Page 75 of Embers of Ruin

Thorin.

Everyone stills, even Thorin’s shadows. My eyes flick to Onyx, then to Thorin. Neither of them looks at me. Onyx’s expression is hard, his jaw locked tight. Thorin’s face remains calm, but the air around him cools.

“Captain,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like a warning.

Onyx holds his gaze for another heartbeat before looking away. I would love to ask what that odd exchange was, but unfortunately, I am standing in a circle with a king who has just announced he intends to poke around near my thoughts. My curiosity has many directions and only so much room to panic.

“You do not have to do this,” Onyx says, and this time he looks at me.

Thorin doesn’t move, but his expression turns murderous. I should feel grateful to Onyx. Part of me does. Another part of me, the stubborn foolish part that has dragged me through far too many terrible decisions, bristles at the implication that I need rescuing. I’m exhausted by men deciding when I’m strong enough and when I’m breakable.

“I can speak for myself,” I say.

Onyx’s gaze softens, just barely. “I know. You do it quite a lot.”

“Great! Then let me.”

He inclines his head and steps back, though the tension in him doesn’t ease.

Thorin watches the exchange with the sort of stillness that makes me want to throw something at him just to see if he will finally react like a normal person. Why is there so much tension between everyone today?

“This lesson requires trust,” he says.

I laugh before I can stop myself. It’s not polite nor is it quiet. “Then we’re doomed.”

The faintest glint of amusement touches his eyes. “Trust can be temporary, Lyra.”

“Trusting you temporarily sounds like stepping off a cliff temporarily.”

“You are afraid I will hurt you.”

“I am afraid you will do exactly what you think is necessary and call it mercy.”

For the first time, his face changes. Only a little, but just enough to let me know the words have finally gotten to him. I don’t know why that unsettles me. I should enjoy hitting something true within him. With Thorin, I usually do. But the brief stillness in his expression feels less like victory and more like accidentally touching a bruise.

“I will not force the door to your mind open,” he says. “And I do not intend to harm you, Lyra.”

I blink. “What door?”

His gaze sharpens, but not at me. More like he is choosing his next words carefully. “The mind guards itself. Some defenses are natural. Some are learned. Some are built by trauma. I need to understand yours.”

“You need to understand my mind,” I repeat slowly. “Not I need to understand my mind?”

“You will, in time. But that takes patience, and control. Both are things that you lack right now.”

“How generous of you to eventually include me in the study of my own thoughts. No.”

Mazelle clears her throat and steps forward, her expression making it abundantly clear she’s had enough of me. “Lady Tarethyn, if His Majesty intended to harm you, he would not require permission.”

I look at her. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“No,” she says. “It’s meant to be accurate. You question His Majesty too much for my liking.”

Gods, I hate that woman.

Thorin extends one hand, palm upward. “Lyra, come sit with me.”

The request is quieter than I expect it to be, and it annoys me that he makes it sound like a choice.