Birth Stone

by Kate Kelley

  “Is that your lady’s maid?” He asked, eyes trailing after her.

  “Yes, why, are you interested in her?” Lyra grinned but Oriel frowned.

  “She looks familiar, that’s all.”

  “She’s apparently new here at the palace. She won’t tell me where she came from, though I suspect she was treated poorly. It’s a sore subject. I really feel badly for her. She’s such a sweet and talented girl. Just look at this dress she designed for me!” Lyra laid her hands on her hips, smoothing the fabric and bringing Oriel’s attention to the gown.

  His eyes trailed over her gown, then back up to her face. Suddenly Lyra felt very warm.

  “It’s stunning, but it wouldn’t be on just anybody. It suits your personality, as well as your body.” His tone darkened. Lyra smiled despite herself and looked down, embarrassed.

  “What personality?” She asked flatly, “I wasn’t aware I had one.”

  Oriel frowned. “You hide yourself away, but the true you is rising. I can feel you--in your defiance of the King, in your concern for your lady’s maid, in your silly theatrics with me, in your passion to improve as a mage--I can feel you blossoming. The real you in a treasure. I’m happy to know you.”

  “Well,” Lyra swallowed, heat burning her face, “Thank you. Now I have an expectation to live up to.”

  Oriel’s head fell back as he let out a laugh. Lyra grinned. He opened his hand to her.“ Dance with me.”

  Eyeing the couples currently swaying and dancing to the music, clasped tightly or joined lightly by the hands, she wasn’t sure. But looking into Oriel’s warm brown eyes, she couldn’t say no.

  “Of course. But don’t be disappointed. I haven’t danced since my small coming out ball, eleven years ago.”

  “I’ll guide you.”

  “As you do quite well.”

  They fell in comfortably with each other on the dance floor as Oriel clasped her right hand lightly and placed his other hand on her midback. She placed her other hand on his shoulder. They swayed and moved their feet in time to the music together like old lovers. After a while, Lyra laid her head on Oriel’s chest.

  “Do you think we’ll find them?” She asked softly. Lyra thought Oriel hadn’t heard her until he answered.

  “I don’t know.” She peered up into his eyes, watching her face reflected in their dark, glossy surface.

  “We’ll try our hardest.” She replied gravely. He gazed deeply into her eyes, and his palm came up to cup her cheek.

  “Lyra, I--”

  “May I cut in?” A gruff voice jarred Oriel out of his thought, and he looked up to see the King watching them gravely. Oriel snorted and inclined his head toward his friend.

  “You take what you want, Terrin. I’ll just be getting drinks for myself and my lady.”

  “Perfect. Persimmon is over there. Best get on your job.”

  Oriel smirked, quirked his head, then turned and left. Lyra stood there like a fish out of water, gawking at the King.

  Rude!

  “Good evening.” He stiffly greeted her, hand outstretched. Lyra sniffed and took his hand. Her insides cowered at the feeling of her hand in his, making her feel very small. She could never quite get used to touching him. Something inside her always thrilled at the contact. It was disconcerting to say the least.

  He snaked his hand behind her back, a touch lower than Oriel’s gentlemanly placement. Reaching up, she could barely get her hand high enough to place it on his shoulder. The awkwardness caused her to step on his foot. He glared at her as she winced.

  Dancing with Oriel was much easier.

  “We aren’t well-suited dancing partners, it seems.” She said hastily, turning her face to the side to get a cool breath. The man was like a furnace and her already heated body didn’t need anymore kindling.

  Several people stared at her and the King, eyes fixated on her like she was an otherworldly creature, whispering to one another with badly-veiled contempt. She ignored her quivering gut. Looking past the spectators, she spotted Oriel. He was leaning on the wall casually, face moving closely toward Persimmon, his tall frame bent considerably to get close enough for an intimate conversation. Persimmon peered up at him with squinted eyes and a dangerously seductive smile. Oriel appeared to be laying the charm on thick, even though Lyra knew he hated every second of the task.

  Ever selfless, our Oriel.

  At least from her vantage point, Persimmon appeared to be buying it. Or following her own orders. It didn't really matter who was fooling who, as long as Oriel got accurate information. The King followed her gaze and nudged closer to her.

  “We just need practice.” Came his drawl. Her eyes darted to him and she realized with confusion that he was attempting banter.

  The King, the usually stodgy, uptight, brooding, surly man was trying to lighten the mood. It was unsettling. Lyra stared at him, trying to see behind the blank expression. As they danced for a few minutes, their movements became more fluid, less stiff, their bodies growing used to one another. Lyra couldn’t admit to herself that it felt nice.

  “How is the Princess?” Lyra was desperate to lighten the mood further and get her mind off of the hundreds in the room who seemed to take a sudden interest in her. The King stiffened and a cloud crossed over his face.

  “She’s stunning, as you can see. Exceedingly...proper.”

  Lyra nodded, thinking of what to say next. “She’ll make a fine queen,” she blurted. The King’s jaw clenched. He nodded. Lyra was painfully aware of the seconds ticking by.

  “How is training going?” The King asked conversationally.

  “It’s going well, I rather think. As you know, I’ve mastered emotion reading and onto mind reading, though..that’s much more difficult, as I’m sure you know.” She stole a glance at his face.

  “Or not. I guess I don’t know how easily magic comes to those of your caliber.” She was babbling now. The King watched her, amusement washing over his features.

  “You feel calmer to me now. I mean, in general. I can’t feel the raw aura anymore. It isn’t reaching to me chaotically as it did before. You have it shielded perfectly. Which means you're controlled and ready for combat training. I’m pleased.”

  Lyra took a deep breath. “About the combat training--what exactly will we be doing?”

  The King flashed a smile, chuckling, his perfectly straight white teeth gleaming. Lyra’s stomach fluttered. She suddenly wanted to make him laugh every day, and a joyous anticipation filled her heart. Swallowing, she shook away the strange feelings.

  “You’ll see. Tomorrow evening. 8 o clock. Throne room. Don’t forget.” They stopped dancing, the music fading into a different, more lively song.

  Lyra hesitated. “May I go, sir?” The King was still holding her to his body, his gaze heating as it slid along her body.

  “You look phenomenal.”

  Lyra sucked in a breath. She jerked her hands down and out of his grasp.

  “May. I. Go?” she repeated through clenched teeth. He crushed her more tightly against him. She slowly raised her eyes to his. His typical stony expression took over his face. His pupils were dilated.

  “On one condition.”

  Lyra glared.

  “Call me by my name.”

  The lump in her throat wouldn’t move.

  “It isn’t proper--”

  “Since when do you care about being proper?” His eyes gleamed. A trill passed up the back of Lyra’s neck.

  “Good point. Goodbye, my King.” His iron grip on her arms told her she could try, and fail. A crazed light flashed though his eyes, and Lyra felt fear for a moment.

  “I loathe being the King.” His words were full of gravel and malevolence.

  Her heart thumped against her chest. Still she hesitated.

  His voice softened. “You’ve said it before. Just once before.”

  When had I ever said...oh.

  Her face heated. That first night in the bathtub. So he had heard me after all.
<
br />   “Fine. If you’ll let me go.” She choked out.

  “What is my name?” His voice was strained, as if he was holding a great deal back.

  But he was playing games now. She wasn’t a plaything.

  Although she wanted to, Lyra didn’t dare struggle against him. She wondered what a spectacle he was making of her, what leering faces were directed at her, what lascivious rumors were being concocted at this very moment. Anger simmered underneath her lust.

  “Terrin.” She let the name fall from her lips, full of contempt.

  His jaw tightened as he watched her mouth and his eyes hooded under thick lashes. Lyra held her breath.

  He released her abruptly, turning and walking back through the separating crowd of people as leisurely as taking a stroll through the market on a sunny day. Lyra flattened a palm to her stomach, focusing on controlling her breathing.

  Combat training is not happening with that man. I forbid it.

  On the other hand, she wouldn’t mind being allowed to punch him in the face. Again.

  Relief flooded her when she spotted Oriel making his way to her, two goblets in hands. Taking the drink immediately, she took several gulps, welcoming the cool, biting potion to calm her nerves.

  “What did he say to you this time?” Oriel asked, eyes roaming her face.

  Lyra shook her head. “Nothing of importance.” Oriel frowned but let it go.

  “What did you say to Persimmon?” She countered. Sighing deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I made plans to meet with her tomorrow night in the library.”

  Lyra smiled, her eyebrows wiggling. “Sounds quite romantic.”

  He looked away. “Right. Well, let’s hope she talks.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  “You know I will. You’re just as much part of this as Terrin and I are now.”

  Lyra smiled, warmed at his confidence in her. “And I came up with the Persimmon idea.”

  Oriel inclined his head. “That you did.”

  The music stopped again as Princess Navi stood, her willowy frame extending upward like a scepter.

  “She looks so sovereign, does she not?” Oriel watched the Northern-born woman, intrigued. Lyra watched her too, peering into her center, seeking her aura. Surprise hit her to find that it was not shielded. It glowed a deep red and was practically bursting out. Ambition. Anticipation. Calculation. Power.

  “She is certainly queen material,” Lyra admitted with a shake of her head before draining her goblet. Terrin stood beside the Princess, taking her hand and leading them to the dance floor. Him, dark, brooding and wickedly handsome, her brilliant, seductive, regal. They were well matched.

  “ I need another glass,” Lyra blurted.

  Oriel shook his head. “We’re turning you into quite the little imbiber.”

  Lyra laughed as she watched him disappear to find a tray-wielding servant. That’s when she spotted the large fellow from earlier in the day, the one with the monocle. Instantly her insides turned cold.

  Abner.

  He was making his way right toward her eyes focused directly on her. Lyra turned around, scanning the crowd for anyone she might know, in order to escape his pursuit. Not recognizing anyone, she cursed herself for not making friends while she was here. Maybe she could make it to Oriel--

  “Good evening, madame.” A rough, throaty voice that reminded her of the croak of a toad, sounded at her back. Disgust crawled up her spine.

  Madame! As if I’m a dowdy spinster!

  Annoyance sparked but she managed to clamp down her energy shield before turning to face him.

  “Nice to meet you…”she trailed off.

  “Sir Abner, Master Scholar of Gem, at your service.” Extending one giant, tights-clad leg forward, he bowed low to her. After a brief moment, she realized she should extend her hand to him. These pretentious mannerisms are absurd. She extended her hand, and he took it in his stubby fingers, hovering his jowls over it before planting a gushy kiss. She snatched her hand back, struggling to control the disgust she knew was rising into her countenance. She gave him a sickly sweet smile. He frowned.

  “What a spectacular creature you are. Quite beautiful. Yes, I can see why the King keeps you close.” Lyra’s jaw threatened to drop, but she held it in place. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reacting to his obvious slander. He scratched his protruding belly and adjusted his monocle, leaning in closer as if inspecting a rare specimen.

  “Mm, yes, he takes a great many women into his harem--well, harem of sorts, I should say. He would never use such a word. Ever the ladies man, he is. Takes all kinds, though most are genteel, I’ll admit, unlike you. Gods know how many of his bastard children are running through the streets..”

  Lyra’s fists curled of their own accord. Her nails bit into her palms.

  He squinted his beady eyes at her, refocusing on her. “Not too discreet on your end, however. A profession such as yours won’t secure a good future for you, now will it? A royal smear on the name, now that’s something that will never scrub clean.”

  Lyra took a deep breath to bide time, exhaling through her mouth. She needed to make sure she was in control when she replied.

  What is it with this man and his obsession with prostitution?

  But no, she saw through his game. He was fishing for information. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait. Tilting her head, she gave him an open stare.

  “Mm, interesting perspective, though in my line of work, a royal connection is rather a fortune maker, I've found,” she said lightly, conveying innocence.

  Abner’s eyes widened and he let out a strangled sound before breaking into a coughing fit.

  The toad has croaked.

  She winked for good measure, not backing down from her front, even when Oriel came back with her drink.

  “Abner.” Oriel nodded at the man and he merely nodded back, red faced and now mute. The man stumbled back a pace, eyes darting from Oriel to Lyra, then turned on his heel and marched away.

  “What did he say to you? Or more to the point, what did you say to him?”

  “He was trying to get me to talk about why I’m here, by suggesting that I was one of the King’s courtesans. I believe his aim was to insult me to get me to defend myself and tell the truth.”

  Oriel’s eyes sparkled. “And you played the part. Clever girl.”

  Lyra grinned and shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. “I wasn’t aware the King...entertained such women here.”

  Oriel nearly laughed and waved his hand as if he was swatting an insect. “What is it with that man and hired women? And no, Terrin doesn’t have courtesans. He’s had mistresses, of course, but nothing so organized and extravagant as that.”

  Somehow Lyra didn’t feel any better. She recalled his voice when he commanded her to use his first name. A shiver raced up her spine. She gulped back more wine and soon after, the sweet, bubbling numbness filled her, the drink reaching her head. She absently swayed her hips to the music and when Oriel grabbed her waist and pulled her back to the dance floor, she didn’t think of resisting for a second.

  Chapter 16

  Eating breakfast in the great hall was rare for Lyra, as she usually spent the entire day training with Oriel, eating small meals Oriel had packed in his bag so that they wouldn’t waste time. The breakfast laid before her was lavish, and her body needed the energy if she was going to make it through the rest of the day. Her head was throbbing this morning. She had drunk far too much last night, dancing and drinking until the early hours of the morning. She was making a bad habit of that.

  On the bright side, she had had a lot of fun and had forgotten a lot of her troubles. She had stolen many glances at the King, finding him brooding on his throne most of the night, only dancing with Navi a few times before retiring early.

  A sharp pain in her skull made her wince as she sipped her rich tea. The festivities were to continue tonight with a formal dinner, but she thought she might have to forego that li
ttle gathering. She was in no rush to be in the presence of that Princess again, or her stupid royal boyfriend.

  She also was supposed to have combat training this evening with the King, if he had remembered.

  With Terrin, rather. I must get used to referring to him by his name.

  The strange encounter between the two of them on the dance floor was etched into her memory. She had gone over the scene over and over again in her mind. She would never forget the crazed look in his eyes when he told her that he hated being King. A part of her had felt afraid, but she mostly felt pity toward him. Maybe his stiff, surly behaviour was a ploy to counteract the weight of his responsibility, to run a kingdom, to find his sister, and to prevent the gods from destroying the world. If she had all of that on her plate, she could definitely see why a man would be uptight. She could forgive a little insanity in him.

  No. Stop excusing his behaviour.

  Poppi sat across from her, pretending to eat, moving pieces of egg around her plate.

  “Are you feeling well today, Poppi?” Lyra asked with a frown.

  “Fine, miss. Just tired I suppose.”

  Lyra nodded, but didn’t buy it. Her center was alight with fear and anger. Lyra wanted to scream at the girl, shake her, demand she tell her what is causing this. She wanted to help. One thing she could try to do was read her mind. It may or may not yield answers to her questions.

  She focused on Poppi’s mind, letting her aura give power to open the channel. A buzzing began, then a sharp prick, like an ice pick in her skull severed the connection. Lyra winced.

  “No drinking tonight at dinner. I have your gown picked out," Poppi said as she leaned forward and dropped her voice, “and the training outfit as well.”

  “That’s wonderful! You finally found someone who would sew your design then?”

  Poppi shook her head, “No, I had to sew it myself. I’m a bit rusty, but I think it will do the job.”

  Lyra’s heart filled with gratitude.