Nine
Lory
“Nice of you tojoin us, Vednis,” Khayrivven drawled as she crossed the threshold, her general exhaustion making itself known. Combat training with the Veiled Hand had been a challenge this morning, and she was still sore in places from rolling over stone walls and landing on her hands and knees.
But the sight of him brought her awake, even when she had no business feeling the way she did about a man everyone feared, a man she herself had feared until not long ago.
There was more about the young captain than any of the other people in the room could ever know:a brilliant, strategic mind, a loyalty so deep it could span kingdoms. A heart so big and full of emotions that he needed to keep it locked from the rest of the world or he’d break.
With slow, predatory paces, Khayrivven prowled closer, closer… Past her shoulder, whispering at her, “You are staring, Gutter Gem.”
Caught, Lory shuttered her eyes, shaking her head as she refocused on the rest of the room.
The chairs and desk had been pushed to the side, stacked along the windowless wall. In the cleared space in the middle of the room, phantoms Hadrian Bleek and Anees Frier were standing, casually locked in conversation as if Lory and Khayrivven weren’t even there.
Lory had seen Anees, the woman who’d helped Lory after the Triad had branded her as Flame-born and one of the few people Khayrivven seemed to trust, a few times since the Amrin Mountains, but never had a chance to talk to her. Now was probably not the time to bring up sensitive topics about the trials, the Flame-born, or anything else that could land them at the tip of Lenya’s blade.
Anees’s curvy, yet muscular body was clad in loose black pants and a simple tunic, but in her black tresses, threads of gold glimmered in the spheres of magical light hovering beneath the stone ceiling.
Beside her, Hadrian Bleek stood like a statue carved by the ancient Sen Dunaii artists—the same who’d created the columns and pillars marking the edges of the city districts. His tall, athletic form could have been something from a fairytale, and Lory would have definitely savored the sighthad her beauty ideal not been spoiled for all eternity by the man now leaning against the desk, foot crossed over an ankle, and arms folded as he studied Lory taking in the sight of the phantom.
“We’re training Gilded,” Khayrivven explained without waiting for the others to finish their conversation. “All thefineraspects of Gilded,” he specified.
That got Anees and Bleek’s attention.
Bleek shook out his dark-blond, wavy hair, untangling the tousled lengths with a hand he ran through it as he turned around to face Lory. His deep-set, brown eyes burned with an intensity Lory remembered too well from the only time she’d received dating classes from the young man. His defined jawline was peppered with stubble, giving his handsome face a slightly roguish touch.
“It’s been a while, Thornling Vednis,” Bleek said by way of greeting, gesturing for her to come closer. “I trust you have recovered well from your trials?”
Indicating a bow, he held out his hand, an expectant look in his eyes.
What the fuck was going on?
When Lory shot a questioning glance at Anees, the latter flashed a white-toothed grin and jerked her chin at Bleek’s hand, gesturing for Lory to place hers into his. From the side of the room, Khayrivven seconded Anees’s silent instructions with a curt nod, his expression unreadable.
With a frown, Lory lifted her hand and placed it into Bleek’s waiting palm, the awkwardness of the gesture never-ending.
Bleek’s full lips curved into a natural, easy smile that could turn even his worst enemy to his side. Only as he straightened to his full height did Lory notice he wasn’t wearing the usual Ashthorn uniform, but a deep-blue shirt of fine making and a pair of elegant brown, satin pants with polished boots. At his shoulder, the silver-framed, black square crossed through with diagonal silver lines marked him as a tested and a phantom, but that was about the only sign of his association with Ashthorn Ward that Lory could spot. Apart from the fact that he could have passed as a young noble in the city of Dunai. He’d have blended in perfectly.
Lory suppressed the urge to return his smile, keeping her eyes and ears open for traps or other surprises.
Bleek’s smile didn’t fade as he tugged on her hand, reeling her closer and tucking her forearm into the crook of his elbow, fastening her hand on his own forearm.
Lory’s pulse spiked.Danger,the hammering of her heart shouted,danger.
So fast, even she herself was surprised, she reached for the dagger at her hip—the blade Khayrivven had handed her after their first training session, when she’d chosen his short sword—and held it to Bleek’s throat, not bothering to withdraw her hand from his grasp; it would provide good leverage in case the other two attacked, too. She could use it to keep her balance as she kicked out with her legs, while at the same time, keeping the sword angled at Bleek?—
Khayrivven’s velvet chuckle stopped her mid-thought, and she looked at Bleek’s face—reallylookedat it. His smilewas still there, wide and amused, with a hint of surprise spelled in his eyes. Freckles on his skin moved as his nose crinkled. “You were right, Falcrest. She’s feral. But the instincts are good.”
“What?” Lory blinked a few times, clearing her head.
Bleek let go of her hand, raising both of his in an obvious sign of resignation. “If you do this in court, you’ll be pinned to a wall by Ulder’s guards in a heartbeat, Vednis, and we definitely don’t want that.”
What the fuck?
“Put the blade away, Vednis,” Khayrivven drawled, his tone that of the Veiled Hand, but when she met his gaze, amusement was dancing in his eyes. “You’ll hurt yourself if you dance with daggers.”
“Dance with daggers,” Anees echoed. “I like that. We should make it a thing.”
