“If you want to live to become like them, you’d better get your magic to make an appearance again. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Lory noticed, only as she turned her head, that Falcrest had let go of her hand and was standing behind her shoulder, watching her observe the thornlings master what she still feared.
He flashed a dangerous smile. “Besides, don’t call me by my first name. People might get the wrong impression.”
“Like what? That we could be friends?”
Had it not been for the small twitch in his features, she would have missed his flinch.
“You and I—friends.” He shook his head once, hair flying as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not going to happen.”
She hadn’t expected that it would hurt, but deep down, a part of her settled like a rock in wet sand and got stuck, even when she pinned a defiant smirk, turning just enough to face him.
“Because nobody wants to be friends with you?”
Again, that twitch of his features she might have missed had she not been staring so intently at him.
“Because there are many ways this could play out, Lory.Friendsis definitely not one of them.”
Why his words made her blood rush to her head was beyond her. Perhaps it had something to do with the way fire kept dancing in his eyes even when the torchlight was long shut out in the hallway.
But more importantly: “If you can call me Lory, I can call you Khay.”
The fire in his eyes flared higher.
“Or Khayrivven, if you get any ideas of telling stories about what I’ve done to you with my mouth.”
“No one calls me Khayrivven anymore.” His hand flipped up to her cheek, halting an inch from her skin. “And I’m not proud of telling lies about what happened, but I’d rather you live long enough for me to figure this out.”
“And by this, you mean my magic?” Lory pushed his hand aside with her fingers, rocking back on her heels.
“Among other things, your magic.”
Lory wondered if she imagined he was leaning forward the slightest bit, as if subconsciously following her movement while he kept his feet planted where they were, hip-width apart, immovable, solid.
“Tell me what exactly they know.” That was why she’d come here to begin with—to learn how she’d supposedly assaulted him.
“About your magic?” His brows knitted together as he peered down at her like she had demanded he confess to a crime.
“About the kiss.” It was embarrassing enough to ask. Did he have to make her spell it out?
“You mean if I enjoyed it? To make the story work, let’s say I didn’t—obviously not if I set you on fire with a torch.” The smugness entering his expression brought on the urge to throttle him.
“You did set me on fire, all right, but not with a torch. It was that Almelyte gas. Why use it to begin with? And if you suspect light magic is what I have, why not try triggering my powers again? Why wait and risk getting executed at the practical exam?”
Falcrest heaved a breath so deep, Lory thought he might suck the air from her lungs without ever touching her mouth. “Have you ever considered it might not be about you?” He unfolded his arms, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, eyes closed. “Have you considered it might be me who isn’t ready for the truth?”
When he opened his eyes again, they were molten steel framed in midnight silk, his lips pursed tight as if he couldn’t speak the words.
Lory studied him for a while, watching the warring emotions on his features.
“Trigger my magic, Khayrivven.”
Fifteen
A cold staringcontest wasn’t what she’d had in mind when Lory had asked Falcrest to trigger her magic, but as they were sitting across from each other in the familiar stone chamber in the second basement, Khayrivven Falcrest’s intense gray eyes seemed to bring forth a similar reaction as the Almelyte gas had. Heat was sliding along her skin the longer she kept going, and the fact that he hadn’t blinked in the past minute was almost as unnerving as the absolute silence in the room, which made her own heartbeat sound like an army was marching through her veins in perfect sync.
Howabsolutely fitting.
