Page 122 of Embers of Ruin

“No,” he says quietly. “You hate what you do not know, muya mivanti.”

“I hate being kept and caged. Would you like it? If our roles were reversed, would you like being in my position?” I jab a finger into my chest, punctuating every word.

His face changes, and I see it. A crack in his well-constructed mask.

“You are not caged, Lyra...”

I take one step toward him. “Then let me leave. Set me free!”

“You know I cannot.”

I let out a scream of frustration so loud that I nearly hurt my own ears. “No. NO! You can, but you won’t. There’s a difference, Thorin.”

“Not in this, there is not.”

“That’s convenient for you alone. Why cage me, keep me in the dark, feed me with fantasies only to leave me feeling like this?”

“It is necessary.”

“For whom?” I shout, throwing my arms wide.

“For everyone, Lyra. Not just you—everyone.”

The word cracks through me. Everyone.

His kingdom.

His people.

His curse.

His responsibility.

His cost.

And where am I in all of that? Where does his mate fit into any of this?

“Do you hear yourself?” I ask Thorin. “Everything is for everyone. Every secret, every command, every choice you take away from me. Do you ever ask what I want? Do you even care?”

The answer matters more than anything has ever mattered. I hate that it does.

Thorin’s jaw tightens, and for once, I think I already know the answer. “Of course I care, Lyra.”

Five words. He says them without hesitation, and I know they're true. I can feel their truth. They should soothe something inside me. They should make this easier. Instead, they fill me with rage.

“Then why won’t it change anything?”

His face hardens and his cool temperament cracks. “Because what we want cannot be the only thing that matters! I learned that long ago, and I suffer because of it!”

The words strike too close to Onyx’s warning.

He believes he can bear any cost if the kingdom survives.

I look at him then, really look, and I see it. The terrible shape of his belief. The way he stands in the middle of a dying garden as if he could hold back the rot through will alone. The exhaustion beneath his eyes. The weight in his shoulders. The kingdom that has become so much a part of him I wonder whether he remembers who he was before the crown, before an entire continent learned to place its fear in his hands and call it strength.

For one traitorous second, I ache for him.

“You think I don’t understand what it means to lose things,” I say.