Khayrivven guided Caramel into the center of the camp, where he stopped in front of the tallest building this rundown place had to offer. Rundown, yet better kept than any place Lory had called home before Ashthorn—and whetherthe questionable academy deserved to be named that remained yet to be determined.
“Captain Falcrest, the Master of Whispers is awaiting you in his office,” a soldier in an inconspicuous brown uniform announced as Khayrivven swung his leg over Caramel’s mighty neck and slid down the stallion’s side. With a curt nod, he requited the man’s statement while already gesturing for Lory to get off the horse. This time, he didn’t offer support, and Lory bit back a groan as she landed on unstable legs.
“Lenya is here?” she hissed at Khayrivven, who was handing Caramel’s reins to the soldier who seemed like he was ready to bolt at the sight of the man alone. “He was in Dunai when we left. How can he be here?”
“The Master of Whispers has modes of transportation available that ashlings know nothing about.” His tone was the harsh one of the captain, but in his eyes, an apology glinted at Lory as he faced her. “Come on, we don’t want to let the Master of Whispers wait.”
So, this was it—this was what Lory’s life would come down to: fighting a group of people who hated her for her past, for her blood, and the Guardians knew what else. She forced a grin. “We wouldn’t dare.”
When she followed Khayrivven into the house, her legs weren’t the only part of her shaking. Fear dominated where before fire had lived, and her hands wandered to her hips, reaching for phantom weapons.
Only two doors led from the small, wooden entrance hall, one of them opening the view of a makeshift kitchen,the other one closed. Khayrivven didn’t stop to look at Lory as he knocked, waiting for a barked ‘enter’ before he pressed down the handle and stepped into the room.
“Ah, the captain and the Flame-born. Welcome to the Amrin outpost.” Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands atop a ledger on the simple wooden table, his black eyes piercing into her as if he could see straight to the anxious ball forming in her stomach.
“As requested, Master of Whispers.” Khayrivven inclined his head. “Ashling Vednis.”
Lenya’s investigative eyes wandered to Khayrivven as if expecting something more—protest, perhaps, but the captain showed as much emotion as the first time she’d seen him walk an ashling to their death at breakfast.
“How long until she goes into the mountains?” was all he asked, tone level and hands locked behind his back in a way she’d never seenhimstand, but the soldiers in brown who had stopped their tasks to watch Lory and Khayrivven’s arrival like it was the biggest spectacle they’d experienced in months. Soldiers of the common army—the army Khayrivven had come from, Lory realized, not ashlings or thornlings, phantoms, or even ashmarked.
Then, it wasn’t every day that a Flame-born was brought in for a collective execution. A shiver of terror raked through Lory’s body as Lenya’s eyes found her once more, the rest of him unmoving.
“Nightfall. That will give her time to find a hiding spot before… Ah, you still think you’re here to fight the Criu rebels in the mountains, don’t you, Vednis?”
Lory bit her tongue so she wouldn’t give away Khayrivven had let slip what awaited her here, but next to her, Khayrivven shifted on his feet, a rare tell that something was up.
“You have been told your trials were moved up and that you’d spend some time in the Amrin Mountains hunting rebels, but we’ve found a better-fitting way to let you demonstrate you’ve mastered all necessary skills to survive at Ashthorn.” A vicious grin split his umber face, teeth flashing like pearls in the sunset-lit room, and dread pooled in Lory’s core as she debated how much of an act the Master of Whispers would buy.
“What do you mean?” It was the most innocent of questions, but Khayrivven stiffened beside her, anyway.
Scanning her head to toe, Lenya leaned back in his chair, the black of his uniform gobbling up the light around him as if it were made of shadows. “I mean, Miss Vednis, that you will prove that you’re both loyal to the academy and capable of both surviving and controlling your magic. You will enter the mountains tonight, and your fellow students will have forty-eight hours to settle all open scores with you or take their chance at eliminating you from their ranks if they so choose.”
The horror on Lory’s face wasn’t faked when she heard the words once more from the Master of Whispers.
Open season, Khayrivven had said. It didn’t really matter how Lenya phrased it; it remained the same.
Before she could utter a word, Lenya continued, “Captain Falcrest will take you to the provisioner. She will give you everything you need before you head out to themountains.” His teeth flashed dangerously as he waited for Lory to object, but she once more bit her tongue. Any word that might compromise Khayrivven could never cross her lips because the way Lenya’s eyes flashed when they met his proved the Master of Whispers knew Khayrivven wasn’t entirely indifferent to Lory’s situation.
“Make sure to keep all your weapons to yourself, Captain.” A sneer formed on his face, making Lory want to throw a good punch right at the white dash that was his teeth. “We don’t want to mess with Vednis’s trials, or the person who interfered will need to execute her; you know the rules.”
The bone-deep tremor running through Lory wasn’t an act; neither was the sweat forming at the back of her neck as she fought the urge to turn her head and share a look with Khayrivven, who hadn’t uttered a word, only given a curt nod.
“See you in two days, Vednis,” Lenya said with a dismissive wave of his hand, already bending over his ledger again, turning a page. “Ifyou survive.”
“What didhe mean ‘The person who interferes will have to execute me’?” Lory prompted as she jogged after Khayrivven through the narrow pathways between the barracks.
His long strides swallowed up the packed earth beneath their feet, while Lory had trouble keeping up, her legs still sore from riding.
“Khayrivven—”
Whipping his head around, he shot her a forbidding glance. “Not here. This place has eyes and ears everywhere.” His gaze darted around the camp as he made a left turn, taking them closer toward the mountains until a lone hut and a row of wood-and-clay towers were all that was separating them from the steep ascent of the mountains.
Two guards in inconspicuous brown uniforms stood aside as he approached the hut, their fingertips skipping to their temples in a salute as Khayrivven slipped between them, shouldering the door to the hut open and waiving Lory inside.
The place was larger than it looked from the outside and filled with large leather packs ready for marching. In rows, they stood against the left wall, shelf after shelf full to bursting. On the other side, racks of weapons lined the wall, floor to low ceiling, but the middle-aged woman in brown was holding out one small, shapeless bundle to Khayrivven as if she’d been expecting them.
“Be careful out there.” She gave Lory the brief glance of a superior assessing a fleeting inconvenience, but her words were clearly meant for Khayrivven.
