Chapter 5
LYRAE
Present day
Standing alone in the corridor, Torin’s words still echoed inside my head, like some doomsday prophecy.
Bleeding. There was so much blood. And the more the people bled, the darker that wave became, the faster it moved, until nothing could stop it.
Gods. What was that all about?
Apparently, instead of relying on me, the commander of the entire fucking Valarian army, Torin—and Anaria—had called in reinforcements, in the form of Ryland Storme, expert tracker, and whatever other bullcrap he was currently feeding them in the throne room.
But maybe…maybe Ryland wasn’t completely full of shit.
He wouldn’t dare lie about getting through those wards.
No, whatever cover story he’d spun up for Torin and Anaria, that part had to be true, or the rest of his ruse fell apart, and if I knew Ryland at all, there was always a kernel of truth behind everything he did.
Which meant he could get me past the wards.
Into the Shadowlands unseen.
A shiver of excitement danced up my spine, the sort of breathless thrill I hadn’t felt in three long years. War was brutal and terrible and awful, but after all that time on the front lines, I had developed an unhealthy addiction to battle.
Zeph told me to get a hobby.
Raz called me an adrenaline junkie. Maybe I was.
But it had been too long since I’d faced a new enemy, I had three years of pent-up aggression to burn, and this prince was about to feel the weight of my sword across his throat.
I could not wait to see the look in his eyes when I took his head.
He would regret declaring war on Valarian, but mostly, he would regret declaring war on me, because once I was inside the Shadowlands, I would pay him back tenfold for his brutality.
And if Anaria insisted on sending Ryland Storme and Varian Fucking Kronos with me, then I supposed there was little I could do to change her mind. But just because they went into the Shadowlands, didn’t mean they’d be coming back out.
I clicked my tongue. There were bound to be wolves in the mountains and gods-knows-what creatures waiting for us on the other side of the Shadowlands’ border.
Anything could happen on the way back.
And if I was the only one who returned, I’d be saving Valarian valuable coin that could be used for better purposes than lining the pockets of these two traitorous bastards.
“Lyrae…or should I call you the Commander of the Dreadwatch?”
I jerked myself away from the wall, reflexively drawing a dagger as Ryland prowled down the torch lit hall toward me. “I didn’t sneak away, if that’s what you’re jumpy about. I told the big one, Zephryn, I had to take a piss.”
“The pig trough is out behind the Keep. Follow the smell, you can’t miss it.”
His swagger faltered at my tone, but rebounded nicely, grin widening, white teeth flashing beneath the torches lining the hall.
“From the fire in your eyes, I see you’re angry, but don’t stab me just yet. I wanted to…” He swallowed again, and gods help me, but my eyes dropped to his powerful throat when his Adam’s apple moved.
“I had to see you. Talk to you. All these years…” His throat bobbed. “I…we thought you were dead, Ly.”
“Very much alive, as you can see. And nobody calls me that. Commander will work just fine.” After a moment’s hesitation, I sheathed my weapon. Killing him here would only make a mess for someone else to clean up and I couldn’t exactly explain his demise away with my blade sticking out of his chest.
He stepped forward and I flinched, the scent of horse and sweat and something so familiar washing over me my chest tightened as a sweet sort of longing moved through me, dangerous and unwelcome.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes.” His deep voice turned rougher, less polished. “I’ve thought about you. So many times, I’ve wondered…”
“You can stop wondering,” I said flatly. “As you can see, I’ve done just fine.”
For the first time, doubt flickered across his face, the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes deepening with his frown. Finally, he relinquished that stolen step, and I tipped my chin higher.
“So…you’re not Lyrae Sandrush anymore. You’re Lyrae Antares. The Lyrae Antares.” He let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Fuck me, the Shadow King’s executioner. Now the Fae Queen’s trusted commander. Yeah, I’d say you did just fine.”
Something inside my chest crumpled at that envious gleam brightening his eyes.
I spent years—fucking years—learning to be fine again. My survival wasn’t luck or good fortune, this was the hard work of clawing myself up out of a dark hole by my fingernails and making deals with whatever monster happened to hold my fate in their hands.
Fine was nights spent wallowing in doubt so dark I contemplated not seeing the morning light, and when I did, regretted my decision. This was ugly choices and loneliness while I pretended I didn’t hear the cruel, cutting things they said behind my back.
But this bastard wouldn’t understand that.
“Yes, I am that Lyrae Antares. And since you’re here, Ryland, do me a favor, will you?” I asked sweetly, and Ryland’s shoulders softened, rounding toward me, his mouth turning up in that trademark smile that had melted the panties off hundreds—possibly thousands—of swoony females.
“Tell Queen Anaria you can’t deliver on your promises and leave this mission in more competent hands. Then get on your horse and ride back to whatever bumfuck tavern you crawled out of and never show your face in Tempeste again.”
Shock washed over his face like the first frost of fall, hardening those handsome features into granite. “There was a time when you thought my hands were pretty godsdamn competent,” he snapped, a dark red flush creeping up his neck.
“What can I say? I was young and inexperienced.” I shrugged, making it a point to run my ice-cold gaze down his body. “Now I know better. Much better.”
“This isn’t like you. I’m not your enemy, Lyrae,” he said tightly, “I never was.”
“You will always be my enemy. And tell Varian he signed his death warrant the day he dragged my sister to the gallows and sentenced her to death.” I turned on my heel and headed down the hall without looking back.
“Remind him of that, will you?”