“Gods, Terran.” Dren became impatient. “I know the fact well.”
“What is he keeping from me?”
It was the only question that mattered.
Dren shook his head. “I don’t know. But there is someone who likely does. Perhaps you should ask her. If she’s still alive.”
None would dare to touch her in my quarters. But the thought of it did not sit well.
“Do not venture far,” I told him. “I will be back with orders by daybreak. See what you can discover in the meantime.”
“Certainly, my lord. I will uncover your father’s plot and ascertain the secrets he keeps from even his own son and heir. Easily done, my lord.”
With a parting look that told him how much I appreciated his humor at the present time, I headed to Lyra’s chamber. Before I could even knock at the door, the air around me thickened suddenly. I attempted to open it, but the door pressed back with increasing resistance the harder I pushed.
“Who’s there?” Lyra called from inside.
“Terran,” I said, unable to get inside.
Suddenly, the pressure vanished and the door came off its hinges as I continued to press. It was a thick door with wood made from silver-barked draylen trees found only in the high reaches of the Gyorian mountains.
She stood well beyond the fallen door, arms crossed, staring at me.
“You warded the door.”
“Of course. I tend to take such precautions when my life is threatened.”
Reasonable.
“Could you not have simply announced your presence and allowed me to let you in?” she asked, looking at the damaged door.
I despised her, aye. But did not want her dead. Picking up the door, I leaned it against its opening and turned back to her, ignoring her question.
“As I said, we need to talk.”
She raised her arm, circled her hand and finger eloquently, and then waited.
“A veiling drift?”
“Aye. Since there are now large gaps in the door frame,” she said, almost smiling. “Where anyone might listen through, courtesy of your unconventional way of entering a room.”
Lyra was many things.
Beautiful. Graceful. Intelligent. Skilled. Manipulative.
But funny? It was not a quality I associated with her before, yet I’d been tempted to smile more in her presence than since my brother abandoned us.
“I thought you might be in danger.”
Her smile faltered.
“Why would that matter to you?”
“I don’t wish you dead, Lyra.”
That damned chin rose. “Killing me would not bode well for Gyoria.”
I added “defiant” to the list of Lyra’s qualities with no doubt she believed her statement to be true.
