Page 49 of Embers of Ruin

“Do you regret it?” I ask, wringing my hands nervously. I know that I shouldn’t ask this question, but I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.

“No.” He says simply. Just like that—he doesn’t even have to think about it. He doesn’t have to think about whether he wants me or not. He knows—knew—that he did, we acknowledged it, and that was that. But I know now that it can’t happen again. I stop my thoughts right there. He’s going to find love with a woman from Andell, and they will marry, and have children. And I won’t hold any grudges against it.

I tell myself that, when the truth is, I want Onyx to be my protector always. But that’s the problem—I want him around always, but I find myself wanting Thorin’s presence as well even though I’ve been plotting ways to kill him since I arrived in Andell.

“I care about you, Lyra,” he says, and I see the emotion in his eyes. “That has never been the difficult part. The difficult part is everything standing around it.”

“I think I understand that part. It doesn’t sound so complicated when you put it like that.”

“It’s more than you think. There are a great many things I am not permitted to explain to you.” His mouth twists, bitterly. “Which I'm aware makes me sound exactly like every other man in this palace who's ever told you ‘soon.’”

“But you’re honest about it, and that I can appreciate. I know if you could tell me, you would. I’m glad you noticed that too.” I give him a sly grin.

“I notice everything about you.” He says it like a fact but I know it’s a confession. The truth? I don’t know what to do with that either. “It's becoming a problem. You’re impossible not to notice.”

“Well—this is awfully tragic.” I frown, patting his hand. I’m sitting next to him, trying not to think about what happened last time we sat on it together. It was beautiful and carefree and I felt—for a minute I actually felt something that blunt sarcasm can’t hide. But, as seems to be fitting for me, I can’t have that either. Because there’s Thorin, and I don’t know why but I feel pulled to him in a way that I hate, but can’t resist. I don’t know why the gods saw fit to dangle things in front of me that I’ll never have but it will never stop being disappointing when I can’t have them.

I don't know what to do with any of it—not the ache in my hands from using my magic beyond its limits, not the sinking feeling of watching a king who makes my heart stutter turn the corner without so much as acknowledging me, or the man in front of me apologizing for the one thing this week that actually felt like it was mine to choose.

“Please don’t ever apologize for this again,” I tell Onyx, standing to pat his hand. “You should leave now. I don’t know how, but I swear the Shadow King can feel what I’m thinking. Is that one of his gifts?”

“He possesses a great many, so I can’t say. But I can feel what you’re feeling by sitting next to you. You should probably turn that off.” He laughs, and for a moment we simply sit together, saying nothing at all. We don’t need to. A glance, the curve of his mouth, the lift of an eyebrow—they somehow say enough.

I study his face for a long moment, looking for the trick in it, the angle, the thing every other man in this palace hides behind kindness. I don't find one, and that, more than anything he's said, is what loosens the knot in my throat.

“Fine, I’ll try,” I say with a reluctant grin. We stand, and we know our dynamic has shifted somehow. We just don’t say it aloud.

“I’ll always ensure you are safe, Lyra. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. You can’t seem to help but make sure I’m okay. How unfortunate for you.”

He grunts, places a hand on my cheek as he stares at me, then turns to leave. I let him go because if he makes me feel anything else, I'm certain I'll do something even more inconvenient than kissing him again. That won’t end well for either of us.

I cross to the window and press my palm flat against the glass, half daring my magic to get me out of here. It doesn't listen. I’ve decided I don’t want to perform for the king anymore. If he wants a miracle, he’ll have to figure out another way to get it. I may not understand what he intends to do with my gift, or what he wants for me. But I know one thing with absolute certainty.

I will not be used quietly.

CHAPTER 14

Iwake with the uncomfortable certainty that I’m being watched. Not in the obvious way, of course. There is no guard standing over my bed, no shadow curled at the foot of it like some obedient nightmare, no king sitting in the corner with that unnerving stare of his as if watching me sleep is a perfectly reasonable use of royal time. Not that I expect Thorin to be there—I have dreamed about him some nights, though. Most nights. And some mornings it feels real… as if he sits there, watching me while I sleep. Even now, the feeling is there as I settle in the bed, eyes heavy and persistent, pressing against the back of my neck.

I lie still for several breaths, staring at the dark canopy above my bed and wondering what has become of my life that waking up alone in a room larger than my entire cottage feels like the least troubling possibility.

The chamber is quiet, warmed by the low fire burning in the hearth. The velvet curtains are drawn back just enough for the gray morning light to spill across the cream rug. A tray of food waits on the table, because apparently the palace has decided to continue its campaign of feeding me into submission. Bread, fruit, tea, and some kind of pastry dusted with sugar sit arranged beautifully enough that my stomach growls. Traitorous stomach.

“I am surrounded by betrayal,” I mutter, throwing the blankets aside.

The room doesn't answer, of course, but I suspect the walls are listening. Everything in Andell feels like it listens.

I eat the pastry, nourishing myself because I’m sure I’ll be forced to use my magic until I am on the brink of death again. Who will bring me back from that? Not the king, with his loyal shadows.

I'm halfway through getting dressed, braiding the unruly mass of curls before pinning them so the rest cascade down my back when Mazelle arrives. She steps into the room with her usual air of polished disapproval, looking poised and beautiful as ever. I envy her confidence, and authority she doesn’t mind exerting over people. Mostly, I envy her ability to walk around the palace, unguarded.

Her eyes sweep over me as she takes one look at the empty plate. She says nothing.

“You ate,” she says at last.

Ah, and here I was expecting a dramatic comment on my appearance. For once, it seems that is not the central focal point for her today. I’m sure I’ll find some way to disappoint her.