Page 74 of Embers of Ruin

“We’re wasting time.”

“How unfortunate for you. I have approximately thirty-seven questions.”

“And you will receive answers.”

Hope flickers before I can stop it.

“...Eventually.”

The flicker of hope dies immediately. Thorin’s mouth twitches, and I can tell that he thinks this is amusing. And it absolutely is not.

“Eventually,” I echo bitterly, narrowing my eyes. “I dislike that word almost as much as I dislike ‘rest’.”

“I know. You dislike a lot of things, Lyra.”

He starts walking. For reasons I refuse to examine too closely… I follow.

CHAPTER 18

We're still in the Sacred Gardens, and I'm still no closer to understanding why. The gardens stretch far beyond what I'd seen on my first visit, winding through terraces of dead trees, empty fountains, and marble paths lined with beds of brittle stems that haven’t known life in centuries. We leave the section where I accidentally brought a flower back to life, following a path that disappears deeper into the grounds.

No one speaks as we trail behind the king.

Thorin walks ahead with the quiet confidence of someone who knows every stone beneath his feet. Mazelle and Onyx trail several paces behind us, keeping their distance without ever falling out of step.

I glance over my shoulder, noticing that they’re far enough away that they wouldn’t hear us unless we raised our voices. He wants us to have complete privacy. Interesting. My pulse immediately begins to race.

We stop at a part of the garden I've never seen before. Here, the silence feels different. Older.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

Thorin turns to face me fully. “Mental training.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He never does.

I spread my hands. “How wonderfully vague. It has to be so exhausting holding everything in all the time, Thorin.”

“Your magic is not only in your hands, Lyra.”

The way he says my name sends a flicker of warmth beneath my skin, and I resent my body with every bit of strength I possess. Onyx says my name like a warning, sometimes a prayer. Thorin says it like he owns every syllable of it. Which is exactly the sort of thought I should never be having while standing in a dead garden between two men I’ve kissed.

I fold my arms tight over my chest. “If this is the part where you tell me magic is in the heart, I may actually leave.”

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, perhaps because my sarcasm has finally exhausted him. Good. I hope so. I hope I haunt him in small, irritating ways for the rest of his life. But then his eyes darken, and I feel warmth creep beneath my skin because I know exactly where his mind goes when he watches my mouth. Those lips were on mine not too long ago.

I have to stop thinking about last night. I have to get a king that I HATE out of my mind.

“Magic begins with intent,” he says. “You cannot control your magic if you do not understand what it answers to.”

“My magic answers to annoyance quite well, apparently.”

“Yes,” he says. “That is the problem. You need to learn control. I am going to help you train your mind.”

I look over to see Mazelle’s mouth tighten as though she agrees.

Onyx shifts his weight. “Thorin.”

The name cuts through the garden more sharply than any blade could have. Not Your Majesty. Not my king.