“Did he believe you had light magic?” Lenya leaned across the table, studying the flare of fire in her palms.
Lory swallowed, refusing to glance at Khayrivven, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“He never mentioned anything different.” She wasn’t sure why the thought of selling him out was so repellent— he’d thrown her in the dungeons for the Guardians’ sake—but as she glanced at him, she could read his solid mask ofI-don’t-give-a-fuckexactly for what it was: fear.
“Interesting.” Lenya pursed his lips. “Hand Falcrest came to us a few days ago with the information that the supposed illusionist isn’t really that. He told us about a Flame-born with formidable powers and no family left that could taint her loyalties.”
Guardians, did Lory want to be anywhere but there. Even the scalding heat of midday sun burning down on Dunai would be better than their glares, the curiosity and verdict in their eyes—and the malice.
Brunn joined them by the table, bracing her hand on the edge, gaze boring into Lory’s. “Is it true he used a torch to set you on fire? Or was that a clever disguise for the first time you set yourself aflame?”
“You mean, is the story about my trying to kiss him true?” Lory couldn’t help the smirk forming on her features. “Have you looked at that man?”
Brunn’s hand slapped the table. “I expect a straight answer, ashling. You’re not in any position to play games of evasion.” As if ready to share a secret, Lory leaned forward, and she amended in a hiss, “In fact, you’re not in any position to play games at all.”
“It is.” Not even a lie. “But that’s not what I’m on trial for, is it?” She reminded the Triad that it was her they wanted, not Khayrivven, even when it would have been so much easier to make up a story to incriminate him, or worse—tell the truth.
Lenya shook his head. “You’re on trial for the type of magic you possess.”
Lory didn’t dare glance at Khayrivven, who was still standing like a statue by the edge of the platform.
“We know exactly what you are and what you’re capable of, Vednis, and we know how to eliminate you for it.” Lenya’s mouth pulled into a cruel grin. “We also know you want to live; you wouldn’t have taken the deal to join Ashthorn Ward otherwise. The question is:how muchdo you want to live?”
Eighteen
Very,very much,Lory wanted to say, but her tongue stuck to her parched palate. Had they asked her two weeks ago, she might have said she didn’t care at all, that she would see Evven again behind Eroth’s Veil. But things had changed. The kiss, the dreams, the fire in Khayrivven’s eyes—Lory was no longer the floating soul ready to be harvested that she’d been in the streets of Dunai. Ashthorn Ward had made her appreciate life in a new way, and for the first time in years, despite the dangers and the condescension, she’d found people she cared enough for to wantto stay in this world.
Thal, Aiden, Tabi, Jarek, even Brycon, with his weird type of magic that made him a hypercritical know-it-all. But most of all… Khayrivven.
To her surprise, it was General Ycken who presented what the Triad seemed to have been building up to, running his hand over his perfectly cropped beard and shaking his head. “Your magic is a death sentence for most, but we’ve been observing you, and we’re willing to make you an offer, Elory Vednis.”
Lory’s heart jolted with a painful flare of hope and panic as she studied the flames vanishing from her hands as if someone was sucking out the life of her magic. A glance of terror at Khayrivven told her nothing as he kept his face carefully empty and his posture unchanged.
“What’s the offer?” Her voice was barely more than a rasp, but it painted a victorious grin on Ycken’s face as he gestured something at the man who’d carried her manacles. The man turned on his heels and vanished through the side door.
Turning back to Lory, he adjusted the sword at his hip, glancing at the colorful window behind them. “We’ll give you three months to train for the most important test of your life. If you pass the trials making youthornling,we’ll let you live.”
All ashlings took those trials to be upgraded to thornlings—she knew that—but the way Ycken kept eyeing her told her there was more.
“You won’t train to become part of Brestolya’s magical army but to become Ulder’s personal weapon. You, EloryVednis, will become an assassin for the king. That’s the deal. Take it or die.”
An assassin. Lory’s heart stuttered in her chest. She’d lied, she’d stolen, she’d committed so many crimes she could no longer count them. But killed, she hadn’t. Even to survive in the streets, she’d always found another way. Take a life—the only time she’d come close was when she’d fought her way out of the dark alley with Evven, andhehad died.
As if of their own volition, Lory’s eyes found Khayrivven’s, searching for a truth she knew he wouldn’t give her.
“Take it or die,” Ycken repeated.
Heat and cold chased each other through Lory’s body as her power threatened to burst out of her again.
Take it,Khayrivven’s voice echoed through her head, her vision darkening again as he dragged her into another dream, but Lory dug in her imaginary heels, pitting all that was left of her strength against it.
Live as a murderer or die as a failure? Neither option seemed like anyone’s first choice.
She’d failed Evven, and she’d failed at avoiding Ycken and his bloodhounds in the streets of Dunai. She’d failed with her magic, and she was about to fail to keep up the only line she’d managed to maintain in her life.
“Deal.”
The word was nearly swallowed up by the enormous space, and a part of her wished she hadn’t spoken it, but there was no way back now.
