Page 49 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“And Yarla?”
“Was assigned a new partner. I was told she didn’t take it well.” He met Lark’s eyes, the starlight catching the flecks in his green eyes. “She tried to defend my position, actually. Made quite a scene in front of the elders. But she was just a child as well. Her words carried no weight.”
Lark squeezed his hand. “She still cares for you. I can see it in how she looks at you.”
“Perhaps. But whatever connection we had was a childhood friendship, Lark. What I feel for you...” He paused, lifting his hand to caress the side of her face. “What we have is something else entirely.”
Lark’s heart raced from the intensity in his voice, and she saw it, then. The way he looked directly into her eyes and held her gaze, she knew he was telling her the truth. “Venrick...”
“I know this isn’t the time for grand declarations,” he said, his free hand coming up to cup her face. “We’re about to attempt something that could get us all killed. But I need you to know… These feelings I have for you; they’re not born from any danger we’ve survived or the near-death experiences in the heat of battle. They’re real, Lark. You’re real to me in a way nothing else has been for years.”
The honesty in his words and the vulnerability she saw in his expression undid something inside her chest. All the walls she’d built around her heart over years of being an elite warrior crumbled in that moment.
“You’re real to me, too,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her cheek. “More real than anything else in my life.”
The space between them disappeared as he leaned forward. His lips found hers with a tenderness that said everything they couldn’t say out loud. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if they were both afraid an unexpected attack would shatter the moment. Then, Lark melted into him. She slid her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss. She poured everything into their connection, and he matched her fervor.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Venrick rested his forehead against hers, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.
“Whatever happens at the Vermillion Keep,” he murmured, “I want you to know that these moments with you, they’re worth everything to me.”
“This is all I’ve wanted and all I need. Astral City will come soon enough, but for the next few days, we can focus more on moments like this.”
In the distance, Lark heard Hardin’s laugh mixed with a playful squeak from Sasja. Venrick grinned at her, and said, “We’re not the only ones who are going to take time to enjoy the trek to Astral City.”
Lark laughed, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed her worries to drift away into the night. She laid back in the grass with Venrick, wishing away the dawn of the new day. In that moment Lark allowed herself to hope things could be this way, someday, for good.
13
ELK’S LODGE
The scent of roasted chestnuts and mulled wine hung heavy in the evening air as Lark and Venrick made their way through the crowded streets of Astral City. Lanterns strung between buildings cast a warm glow over the festivities, illuminating the colorful banners bearing the crimson crest of the Vermillion Keep that adorned every street corner. Musicians played at small gathering spaces, their melodies not quite drowning out Lark’s racing thoughts.
They’d taken their time making their way through the Everburning Forest, sticking to routes Cheyanne’s scouts maintained. With the dragons unable to breach the ward barrier around Astral City, the group had to filter into the city, using the throngs of people arriving for the Coronation Festival as a distraction.
“Easy,” Venrick murmured, his hand brushing hers as they navigated through a particularly dense crowd. “You look like you’re marching to an execution.”
Lark forced her shoulders to relax. “Sorry. I just can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” Having to split up and enter the city indisguises and in groups of no more than four to avoid suspicion wasn’t ideal, especially if they were recognized.
The pendant around her neck pulsed with warmth. Lark understood it was Nix’s way of showing Lark that the fire fae was there for support. Nix had been unusually quiet since they’d entered the city, likely to preserve Lark’s disguise in case anyone spotted her glowing form. Now, both Lark and Nix were known to the world as traitors. She couldn’t hide behind the mask of her infamous brismil armor this time. Lark’s image was known and there were too many trained eyes in Astral City that could pick them out. Especially now, during the month-long anniversary celebration of the King’s coronation. The celebration traveled to each of the Lamar’s three major cities for a week and a half, attracting patrons from all corners of Lamar to pay homage to their monarch. King Agadorn rarely, if ever, made an appearance at any of the celebrations but for those held at his home in Lamar City.
“There it is,” Venrick said, nodding toward an archway leading to an estate where a stable and three-story building consumed most of the city block. The weathered sign hanging at the arch depicted a majestic elk, its antlers exaggerated to impressive proportions. “Elk’s Lodge.”
Unlike the other inns and taverns bursting with patrons, Elk’s Lodge maintained an air of selective clientele. Two broad-shouldered guards flanked the entrance, one orc with mottled green skin and one human with a black beard and long hair. Their posture suggested they were casually resting but their eyes remained alert as they assessed approaching patrons.
“Remember,” Lark whispered, “we’re merchants from the southern provinces. We’re here for the festival to sell exotic goods from beyond the Everburning Forest.”
“You’re the one who needs reminding,” Venrick replied with a hint of a smile. “I wasn’t the famous dragonrider striking fear into the hearts of Lamar for years.”
Lark tensed at the reminder. Her months as an amnesiac had distanced her from her time as the Nordraven dragonrider known by the name, Marcel Heartfell. But being so close to Vermillion Keep, where she had once been renowned as Lamar’s greatest threat, made her past feel dangerously present.
The guards straightened as they approached. The taller of the two, a gray-skinned orc with a scar running from his brow to jaw, stepped forward.
“Business?” he asked, his tone professionally neutral.
“We seek lodging,” Venrick replied, slipping into the refined accent of southern merchants in case others passing in the street were listening. “The White Stag was full, and we were told Mistress Cheyanne might have rooms available,” he said, reciting the phrase they had memorized to clue these guardians in on their business.
The guard’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Password?”
