Chapter 53: Fifty Three
I turn, smiling faintly. "Cyrus. Well, no."
He holds a hand over his heart in mock pain. "You wound me."
I haven’t forgotten the image I glimpsed in his mind, and every time we touch, I try to get back in there. To see more. But all I get a fragments, pieces of nothing I need. It would seem learning to get into a person’s head wasn’t all I needed to learn. I also need to learn how to sift through the memories I need. Or control it.
But... Cyrus is right about the least complicated man I’ve met. I hadn’t realized just how easygoing the humans really are. Shortened lifespans for them meant living their short years unapologetically and true to who they were. When they say yes, it only often means yes. Or no. Never a whole complicated answer hidden underneath layers that I had to unravel myself.
It felt like a breath of fresh air. And in truth, I quite enjoy my time with Cyrus, even if everyone and everyone’s mother seems to have an opinion of me. Apparently, I’m a whore who’s screwing the king and the prince.
"What are you doing out so late?" he asks. He extends his arm to me. "Walk?"
I take it. "If you haven’t noticed, it’s never ’late’ here. The true merriments begin at midnight. You’ve attended the revelries hosted in honour of your presence, yes?"
He flashes me a boyish grin. "You mean the orgies?"
"Merriments," I correct with a small smile of my own. "I’m sorry about earlier."
His brows furrow. "What happened earlier?"
"The training yard..." My voice trails off as his eyes show no recognition of what I’m speaking of. Just how hard did Lucien knock him out? "Think nothing of it. I am genuinely curious, though. What brings you all the way to Ebonheart? I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the sights. I hear Voss is a rare beauty herself."
He laughs, voice rich and somewhat light. "Maybe a little bit of curiosity, amongst other things."
I look over at him. "Other things."
His eyes shimmer with desire and they drop to my mouth. "Yes. Other things. Perhaps the gods have been kind enough to send you my way."
"You cannot keep flirting with death, Cyrus. I am not on the table. Never will be."
He stops walking, turning to me. "Why is that? You clearly have no interest in being the King’s woman. Drop out of this meaningless Selection. A woman like you should be fought for. Not the other way around. Come back to Voss with me and I will show you what it means to be cherished."
I blink, heat flushing my cheeks. "We only just met. Surely, you do not think I will abandon my life here, just to be with you."
"Your life here?" He takes a step forward, that soft powdery scent teasing my nostrils. "I am not entirely dense, you know. You work for the king. You talk to me because he bids you to. You kissed me because of him. Even now, the only reason you tolerate me is to take information from me. To hand to him. You do not exist here as a sole figure. You do not have a life here. Not the kind you really want."
I yank my arm from his grip. "And you think you can give me that?"
"Yes," he says without missing a beat. "I can buy you your freedom."
I still. "You had me looked into?"
His eyes soften. "The servants talk, with the right incentive. I was curious."
My anger thaws. It’s all out in the open anyway. "Why are you really here? Whose side is Voss on?"
Cyrus smiles sadly. "I wish you had just asked me. I wish anyone of you could have just outrightly asked me first, before deciding to trifle through my memories." He steps back from me. "I am not here at my father’s behest. I came myself, Lady Lyra. We received the missive from your King’s general. My father wants nothing to do with this war. I strongly believe that ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away. The wolves believe in the supremacy of their race above all. Should they conquer Ebonheart, they will come for Voss next. I came here, Lyra, to meet the people I wish to aid. And find out if it’d be worth the men I sacrifice in the process."
Shame curls low in my stomach at his words, but I shake it off. "Silvermoor’s weapons came directly from Voss."
Cyrus nods. "I heard. I had them looked into and found irregularities in our supplies. Weapons distribution that never reached their intended locations. They were smuggled. And by the time we found the traitors, they had slit their own throats, bodies rotting on the streets."
"Isn’t that enough cause for war upon Silvermoor?" I ask.
"That’s not how our truce works. For years, they have had the habit of stealing from us. In minute details. Never on this scale. Long as there remains no proof of them directly stealing or planning to strike us, our truce sits intact. Plus," he exhales deeply. "I’ll have you know that all the dead traitors had one thing in common. They were half-breeds."
"Wolf-human half-breed?"
He shakes his head. "Lycan-human half breeds. All originally hailed from here."
My eyes widen. "You’re saying the enemy is being aided by Lycans."
Cyrus sighs again. "I came with the intention of speaking to the King on this. But he’s been particularly pissy of late. I take that it has everything to do with you kissing me." He adds quickly when I start to explain, "Not that I mind. If I know the old geezer as well as I do, he’d dangled you before me because he knew I had a covetous streak, wanting things that aren’t mine. And I’d fallen for it. As always."
Annoyance flares under my skin. "I am no one’s woman."
He shoots me a knowing smile. "Of that, I have no doubt. Will you come riding with me tomorrow? No charades, no lies. I’ve seen enough of the noble’s vanity. I wish to see the rest of Ebonheart. The people."
Snotty laughter escapes me as I recall he raging cheers from the Selection as we all tried to kill each other. "I promise you, they aren’t any different. If a little more vicious." One question sits still on my tongue. About Lilith. But I decide this isn’t the right time to do that.
"All the more fun, I guess."
My lips purse. "I’ll think about it."
But when I reach the stables the next day, dressed to blend in, my breath catches. Cyrus waits by the horses, and beside him, leaning against a post with that infuriatingly bored expression and a glacial fury simmering beneath it, is Lucien.
I stall at the entrance. "What are you even doing here?"
He takes the reins of his black horse, mounting. "Ruining your precious date by third wheeling," he says into my mind. To Cyrus’s hearing he cooes cheerfully, "A great weather for a ride, don’t you think?"