Page 14

CHAPTER 14

LYKOR

L ykor hurled his longsword into the snow, the heavy blade plunging into the churned earth with a muffled thud. Steam erupted from his mouth, each exhale twisting through the air as he fought to smother the fire raging in his lungs.

Across from him, Kal twirled his own sword in a ridiculous flourish. The light from the setting sun glinted off the steel, stabbing straight into Lykor’s eyes.

“You’re quite out of practice,” Kal said, his smirk dripping with the satisfaction of nearly impaling Lykor in every bout.

“Fuck off,” Lykor snapped between gasps, jamming his fingers into the stitch gnawing at his ribs. He glanced up at his balcony, perched high on the mountain slope, and considered warping back to his quarters.

A chuckle unfurled in Lykor’s mind, echoing against his skull. He’s not wrong, Aesar commented, his voice sliding through their shared mindspace. Unfolding Kyansari’s library around him, Aesar leaned against a window, golden light spilling across the glass spires beyond. Amused. He didn’t even pretend otherwise.

Kal lashed out with his boot, kicking Lykor’s sword into the air and catching it by the hilt. “Admit it—you’re just annoyed that Aesar didn’t bother regenerating for you last night.” He flipped the blade once before tossing it at Lykor.

Stepping to the side, Lykor let the sword plummet back into the snow. “No, I’m thrilled you two found it necessary to conspire behind my back and haul me out here for this”—he flicked a hand toward his discarded weapon—“ sparring. ”

After driving Jassyn away the evening before, Lykor had relinquished control to Aesar, granting him the luxury of a night to weep and wallow with his long-lost twin. The alternative would have been weathering Aesar’s incessant dramatics and accusation about how Lykor had supposedly wronged Jassyn.

And this— this —was the reward for his generosity, condemned to endure Kal’s insufferable presence. Lykor glared at his captain and then at the snow-covered field that had become a stage for this pointless humiliation.

Aesar tilted his head, eyes unfocusing.

“I hate when you two do that,” Lykor muttered as Kal’s telepathic whispers brushed around the edges of his mind—an irritation he dismissed entirely, unwilling to waste a thought on whatever nonsense Kal was feeding Aesar.

The infuriating grin Kal gave him was begging for a fist to wipe it off his face. “Aesar decided it would be best if you burned off some of that homicidal rage before our meeting.”

Ignoring the jab, Lykor clenched his gauntlet, the metal squealing. For once—perhaps for the first time in decades—Kal wasn’t the leading contender on his list of people to strangle. No, that honor belonged to someone else. If he saw Jassyn again… Lykor’s thoughts sharpened, finally hearing all of Kal’s words.

“What meeting?” he growled, his focus snapping to the captain.

Kal nodded at the sword buried in the frosty powder, clearly star-bent on another round before he’d answer.

With a frustrated exhale, Lykor trudged forward, snow crunching under his boots as he stooped to snatch the blade. Using Essence to retrieve it would have spared him this indignity, but his depleted Well left him with no other choice. Aesar’s eyes gleamed with maddening delight, drinking in the sight of Lykor’s degradation, reduced to performing something so mundane.

WHY AREN’T YOU THE ONE CROSSING SWORDS WITH HIM? Lykor muttered. OR DID YOU GET YOUR FILL OF THAT LAST NIGHT?

Aesar smirked, flopping down to a couch, the sunlight in the library only brightening with his amusement. After that stunt you pulled in the Wastes, he said, you owe me an entire month’s worth of evenings with him.

Lykor rolled his eyes, hefting the weapon as the weight settled in his palm. Sweat chilled against his brow, but he dismissed it, shaking loose strands of hair from his face.

He wouldn’t best you every round if you drew on my knowledge, Aesar noted. When he shifts left, he’ll feint.

Lykor cracked his neck, wincing as a sharp twinge fired down his spine. YOU’RE WELCOME TO TAKE OVER.

Aesar’s derisive snort echoed in his mind. Not interested.

Kal adjusted his stance, bronze hair gleaming in the sun. Aesar’s pointed cough grated against Lykor’s fraying patience. Grinding his fangs, Lykor decided on the direct approach—lunging straight for the captain.

Steel screeched as their blades collided, each strike vibrating through Lykor’s arms. He wielded his blade like a bludgeon, hacking through the icy air with no rhythm as he hurled his weight behind every blow.

Lykor grunted as a clash of metal locked them in place. Kal’s eyes flared before he twisted free, leaving Lykor to stumble forward. Snow sprayed in a glittering arc as he caught himself, whipping his blade up just in time to block Kal’s next strike.

Breath ripping from his chest, Lykor’s body screamed its protests against the captain’s unrelenting assault. Each move drained him faster than he wanted to admit, but he met every attack head-on.

“The meeting is after sunset,” Kal said, his voice obnoxiously steady as they broke apart, circling each other while Lykor caught his breath. “We need to discuss what comes next. I asked Mara, Thalaesyn, and Vesryn to join—”

“The wraith will continue as planned,” Lykor growled, his tone sharp enough to silence any dissent. “The prince’s presence changes nothing. That bumbling human army will wander to our doorstep any day now.”

His people were ready—prepared to flee as soon as he located another haven. But that was proving harder to do than he’d hoped. The exhaustion from yesterday’s portal jumping through the Wastes still clung to him like a second skin. He’d pushed himself too far and—

And that was stupid, Aesar cut in. You’re lucky Jassyn—

“I want Jassyn gone,” Lykor snarled, anger flaring white-hot.

Breath misting in the frigid air, Lykor pressed forward, sword flashing as Kal parried his strikes. The clash of steel rang in his ears, every collision a fresh demand on his strained muscles.

When Kal broke away, Lykor rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the ache. Freedom from the coercion should have felt like relief, but the cost still chafed—proof of how easily his will could be overridden.

That elf’s presence was intolerable. His violation of Lykor’s mind, unforgivable. If he—

If you think I’ll stand by and let you finish what you started, Aesar hissed, his words colder than the steel in Lykor’s grip, I’ll—

Lykor shoved Aesar away. “Vesryn and Thalaesyn can stay.”

HAPPY?

Aesar would whine endlessly if Lykor drove off his twin. And as much as he loathed the role Thalaesyn had played in paving the way for the king, the researcher had his uses beyond warming Mara’s bed.

Throwing his head back, Aesar groaned. As touching as their reunion is, I really didn’t need a reminder of that.

“But you’ll see that the elf leaves,” Lykor ordered, punctuating the point with a sharp jab of his sword. “We don’t need more mouths to feed.”

Kal scoffed humorlessly, his blade catching Lykor’s with a quick twist of his wrist. “Since you disposed of all the reavers, I think we can spare the resources.” He cocked his head, drawing back to rest his sword over his shoulder. “Speaking of, where exactly did you send them?”

Aesar hummed in agreement. That is a good question.

Lykor had entombed that knowledge behind the obsidian doors in his mind—a fortress of darkness Aesar wouldn’t dare breach. Nightmares festered there, the rotting remnants of their imprisonment.

“The reavers aren’t our problem anymore.” Lykor’s lip curled at the memory of where he’d sent those bloodthirsty fools. They had wanted a fight, so he’d ensured they got one. “That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”

Kal pressed his lips into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. “Get cleaned up,” he clipped, sheathing his sword at his side. “I’ll meet you in the war room.”

Lykor’s eyes narrowed as the urge to dismiss Kal’s command simmered—no one ordered him around, least of all Kal . But leaving his captain to scheme unchecked with Vesryn and Mara was a risk he refused to take. He could already picture the chaos their combined meddling would unleash—an unholy trinity poised to fuck up his carefully laid plans for his peoples’ exodus.

Kal raised a hand to his chest, extracting a small orb of shimmering Essence. He arched a taunting brow before extending it to Lykor. “So you can open a portal and save us the hassle of warping—”

Lykor moved before Kal finished, snatching the orb. The radiant magic pulsed in his palm as he crushed it in his fist, the miniscule offering trickling into his Well.

He shoved the hilt of his sword into Kal’s chest with enough force to stagger him, then tore open a rift to his sleeping chambers. Without sparing his captain another glance, Lykor stormed through, slamming the portal shut behind him before Kal could follow.

Aesar shook his head. You’re such a prick.

I’M JUST FOLLOWING HIS ORDERS, he shot back.

Ah yes, Aesar drawled, because you’re the pinnacle of compliance.

Lykor ignored Aesar’s commentary, shrugging out of his armor and tugging on a loose tunic and trousers. He stalked to the mirror, scowling at the mess reflected back at him. Knotted midnight strands spilled across his shoulders—a fitting crown for his frustration.

YOU STILL WON’T LET ME CUT IT?

Nope. Aesar glided his fingers through his silvery hair in their mindscape—he preferred to appear in his original form—a pristine reflection of his twin.

Lykor muttered a curse as he shed his gauntlet. He retrieved a comb, yanking it through the tangles. He tried to plait the upper portion, but the fingers of his claw fumbled, clumsy and ill-suited for this unfamiliar task. Each failed attempt ignited his frustration further, his jaw threatening to crack as he gritted his teeth.

With a snarl, Lykor hurled the comb behind him, his heaving breaths fogging the glass. Even his fucking hair defied him, mocking him with a twisted mess.

Digging his fists into his eyes, Lykor clenched his fangs before asking, A LITTLE HELP?

Arching a brow, Aesar’s voice dripped with amusement. Since when do you braid your hair?

SINCE NEVER AND NOW I KNOW WHY I DON’T BOTHER.

Aesar rose from the couch, folding his arms as he hovered in the library’s atrium, patiently waiting for Lykor’s inevitable surrender.

Lykor’s shoulders twitched, every muscle recoiling against the decision. But the stubborn knots left him no choice. With a resigned sigh, he released the tension in his arms and let go.

The tingling sensation started at his fingertips, a warm rush sweeping up his arms as Aesar reached through him. The shift was seamless, as though the muscles were never his at all.

Aesar dove in fully, pulling their arms up to their scalp. Their fingers deftly flowed through the strands with a grace Lykor could never hope to master as Aesar wove their hair into an intricate plait.

Concerned about your appearance? That’s new. Aesar twisted their mouth into a smirk in the mirror, the thin braid a glaring display of his superior skill. Hoping to see a certain elf?

Lykor snarled, wrenching control back to tie off the hair with a leather strap. IF I SEE HIM AGAIN, HE’S DEAD.

Aesar’s low chuckle was a knowing challenge. You can lie to yourself all you want but—

But Lykor wasn’t listening. He rammed Aesar back into a corner in his library, slamming the doors behind him.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he ripped open a portal to the war room, using the last dregs of Essence from Kal.

He snatched his gauntlet, jamming the cold steel back over his claw. Storming through the rift, he braced himself for the wretched ordeal waiting on the other side.