That brought forth a brief laugh, wiping the threat off Falcrest’s face to show a hint of the man behind the blood-lusting captain, as he pulled back, measuring her with cold, gray eyes. “I said I wasn’tsureI liked you when you’re deferent. I’m actually not sure I like you at all.”
“But you don’t want anyone to kill me?” Ignoring the stab of his comment, Lory focused on breathing, on marking all potential escape routes that would lead her to a semblance of safety when, in reality, Ashthorn was never safe.
Lory’s stomach clenched as Falcrest seemed to ponder a response. “I wouldn’t quite put it like that, Gutter Gem. If anyone kills you, it will be me.”
A lump the size of an egg formed in Lory’s throat. Falcrest peered down at her, not missing the way Lory marked all the places she could strike if she needed to defend herself. Perhaps, she was physically inferior to the mountain of muscle in front of her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t slip under his arm, jab him in the side with a sharp elbow, and make a mad dash for the stairs if he chose to use that sword at his hip against her.
“Don’t worry, Elory Vednis. You haven’t given me any reason to run you through with a blade.”
“Not that you will tell me, butwhyam I here if all people want to do is kill me? I haven’t proven my loyalty to Ulder or shown any special gifts. My supposed magic hasn’tmade itself known with even the slightest flicker.” She took a step back, leaning against the column and folding her own arms over her chest. She didn’t have weapons, and Falcrest was too fast to surprise him with a right hook, so she opted for words rather than violence—not that words couldn’t cut like blades either. “Why were you hunting me to begin with?”
Much to her surprise, Falcrest’s eyes widen like she’d just slapped his face.
“Not me, personally. The Master of Steel was hunting you for two years.”
A direct answer? Lory had been prepared for evasions or distractions, but Falcrest continued without her prompt.
“General Ycken was there that night when they killed the other street rat.”
“What other street rat?” It dawned on Lory what night he was talking about, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“The boy. The one who used magic.”
Evven—
A wildfire broke loose inside Lory’s chest. Her brother didn’t have magic. He?—
Like a blaze of raw heat, the memories of that night singed her: the dark alley, the desperate need to get away with the bag they’d stolen, the Gargoyles ambushing them… The fists and blades raining down on them. The city guards barging into the alley. Evven’s attempt to buy her time.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was an act of willpower to keep her expression smooth and unbothered, and Falcrest didn’t buy it.
“Magic is passed down through blood, Elory. If the boy had magic, so do you.” The knowing look on his face made her wish she hadn’t asked.
Evven. It had taken two long years to bury the devastation coming with the death of her twin brother, not to miss him every waking hour. She was alone in this Guardians-cursed world, and now the person she feared most of all was witnessing how she relived the moment, back in the dark alley, where Evven had given his life to save her.
They’d die together in this alley and meet Eroth just as they’d come into this world: a pair, inseparable, incomplete without the other.
Lory didn’t see the blade coming when the city guard swung for her once more. Instead, her eyes remained on Evven, on the slight smile twisting his mouth, the hand reaching for her… not for her but for the blade in his chest.
Soft golden light sparked in his palm as he grabbed for it, pulling it out with a scream on his lips, and threw it so fast the flash of honey-colored light could have been an illusion, a star gifted by the God of Death to remind them they’d be united behind Eroth’s Veil in no time.
The alley lit up as the knife hit the city guard’s wrist, throwing his sword arm off course, and the man stumbled back with a curse.
The world seemed aglow with hues of a golden sunset, Lory’s vision darkening as she fought to keep her consciousness, and as Evven’s arm slumped to his side, the world returned to the hard-cut outlines of the last of twilight, and everything but Evven’s face melted into darkness.
“Live, Lory,” he mouthed as the life left his eyes and they rolled back in their sockets. “Live.”
That gold-glowing spark hadn’t been an illusion. Evven—it had been Evven’s magic.
“You’re lying.” Because if he lied, Evven wouldn’t have kept a secret from her. If he lied, her brother wouldn’t have needed to die that night. He could have defended himself, and they could have long left Dunai to find a new home at the coast or in the southern lands of Brestolya. Anything—anything—was better than Falcrest being right.
“Do you think you’d be here if I were?” He took a step toward her, leaving a mere foot between them, his presence filling her entire field of vision, the musk of his sweat laced with the scent of leather and sage sneaking up her nose. “Do you think they’d have let you live if your brother hadn’t had magic? Your bones would be rotting in the dunes outside the city, and no one would remember Elory Vednis ever existed.”
Lory had been right: Words could cut like steel.
“But maybeyouare right to deny he did. That would mean you aren’t failing. That you can remain content in that little bubble of yours where you watch others from the sidelines of society, where you’resafe.”
Nausea roiled in her stomach as he rolled on as if he was seeing right through her, like a bloodhound finding her weak spot on instinct. Perhaps he’d read those moments from her nightmares—who knew what a dreamweaver was capable of? “Here’s some news, Gutter Gem: Life isn’t safe, and neither is death. It’s the fine line between where you can forge a path for yourself and beg the gods to look the other way.”
