The Secrets of Lore Seymour

60. Loraleigh, the Prophet

Disembarking from the airship proceeds to be a hassle. After what happened on the ship, passengers hurry to escape. I would be among them, but the captain called for Lore and I to go over a few more things. She thanks us, particularly me, for "slaying the beast." Lore says nothing. Neither do I. Then we depart, finally stepping out of the airship and through the station to stand among the crowded streets of my home, of the kingdom's capital; Rhamie.

Even Lore's home city pales in comparison to Rhamie. Thin streets push through overcrowded and towering buildings that stretch so high one must crane their neck to see the peeks. Stacks of metal and billows of smoke hang over the city, a heavy fog settling among us. Though I barely see the blue sky above, I've never once hated it. Perhaps because this is where I've been, where I learned to protect myself and been safe from those who took my family. Even as the crowds brush past us, knocking shoulders and elbows, and car horns blare while their gears noisily squeak, I smile in pure delight.

Cyan is not as appreciative. "I forgot how bad this place fucking wreaks," he spits, then damn near tumbles into the road when attempting to avoid a passerby.

Draven clutches Cyan's arm to bring the troublemaker into his side. They peer at one another for a moment longer than necessary. I bite back a devilish grin. Then Cyan clears his throat and takes two steps back.

"Thanks," he mutters under his breath.

"Stay close," Draven says, allowing Cyan to take a tentative hold of the back of his sleeve.

I glance at Lore to gauge his reaction to the obvious interest Draven and Cyan are showing each other. However, he isn't as intrigued by the potential of their union as I am. Lore observes swiftly and silently. I do the same, curious if he's searching the city for something in particular.

Draven holds out his hand to call for a car. One comes almost immediately, likely because the driver saw the clothes Lore is wearing. Although the capital's overwhelmed by nobles and aristocrats, Lore is a Grand Duke. Even his clothes are garish in comparison. Everyone knows Lore is a man of status and status means money.

"I will hail another car for Cyan and me," Draven explains after opening the car door. The backseat is barely big enough for two.

"Actually, why don't the three of you take this car? I..." My gaze drifts to Lore, who has already slid into the backseat. I narrowly catch his inquisitive stare, then clear my throat. "I want to visit Trinia Cathedral for personal reasons."

"Wow." Cyan whistles. "You didn't lie. I was expecting some bogus excuse about visiting the cat you left behind for a friend to care for." Cyan winks at me. "You get a few points for being honest."

Then he throws his luggage into the trunk and heads for the front seat. If Lore has anything to say about my visit to Trinia, he keeps it to himself. Draven informs me where Lore's estate resides, then they're gone.

I thought my walk to Trinia would be one of relief and joy; that is what I imagined it to be when I first arrived at Lore's estate. I couldn't wait to return home, but now, as I peer at Trinia cathedral, a pearl among charcoal towers, I almost dread it. A part of me wishes the dark towers would reach in to stain the glistening white walls of the church to physically show the darkness within. The thought makes my stomach churn; a mixture of regret and guilt. How could I think such a thing about my home?

The gates of thick stone stand before me. Holy Knights march along the walls and watch from the towers that overlook the capital. These walls rival that of the castle. As if they are battling for supremacy, the castle and cathedral peer over Rhamie from opposite sides. Their high steeples and glistening stained glass windows shimmer with shared mastery. I never saw it as much of a competition before, but now, I can't help but to frown at how the church and the royal family manage to bicker even through architecture.