Chapter 11
Eleven
Lory
The room was filled with colors and fabrics Lory had never seen in her life, and which were the exact opposite of her mood.
After what Khayrivven had shared with her, she felt like the black and gray that Ashthorn Ward’s uniforms provided.
She felt like a gag was in place to represent the truths the Triad had silenced by killing those ashlings.
Not stragglers, but threats to Ulder’s rule.
Magic wielders with questionable loyalties.
Even when life on the streets of Dunai had taught her that Ulder didn’t care when people believed he executed all magic wielders, this was different.
Most ashlings came from reputable and crown-loyal families.
They were expected to take the Triad’s word as law and to train without questioning the methods.
All because they believed in Ulder’s rule the way their parents and their parents’ parents did.
Lory, however, wasn’t from one of those families, and had Khayrivven not vouched for her, she realized she’d have been long executed on the dais for her unknown allegiances.
She’d have been yet another casualty along the cruel path of Ashthorn’s education of the magically gifted. A shudder worked itself up her spine.
“Don’t make such a face,” Anees reminded Lory, relentlessly browsing through the dresses hung on a rack by the far wall of the bedroom-sized space.
The mid-afternoon sun painted patterns on the smooth, white marble walls, and under the window, one of the potted trees Lory had seen in Ulder’s palace when she’d been dragged there for her first verdict sat like a lonely reminder of a brighter, happier place.
“We only need to find you a proper dress. You’ve worn worse before. ”
The hint of humor sparking in Anees’s eyes told Lory she was referring to the flimsy blue thing she’d put on at Lu’Shen’s. The dress Khayrivven had torn off her body later as he’d given in to the explosive pull between them.
In her mind, she didn’t see the man whose gaze liked to undress her or the hunger in his expression when that tension pulled taut.
It was the splintered version of him, torn between the duty to protect his sister and the duty to his people.
There were so many layers to Khayrivven Falcrest she had yet to uncover, and something told her he was reluctant to reveal them.
The look on his face when he’d ignited the fire inside the cremator was something Lory wouldn’t ever forget, no matter how well he played his part in this academy.
She’d seen the Khayrivven who cared, and that man was someone her heart spiraled for.
“You’ll look pretty, trust me.” Anees tore her from her musings, waving her deeper into the room with one hand while she pulled out a pink gown that gave Lory the creeps.
“I’m not wearing that.” She joined Anees by the rack, ignoring the folded and stacked shawls on the table at the center and the velvet and satin dresses laid out on the bronze brocade divan at the side.
Anees cocked a brow. “The color or the cut?” The woman held the sleeveless, floor-length sheath up in front of her, pretending to be wearing it. “It would look perfect with your complexion.”
With a frown, Lory considered the pink monstrosity. “Why am I getting the impression you’re enjoying this?”
Anees shrugged. “Perhaps because I haven’t been allowed to play dress up since my thornling days.” She paused, thinking. “At least, not this sort of dress up.”
“Do I even want to know?” Lory took the pink dress and hung it back on the rack.
The expression on Lory’s face brought forth a giggle from Anees. “For missions, Lory. Not for the depraved things you are talking about.” A wink. “After what I witnessed at Lu’Shen’s, who knows what you and Khayrivven are into?”
Lory rolled her eyes. “No idea what you think you saw, but that dress was the madame’s choice, not mine.”
“But Khay loved it. Didn’t he?”
So much he tore it off Lory’s body, he did. But Lory didn’t tell Anees that.
“If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not working. There is nothing going on between Captain Falcrest and me.” It was still the official story.
Anees pursed her lips in a way that made clear she didn’t believe a word Lory was saying. “You don’t need to pretend with me, Vednis. I’ve known Khay for years now. I can tell when he’s interested in someone. And I can tell when he’s head over heels, too.”
Lory wasn’t prepared for the impact Anees’s words had on her heartbeat, grabbing for the side of the dresser sitting against the wall beside the rack.
“He’s not head over heels.” Lory inhaled deeply, watching the amusement spread on Anees’s face.
“You’re right.” The nod Anees amended hollowed out Lory’s stomach.
“Khayrivven Falcrest doesn’t fall head over heels for anyone.
” She pulled a yellow chiffon dress from the rack, holding it up under Lory’s chin.
“He doesn’t fall in general.” She wiggled the butter-yellow fabric, watching the folds sway over Lory’s front, then shook her head, returning the dress to the rack and picking out a purple one instead.
“He cares enough for you to put his entire future in jeopardy and the life of the one person he swore to protect. All his efforts toward—” She broke off, biting her lower lip in an effort to keep the words in. “Well, he does care for you.”
“So you know?” Lory raised a brow, putting on her best stern face as she stared Anees down. “About—”
“About why he’s so eager to take any mission that leads him to Ulder’s palace? Of course I know.”
Why the fact that Anees seemed to know more about Khayrivven than he was willing to share with Lory bothered her so much, she couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the ease of their interaction, the way they shared a history Lory wasn’t privy to.
“How long have you known him?”
“A few years. He’d just joined Ashthorn when I started as an ashling.
” She studied the purple dress with expert eyes, then shoved it into Lory’s hands.
“Put this on.” Gesturing at a privacy screen made of leather strapped over a wooden frame, she ushered Lory along.
“It’s a miracle he and I didn’t kill each other in training.
He was the only one who beat me at Veiled and Steel. ”
“Not at Gilded?” Lory prompted, stripping out of her uniform behind the screen and draping the fabrics over the backrest of the simple chair by the wall.
She’d showered after the quick trip to the desert with Khayrivven, rinsed off the soot and sweat and the stench of death.
The scent of lemon zest and wild blossoms felt like a mockery of what she’d learned this morning.
Ashthorn is a lie. They killed ashlings they suspected of fraternizing with the rebels, keeping their graces with the influential families of the kingdom by putting a simple school rule up as a justification.
Death for tardiness was, in reality, death for suspected treason.
Not even the proof of treason. A cruel way of censoring a new generation’s beliefs and hopes.
Of keeping a reign of tyranny in place. Magic wielders were a threat to Ulder in general, but none of them worse than the fire wielders Khayrivven’s father had prophesied would bring down the Brestolyan king’s rule.
So much was wrong with this that Lory couldn’t even find words.
“Gilded is Hadrian’s resort,” Anees said, her tone part humorous, part serious. “And mine. My parents made sure of that when they brought a governess to my childhood home to drill court manners and formalities into me.”
Lory was about to ask what she meant, but Anees was more free-giving with her stories than Khayrivven.
“From the age of five, I spent most of my days learning how to speak, walk, dance, sit, eat, sing, and be silent like a lady. The rest of my days, I learned how to sneak around the house to escape my governess. That’s why I’m exceptional at Veiled.”
Lory slipped the purple fabric over her head, shoving her arms through the inch-wide straps and letting the silks slide down her body. The luxurious feel of a million soft fingertips caressing her skin made her breath catch.
“What’s wrong?” Anees prompted, popping her head around the screen and slapping her hands over her heart.
“Stunning—at least it will be once you’re laced in and we do something with that wild mop atop your head.
” She gestured at the messy bun Lory had tied high up at the back of her head, which was trying to escape its bonds.
Without a warning, Anees stepped behind Lory, tugging on the strings at the back of the bodice while Lory watched the unshapely purple fabrics transform into a form-fitting thing of princess dreams.
Thin golden lines crept from the straps to her waist, forming a V that complemented the plunging neckline.
At her hips, a layer of flower petals adorned the top of a chiffon overskirt, open at the front to reveal a simple, satin A-line skirt underneath.
Embroidered ornamentations seamed the length of the gaping overskirt, the heavier parts of the fabric making it sway with every movement.
When Lory noticed the flower petals at the straps, she was convinced they hadn’t been there a moment ago, and when they cinched right above her breasts, forming an inverted V toward the tops of her shoulders, Lory recognized the magic at work.