Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Khayrivven
The scent of wet earth and a breathing forest lingered in the air, a reminder of what lay beyond the cliffs in the south. Criulias, almost within reach, yet so far. One step too close, and Lenya would report his insubordination to the king. That would lead to more scars on Elina’s skin.
He hadn’t failed to notice her limp at the ceremony, hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since he knew Lory was safe. Guardians, he’d nearly vomited at the thought something might have happened to Lory after she’d been locked with Niely inside the building.
Khayrivven leaned forward in his chair and braced his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his palms. Too much had happened in the past days, and he’d lost control over it.
When he’d intended to be there every step of the way for Lory as she carried out her first assassination, he’d allowed his primal instincts to interfere.
He’d fucked her, by Eroth, on the way to killing a man.
And though he’d told himself it had been to distract her from what she was about to do, he’d lost control.
When she’d claimed him, he’d claimed her.
He’d mated her, for fuck’s sake. And now there was no going back.
But the bliss on her features as she’d climaxed with him, sealing their bond, it had been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. More beautiful even than the look in her eyes when she’d realized why love wasn’t a word he’d ever use when he spoke about his feelings for her.
And he’d messed up, letting her out of his sight to retrieve a useless blade, to cover tracks. Tracks, no matter how important they were to cover, meant nothing in comparison to Lory’s safety.
Khayrivven groaned at the twisted mess of his own emotions.
His head knew very well that Lory could take care of herself.
Hadrian and Anees had reported her progress on her magic training, and he’d practiced with her both Veiled and Steel.
She was exceptional, so nimble and agile, her aim impeccable, her blows precise, her footwork almost as good as his own or Anees’s by now.
But a primal part of him couldn’t stand the thought of her left to face danger of any sort on her own anyway.
At least the loneliness of this mission gave him time to process while Lory hopefully slept her exhaustion off in her room, guarded by Anees and Ngala, the thornling Lory called friend.
She had friends, he realized with a smile.
People she cared about and who were there for her when he couldn’t be.
Hadrian did so at his command. He wasn’t sure about Anees; the phantom liked Lory enough to perhaps consider her a friend.
But Ngala, Grivor, and the Heener boy were there because they chose to be.
In an ideal world, Bellmont would have been there, too, but even if he showed up before the time was up, he wouldn’t get to spend time with Lory.
He’d be made Ebon Fang and sent on missions so brutal, not even Khayrivven wanted to think about them.
When no one else wanted to get their hands dirty, Ulder called in his Ebon Division to carry out tasks no one could ever know about by people no one knew were still alive.
If Bellmont showed up.
Part of Khayrivven hoped the man had died for good in the trials. At least that way, his soul would be spared from the dark deeds awaiting any Ebon soldier.
On the desk in the corner, the clock showed four in the morning. Not a sign of dawn filtered through the shadows of the rocks protecting this secret location.
Khayrivven had spent more nights here than he could think, waiting for ashmarked who were supposed to stage their death, not actually die.
Only one out of ten made it. Another reason why the Ebon Division consisted of the best of the best. You had to trick Eroth himself to make it.
The Severance, this final test where an ashmarked had to fake their death and erase their previous identity to become a ghost to this world, was more than most could stomach.
Even if they wanted to become part of the Ebon Division, hardly anyone had the stomach to become a nobody doing someone else’s cruel bidding.
Not that the cruelty part was the issue, but the staying away from everyone and everything they loved.
If an Ebon soldier failed to follow the rules, it came upon Khayrivven to execute them. Yet another detail he didn’t want to think about when it came to his hopes of Aiden Bellmont’s appearance at the meeting point.
The chair creaked when Khayrivven shifted in it.
Shifted, first, then got to his feet to pace the room from the wall to the narrow ladder leading to the second floor, where three bunk beds and a stack of supplies were always ready for Ebon soldiers who needed a place to stay.
It was the only true reprieve the occupation brought with it—this cabin in the middle of nowhere, secluded from reality to a degree it sometimes felt like freedom.
The small windows allowed a view of the narrow path circling between the cabin and the rocks it was hidden between.
If anyone set foot on it, a silent alarm went off, courtesy of the powerful magic wielders who’d built this place under Ulder’s ancestors’ rule around the time of the Great Purge.
Ironic that magic wielders would support a king who prosecuted their kind.
Ironic that the power of magic had been squashed by the non-magically-gifted.
Ironic that Ulder’s family still kept a whole military branch made up of people wielding the very thing he was so afraid of.
But fear and anger were great motivators to rally the non-magical majority of Sen Dunai’s people against magic, to make them believe it was dangerous, damned by Eroth and his children, the Guardians.
And when the kings had invaded Criulias and then Naolapia, they’d already had a host of loyal magic wielders at their side—the only magic wielders trained in their skills.
Of course, it had been easy to overtake those provinces.
A shudder of disgust ran through him, and at the core of his chest, the fiery bond connecting him to Lory twisted, guiding his attention inevitably back to the woman he’d been made for.
He didn’t know how the bond worked or what the sensation meant, but his instincts told him she was thinking of him, perhaps trying to communicate with him.
Stopping his pacing, he took another look at the clock—ten past four.
Where are you, Bellmont?
Out of habit, he checked his weapons—the shortsword at his hip, the knives in his boots, the throwing stars in his vambraces, the long, sturdy needles hidden in the harness usually holding his two sabers, the hunting knife at his other hip, the thin, silver chain hidden in his weapons belt, the sabers discarded on the table large enough to host six people at the center of the room.
His gaze had landed there when a zinging sensation warned him someone was approaching, making him drop into a crouch and inch toward the wall to peek out the window.
If it wasn’t Aiden, whoever had triggered the alarm wouldn’t like the various deaths awaiting them at Khayrivven’s hands.
Khayrivven held his breath.
There, in the shadows between the rock and wood, a glint of silver rushed past, so silently and fast it could only mean one of two things: a star just fell from the skies to mock him of his misery, or the more likely option—
The door made an uncharacteristically crunchy noise as it swung open to reveal Aiden Bellmont, a simple blade in his hand, and looking a bit worse for wear.
Khayrivven’s heart did something it hadn’t done in a long, long time—perhaps not ever—because this was the man who’d given his life to save Lory.
The man who’d become a brother to the woman who’d been made for him.
To the beautiful creature whose fire now breathed through his veins and tugged on his chest.
As Aiden stepped across the threshold, Khayrivven threw his arms wide to welcome the man in whose debt he’d forever stand. “Brother.”