But we both know I won’t. Not here. Not in front of the rest, and he uses his advantage. “I asked Commander Vaelion for you, when you return.”
Every part of me turns to ice. Something heavy settles in my chest, pressing down until I struggle to breathe. “You didwhat?”
“I asked him for you.” Lips in my hair. “It makes sense, Lyra. The mission will be done. You’ll have no further use to him, not really. It will give you direction. A family. And I know your history.”
With him. As if I’m nothing more than a possession to be claimed. I’m going to be ill. “And the Commander’s response?”
“If you make it back, he’ll agree.”
If I make it back.My father is full of silent threats, it seems. Fail to fulfil my purpose in Umbraxis, fail to kill Kaelen Duskbane, and I lose my sister. Dare to return to Solvandyr if I succeed, and face a lifetime in Cindral’s bed.
“I need to focus.” Bile burns at the back of my throat. My hand reaches for the pocket sewn into my dress, searching for the poison. It almost feels like a comfort in comparison to whatCindral offers. Clearly my father hasn’t sharedallof his plans with him. “Don’t mention it again.”
Of course he wouldn’t want to offend his favorite pet by refusing him. My father is a far better manipulator than that. Better to pretend that my death was only a consequence of the mission.
He stiffens against me. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. It’s as good as done—,”
I tug my calantia around me, forcing his hand away from my arm.
Once, I used to think that Cindral was handsome. I would dream of him when I was alone in my chambers, since I had little else to think of. Particularly as we grew older, in that awkward phase from childhood to something different. He was enticing, and mysterious, the boy who appeared one day to help with my training at my father’s command, the boy I envied for his freedom to walk out of the training grounds at the end of each day. I would lay in bed and dream of his broad shoulders, the expanse of golden skin littered with white scars from training. The dusting of brown hair against his stomach, travelling down beneath his fighting leathers. The way his hair would look after a full day of training beneath the blazing suns, rumpled and sweat-soaked. As I grew older, I began to wonder how he would feel against me. How his hands would hold me.
And then I found out.
I don’t think he’s handsome anymore. Now, I see the cruelty written into the strong lines of his face. The danger behind his eyes. The threat behind every touch.
Now, I know how he feels against me. And how much he enjoys pain.
My voice rises alongside my growing rage, above the sound of the hooves pounding the dry ground beneath us. “I would rather spread my legs for a full legion of Darkwielder soldiers thanspend a single second under your rutting ass, let alone the rest of my life. Is thatclearenough for you?”
Behind us, I hear a muffled snicker.
His hand squeezes my arm through my veil, hard enough to bruise. And Cindral keeps his words quiet, hidden from those eavesdropping behind us, but loud enough that I don’t miss a single one.
“Just remember that you brought it on yourself.”
Lyra
Cindral only allows me back on my horse when we reach the narrow path that marks the Solvandyr entrance to the Veilspire. The dark entrance is flanked on either side by endless walls of jagged blackened rock and two miserable-looking sentries who abruptly stand to attention when they see us approaching. The temperature is already dropping, helped along by the shadow of the snow-capped mountains that loom above our heads and the setting suns at our backs. The passage ahead almost sparkles with the frost that litters the ground. We’re losing heat and light rapidly, the break Cindral orders welcome but short as we dismount to eat and drink and piss.
Grateful to not have his anger breathing in my ear anymore, I take a final swig of water from my pouch before tugging off my calantia and replacing it with a fur sunboar cloak from my saddlebags. Wrapping it around myself to ward off the chill, Ifollow it up with supple mourback leather gloves that reach up to my elbow. My fingers flex, testing the grip and the space carved out for me to access myluminth. My daggers appear at my urging, shimmering points of light erupting through the gloves into my waiting palm. I feel better with them close.
“You won’t need those.” Cindral leads his stallion past, making my mare skitter back. I run my hand over her mane to settle her before he mounts in a fluid motion. “All we’ve seen are a few sunboar herds.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the last herd we came across in the distance. Only the glint of the setting suns betray their location, orange light reflecting against the glass plates embedded in their spines as the shaggy beasts amble further away from us. My mare waits patiently for me to mount before I pick up the reins once more, my response clipped. “I’d rather be prepared.”
I’ve heard the creatures in the Veilspire are far larger than any on the plains. Like karthbounds, heavy and lumbering at first glance, but able to break into speeds far beyond the capabilities of any Lightbringer to hunt their prey. Black-skinned and white-furred, they blend into the snow well enough that you wouldn’t spot one until it was upon you with long, vicious claws.
And then, of course, there’s Cindral. I’d rather face a karthbound. He eyes the glowing blades I still hold in my hands but says nothing. Only once he’s well past me do I let them fade away.
Our unit holds back as he takes the lead to approach the path between the sentries, and I fall in behind him. The path narrows enough that we have to enter in a single, plodding line, one after the other. Cindral rides ahead, his head cocked for any sound that doesn’t belong. Nobody speaks. When I glance over my shoulder, the female soldier Cindral forced back in the line is watching me, nothing but ice behind her eyes.
The hooves of our rides is the only sound, muffled by the mud-packed frozen ground that soon shifts into the crunch of icy-white snow. Shivering, I pull my cloak tighter and stare out at the dark landscape ahead.
I have never seen snow—or not been close enough to actually touch it, at least. Not from my tower in Solvandyr. There wasn’t much snow in the training grounds I was restricted to. Small bumps pop up on the exposed skin above my elbows as I huddle, attempting to keep warm. The soldiers behind me wear full, sleek Lightbringer armor, arms and legs covered in glorious, dazzling gold, but I wasn’t afforded that luxury. Instead, the gown I wear wouldn’t be out of place in the temple, a cream shift with golden thread that winds over my bare shoulders in a criss-cross pattern and provides absolutely no protection from the elements whatsoever, all in the name of presenting me as what I need to pretend to be.
I suppose I should be grateful they bothered to give me boots.
My thighs are already chafing, the leather rubbing against the delicate bare skin. Sighing, I focus my attention on what I can see of the path beyond Cindral’s head and push the faint burn aside. Hours pass silently, until the path begins to open up. Cindral lifts his hand, and we all come to a halt. Waiting, I tuck my gloves beneath my armpits while he inspects the parchment in his hands. My breath creates a fog, white puffs of mist vanishing into the chilled air.
