Page 27 of Embers of Ruin

“Careful,” he says, and I’m noticing a pattern of his voice softening just enough for me to notice it. Only with me, though. That much I’ve picked up since we’ve travelled together.

“I always am. Isn’t it obvious?”

He looks at me for a long time before throwing his head back in laughter. “No, Lyra. You are many things, careful is not one of them.”

I open my mouth to answer, but what can I say? He’s one hundred percent correct, and I detest being seen accurately by a man who is still keeping whole pieces of himself under lock and key.

Onyx dismounts first. For the briefest moment he looks as though he wants to offer me his hand, but I shake my head slightly, wanting to exude confidence in this strange den of vipers. It’s a ruse, and I’m sure he knows it, but he doesn’t say anything. His fingers flex at his side and I make the mistake of looking. I notice that because the gods have seen fit to burden me with extraordinary observational powers and very poor judgment about where to apply them. His hands look so strong that I’m sure he could probably lift me off of Bromir in one fluid motion—gods I should have let him help me. But showing weakness in a place like this does not seem wise, and I’m nowhere near a mindreader but I’m sure Onyx knows this.

I slide from the saddle on my own, though my legs protest the descent in a way I choose to ignore for the sake of pride. Onyx’s gaze travels over me once, swift and assessing, taking in the set of my shoulders, the tension in my hands, perhaps the fact that I am pretending the world has not shifted off its axis beneath my boots.

“Stay close to me,” he says.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am right next to you.”

The genuine impatience on his face is clear, I can tell that he’s actually annoyed now.

“Lyra.”

The way he says my name carries two meanings at once, a warning and an anchor. The warning is wasted, because I know I’m in a city that has no love for someone like me. The steadiness—that is what I need from him because I’m on the brink of losing my shit.

Two men step forward, taking the horses' reins before leading them away. My gaze lingers on Bromir for a heartbeat, the perfect traveling companion, before I cross the distance to stand beside Onyx.

I match his stride as we walk down a long corridor that leads to a polished marble staircase, rising toward a massive archway thrown open to warm torchlight. Beyond it, the palace interior waits in shadowed gold and blue-white flame. Guards stand on either side of the entrance in black armor, and they look intimidating as hell. They don’t move or speak, only dip their heads in acknowledgment toward Onyx.

As soon as I get to the threshold, I stop. It’s so sudden that I almost smack into Onyx.

Not because I mean to, but because the instant I step close enough to cross into the palace, the warmth inside me surges so suddenly that I lock my knees to keep the reaction off my face. It’s not pain, but rather my magic reacting to this place as a protective barrier. Whatever lies beyond those walls feels as if it has been waiting for me, and my magic surges in warning. Is it too late to run away? Should I keep going? I stand there for a moment, debating all of my life’s choices that have led me to this moment.

Onyx notices the pause and his hand brushes the small of my back, giving me the courage I need to move forward. I straighten, glancing over at him.

“We are here,” he says.

Together, we step into the palace.

CHAPTER 8

My magic follows me across the threshold. I feel it radiating outward, an invisible layer of protection against the darkness seeping throughout the palace. The cold, unnatural darkness attempts to slither beneath my skin, but my magic will not allow it. It hasn't stopped pressing on me since I entered Andell. But my magic is acting as an effective barrier, reacting to the wrongness of this place.

I force myself to keep walking, because I know I need to show confidence even if I don’t feel it. Looking around, I notice the black marble beneath my boots is polished so perfectly that I catch my own reflection. I blink, and hope no one saw the way my head jerked back in astonishment.

Gods.

I look like I've spent the last week wrestling Howlerwolves. Dirt streaks my face, my hastily put-together braid is coming apart, and my clothes are absolutely filthy. No wonder I got so many stares as I entered. I look like a beggar.

Around me, the palace is immaculate, and I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m used to that feeling since I stand out in Elvora, but here… it feels different. My eyes follow the towering columns that disappear into shadow high above, their bases carved with symbols I don’t recognize. Massive stained-glass windows stretch toward the vaulted ceiling, catching the bluish white flames burning inside iron braziers and scattering fractured color across the marble. The walls themselves seem to glow beneath the torchlight, but it doesn’t feel warm here. It feels cold and pristine, much like the people I imagine are within these walls.

I now understand why the palace looked imposing from the mountains. It isn't simply large. It looks like it was built to make everyone who enters feel small. Our footsteps echo through the corridor as we pass servants carrying silver trays. Delicious smells waft from their trays, and my mouth salivates at the thought of a decent meal. I doubt I’ll get one here, seeing as I’m meant to be a prisoner. I look away, not wanting to stare because I do look like a beggar, and I don’t want to appear as one too. The servants step aside as we pass, lowering their heads to Onyx in deference. There are more guards in black armor standing at every archway, each acknowledging him with a quiet nod before their eyes drift to me.

I look away, not wanting to draw attention to myself. It’s exhausting that I’m always making myself appear small to keep from making those around me uncomfortable, though it seemed to work up until this point—but this isn’t a place I want to be seen. In fact, I wish I could melt into a puddle and blend in with the polished black floor.

I glance back and notice the guards whispering as we pass; I don't know what they're saying, only that their eyes haven’t left me or Onyx. Maybe they’re curious? Curiosity I can handle. I can handle anything, really—I’m so used to it from the treatment I receive in Elvora. But for once, I’d just like to walk past someone and not be subjected to their whispers or stares. For once, I just want to be perceived as normal.

I glance toward Onyx, moving closer to him as if he’s my personal shield. I don’t particularly like him, but he has kept me alive this far.

“Do they always stare at strangers like this?” I speak low enough for only his ears to hear, and frown when his mouth twitches at the corner.

“They're staring because you're with me. I don’t usually escort women with me when I visit with the king.”