19
LYRAE
Ifinished the last of my soup, restraining myself from licking the bottom of the bowl like I used to as a child, when food was scarce. Varian hadn’t said a single word, just watched my admittedly terrible table manners with a slight smile on his face.
“Sorry. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had a decent meal.”
“We expected there to be food at the tavern, but the pickings were slim, given Gavin hadn’t put the bottle down in more than a week. We should have brought more supplies.”
“Don’t feel bad. All I brought were weapons and an extra shirt.” I wet the tip of my finger and picked up the last few breadcrumbs off the plate, Varian tracking me like a hawk as I popped them into my mouth. “So it’s not like I pulled my weight in the food department. Though, to be fair, I’m used to having supply wagons.”
“You really fought in the war?” He leaned forward. “In the Solarys army?”
I shrugged. “The Shadow King expected death sentence grunts to serve on the front lines as cannon fodder. Especially when you’d been rotting in the dungeons for weeks and eating his food. Frankly, I was glad for the fresh air.” Ihid all those awful memories behind what I hoped was an insolent grin.
“Anyway, here I am to tell the tale, so…”
“Lyrae.” Varian reached for me, sandwiching my hand between his own, and for a moment all I could do was stare at my fingers, so pale against his tan ones. “That had to be frightening. None of us had combat training. How did you survive?”
Leave it to Varian to call me out on my bullshit right off the bat, but he’d never beat around the bush. No, you always knew exactly what you were getting with Varian, which had been one of the reasons I’d trusted him implicitly.
Until…
“One day at a time.” I stretched my bare feet out so they were closer to the fire, letting the heat sink into my blistered soles. “One fucking miserable day at a time.” I could tell from his expression he wanted more, so I took a breath.
I’d been running on nothing but hatred and rage in those days.
Certain Ryland had sold me out, abandoned me to that fate. And Varian…I didn’t know what I thought about Varian. Maybe that Ryland had convinced him to take one last job, but in those early days—until Ariel—the bulk of my hatred had been reserved for Ryland.
“War isn’t that different from living on the streets,” I reminded him gently. “I kept my head down, stayed away from the other soldiers whenever I could. Tried to keep my belly full, always chose a protected position during battles, out of the direct line of attack. After two months, when I was still alive, I considered that a victory in itself.”
Not so much a victory, but a wound that left a host of scars behind.
Still, I had survived, through the skills I’d learned living on the streets, and a fair amount of luck.
“Ry and I were shipped off to Caladrius the same night we were captured at Maldrake’s. A prison wagon.” His voice went quiet as his hand tightened around mine. “Ten days, twenty-one prisoners, and only seven of us survived the trip. Lucky number seven.”
I held my breath, watching the light drain out of his eyes. “Then five years in the Citadelle dungeons, with Solok in charge.”
“Twelve years for me on the front lines.” My eyes pricked with tears at what he’d—we’d—endured. “By then, everyone else was long gone. Just me, and I was…” I swallowed, unable to describe that kind of loneliness.
“When Solok made the offer, we took the deal.” Varian traced something on his leg, eyes staring at nothing. “To track down the covens and kill witches. Neither of us wanted to, but when there’s only one choice…” His shoulders rose and fell. “Well, you know.”
“When the Oracle came to me and told me I could die in the mud as a grunt or live as a spy, I took the deal, too, Varian. There’s no shame in surviving. No shame at all.”
Except there was, and there were days I thought I’d die from it.
“We were on a break from the High Barrens when Ariel found me in Caladrius,” Varian whispered, slipping from the bed to tend the dying fire.
“She had this crazy idea to steal some famous sword, locked away in the Fae King’s quarters. Said it was made of solid gold, and she needed my help. She’d been offered the job by some mysterious employer, but needed me to find the hiding place.”
Varian shoved a fresh log into the fire, sending a showerof sparks across the floor. “Anyhow, the deal was, we deliver this sword to her employer and collect five thousand gilder. Ariel told me all I had to do was locate the thing, once she snuck us past the palace guards.”
He slanted me a look. “Of course, I helped her,” he muttered. “Of course, because I’d lost you, and I felt like I owed her after that night at Maldrake’s went wrong…” He looked away.
“Nothing mattered, Lyrae, after that night. I took a lot of risks that weren’t exactly…wise.”
Somehow, I wondered, all of this was connected, Ariel and Varian, me and Ryland. Three lives, spread across a century, where we’d been divided, and manipulated and squeezed, until here we were, enemies at each other’s throats.
