome method of doing so, when bested.
“Lyra. We will not move from this spot—”
“Backlash,” she said, as if that would be enough of a response.
I waited.
“Not unlike any Elydorian who harnesses too much magic. Weakness. Headaches.”
“Eventually,” I finished, already knowing my grandfather had been repeating whispers of truth, not just tales, “you will bleed out.”
She appeared unconcerned. “’Tis an exceeding rare occurrence.”
“But has happened?” I guessed.
“Only twice.”
That was two times too many. The thought of Lyra lying on the palace floor, blood oozing from her nose, her mouth…
“If there are more than two, I will handle them.”
Her chin raised.
“I will have your acquiescence on this.”
“You’ll find I don’t take orders well. Especially from a Gyorian.”
The moment the words left her lips, she wanted to recall them. I could see from her expression Lyra had remembered the bathing-chamber incident too late.
“That,” she insisted, “was different.”
“Was it?”
“Aye.”
I moved the torch to the side, enabling me to lean closer.
“And when the deed is done, and you’re back in my bedchamber, what then? Lyra of Aetheria? Will you cede control once again?”
I could feel her breath. Almost tasted her lips. The desire to consume her was nearly too great a weight to bear. Eyes wide, lips parted… Lyra treaded well outside her place of comfort now.
“We are far from a successful mission.”
A non-answer. So “Lyra” of her. I tried a different tactic.
The truth.
“I would not see you killed today.”
It surprised and, hopefully, disarmed her.
“Why?”
One simple word. One simple question.
The answer was neither.