Page 57 of Embers of Ruin

He pauses. “You cannot ask me things like this and expect me to tell you things that are… royal business.”

I stare at him. “I just did. Someone needs to tell me why I am here and why I am being trained. Why is my magic so important to Thorin? If he’s not commanding the Shadow Guard to kill people with magic, what is he doing to them?”

He tries to move past me but I place a hand on his solid chest, searching his eyes for answers. “Onyx!” His name comes out sharper than I intend but he stops, shoulders tensing.

I take a step closer. “What did you mean by that?”

“It means the world is not as simple as Elvora taught you, Lyra. There are things you do not know, and should not know.”

“That is not an answer, Onyx.” I know he's not going to answer me, but I ask anyway. He’s the one who promised he was helping me. He’s the one who brought me here. The least he could do is tell me why.

“I can't.” He shakes his head, looking at me as guilt settles plainly across his face. “Ask the king, Lyra. He'll tell you what he can.”

He pauses, as though weighing every word before speaking again.

“I won't speak on this again.” His voice softens. “Just trust me when I say... we are protecting you.”

His gaze holds mine. “I will always protect you.”

With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing down the corridor before I can think of anything else to say.

CHAPTER 15

Not everyone taken by the Shadow Guard dies.

That conversation has haunted me ever since. Not because I suddenly believe Onyx. I don't—not completely. But I can't seem to convince myself that he's lying, either, because he’s never lied to me. His words have taken root, digging into every story Elvora ever told me and forcing cracks straight through the middle.

If the Shadow Guard does not always kill magical people, where do they take them? And why? What secrets does Thorin hide in this palace?

The door opens behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find Mazelle standing there in her perfectly tailored black uniform. I roll my eyes, thoroughly tired of her intrusion every morning.

“You could knock,” I say.

“I did not need to.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me?”

Her dark eyes sweep over me once, lingering on my bare feet, the loose curls spilling over my shoulders, and the blanket wrapped around me. She looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“Get dressed.”

“Why does everyone in this palace enjoy ordering me around?”

Honestly, I'd like one day where no one tells me what to do. Maybe I want to stay in bed, wrap myself in this blanket, and quietly rot for a few hours.

“Because you rarely do anything useful without instruction.”

I blink. That one lands. Not because it hurts—I refuse to give her that much satisfaction—but because it's genuinely clever, and I resent finding her amusing.

I push the blanket off my shoulders and stand. “Is His Majesty sending me back to the dead garden? I can’t resurrect the garden, I don’t know why we keep trying.”

“No, we are not doing that today.”

My irritation falters. “No?”

“It appears you are hard of hearing. Shall I summon a healer?” She pauses, her expression perfectly blank. “Ah. I forgot. You are the healer. A pity you can't mend your own ears. It would save me the inconvenience of repeating myself.”

“Ah yes, I imagine it must annoy you to no end.” A sly grin crosses my face as she shifts, and I catch the glint in her eyes. She looks cheerier than usual. That has to be a bad signal for me. “Has the garden recovered because of my magic?”