The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter FORTY-FIVE: Ayer

Ayer never expected to find herself in Edril's bedchamber without him. But it was especially peculiar with a Darkbane elf whose heartsong sang to her dragon. Soulbonds were rare even among the laong—Yansu with dragon form—and she'd been taught they could only form between members of her clan. So either she was mistaken about Dev, or her mother was a liar.

Ayer didn't think she was mistaken. Dev's chest was no longer a glowing beacon, but she suspected it would be if she transformed again.

She closed the door and grabbed his hand, pulling him farther into the room. The lantern swung between them, throwing shadows and light against the dusky turquoise walls and red velvet curtains.

"Edril doesn't know I can mindspeak, so be careful with your responses. The privacy he promised was a lie. Behind me on the wall is a scrying mirror, and there's another in his study. He can see and hear us through them, so distance and angle are important if we're to deceive him. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

Dev's grip was firm despite the burn and cuts on his palm.

"I assume you know what Edril expects to happen now. I have a plan to get you out of here, but he must believe our performance is real."

His fingers tightened around her palm. "Why did you bring me to a bedroom? I thought you were going to help me."

"I will." Ayer smiled, stepping into her role. "Come sit by the fire. Let me clean your wounds."

"I don't need cleaning. I need to find my friend. You promised."

"I did. But we're in no position to escape. This floor is over a hundred feet off the ground, and the only viable exit is through Edril's study. Your only options are to wallow in blood and filth, or sit and let me do what I can to help you now."

His eyes narrowed to dark crescents. She hoped he understood that only half of what she said was true.

"Please." She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. If she used mindspeak too often and their silence piqued Edril's curiosity, it would all be over.

Dev let her walk him to the wingback chair by the fire. He sat down, resting his hands in his lap. Ayer grabbed a cloth napkin from Edril's liquor cabinet and poured a glass of water. The firelight and lantern brightened his face as she kneeled in front of him, dipping the cloth into the glass. Her heart played an uneven rhythm. Her hands shook.

"Your friend... she's your fiancé?"

A wrinkle formed between his arched brows, cracking dried blood stuck in the short, dark hairs. "I don't know what that is."

"Aren't you engaged?"

"No." He spit out the word, sagging into the lofty cushions. Ayer dabbed away the blood on his forehead and hairline, blocking their view of each other with her gaping sleeve. "I don't know," he murmured, his breath tickling her forearm. "Nothing seems real anymore."

Ayer wondered if that meant 'yes.' Why else would he go to such lengths to rescue his friend, if not for love?

She ran the damp cloth through a clump of hair stuck to his ear. "I'm real. This place is real, too. It's been my prison for ten years."

"How old are you?"

"Almost nineteen."

"Holy hells." He tugged her arm down, the look on his face sprouting tears behind her eyes. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

Ayer put the stained cloth and glass on a nearby side table and evened her breathing. She couldn't let Edril sense the flicker of hope at the bottom of her cavernous well of sorrow. The wanton warlock didn't seem to mind if she indulged in bodily pleasures, so long as he came out on top. But if he knew how pathetically she craved the kind words of a stranger, how deeply she yearned for Dev's company—his mere presence—Edril's jealousy might override his pragmatism.