Chapter 17
TERRAN
My father’s crown.
Though Lyra gasped, I wasn’t surprised to find it inside. So many secrets, and yet my father was predictable in many ways as well.
Forged from a fusion of obsidian and silver, the Stone of Mor’Vallis at its center shimmered with a dark iridescence, shifting in hue from midnight to, when used, a deep crimson.
Along the band, ancient runes pulsed faintly even now with aetheric energy, a reminder of the pact once shared between Gyorians and the elemental forces of the land.
“I’ve seen it many times on his head. But here, like this…”
I understood what Lyra meant. There was something dark, almost sinister, about it. Perhaps knowing what he’d used the Stone to do?
I had no intention of taking the crown. It was my father’s, earned by being the strongest land-wielder in Elydor. But the Stone… it belonged to Gyoria, even if Father was the only one who it responded to while he was king.
Stepping back and placing the crown on the floor, I placed both hands near it. When the floor hummed faintly, I pressed my palm over the Stone, feeling for the weave of my father’s warding spell. The metal of his crown warmed and then softened like clay.
I lifted the Stone free, but as expected, it didn’t respond to my power.
Standing and replacing the crown, I closed the lid and turned to Lyra.
“I’ve always known he closed the Gate, but for as many times as Kael and I asked Father to explain how he’d done it, precisely… I did not know he erased her memory. In her state, ’twas a cruelty.”
“Separating mothers from their children, stranding visitors in a realm they only even thought to visit, forcing them to make it their home… closing the Gate as he did? It was always a cruelty, Terran.”
They never belonged in Elydor.
It was a refrain Kael and I heard from him, one I repeated many times over the years.
If not for the humans, my mother—the kindest, most gentle Gyorian who ever lived—would still be alive.
Babes were a rarity in our immortal world.
When she was blessed, a word our mother had used often, with twins, her “world had been complete.” Only to have been taken from her by a disease that didn’t belong in our realm.
“You pressed your palm to it,” Lyra said, ever-observant, nodding to the chest.
The fog of past thoughts lifted. We were not in the clear yet.
“Only those with royal blood running through their veins can open it.”
Her eyes widened. I was beginning to know her, understand Lyra’s way of thinking.
“You could never have retrieved it without me.”
“I’d not have tried.”
Like my father, Lyra blatantly lied.
“Aye,” I said, resigned. “You would have.”
The bigger question was, what would Lyra do now? I’d find out soon enough.
Slipping the Stone in the pouch I’d brought for this purpose, I took the torch from Lyra.
Noticing she did not refute my words, I led us back up the winding stone stairs.
Up and up we climbed, silent. My own thoughts tumbled from the Stone in my pouch, to my father’s secrets to, most often, the woman following beyond me.
As we approached the top, I also carefully considered, once again, what might happen if our guards were discovered. What I would do, and say, to my father.
I’d crossed a line, taking Lyra with me.
Or maybe I’d crossed it when I allowed Kael to pass our men and I on the road as he and Princess Mevlida escaped to Aetheria.
An action I’d not have taken had he not lied about so many details of the Gate’s closing.
Or stealing the Wind Crystal and tossing it into the Depths. Or the current elemental unrest.
We reached the top. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. Having prepared for the worst, I was pleasantly surprised to see the guard lying precisely as we’d left him.
“Dren was right,” she murmured.
I’d mentioned to Lyra that my right hand had verified the guard’s changing times.
“Dren is always right,” I said.
We made our way back to the first guard who was, somewhat surprisingly, also lying undisturbed on the floor, as if he’d simply fallen asleep.
As if Terranor himself wished for our successful mission, we encountered no others on the way back.
Lyra hadn’t argued when I told her to walk in front of me, though she had shot me a look that said, This isn’t necessary.
But it was.
I’d taken her, expecting an attack. Expecting her fingers to twitch.
Expecting a battle. Anticipating that Lyra might attempt to use magic to take the Stone, and me being forced to stop her.
The thought of how far I might have had to go to stop her was somehow worse than the one of us being discovered.
Instead, she simply sauntered back to my chambers as if she’d gone there many times before.
“Satisfied?” she asked as I closed my chamber door behind us.
“Not even a little,” I said, purposely mistaking her meaning. “Are you offering to attempt to rectify that?”
Her laugh filled my bedchamber in a way nothing had for some time.
“Attempt? I can assure you, my prince, if I chose to rectify that situation for you, it would be more than an attempt.”
The prize in my leather pouch momentarily forgotten, as was perhaps Lyra’s goal, I took a step toward her.
“So I am your prince now? How very… deferential of you.”
The air had shifted. My senses heightened from what we’d just done, and from the dance Lyra and I had been playing all night, I moved even closer to her.
Lyra held her ground, not moving, but also not dropping her Aetherian air of indifference.
“You clearly missed my tone, if not my words. I have no prince, or king, but Galfrid and his daughter.”
“I do not doubt your loyalty to them. Your willingness to serve is on display.” I purposefully lowered my gaze to her ample bosom. “Even now.”
“You think I meant to seduce you into securing the Stone of Mor’Vallis? And then, pray tell, what was my plan? To attack you, steal it, and flee north?”
“Precisely.”
“I’d have done so by now.”
I had always found Lyra’s overabundance of confidence irritating. Aetherian. Yet at this moment, it was just the opposite.
“How would you have done so?” I challenged.
I watched Lyra’s fingers closely. They barely moved.
And yet, a soft current of air, like an intimate whisper, brushed along my ear.
Her fingers did move then, just slightly, as every candle in the chamber dimmed.
A maneuver I’d seen much less often than the first one, requiring a high measure of control over the air.
In response, I planted my feet, channeling the stone beneath the floorboards to anchor myself. When the blast of air came, pressing against my chest, my stance held. Behind Lyra, a floor tile cracked with a small ridge of stone jutting up behind Lyra to trip her if she backed up.
In response, she didn’t back up. But Lyra did take a step forward toward me as she used a thin whip of pressurized air to flick a nearby candle’s flame sideways, the heat catching my attention. Any stronger of a gust, it could have burned me.
“You’ve made your point,” I said, resting the tile back down with a flick of my fingers.
“We’ve established your skills are more advanced than most.” I closed the gap between us, itching to grab a fistful of that silvery hair and make Lyra beg for me.
Instead, I placed one finger beneath her chin, forcing it upward until she was looking directly into my eyes.
My finger remained there, but I didn’t move otherwise.
“But so are mine.”
She didn’t move. Or push my hand away.
“I don’t doubt it, but surely you realize by now I have no intention of attempting to take that Stone from you.”
I stroked my thumb across her chin, and then upwards, along the outline of her cheek, as I did before. Though her eyes blazed, Lyra gave no other indication she felt anything at all, as if my touch didn’t affect her.
“Then what do you intend, Lyra?”
“To convince you to come with me.”
I brought my thumb back down, this time, running it along the bottom of her lower lip.
To come with me.
“You know I will do no such thing.”
Lyra allowed my touch but made no move of her own.
“I know you no longer trust your father, nor should you, after what he kept from you. From Kael.”
My hand froze, though it remained in place.
“I know you feel trapped between your allegiance to him and your duty to those who follow you, expecting you to do what’s best for Gyoria. I’m only asking you to come with me. Speak to your brother. Hear the truth and decide for yourself on the best path forward.”
I know you no longer trust your father.
He wasn’t the only one I no longer trusted.
“Open your mouth, Lyra.”
Finally, a reaction. Her eyes widened. At my command? Or her body’s reaction to it? The second, more likely. Even immortals could learn something new about themselves.
She paused.
Then parted her lips.
I slipped my finger inside. This time, she didn’t have to be told.
Lyra closed her lips around me as I pulled gently and then pushed it back into the sweet warmth of her mouth.
Hardening immediately at the sight of her, the feel of her mouth on me as I imagined so much more…
pulling from her, I used my finger to trace her lips.
“Is your mouth the only thing wet, Lyra?”
Her shoulders rose and fell.
“Tell me,” I said, in the last tone I’d expect Lyra to respond to, but one I’d learned she would.
For me.
“No.”
That one simple word was all it took for my control to snap. Done imagining her hair between my fingers, I reached out and made it happen. Fisting it and pulling her toward me, our mouths crashed together and neither of us hesitated.
Whimpering as I held her head firmly in place, Lyra grabbed the material of my tunic on both arms, holding tight. Slanting for better access, I thrust my tongue inside her mouth, demanding without words she do the same.
Melding together perfectly, I forgot to demand, taking what I wanted instead. Lyra gave it freely, our tongues tangling in a kiss that ensured I’d never be the same. When I tightened my grip on her hair, the sound deep in Lyra’s throat threatened to make me lose control.
No longer the icy Aetherian Shadow Diplomat, Lyra gave herself to the kiss with an abandon only hinted at, but one that made me want to consume her.
And I might have if the knock at my door hadn’t interrupted us.
I pulled away, somehow shocked at the sight of her. One I’d never forget.
The always assured, collected Lyra, her lips swollen from our kiss, hair tangled from my grip, didn’t appear repentant, sorry for the mistake of kissing me.
Submitting to me.
Instead, she stood before me, head high, daring me to…
To go with her.
I’d spent centuries letting others decide what loyalty meant. Maybe it was time I did, too.
“Terran.”
It was Dren.
“Stay aside until I’m assured he’s alone,” I said, making my way, regrettably, toward the door.
She did immediately, her warrior’s training taking precedence over everything. Including that kiss.
“Did it work?” Dren asked, stepping into my chamber.
I patted the pouch at my side. “It did.”
Dren let out a low whistle. Of surprise. Respect. I wasn’t certain.
“Lyra?” I called.
She stepped forward.
“You’ve met my right hand? Dren, Lady Lyra.”
She held her fisted hand to her heart in greeting. Dren did the same. Both cordial. As if they were not enemies.
“I have,” she said. “You accompanied Terran and Kael to the treaty of Arlyn Cross.” She smiled. “Though I recall you were less diplomatic then.”
Dren smiled back. “And you were more effusive than usual. A side effect of too much wine, if I remember correctly.”
“I’d hoped you had forgotten that.”
As if it were possible. It was the first time, in many meetings, I’d seen a hint of her true self. The Lyra that, just moments ago, had melted into my arms. That kiss…
“I risked my neck bribing a steward and disabling the north tower scrying spell.” Dren interrupted my thoughts. “So unless you mean for her to get caught, it’s time for me to take her.”
My eyes met Lyra’s.
“I arranged for Dren to escort you safely from the palace,” I explained.
This would be the true test. If Lyra came here to ensure the Stone was safely away from my father, to prevent any further Unbalance, there was no reason for her to stay.
“You will not come with me? To speak to my king? To your brother?”
I could see Dren watching us both carefully.
“No. I won’t.”
Though her eyes didn’t dart to the Stone, I sensed they wanted to.
Your move, Lyra.
“Very well.” Heading deeper into the chamber, she gathered her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder, and stood beside Dren. “I’m ready.”
She’s ready? Lyra would simply… leave?
Impossible.
“If you change your mind,” she said, “I will wait at Grimharbor, at The Siren’s Rest, until the new moon.”
“Grimharbor is no place for a—”
Her eyes widened, challenging.
I remembered her treatment of the guards. This was no ordinary Aetherian, and I’d do well to remember that.
“It has been a pleasure, Lady Lyra,” I said instead, hand to my heart.
She did the same. “I do hope you reconsider.”
With that, she strode to the door, forcing Dren to follow. He looked back at me.
I nodded.
No other words of parting. No mention of our kiss. No regret, it seemed, on Lyra’s part, for she swept past Dren as if there might not be someone waiting in the corridor, as confident as ever.
Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone out there. All went quiet and stayed that way for some time. No alarm raised. Nothing unusual except the emptiness of my bedchamber.
Perhaps I’d been wrong about her intentions. Surely, if Lyra had truly come to retrieve the Stone, she would not have left with Dren so willingly, knowing she’d not be admitted re-entry into the palace walls after my father had banished her.
If that were true, my retrieval of the Stone was warranted. What, precisely, had my father been using it for without telling me? How was he contributing—and I had no doubt, now, he had been—to the recent Unbalance we’d been experiencing?
Most of all, how was I possibly going to get that kiss out of my mind?
There seemed to be just one answer.
I wasn’t.