“Real. Though never used. A promise that could only be obtained in such a way is useless. The ability was discovered inadvertently while developing… other skills.”
Wordbinding was real. The Sovaen Whisper, real. It was no wonder Aetherians gave the rest of us such a stare. We had our secrets, but none such as this. How often throughout our history were such skills used?
Or abused?
“Who knows?”
“The king, and no other. With exception of those who whisper in the shadows, or have done so in the past. You told me of your Throne Vault. I am extending the same courtesy of a secret.”
A secret, indeed.“How many are there?”
Her smile was Lyra’s only response.
“You aren’t worried I’ll share your secret?”
“No,” she said softly. “At least, as worried as you are that I will share yours. But if you were going to betray me, you’d have done so already.”
On that, Lyra was right.
14
LYRA
Time passed much more quickly than I’d have expected.
After revealing my deepest secret to him, one that those closest to me didn’t even suspect, I freed my mind from doubts that would serve no master except regret, which is a useless sentiment. It was done. He knew.
With luck, he might guess that the Sovaen Whisper wasn’t the least invasive of the skills I’d learned from my parents, the only partnered Shadow Diplomats in Aetheria’s history. Having one mentor made me part of an elite group of individuals. Having two?
“Lyra?”
Hours had passed, our meal long ago eaten. We’d nurtured a second flagon of wine while I hid in Terran’s antechamber as we waited for the palace to slumber.
“I was thinking,” I said, tucking my feet between my crossed legs. One advantage of chairs made for Gyorians? They were massive. I could sleep in this one, by the fire, and likely would. Certainly, if we were successful, I would need some rest before heading north.
With the Stone.
My plan was fluid, as were most missions such as these. Though it had quickly become clear Terran was my best chance at getting the stone, how I would proceed from there was less obvious.
“You were thinking?” he prompted.
Terran sat across from me, legs outstretched, wine in hand. The firelight flicked against his prominent cheekbone and jaw, both defined and broad all at once. Every feature pronounced him of royal bloodline. Or perhaps it was the way he used them. Less haughty than exceedingly confident, it was one trait both Prince Terran of Gyoria and his brother had in common.
“If I were to describe this day to someone, I’d scarcely find the words.”
We spoke of the mission. Of Gyorian, and Aetherian customs. Of Kael, and even Mev, after Terran finally admitted his curiosity about the lost princess. Thankfully, one thing we didn’t speak of was the incident in his bathing chamber. With luck, he passed it off as manipulation on my part. The truth was much, much, worse.
“I’ve known you for many years. Or thought that I had,” I admitted.
“What doyou know about me, Lyra?”
Though we could no longer see Gyoria’s cliffs outside a window, there was an unexpected openness in this chamber.
“I know you were taught to hate me.”
His brows raised. “As you were me.”
“Nay,” I argued. “I do not hate you, Terran. I hate that your father tore our clans apart. But I do not hate you.”
