Dunveil had made it clear to Thal that developing a magical ability was crucial and that it better happen fast, butwith Thal’s father’s water-sensing, it was proven his family did hold magic, while Lory had never seen a spark of power in her life. She hadn’t felt the slightest of signs there might be any secret abilities hidden within her. She was a survivor, and until a few days ago, she’d come by just fine on the streets. She hadn’t wanted this; she hadn’t applied for Ashthorn or for the insanity of secret magic training. All she wanted?—
“Move your ass, Ashling. We don’t have all day.” Falcrest’s order ran through her like a bolt of lightning, making her jump out of her chair and start walking before she’d even made the conscious decision to do so.
“You’re quite an unusual case, Ashling Vednis,” Dunveil said as she took her position where Frost had stood not a minute ago between the shards of glass and ice. “You were brought here as an alternative to a death sentence. Your loyalties don’t lie with King Ulder like the rest of the ashlings but with yourself and whoever you left behind on the streets.”
No one,Lory wanted to say. She’d left no one behind but the lonely shed she’d returned to every night and the memories of the brother who’d died to protect her.
“We usually don’t offer this option to criminals like you, filthy street rats who steal from our king’s trusted advisors and mock us when put on trial, but we’ve been hunting you for two years, Ashling Vednis. Cutting off your head would have been a waste—especially when we know for certain you have nothing to lose.”
Hunting—they’d been hunting her for two years? “I don’t understand.” The ringing was back in Lory’s ears like the day they’d hit her in the side of the head.
A pair of boots rushed in the door, all three of them turning to watch a young man in black hurry up to the front of the room.
Dunveil didn’t appear happy about the interruption. “What is it?”
Picking a small piece of folded paper from a hidden pocket on the breast of his uniform, the young man handed it to the Knowledge Hand. “The Master of Veils wants to see you in her office immediately.”
Dunveil opened the letter with nimble fingers and read, nodding once before folding it into the pocket of his pants and turning to Falcrest.
“You take over, Captain Falcrest. If she as much as breathes wrong, kill her.” Dunveil followed the young man from the room, leaving Lory and Falcrest alone in the blue room.
Shards crunched under his boots as Falcrest prowled closer, standing within touching distance and pinning her with those icy eyes, and Lory could have sworn the air turned a degree or two colder.
Perhaps the captain was blessed with ice magic like Frost, but something told her, if he got one step closer, she wouldn’t freeze to death but burn because, behind that front of cold calculation, a flicker of fire sparked in his gaze, and Lory knew he was even more dangerous than she’d initially thought.
Fighting not to fidget, she sensed her fight-or-flight instincts setting in at the sight of the predator sizing her up, and her pulse raced at how easily he could kill her in here. He hadn’t seemed pleased when he’d dumped her in her singleroom after the butcher’s block. Perhaps he’d take the chance and end her now. It would be so easy with his two blades and whatever power prowled beneath his skin.
But Falcrest simply folded his arms in front of his chest and stared down at her.
“Dunveil wants me to find out what sort of magic you have, ashling. Are you going to tell me, or do I need to make you show me?”
Forget the heat. Glacial cold ran through Lory’s system at the threat reverberating in every velvet-wrapped syllable.
“I don’t have magic.” She shouldn’t have been admitting to it, but something inside of her kept pushing until the words were out.
Falcrest rolled his eyes, a gesture that made him appear slightly more human, but there was nothing human in his gaze when he locked it back on hers. “Do you know why you’re here?”
Again, that sense of needing to speak, but this time, Lory gritted her teeth, folding her own arms and staring right back at him. She might not have any weapons, but that didn’t mean she needed to offer up everything she knew to that prick just because he thought intimidating her was the way to lead a conversation.
“Not speaking then?” A smirk graced Falcrest’s mouth, and Lory tried not to notice the decadent curve of his lips, heart leaping into her throat as he leaned in an inch.
Defenseless—she was defenseless against him: no blade, not even a tiny knife. Curling her hands into fists, she held her ground. This was close quarters—closer than even in thealley where she’d fought for her life with Evven. Lory’s lips twitched into a smirk of her own.
He was too close to efficiently stab her with one of his sabers, and with the full head he had on her, she could easily duck under his arm should he choose to strike.
“I assume it doesn’t matter what I think I know,” she drawled, dragging her gaze away from his mouth to the twain gray disks shimmering near silver in the bright daylight filling the room. “You’ll just tell me how it is, anyway.”
Falcrest’s smirk turned into a full-on grin, too cruel to be pleasant, but she couldn’t ignore that it still made him even more attractive.Damn him and his looks.
“I didn’t think you’d be such a quick learner.”
Lory swallowed as he flashed a hint of straight white teeth. “Perhaps that’s my magical ability, then.”
“Or perhaps it’s a necessity you picked up on the streets to survive, Gutter Gem.” The obvious challenge in his eyes made Lory drop her center of gravity a few inches in preparation for an easy duck, or swing, depending on whether Falcrest would attack with word, fist, or blade.
“You know nothing about my life on the streets”—Falcrest stared her down—“sir,” she amended after a second of hesitation, wondering if insubordination would lead to the same sort of death as missing the second bell at breakfast.
A dry chuckle escaped Falcrest, and he stepped back, hand on the hilt of his saber. “I’m not sure I like you when you’re deferent, Gutter Gem.” His gaze roamed down to her body, marking her tight fists and the wide, defensive stance.
