Chapter 3
Three
Lory
When Lory woke, she was no longer sprawled on the ground right by the northern cave mouth; rays of golden light tickled her cheeks, teasing her eyes open, and she found herself face to face with the leonthor’s massive paw.
A paw tipped with claws sharp enough to slice through flesh, cartilage, and bone.
Holding her breath, Lory lifted her gaze toward the source of the light, squinting her eyes at the bright, burning orb hanging at the edge of the horizon.
The same obsidian walls making up the other three directions informed her that she was still in the cave—perhaps at a different exit, but still in the cave.
The leonthor’s ongoing, muscled legs were angled in a way that his hind paws were close to her toes while his front paws rested near her head, and on top of those front paws…
his head, the size of a horse’s but with infinitely sharper teeth and the general shape of a lion’s, rested, palm-long canines visible in his half-open maw.
The smell of rot and decay blew from his nose with every slow breath, making Lory want to turn around and cover her nose and mouth with her sleeve, but the leonthor would wake if she wasn’t careful, and she hadn’t been able to get a good look at him like that.
Until now, those lilac eyes had always captured her, not allowing her to properly inspect the obnoxious creature.
His antlers were slightly crooked, some of the tips chipped, telling stories of battles she could only guess at.
If the stained-glass panel in Ashthorn’s mess hall was remotely telling the truth, this creature had seen more bloody slaughter than anyone could care for.
Not that Lory felt any pity. She knew nothing about the leonthors’ role in Brestolya’s history.
A deep breath expanded the leonthor’s ribs, and Lory noticed the long, jagged scar curling his caramel-sand-colored fur above his shoulder where all depictions of the creatures she’d ever seen had shown wings.
Lory would have never admitted it, but a part of her was curious how he’d gotten those scars. If he had once featured wings and soared through the skies above the three Brestolyan provinces. But she was too much of a coward to find out what would happen if he disapproved of such a question.
Before she could spiral into the ifs and whens of the creature’s existence, whispers echoed through the sun-lit space, summoning her attention.
“He brought her here last night,” someone said to the hushed sounds of concurrence of more voices.
“What do you think he wants with her? He’s never brought anyone else into the cave.” Another pointed out.
“He’s also never spoken to us before he brought her here.”
Lory closed her eyes, listening so hard she felt her heart hammering in her throat.
“She’s obviously a Flame like us.”
“There are no Flames left,” someone said with conviction as if they’d personally tested the entire Brestolyan population.
Another one objected, “How do you explain our numbers, then? It used to be only five of us before—”
A low growl cut into the voices, making Lory’s eyes pop open, and this time, a pair of lilac eyes were waiting for her.
“Good morning?” Lory offered, ignoring the voices behind her, unable to look away from the ethereal, unnatural, shimmering discs staring down at her.
“A new day this is. Her people she must see.” Without another word, the leonthor heaved himself to his paws, power and elegance given form, and slunk into a dark corner as if the sun offended it, leaving Lory under the scrutiny of three pairs of eyes.
“She speaks,” the man said with a hint of a glare shooting from his dark eyes under bushy eyebrows as Lory turned around at last, carefully sitting up.
He was barely taller than the middle-aged woman elbowing him in the ribs, the sleeve of her beige linen dress slipping down her tanned forearm.
Her black hair was bound in a bun at the top of her head, and a rope with carved figures hung around her neck.
“Never mind Hadrick,” the woman said with a tentative smile. “He’s never known manners.”
The other woman, much younger, studied Lory with obvious suspicion, her dark eyes flashing in the shadows as she shifted from foot to foot. A long braid slid over her shoulder as she tilted her head.
“Oh, where are my manners…” The older woman took a few long strides toward Lory, holding out her hand.
“I’m Enya, and these”—she glanced over her shoulder at the other two, who were still standing rooted to the spot, eyeing Lory as if she presented more danger than the leonthor—“are Hadrick and Olive.”
Reluctantly, Lory took the woman’s hand.
Enya gave her a broad smile, her golden skin wrinkling around the eyes. “Do you have a name, dear?” The lilting accent reminded Lory of the merchants from the south.
What seemed like lifetimes ago, the leonthor had introduced her as Elory, the Flame. Lory wasn’t even sure the three Flame-born had been among the group by the fire when that happened, so she gave them a tentative smile. “Lory.”
From the corner, a growl rolled across the cave floor like a carpet-shaped warning.
“You wanted me to make friends with them,” Lory snapped at him in her mind. “Don’t get upset when I tell them the preferred version of my name.”
“It’s a pleasure, Lory.” Enya gestured at the tunnel behind her. “We just had breakfast and got some bread left if you’re hungry.”
As if on cue, Lory’s stomach grumbled. She’d eaten berries and even snared a rabbit with a trap built from a rope of slender twigs and grass blades, dependent on hunting after all her belongings had gone up in flames when her fire had taken over.
Her clothes seemed to be the only thing that had survived, and those were hanging in tatters in places.
“Never said we have, that the Flame shall not introduce herself,” the leonthor commented, reappearing from his hiding spot in the shadows and coming to stand by her side.
The other three Flame-born all lowered their heads in what looked a lot like a bow to the creature of myths staring them down with those eerie lilac eyes. For a moment, he stood motionless, then, with a yawn, he turned on the spot and disappeared into the shadows once more.
“Learn the Flame must,” his voice echoed through Lory’s mind, fading the same way his outline did in the darkness of the cave where the morning sun couldn’t reach.
“Learn what?” Lory muttered to herself. The leonthor wouldn’t give her a proper answer—the same as he hadn’t given her a proper answer to anything else.
A part of Lory wanted to sneak to the edge of the opening, turning her back on the antlered monster and the three fire-gifted, but the direction the sun was creeping into the sky was wrong.
This exit wouldn’t expel her on the northern side of the mountain summits.
From here, she would never find her way back to the outpost. Better to spend her time familiarizing herself with the layout of this place if she was to be trapped here for a while.
With a sigh, Lory inclined her head at Enya, pulling up her best smile. “Breakfast sounds wonderful, actually.” Even if she wouldn’t be able to enjoy even a bite with her worries for Khayrivven running high.
The woman ushered her forward with a calloused hand, motioning for Hadrick and Olive to lead the way.
“They don’t talk much, both of them,” Enya whispered to Lory. “Don’t trust strangers, even when the leonthor brought them here.”
They followed the tunnel, Lory tripping over her own feet until her eyes adjusted to the near-absence of light.
Roughly hewn obsidian walls framed them, the unfamiliar scents a cool draft carried toward them speaking of a world Lory had not yet laid eyes on.
Something floral and humid. Then they rounded a bend in the tunnel, and the savory smell of fried meats wafted into Lory’s face.
Another grumble rolled through her stomach.
“What is this place?” Keeping the wonder out of her voice was an exercise in self-restraint, but growing up on the streets, where trust meant being cheated out of a next meal or losing a place to sleep, she had learned young that letting on what she was fascinated with was never a good idea.
Naturally, Khayrivven was the exception.
There was no pretending. She was enthralled to the bone with the allure of that man.
With a deep breath, Lory smothered the onslaught of anxiety coming with the thought of the Flame-born whose life depended on her return to the outpost.
No, she couldn’t fully trust these people, either, but they might know something that would help her get out of there. Anything that would help her return to Khayrivven.
“Just a cave in the Amrin Mountains,” Enya replied over her shoulder, guiding Lory through an opening on the side.
“A sanctuary for the likes of us.” Her self-deprecating laugh multiplied on the stone of the small cave they stepped into, sending another shudder of fear down Lory’s back.
Her encounter with Ricca’s sound magic had left a lasting impression when it came to echoes and what harm they could do.
“This is our kitchen.” Enya pointed at the fireplace by the side of the cave, close to the cave mouth, where a fire was smoldering in a circle of rocks, a crooked pan sitting on a grate, strips of meat sizzling and hissing in the heat.
“Or at least, that’s what we call it.” Another brief laugh; this one lit up her face as she met Lory’s gaze.
“Hadrick likes to spend his entire day here if I don’t keep him occupied. ”