If there had ever been a time she’d looked at him like that, he couldn’t remember. Her fleeting gazes had been nothing more than professional, an assessment of a fellow soldier, someone she was supposed to be able to rely on during missions. Of course, he owed the fact that she’d even talked to him to Falcrest, Ashthorn’s Veiled Hand summoning him to meetings meant only for his trusted circle.
Something cold touched his cheek, the stench of rot intensifying as a warm wind followed the touch.
What was that?
“I said stay awake.”
A sharp pain followed as he was lifted into a pair of strong arms—perhaps two pairs, because his shoulders seemed to be moved at a different pace from his hips and legs. And it fucking hurt.
“Over there.” The female voice sounded close to his head.
From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a crackling fire and, behind it, the shadowed outline of a creature the size of two horses stacked upon each other. The shudder ready to work itself up his back never appeared as he was lowered onto something soft, and his eyes shuttered, then closed as he drifted into deep sleep.
Thirteen
Lory
The palace wasa dream of carved limestone, marble, and fountains of all sorts that cooled the air to make it breathable even while stuck in a dress with a light corset. Suppressing the urge to fidget as she stood at Khayrivven’s side, she admired his supreme skills at small talk and wished there weren’t a hundred people attending this event.
She’d kept her eyes open the way Khayrivven had told her to, marking the layout of the room, the exits and entrances, the side-spaces (three smaller rooms on one side), and the large balcony along the wall withthe room-high windows.
Skipping over the colorfully dressed courtiers, Lory had counted the guards positioned at each of the doors, the weaknesses of their beige and gold uniforms, and the number and type of their weapons. She’d have a hard time winning against any of them armed with only a knife, but even in this dress, she’d easily outrun them. Their chest protectors would slow them, and the spears would restrict their movements.
Khayrivven paused the brief monologue he’d been giving about the most recent full moon, pretending to listen to the gentleman in cactus green who had just joined the small, casual group of courtiers they were standing with, to lean down and inform her, “Stop glancing around like a trapped coyote. It will draw attention.”
Ignoring his own warning that there would be no physical contact between them once they’d entered the palace, he looped her arm around his elbow, patting her hand in the same patronizing way she’d observed other men doing with their accessory women, and something inside her stomach revolted.
This wasn’t the sort of touch she craved from Khayrivven, yet it was the touch the world needed to see in order to keep up the facade that she was nothing more than another painted face in a tailored dress, here to impress whatever gentleman she could get her hands on, as Khayrivven had phrased it on their way inside the building.
With a smooth grin, he guided her away from the group, leaving the courtiers to their chatter.
“Nothing interesting so far,” he commented as they promenaded past a row of columns that reminded Loryof the prop pillars in the training parcours. “But good we are making casual conversation. This way we’ll blend into the picture.”
He inclined his head at a group of women giggling at the side of the room, his smile polite and inviting. Lory hated the twinge of jealousy trying to claw from her stomach into her chest. This was part of the mission, just as her own smiles were.
As if to prove a point, one of the noblemen lining the long buffet tables at the side of the polished marble dance floor peeled away, murmuring something at the man next to him before heading straight for her, a broad grin on his face, which Lory, according to protocol, had to reciprocate.
Khayrivven slowed, his arm tightening around hers the slightest bit as the tall, handsome, young man approached them.
A face warm brown with slight freckles, full lips parted in a toothy smile, dark eyes under groomed brows, shoulder-length chestnut hair bound at the nape of his neck. Add the sepia and gold finery his athletic frame was clad in, and a perfect nobleman stood before them, his intentions as unreadable as those of anyone in this room.
He stopped right in front of Lory, inclining his head at her as he waited for her to sink into a curtsy.
Beside her, Khayrivven stood stiffer than his role should have allowed. “Lord Niely,” he ground out between gritted teeth, his smile faltering for a heartbeat. “What a pleasure to see you at this dance.” His fingers covered Lory’s on his forearm as if he was ready to use force if she intended to let go of him. “I wasn’t aware you would be in attendance.”
Niely straightened, dipping his chin at Khayrivven, smile widening as if he’d just found a toy he’d considered lost. “Khayrivven Falcrest. I almost didn’t notice you there.” He raised a brow, shooting Lory a brief grin. “The last time I saw you, you were crawling through dust to lick King Ulder’s boots. Look at you all cleaned up and ready to join society.” The glance of appreciation he gave Khayrivven made the hair stand on Lory’s neck. “You’ve come far, my friend.”
When she noticed the shaking of Khayrivven’s arm beneath her fingers, she realized that he wasn’t holding her in place; he was actually holding on to her. Whatever history he had with Lord Niely obviously triggered something in him.
When Khayrivven said nothing, Niely turned back to Lory.
“And what lovely company you have brought. Your newest conquest, I assume?” Niely took a step sideways, eyeing Lory like she was livestock for appraisal rather than a human being. “I can take her off your arm if you need a break, my friend. Just like the old days.” Niely laughed, the sound both charming and utterly sickening, considering the meaning of his words.
Lory half-expected Khayrivven to summon the fire in his veins and burn the nobleman alive before running him through with one of the probably ten blades she was certain he’d hidden on his person, but the Flame-born captain removed his hand from hers, stepping aside with an incline of his head. “Just like the old days,” he repeated, dipping his chin at Lory.
“You’ll find Lord Niely’s company enchanting, Miss Vednis,” he said in that velvet tone she loved and feared because,this time, it came with an order. He didn’t need to speak the words to let Lory know this was someone she could draw information from, and that, no matter how much he seemed to hate Niely, Khayrivven needed to fulfill this mission. His sister’s life depended on it—and so did his.
“Miss Vednis,” Niely purred, his smile turning into a suggestive grin. “I have not seen you around. Are you new?” He held out his hand, waiting for Lory to place a reluctant palm into his open one, and when she did, he tugged her to his side to loop her arm into his, securing her hand in place the way Khayrivven had done a moment ago. “The captain doesn’t usually bring his conquests to social events, Miss Vednis. You must be special.”
