Page 52 of Embers of Ruin

“Are you ready?” Onyx asks me.

“Yes.” I exhale, looking up at the endless gray sky.

“Then let’s go.”

I glance past the gate, where the road descends from the palace toward the city below. From this height, Andell looks like a dark jeweled thing wrapped around the mountain, all black stone and silver bridges. The city feels less frightening from above than it did when I first entered. Less like a monster waiting with open jaws and more like a place where people live, like any other.

“I assume I am not actually free to run,” I say.

“It would not be in your best interests. And I have no desire to chase you. I’m a very good tracker, Lyra. If you run, I will find you.”

“Well that’s very disappointing for me. And here I was, thinking I might have a chance at escape.”

“Apologies for crushing your hope. If it makes you feel better, you wouldn’t be able to navigate Andell without someone who knows the land anyway.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Hmm. Thanks for the explanation. It seems you are in a mood.”

“It appears you are as well.”

“I’m always in a mood. Captivity does that to a person.”

“I know.” He sighs, walking in front of me then beckons with one hand for me to follow.

The way he says it makes my chest tighten. I hadn’t realized how much I missed our conversation. His dry tone and half-smiles. His ability to make captivity feel slightly less suffocating, which is dangerous because captivity should not feel tolerable simply because one irritating man is present.

I look away but Onyx notices. Of course he does, he’s so observant he barely misses anything. He doesn’t comment though, which is a kindness.

We leave through the eastern gate with Riven trailing several paces behind us. The road down from the palace winds through terraces cut directly into the mountain. The palace looms behind us, black and silver against the gray sky, and I resist the urge to look back more than once. I wonder if Thorin is watching us leave from somewhere within the palace. Does it matter if he is? He allowed me freedom today, and I’m taking it.

Andell opens beneath us slowly. Not all at once like the view from my window, but in pieces, each turn revealing something new. The upper streets are wide and clean, lined with dark stone buildings whose balconies drip with silver ivy that glows faintly where it clings to the railings. The ivy is not alive in the way ordinary vines are alive, but enchanted. A surge of anger flashes and I stare at the ivy as if it has offended me. Thorin forbids magic to the cities and villages, but that order does not extend to people in Andell. Here, if they have it, they can use it freely. What a tragedy. I add that to my list of reasons why I hate the king.

The ivy shimmers when the wind touches it, as tiny leaves shimmer softly against one another like glass. Lanterns float above the road in neat rows, their flames blue-white and steady despite the cold breeze.

People step aside when they see Onyx, some bowing their heads, others nodding with genuine respect. A few even smile. Though, not the way people smiled at him in Lycar. That warmth was easy and familiar, almost familial. Here, the respect is different. People straighten when he passes, conversations pause and soldiers at corners snap to attention. Even nobles in their fine coats lower their gazes with a politeness that feels much closer to caution than affection.

I watch all of it, and miss nothing. People in Andell are so strange, the way they move through the palace and the streets. They don’t seem afraid, just—strange.

“You are staring,” Onyx says, noticing as I watch a nobleman amble along.

“No I’m not! I am observing. They are different things. The city is beautiful but—there is no warmth here. Not like…” My words trail off as I look at him knowingly.

“People will be different everywhere you go.”

“So… this place isn’t resilient, then?” I recall his words from Lycar, when he told me that the people there were resilient.

His eyes flick toward me. “You’re a nosy little terror, do you know that?”

“Yes. I may have been told that a time or two.”

“It’s a gift, to be able to read atmospheres, and the changes in people. Not a magical one, but a necessary one. It’s how I’ve survived all this time.”

I catch his attention with that, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Yes, you are very observant. I'll give you that, Lady Tarethyn.”

His mouth curves, and for a moment we are back in the forest, back on the road, back in the strange space before palaces and kings and dead gardens complicated everything.

Right then a small child darts across the street ahead of us, chasing a ribbon that slips from her hand. Riven makes a sharp sound of annoyance, but Onyx moves first, stepping forward and catching the ribbon before it skims into a narrow canal beside the road. The curly haired girl freezes when she sees him, green eyes going wide.

For one second, I expect her to show fear. That makes my stomach knot, and I wonder what Onyx does for the king that would make children fear him. The boy in Lycar didn’t fear Onyx at all—he seemed to genuinely adore him. I hope it’s not different here.