The greater the distance they were able to put between the Queen's court and themselves, the more lost and introspective Lyra appeared to be to Kaelen.
She was so lost in her thoughts, that she didn't realize he had been staring at her, quite intently for a while.
This surprised him a bit, but he said nothing, as he continued his watch.
The Queen's words stayed with her."Still loyal, Fixer?"The question had been innocent enough, but Lyra knew better.
The Queen did not merely desire reassurance, she was weighing her and it was only a matter of time, she would be found wanting.
Lyra had always been precise in measurements, the heft of silence, the cost of obedience, the width of a smile that could save a life, but now she was stepping into the uncharted territory of distrust and a lack of confidence from the Queen.
The carriage clattered over cobblestones, the curtains quivered. Across from her, Kaenan sat too motionless, too watchful, his gaze half-engaged in the black window to his left and on her.
Neither spoke a word. The silence was their sole decent vocabulary on the way home. Thick, impenetrable and understandable.
Outside, night fall was beginning to engulf the city. The streets were slick with rain that had just fallen, the lamps softly glowed as they cast their warm tone.
Lyra clenched her gloved fingers together on her lap, fingers trembling not from cold but from the familiar burn of repression.
She saw through me again, she thought.The Queen always did.Years before, the same street had carried her up, towards the palace gates, a rising star in ink stained gloves.
She was sixteen, a new clerk in the royal archives. A girl with neat handwriting and quicker wits.
The Queen had noticed her following a scandal over forged decrees, Lyra had caught the forger in three days."You think most admirably," the Queen had told her then, laughing and weighing.
Then she'd asked in a rhetorical manner, "Will you be my sword, for me to bend and shape?"That was the beginning.
The favor. The oath. The trap.
The next mission had been a test, a noble man's bastard needed erasing, quietly. Lyra did it. Efficiently.
The Queen had praised her for thinking well and then claimed her as her own.She had never stopped being useful since.The hooves of the horses pound against rock simultaneously, an old heartbeat, steady and determined.
Kaelan's reflection flickered beside hers. His face looked chiseled with sharp features all the scars and ruggedness couldn't erase.
He looked like every warning her younger self would have disregarded. dangerous, wrong and alive."You're shivering," he said softly."I'm just trying to concentrate," she replied, voice parched.He did not smile. "She threatens you, doesn't she?"
" You mistake our conversations for threats.""Well-wishers don't talk that way and your disposition says it all."Lyra stepped back from him and turned to the glass.
Her own face stared back, serene, unshaken, too much like the one, who had instructed her."She does not warn," Lyra spoke. "She promises and delivers."The words stood between them like fog.
Another memory came to her. The Queen in her war room, years afterward, eyes alight with the madness of victory.Lyra had tried to talk sense, "If you burn the west, it will never forgive you."
The Queen's response had been a laugh, poison-sweet.And when the rebellion came, Lyra had been the one blamed.Make this right, the Queen had ordered. You're so good at fixing things.Lyra had tried to repair it. She had sewn names, forged others, and learned that every lie bought her another dawn, but it was never enough.
The carriage jarred violently into a rut. Kaenan's arm darted out instinctively, grasping her. His hand circled around her wrist. Coarse, warm, uncompromising.
She stopped.For one breath, the rhythm of the world faltered. Her heart missed a beat against his skin. Then she moved back, gentle but swift, as if scorched."Careful," he said, voice lower now. "You almost fell."Lyra smoothed out her sleeve, gaze fixed in front of her. "I wasn't going to fall," she breathed. "I already braced myself."The corner of his mouth twisted, not quite a smile, not quite incredulity. "Suit yourself then."
He settled back, observing her again, then he said. "The Queen made you her weapon.""No," Lyra corrected, almost gently. "She made me her fixer and reflection."
"A reflection breaks before a mirror does."Lyra's breath caught.
"You've met her, then."
Outside, thunder growled, low and far away, and the smell of wet earth drifted through the open window.
She let her head rest for a moment against the carriage wall, watching the flash of lightning over the hills. Remembering the first time she had seen a storm from the palace balcony.
The Queen had said to her, "Listen, Lyra. Lightning is merely a blade that strikes where it's intended to."Lyra had agreed, not understanding the lesson was not about storms.It was about loyalty.
Now, beside a man who was meant to be dead, she understood, the Queen never loved her, she was merely a pawn to be manipulated by the Queen's will.
The carriage moved more slowly as they entered the outer quarter of her property. The rain began to abate. Slow, measured drops running down the glass like ink dripping on parchment.
Lyra's thoughts wrapped inward, ravenous and jagged.Survive. Just survive.It had been her mantra. Her transgression. Her curse.
Kaelan spoke from the silence. "Ever consider leaving?"She blinked at him. "Leaving what?"
"The palace. The Queen. All of it."Lyra laughed softly, without humor.
"And go where, Wolf? The crown owns every road worth taking."His gaze lingered. "Not all of them."
The carriage rolled to a halt. The driver's shadow moved past the window, muttering to the horses.Lyra adjusted her gloves, her mask of composure snapping neatly back into place. "We're home," she said, voice crisp again. "Try not to frighten the servants."
Kaelan shoved the door open, stepping out first. Rain soaked his hair, dark against his scarred temple.
He turned to glance back, offering a hand to her.She hesitated for the space of one heartbeat, not because she was proud, but because her fingers still remembered the heat of his wrist.
Then she took his hand."Take care, you're not fully healed." he said, a small smirk fading on his lips.She did not respond, afraid of fanning the small ember that would burn them both.