“Do you hate me, Leira? With strong, beautiful hatred?”
- Lorian Ain'Dal, chapter "The Withered Bones of Hope IV"
your cruel spell
woven from my fear and my pain
stolen stars and abducted light
[ I crave for you, a glass shard bitten into my heart
if I pull you out, I will die ]
your beautiful shine
a moon feeding on the brightness of my sun
tearing me flesh apart, to sprout new life from it
[ I crave for you, glittering darkness
if I pull you out, I disappear ]
you chose me to darken my path
look how I bloom with nocturnal glory
Lorian, by chelzd_art on IG!
I am now a bit resting from writing. I feel tired IRL, so I taje time to recharge.
My latest additions to Lorian army! By aramisdream and Amru.
Enjoy the party.
Veralia’s hair was falling with a golden cascade over her arms, reaching her shapely hips. She was beautiful, in a very fae way, like a touch of setting sun, and was well aware of that. Her aura gleamed with gold as well, an autumnal aura so fitting her auburn eyes and vermilion attire, a dress made of silk and gossamer.
Lorian’s fingers wandered in her tangles, his expression seemed bored, while he, Varalia and the group of ar’salien watched the performance of lower fey entertainers.
Ar’salien. Humans, but not slaves. More of a company, cherished one. Lovers, if Lorian wanted. They proved their loyalty in trials in which they couldn’t lie. And most of them – after delving more into court life, gathered enough knowledge to enjoy their position. As humans, they could end much much worse.
Most of Lorian’s ar’salien were skilled in not only the art of love. Not only in being a good company. Lorian knew how to use lower races and equip them with almost fairy advantages.
Veralia never understood Lorian’s fondness for them. They were so short-living and simple. Of course, humans could be tasty in bed, but… she preferred fae lovers. Too much hassle with educating those creatures to the level of the court,
She caught the gaze of one of them. Twir, a tall human male with light skin and blue eyes, was looking at her with strange intensity. His face was a mask of complete peace. And something disturbing in his eyes… some kind of knowledge and curiosity, which she would find offending in fae’s gaze, but found very uncomfortable and improper in human’s one.
She didn’t like it.
She feigned laughter and sat closer to Lorian, her light gossamer dress fluttering around her like wings of a bird.
Twir still looked at her.
“Lorian” she mused, oblivious to the performers. Lorian was looking bored, either way. “I thought you train your humans better.”
His black gaze drifted from the spectacle. As a prince, Lorian had a reputation of a spoiled one, but also very charismatic, gaining the hearts of many courtiers. Lerrel Ain’Dal perceived him as a bothersome, annoying kid, who uses his privileges way too widely. That’s why he sent her to his younger brother. To spy on him and take his attention away from what’s really important in the court. After all, Lorian liked to indulge, he perceived life in terms of pleasures. Delicious prey for a spy like her. The prince loved to fuck her and she had to admit, that she started to like it. He was passionate lover and knew what she liked, like he read in her mind. Yet, she was not a weak, easily wooed woman. She knew she was a distraction and informator.
Which seemed to work very well.
She was not a trained spy… but Lorian should eat from her hand soon. He got lost in sensual sensations and she felt that he is hers already. She almost pitied him. But he will lead pleasant, wealthy life… even if far from the throne. In some property, where he will be able to do whatever he pleases… as long as Lerrel allows.
His smile was exceptionally beautiful. Like a morning coming from over a mountain, being in contrast to his dark eyes filled with void. Another pleasant thing connected with her work.
“How so, Veralia?”
“One of them looks at me all the time. He should know his place.”
Somehow, she could swear that Lorian gaze landed for a small second on Twir, but eventually slid over him and took in the whole gathering of his human companions.
His voice was especially low, when he spoke.
“Very unfortunate, my dear. Tell me who, and I will mind to punish it.”
His stunning smile didn’t take an ominous mood from his words.
“Point any of them and I will feed it.”
Her brows lifted up.
“Feed it?”
“After all, it must be very hungry for you. It needs a treat. Disobedient pets love attention.”
Veralia felt that air around them becomes heavier, thicker. And that not only Twir but also the rest of ar’salien looked at her with almost insistent way.
This sounded ominous. What he had in mind?
“I didn’t mean anything very vile” she said fast, the eyes of the prince’s companions seemed to drill her soul. “It’s only a gaze. Perhaps a simple flog will do.”
His fingers delved into her hair, separating golden tangles. His smile was as beautiful as before, but his lip corner twisted almost invisibly, giving him a slightly off look.
“Its presence is already an insult to me. Point it, darling. We all want to know.”
Lorian… acted differently. Even the lesser fairy performers stopped, not sure if they should continue or not. After all, they performed for the prince and his concubine and they stopped caring about their art, leaving them confused.
“Perhaps I should choose by myself. Ar’salien are easy to replace, even if they are hard to train. But no human is allowed to disturb you” he looked at his companions who showed no fear. Lorian for a moment seemed to ponder, but quickly decided.
“Choose from yourself, if my lady isn’t sure. The more it prolongs, the harder it will be for you.”
“No” she caught his hand. “You want to kill them?”
“Death is a very… final act” his kind smile was disturbing her more than if he fell among the group of humans and tore their hearts with his teeth. “But… if he dies, it will be interesting to observe.”
She stopped in the mid-word. What she should say? She suspected he is showing off. Ar’salien were hard to replace, even if he just stated otherwise. And killing one of them, would cause lack of real loyalty in the others.
“It’s this one” she eventually said, pointing at Twir. She knew she could just tell him all beautiful lies… but something in his face was telling him it was a very bad idea.
Maybe he was showing off. Or he knew something that he shouldn’t.
Lorian frowned, his one feet resting on his knee, his arms spread over the back of the bench. The performers looked at them with curious and intrigued impressions.
“Come, Twir” he moved his finger at him.
The human raised slowly from the seat, and approached, his long hair windswept, his eyes set just at Lorian. But she didn’t see fear in them. Lorian was known for very often strange ideas… sometimes violent, but that human knew that he wouldn’t kill him, just for looking at her, yes?
Lorian nodded approvingly. And he laughed silently. Veralia looked at him with surprise, his laugh, even if quiet, rang in the silence like a knife separating sky from the earth.
“We are civilized people ” his laughter stopped fast, like a cut with the same blade. “My lady would like you to be flogged. Would you like that?”
Twir at first didn’t seem to want to oblige and reply. But in the moment when Veralia wanted to ask Lorian to stop this, he replied.
“No, my lord” his voice was silent, and strangely ethereal, like not belonging to a human.
“Insolent boy” Lorian clicked with his tongue.
The human companion looked down, like not being able to stand his gaze.
Veralia felt… strange. These humans were with Lorian for longer than her. He many times showed he cares for them. She would assume that he shows off indeed… and she hoped this is it. If no…
Lorian waved at one of the lower fey guards that stood between the gardens and the meadow on which they were sitting. Veralia observed as the tall winged fairy approaches, and bowed slightly. He didn’t feel moved by his prince’s cruel behavior. Like he has seen it before lready.
What I ommited?
“The human was insolent, as you heard” Lorian’s tone was as lazy as the summer reign. “Hold him tightly. Hunger must be appeased.”
The prince reached under his shirt. His fingers swiftly delved under the material and pulled a small bottle. Veralia looked with doubtful air at the crimson liquid inside.
“Shivara” mused casually Lorian, and the time stopped around them.
Veralia now knew it was no game at all. Lorian really meant it. Shivara. Most dreadful poison in the whole Ain’asel. Rarely someone was using it, if they didn’t wish someone the worst. And even then, they didn’t. Made from the seeds of the rotting madanis, the trees, which were long gone wiped out from the terrain of the palace, were causing the most hideous and painful death one could imagine.
And Lorian wanted to force this poor creature to drink it.
Because he looked at her.
“Lorian, are you mad?” she didn’t even try hiding terror. This couldn’t be. “This was only a gaze… you can’t really mean it.”
Lorian stood up, uncorking the bottle slowly. His black eyes showed no emotion and his smile was making her skin creep.
“Lorian…”
“Force him on his knees” he said silently and the fey guard tossed the human man on the ground, pushing him hard, so he landed on his fours. Veralia still couldn’t see fear in his eyes. But something… more. Love. And trust.
This was hideous.
Lorian’s fingers opened the jaws of the human companionand slowly poured the blood-colored liquid into his throat.
“We are civilized people” he patted him on the cheek. “And know how to cause a lot of pain.”
Veralia with even more intense shock watched as the human ar’salien curls in himself. His veins slowly started to be visible, darkened, like the night sky bubbling under his skin. No scream came from his mouth, like some force didn’t allow him, and she realized it was Lorian. One of his abilities was muting voices and he did it exactly now. He wanted to watch his agony, without disturbance.
He returned to the bench and seated himself next to her, his one arm over her shoulder; she was too shocked to wipe his hand from herself.
Her eyes met his black ones and found in them something that made her nauseous.
She underestimated him.
“Why?” she asked, anger flowing in her, from her own naivety, which shouldn’t be present in her after long months of working for Lerrel.
He leaned to her, his lips almost touching her ear. His warm, fragrant breath reached her skin. Jasmine. And violets.
“Because the spies get the best performance. This could happen to you so easily. If I had such a whim, I could do that to you. Lerrel should know better – and consider your well-being much more. You are so delicious to bed, but your own performance in the game of deception was average at best.”
He didn’t allow her to express her surprise, but clicked at the guard.
“Assist the lady to gardens and forth. What happens here is not for delicate eyes.”
The human ar’salien was slowly dying on the grass floor and Veralia could almost hear his scream in her head, coming along with his tensed features, bulging eyes and swollen veins.
Leira’s silent feet walked the bloodied floor. The fae who feasted between these walls already departed to continue their dark enjoyment elsewhere. Her boots stained fast – but she didn’t pay attention to them. Her hair was falling with a thick cascade in her moonlit face. She had to see it. How wild they can be, when their veins boiled hot. The ballroom seemed a place from sensual and cruel nightmares, where dark needs were fulfilled in most ruthless and perverse way.
The chamber smelled of magic. Not even of blood. Of fae. Beautiful scent of flowers, trees and leaves. They could enchant a human with mere this, if they wanted. Before, she was asking herself so many times, why such cruel beings were graced with such charming beauty, with tempting voices and powers. This was before she understood the fey, where her life was a streak of fearful days, one after another. Now… she understood that faeries were hunters, and their beauty was their trap. Brightly blooming predatory flowers, tempting their prey. It was so obvious and her views from before were now laughable for her. The fae could force you to love them. Force you on your knees, Or just feast on your fear like carnivores feast on meat.
And Lorian…
His darkness was his temptation. Pulling his victims on an iron string with tendrils of shadows, collecting them, to swallow them later.
And she fell for it. After long years of resisting. But now… she wanted to know more. Now, she felt that he returns her curiosity, interest, and passion. That he wants more of her. Not only for her body, that he could and had anytime. Of her.
She was curious of his soul, she wanted to dig deeper, fascinated. Passion and a will to understand, a dangerous amalgament, definitely for her. She felt it in her mind when their thoughts intertwined.
The fae liked someone when it was convenient. Loved when they could feel it sensually. Lorian… he didn’t only say he admires her. She felt that. In all lies he was capable of saying, it was a rare truth.
She knew that Lorian was in her mind, anchored in her thoughts. This would be frightening, if she wasn’t used to it. Her thoughts were his thoughts, her feelings were his. He felt with her and was with her all the time.
Yes, this would be terrifying for them all. It would be even terrifying, if they knew that he can do that, enter their heads, play with their thoughts. Change them. But she was not afraid. If someone wanted to hurt her… he would react ruthlessly and fast.
And you like that.
Thoughts were running through her head, uninvited. She loved it more and more. She only hoped none of them – the fey – will ever see it. To never become an open book, so the enemies, the same who spilled blood here mere hour ago, couldn’t find her weak spots.
The floor was wet and she could see herself on the surface of blood. Crimson face, like an omen. Her eyes calm like ponds, also red, gleaming in the crimson with ghastly light. She could swear she sees Lorian’s face, just near her own, his smile mysterious and heartwrenching. But as soon as soon as he appeared, he vanished, leaving her confused.
All fae seemed to depart. But she was not alone.
A soft voice reached her from the door. But loud enough to startle her. She turned slowly, her heart involuntarily started to beat a tone faster… but not enough he could find out it did.
Kolerial Verne’se.
The one she spied. The husband of a woman she sentenced to death.
His smile was kind. Awfully kind.
He crossed his arms, in an aloof pose. His long hair seemed windswept, like he was on the balcony or the window, admiring winter.
“You look at your face in the mirror of blood, child? They say such a mirror… shows much more to the one who looks into it. But not all answers given by it are… happy ones.”
“My lord” she made a curtsy, her dress fluttered around her legs.
“Do not pretend. We both know you have only one lord” his eyes darkened, Usually icy blue, now reached much darker colors. “How he hid you. Bearing a slave status, and on a leash. He has an intriguing mind, I must give that to him.”
He got closer to her. She didn’t back off. She didn’t even fear. She knew now, it was too late for him. Now, he could do nothing. Lorian spared him. Every move against her, would be his doom.
“I always wondered why he kept you for so long…” mused Vern’ese. “Now I know. I remember when he brought you to Dal’coler. You were prey incarnate… but he always had been drawn to you, no matter what he was doing to you… How did such a fawn become a wolf? Fascinating…”
A smile cracked Leira’s lips. Her pose, so far bent in a slight bow, straightened. Her face met Kolerial’s. Her eyes gleamed with something dangerous. She didn’t need to pretend anymore. He knew. She didn’t have to hide.
“We are all living our lives the best we can” her voice wasn’t the voice of a slave. Not of a prey incarnate. This voice… only Lorian was aware of. Only he knew of her inner struggles, her fears, her desires and her strength. “Even if we must use teeth and talons.”
“Oh yes! You not only survive. You like it” smiled Kolerial.
“Would you not like it, my lord?” she smiled, beautifully. Like a fae.
“If I was you, I would drown in it” laughed the fey. “You are of a lower race. Every other would not hide anymore under the mask of a servant. They would want to avenge their suffering. The faster the better, they would not allow others to see them weak and bent. But you…”
Her smile still on her lips, wandering. Defiant.
“… you enjoy pulling the strings. And that is… very faery. I could congratulate you. If you didn’t kill my wife. Who was a fool, but I loved her. If I was a fool as well, I would kill you now.”
“I don’t doubt a lover in you still wants to do it” her eyes were merciless, like daggers. “I am not surprised. I am not afraid either.”
“Ah, but your only power is being our king’s spy. His favorite. His… toy.”
Leira chuckled.
“Do say what your heart desires, my lord. I long ago stopped caring about words. They can sting, they can slice. Fae kind never spared me their words. They can bury so hard into one’s soul. But only if one let them enter it.”
Kolerial’s eyes drilled her through. She could swear his mind works faster than usually, that he tries to… feel her. And she could swear that she heard a smile in her head. Lorian’s joy. She heard him, but at the same time not. She saw his voice. She felt the touch of his black gaze.
“You are very bold for a prey…” eventually, Kolerial stopped examining her. “But that could be said by every fey. You are ready for words and their blades… But now, we serve the same master. I can’t betray Lorian and I don’t plan to. I want peaceful and wealthy life. My wife… ” he stopped but shook his head. “But do know… not all of us will like it if they find out how well you played with their lives. How you fooled them. They could stand and possibly will stand being fooled by their king. But not by a lower human being.”
“I will take a risk, my lord. Do I have another choice?”
“If you want to live, no.”
“So I will do what my heart desires. And risk my life in this. After all, we all are playing it. It’s the cruel charm of Dal’coler.”
“And you really know how to be in its favor” he offered her a bitter gleam. She knew him, partially. Lorian told her about old autumnal lords. The ones who had souls still in autumn.
Kolerial, Alnam, Manahal, Lokin.
They all had copper leaves in their hearts, and bright rays of sun.
And her heart belonged to frozen planes and high icy peaks.
She looked as he departed. Slow-cat like moves. His scent of pansies, his aura, gleaming mutely.
Yes.
There was no turn back. In Dal’coler, even the stones were hungry.
Kolerial disappeared behind the vast door, leaving only silence. Silence so thick that could choke her, if entered her lungs.
Her feet carried her again. In dim hush, her boots meeting the stone floor was an only sound. Death was still present here, but turned into awaiting, patient silence. She walked to the throne, on which Lorian was usually sitting during feasts. The chair next to it, only slightly smaller, belonged to Nymre. Always by his side, a watchful raven eye. A lover. Almost a wife, if he ever decided to take one. Her heart beat faster, when her fingers ran over the ornamental frame of the royal seat. Blood. Everywhere, drying slowly. And the slight scent of his aura, violet darkness. The throne was engraved with wild brushas, his symbol. With an uncanny, almost human faces, swallowing their own tails, feasting on own pain. A symbol of someone who will do everything to achieve his goals, no matter how many he hurts on the path to it. No matter how much scars he will carve in his own flesh. No matter if he dies, he will always prevail. Relentless. Unstoppable.
Somehow, she felt that Kolerial won’t stop on words. All fey were possessive, and when they were losing something, a revenge was certain. Even if his marriage was arranged, even if not… she won’t leave her be. It was not in fae nature. His wife was someone who belonged to him.
And he was someone who belonged to her.
Leira knew, so well, that even if her life was always endangered, in some way, during living in this place, now, she will have to be twice, no thrice as cautious. She was aware that Kolerial Vern’ese was a good companion of Alnam Devlon. This union, against her, could bring terrifying fruits.
But she was relentless too. Unstoppable.
And she didn’t live so long till now, to die so suddenly. She will not die.
And she will prevail.
Corvel had never felt so lost in any place. Dal’coler was dark, overwhelming, and monumental – traits he wasn’t accustomed to. Devlonmere was different. Glowing, white walls, and sun-licked pale curtains. His family was bound with the white, for as long as he could remember. White – like snow. Like winter. Even if his father seemed to hold autumn in his heart, also for as long as he remembered. Corvel never knew King Marnsul, a companion to his father, a good one. Yet Marnsul gave life, when the forest chose his son.
Corvel Devlon – his name meant that he had lord’s status, yet he never grasped the subtleties of commanding, acting like the world belonged to him. Self-confidence. He grew up in a secluded place, where he was loved. Adored, without needing to give orders. He was aware this kind of upbringing was not common among Unseelie Fae. Most fey didn’t bond with their children that much. He knew his family was unique.
But Corvel wanted to taste life in the palace. Far from safety. Far from the warmth of his manor. Something dark bloomed in his heart for some time. His father would say that he had grown up, that his claws had become sharper. He thought that he needed the change to see how others lived. Compare, drown in night, and return. Maybe bolder.
Father was always telling him that love could command just as well as fear. Even the illusion of love. Even a lie. But among Unseelie Fae, fear-inducing was more respected. That, Corvel wanted to see as well.
Darkness was… tempting. Somehow… less polished to shine, but beaming with timeless power. Father said once that it was the matter of time that blossomed in him. Corvel wanted it as much as he feared it.
But the want was stronger.
When he at last traversed the dark and shadowed passages of Dal’coler, he felt the ages in them. Whispering ghosts of the blood that had been spilled here through the ages. It spoke of power -relentless, hungry, and unstoppable. Every young fae would be moved.
And Corvel was very moved.
Each of the stones here had its own history. He would love to know each one of them.
The lesser fairy with black wings and antlers growing from her thick copper hair led him through a richly ornamented corridor. The scenes carved on the walls depicted things Corvel didn’t see well and couldn’t decipher the meaning of. As the fey stated at the beginning – they were heading to the private quarters of the lords. Far from the throne room, but placed in a circle around the royal chambers. Corvel stopped to admire the art and spatial build of the capital, even expressing his curiosity a few times. The fairy’s voice was melodic and silent, as she explained to him in a low tone that she was ordered to show him his rooms and only that. By the king. And his order had to be fulfilled in every detail.
“Why is my father not with us?” he tried to sound as commanding as he was able.
“Your father was invited for a supper with King Lorian, my lord,” the fairy smiled meekly. But Corvel could swear he saw a wild gleam in her burgundy eyes.
“Will he visit me here… or?”
“Please forgive me for my impertinence, my lord. But I do not know. I am only a messenger.”
This sounded reasonable.
“I was accepted to the court. How will my day look from now on?” He was really curious.
“As you wish, my lord. You still don’t have duties in the palace, so your day will be filled with pleasures. You can do whatever you want. Whatever your heart desires.”
The possibilities… that sounded a bit… frightening. He didn’t know anyone here, yet he was given a free hand in everything. Possibly, he could get to know other lords, with time. But they were winter fae, and he was raised as an autumn child. How would they react to him?
How would the lords and ladies react to his lack of sophistication?
Maybe they had books here. Surely they did. But then, he doubted many Unseelie here liked to read.
“Can you send someone to my room?”
“A woman?” Her eyes gleamed.
“Someone who can show me around here, that is.”
“Of course. But allow me graciously to give you advice, my lord. Do not ask servants if they can do something for you. Other lords…” She shook her head, her copper hair falling over her forehead in a wild way. “Command. You have the right to do so.”
That sounded like the advice his father would give him. Something that would allow him not to sound like an autumnal child in the winter court. Alnam knew how to command. He led armies to battle. He had done it many times against his own beliefs, because he had to. But he knew how to lead faeries, who were always more selfish than loyal. He could be ruthless when needed.
Corvel still didn’t have that in him. But he hoped that it would bloom inside him, just as he imagined in Devlonmere. He wanted power. He wanted darkness. Even against his own nature. He wanted to be like Alnam, yes.
He wanted to be like Lorian Ain’Dal.
He had heard about the king’s power. Rare shadow magic – so strong. Stronger than in any other winter king. When he met him, he felt it, pushing under his skin.
When he met him…
and…
HER.
Face hidden behind the raven mask, almost blending with her skin. A nonchalant smile on her lips, like everything around her was boring to her. Her aura was so similar to his own – light, but strong. He felt that she had more power in her little finger than he had in his whole body.
Perfect temptation. Perfect trap.
And he fell into it, willingly.
Lady Nymre, the king’s consort.
Oh, he had heard about her too. But nothing prepared him for seeing her.
She was allure incarnate.
And she belonged to the king of Ain’asel.
His chances were nonexistent. Trying anything would doom him.
*
Alnam watched as Lorian lifted the cup of wine and sipped from it slowly, his dark eyes fixed on him above the rim. Nymre sat between them, like a dam between their mutual dislike. Alnam had always thought Nymre was clever, but vain. Intelligent, but very selfish. A fae woman in every aspect. Someone he always had to take into consideration when traveling to Dal’coler.
Lorian was aware of that. Nymre was not his weakness, though. She was his weapon, just as she was his lover.
Corvel had made a bad first impression, yes. Nymre seemed lazily amused by his attention. He hoped Lorian thought the same. It would be unfortunate if Corvel became a sliver that Lorian would want to remove. Given that he thought of Alnam as a bother, it would be a good excuse to send Corvel back to Devlonmere without giving him a chance.
“So…” The cup was placed on the table and Lorian smiled. A slight mock behind it, yet not enough to call it an offense. “The young boy wants to taste the flavors of Dal’coler.”
“He is here exactly for that, Your Majesty. He has grown up too long far from the heart of all things. My son is not used to court life, though. He is very young.”
Lorian’s smile cracked into something darker.
“Many young fae are not ready. But the circumstances make them willingly open before possibilities.”
Alnam’s brow drifted higher.
“Corvel is very excited, my lord. I do not ask for special favors for him, though.”
“Oh, but he will get them.” Lorian’s gaze slid over Alnam slowly. “A son of my father’s most trusted companion must receive… my most special attention.”
“I hope this won’t bother Your Majesty.” Alnam’s serious expression hid his thoughts inside his head, where no one could gaze into.
“On the contrary! I will adore offering him the right treatment.”
Nymre’s piercing eyes fell on Alnam. He could swear she tried to dig into his mind and pull the thoughts out.
“Your son is very fine,” she mused. “And he has a taste for beautiful things.”
Lorian sipped the wine again.
“He will see many beautiful things here. But he must be aware that some of them hide claws and sharp teeth. Predatory plants in disguise,” his eyes gleamed with stars. “As you know well.”
Nymre took a small piece of meat on the fork. A droplet of blood fell from the morsel, just onto the plate.
“I can promise you that I will keep a watchful eye on your son,” Lorian tapped the surface of the table with his fingers, “and not allow him to fall prey to the dangers of Dal’coler. That is the least I can do for my loyal general.”
Alnam was sure it was true.
Lorian might not like him, but he wouldn’t harm Corvel just to prove a point. He was not petty. Cruel, yes, but not petty. At least that he knew well.
Why did he feel that it had all gone wrong?
“Is life in Devlonmere treating you well?” Lorian seemed to offer him real attention on the subject. “Narlia… it has been too long since I had the delight to see her.”
“Narlia perceives the pleasures of solitude very personally. They soothe her soul… just as they do mine.”
“We all sometimes long for loneliness… even when surrounded by miracles and beautiful nightmares.”
Nymre chuckled silently, kindly… but enjoying those words, like she knew some dangerous secrets. Lorian and Nymre… shadows over Ain’asel… never stepping too far, never crossing boundaries. Deadly. And unpredictable.
His own skills would be very useful here. Lorian looked amused by Corvel’s purity.
And maybe, he was involuntarily helping him grow a stronger spine.