“Elina—” It was a choked whisper, too low to truly penetrate the soft music, but Lory heard him all the same, thewave of both guilt and relief rolling through him palpable as she squeezed his fingers.
Lory looked for a girl with black hair, like his, wondering which of them was his sister, but none of them bore any resemblance to him. It was only when she glanced at his face, determining the direction of his gaze, that she spotted the young woman in dusty pink, half of her bronze hair swept up in an ornate bun while the other half fell to her waist in elegant waves. Her soft, slender frame reminded Lory of the noble children she’d often observed during her time as a thief. Nothing about her spoke of hard training, of the fight to survive Khayrivven had been facing from the day their parents had been killed.
Quite the contrary.
Elina was radiant: bright blue eyes peering into the ballroom from a delicate, oval face. Her skin was a shade paler than Khayrivven’s, probably rarely exposed to the biting sun the way her brother’s was, freckles dusting her cheeks and nose with patterns of gold. Strapless, pink satin flowed around her form, shimmering like a river bathed in sunset light. Around her neck and wrists, bejeweled chains of pure gold gave away her status in this court. Among the highest of the highest, outranked only by the brown-skinned woman with the white hair who took a seat next to the king, while Elina scrambled to a halt behind the throne with the other young women.
“She looks … healthy,” Lory whispered at Khayrivven, who hadn’t let go of her hand since the moment Elina had entered the room, his grip near-painful, but Lory didn’t try tofree herself, neither did she point it out to him. She didn’t speak the word that had initially sprang to her mind at the sight of his sister.Happy.When she looked at Elina Falcrest, Lory saw a happy, young woman, at ease in her place behind the king’s left shoulder, and nothing could have cracked her heart more than the way Khayrivven’s face slackened as he took in the sight of his sister smiling at the crowd of spectators like she enjoyed their attention.
“At least he’s not hurting her.” Khayrivven spoke more to himself, but Lory picked up every word he mumbled. He wiped his mouth with his other hand, his body tight as a coil ready to spring into action and come to Elina’s rescue.
When she turned to read from his eyes how much time she had before he’d do something reckless, she could read the words there that he hadn’t spoken:at least not where we can see it.
Lory’s gaze flicked back to Bohem Cann, who was whispering with Airmal Ycken, oblivious to his daughter’s presence in the room, and Lory debated whether she was grateful he hadn’t spotted her or disappointed. Who knew? He might not have even recognized her after he’d slammed the door in her face years ago, probably hadn’t wasted a thought on the son and daughter he’d condemned to a life of hardship, of begging in the alleys of Dunai while nobles like him spat at them and their children kicked them and threw rocks at them.
Lory and Evven had chosen a different life, though. One of stealing to survive. Of running and hiding, each day anew, fearing for their lives without hope of any change to come.
Before she could spiral farther into her thoughts, the music stopped, and King Ulder rose to his full height.
“My dear guests,” Ulder boomed in a deep baritone, almost making Lory jump out of her skin. Her hand tightened on Khayrivven’s arm, her mission forgotten, Lord Niely forgotten, Elina, and even her father forgotten for a heartbeat, as she dared take in the golden face of King Ulder, the man whose fear of Flame-born made him have her kind hunted for slaughter. A man who knew the prophecy Khayrivven’s father had made well over a decade ago.
The Flame who will be Ulder’s downfall.Lory wasn’t sure how she was so certain it would be her. It could as well have been Elina, or any other Flame-born woman approximately their age. But from deep down in Lory’s bones, a prickle of awareness spread.You, you. It’s you,it seemed to say, and Lory didn’t care to correct it.
When the leonthor had pushed her to pick a side when Khayrivven and General Ycken had rescued her from the cave, she had chosen the coward’s path. Now that she laid eyes on the monarch responsible for so much suffering, for the persecution of an entire people, for the oppression of a province readily fighting for freedom and self-governance—white-hot anger burned in Lory’s chest, and there was little she could do to tame the fire licking through her veins, ready to devour the man whose words floated past her without meaning or reason, meant only to impress the nobles and courtiers.
“Breathe,” Khayrivven’s murmur close to her ear almost made her scream, but she inhaled a steadying breath—exhaled—inhaled—exhaled. Three times she repeated the process, her mind spinning as she looked from the man whose blood she shared, to the woman who’d been the reason Khayrivven hadn’t destroyed the entire realm and brought Ulder to his knees, to the king, smiling broadly at his loyal supporters.
The flames died at her fingertips before they could emerge, her control improving with every time she was confronted with something threatening to emotionally uproot her.
Burn this kingdom to the ground you will,the voice reverberated through her body as if coming right from inside her skeleton, as if it was the essence of herself speaking—and oddly familiar in its tone and awkward wording.
The last time she’d heard it had been in the cave, before she’d chosen weakness over what she knew she should have done.
“To protect Brestolya from the evil magic threatening to break it, we shall fight. For the unity of our peoples, we shall fight. For the prosperity of these lands, we shall fight.”
Ulder’s words broke into her thoughts like through a haze, forcing her attention on what was actually going on in the room rather than the odd echoes in her bones.
“We have endured a misguided resistance too long, have tolerated the Criulian rebels too long, have been too understanding instead of answering violence with violence.”
She’d missed the beginning of the speech, had been so swept up in her moment of revelation she could barely follow, but one look at Khayrivven, and she could feel his anger spilling over—becomingheranger.
As if feeling her stare, Khayrivven leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, “He’s wrapping his intentions of breaking Criulias in the words of a supposed hero. He wants the world to believe that, with the war he’s been waging against the Criu rebels, he’s saving Brestolya, when all he does is silence voices who might speak up for a free Criulias.”
How Lory wished she had time to process what was going on: her father, Elina, Ulder’s speech, and the leonthor’s voice reverberating through her body as if it had taken up residence in her bones. Honestly, by the time the crowd applauded and cheered in the contained and polite way only a court could cheer, Lory’s head was ready to explode, and that was before Ulder reached behind him, holding out his hand, waiting for Elina to place hers into his, then guided her down the carved stairs at the side of the dais onto the dance floor.
Nobles and courtiers scrambled out of the king’s way, bowing as they retreated to the sides of the room, while Ulder led Elina to the center of the dance floor, his guards taking up posts in a half-circle at the edges, blocking the spectators from coming too close to their monarch.
Lory wasn’t sure she imagined the glimmer of recognition in the king’s eyes as his gaze flitted across the room, briefly snagging on her face, before landing on Khayrivven’s. A hint of a smile graced his mouth, but Ulder’s eyes turned into chips of ice as he measured the captain over Elina’s shoulder. As if summoned by the silent call of his own blood so close, Khayrivven took half a step forward, devastated eyes on Elina, and his free hand half-raised in front of him.
On Ulder’s face, the ice gave way to the cruel smirk of a man who knew he held the power to destroy the bravest heart Lory had ever known, his eyes flicking to one of the guards at the side, who lifted his spear an inch, discreetly pointing its tip at Elina. And she couldn’t help it—Lory pulled Khayrivven to a stop before he could do something he’d regret.
The music started on a nod by the king, and Ulder guided Elina across the dance floor in elegant circles, one hand placed on her waist, the other holding hers out to the side as they spun.
Elina’s smile dazzled as much as it disturbed Lory for the absence of any terror in her expression. If this was a mask, it was so well-crafted Lory couldn’t find a flaw in it. Nothing about the woman’s movements suggested she was afraid of the king who held her captive as leverage to control her brother. Not one single tell.
Beside her, Khayrivven was shaking, his control slipping; Lory could feel it in her very bones, where the leonthor’s voice had quieted down once more, no longer trying to rouse her into action.
“You can’t.” Not that she could hold Khayrivven back if he decided to confront the king about Elina now, but she could try to step into his path as he took another short step forward, his eyes skipping between his sister and the king who controlled him. “One wrong move and she’s dead.”
