Page 95 of Embers of Ruin

“Walk with me,” he says.

I know it isn’t really a question, but I don’t protest because I’m ready to get the hell out of the training circle with Mazelle. I think she enjoys kicking my ass, and my aching bones need a break. The farther we move from the training circle, the quieter the gardens become. The new patches of green stand out against the endless gray, impossible to ignore now that I know where to look.

“I wasn't lying,” Thorin says.

I glance at him with a quizzical expression. He lies—omits—so much information, I’d be surprised if he was telling me the truth for once.

“You have improved, in all areas of your training. I knew you would advance, Lyra.”

“Advance? I still lose every spar.”

“Yes, but you are training with Mazelle.”

“And that’s an important detail?”

“A significant one. There is a reason she is my Lieutenant. Mazelle could cut down half an army in record time if she needed to. She is fiercely loyal and lethal with a sword. People underestimate her because she is a woman—until they are standing across from her. She excels in hand-to-hand combat and has a tactical, calculating mind. She’s one of the finest guards in the kingdom, save for Onyx, of course. And her gift is... rare.”

My mouth falls open. The admiration in his voice does something unpleasant to my stomach that feels dangerously close to jealousy.

“She has magic? Is it like mine? What is it?”

“That, muya mivanti, is not something I am willing to discuss. It is her information to share.”

I stare at him.

Right. So my magic belongs to the entire kingdom, but hers is private.

His gaze lingers on the vine climbing one of the nearby arches. The silver fades, leaving his eyes their familiar storm-gray once more.

“Enough questions for today.”

He turns toward the training circle. “I hear you’ve stopped thinking before every movement now.”

I consider arguing until I realize he’s right. A few days ago, every strike, every decision felt like solving a puzzle while someone counted down the seconds. Now my body moves before my mind catches up.

The recognition is oddly satisfying. “I suppose that's progress.”

“Yes, Lyra. It is.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Careful, Thorin.”

He looks down at me, arching a brow.

“You almost sound proud.”

His answering smile makes me smile, and for the first time in weeks, I’m proud of what I’ve done.

* * *

We stop near the fountain where the newest shoots have begun to push through the black soil. There aren’t many—I’m not the goddess of life, and I can’t bring this entire garden back. But it’s just enough that I should probably stop calling it the dead garden.

I crouch beside the flowerbed, running my fingers over the small patch of moss spreading between two cracked stones.

“This wasn’t here yesterday.” I peer closely, examining the new growth.

“Indeed, it was not.”

“So your garden grows even when I'm not here. How strange. Why do you need me again?”