Chapter 78: Seventy Eight
"We are," Evadne murmured, gaze lingering on the snow-drenched courtyard. "But Lucien has never been an open book. You’d have to hold a knife to his throat to get answers out of him and even then, the bastard would probably enjoy it." A wistful smile ghosts over her lips. "You’d never guess what catches his interest. And the only way I ever knew something had truly captivated or disturbed him was when he destroyed it."
"Destroyed it?" I echo.
She nods. "When he first met Ilya, we were only a handful years. It was a brief revel in honour of conquering yet another city in Silvermoor, adding their landmarks to ours. He was fascinated by her hair. That rare, ember-red. So, naturally..." Her grin turns wicked. "He cut it all off while she slept."
My jaw drops.
Her laughter grows into an outright cackle that draws everyone’s attention. Lucien frowns, then scowls, before returning his attention to shovelling the snow and his conversation with Trenton. "Her shriek woke the entire castle. Everyone was quite surprised when he picked Ilya and not Lilith, but I saw that one coming." Her eerie blue eyes lift to mine. "If you want to know something, just ask him directly."
"Hard to, when he’s such a liar."
She snorts. "And you, my dear, can be dense as sod. Lucien is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He’ll dodge, twist, and dance around a question, but he cannot lie."
"Everyone lies, at one point or the other. And he is no saint."
"Ever heard the saying ’the gods do not lie’?" When I nod, she shrugs. "It is true. And being a direct descendant of one makes it rather difficult to go against his innate nature."
I mull over it. "So, when he says he considers all else beneath him, he means it?"
"Utterly," she laughs. "I’ve never known anyone to possess so much depth and vanity in the same breath."
An hour later, Lucien makes a beeline for me, fully dressed and cloaked, his hair pulled back from his face in a man bun. "We ride out in minutes. I imagine you’ve never ridden in a carriage before."
I shake my head.
"It can be a little... congested sometimes, considering you’ll be sharing it with Evadne and Lilith."
I pause. "Lilith?"
He nods, escorting me to the side of the carriage. "She’ll be joining us for the journey. She’s confessed that she was approached a few weeks before the final stage of the Selection by a swords dealer from Voss. In exchange for exoneration, she’s offered to identify and turn him in." His gaze sweeps the blizzard building around us. "And we might need a fire-breather in this weather."
"And I have to share a carriage with her?" Unease curls in my gut. "Do you know how many times she’s tried to kill me? She’ll try again if I so much as blink."
Lucien lips twitch. "In truth, I’m more worried for her than I am for you."
"What’s that supposed to mean? That I plan to kill her?"
He lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug. "I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Just tell me first, so I can help get rid of the body--"
"Lucien!"
His chest shakes with suppressed laughter, and damn him, it threatens to tug a reluctant smile from me. Desperate to shift the direction of conversation away from being cordial with him--because I’d bathe in boiling oil first before I ever admitted he could be fun to be with--the words leave my mouth goes ahead of my brain.
"Me or Ilya?"
The warmth in his eyes die. Trenton who hangs behind him suddenly looks up, eyes wide. "What?" Lucien questions like he might not have heard me right.
"If you were to choose. Bringing her back and killing me. Or losing her forever and keeping me. What would your choice be?"
Here’s to hoping Evadne didn’t bullshit me.
Lucien’s nostrils flare and the temperature dips so dangerously, I see ice cracks begin to form on Trenton’s cheeks. The former studies me in silence and then turns on his heel without another word. His cloak whips in the icy wind as he strides away, leaving me standing in the snow.
Trenton exhales tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face as he nudges me toward the waiting carriage. "You two are going to be the death of me."
***
"You don’t look so good, Your Majesty," Lilian says softly, but every word feels like an insult, much like every statement she’s said over the last few days.
We’ve ridden hard, without rest, pushing through rogue territory by nightfall. My stomach knots. If this carriage lurches one more time, I might simply die.
"Lyra," Evadne murmurs, pressing a cool hand to my forehead. "You’re burning up."
"I’m fine," I gasp, another wave of pain tearing through my gut.
At first, I thought it was the carriage and riding in an enclosed space for so long making me feel ill. It was perhaps a part of it. But now, every breath is a struggle. I’m freezing, and yet everything feels like it’s on fire.
"You cannot keep ignoring it," Evadne chides and slams a fist against the carriage door. The window parts almost immediately, revealing a familiar face. He is the captain of my personal guard retinue. Olsen, I think.
"Everything alright, your Grace?"
"Send for Luke. Lyra is unwell."
"I’m fine," I grit, even as Lilith rolls her eyes.
"If you’re going to die, do it outside," she drawls. "The stench might be easier to bear."
Evadne growls something sharp in response--I don’t catch the words--and the carriage grinds to a halt, wrenching my stomach further.
I reach for the door, but before I can move, it’s thrown open. Lucien stands on the other side, snow clinging to his cloak, the scent of leather and cold sweeping in with him. "What’s wron--"
I swivel too late, and in no small or graceful fashion, I promptly throw up all over his chest.