A breath away from life (ONC2024)

IV. Flames of ire

Walking behind Lorne, I notice that he’s leading me through an abandoned wing of the palace, which I have only visited, just once. We pass by hidden rooms and an old stargazing courtyard, very rarely used. It leads directly to a sheltered but snowy rose garden, left to the whims of nature, behind which, a set of broad stone steps lead down and around to Kovan’s personal stables.

Mildly intrigued, I wonder why, despite my untrusting heart, I’m still following Lorne as we descend the steps together. I know nothing of him, and from his lazy and mocking demeanour, it’s clear that he has only his own interests at heart. Though, his idleness and ease in pulling another’s strings with such little effort, make him appear far deeper beyond that which he willingly reveals.

Glimpsing the relaxed set of his jaw, it’s not long before he returns my gaze. His sharp cheekbones already beginning to hint at his mirth. “Were you expecting me to hold your hand as we descend?” He lifts an elegant wrist, his fingertips extending with a flourish.

“No. I understand that should I fall, you will do little more than to bear witness. Even ironic clapping from you would be considered unnecessary exertion,” I mock, bringing my hands together.

“You understand me well, beautiful Wren.” His quiet laughter escapes with a knowing smile. The last few steps pass us by, as we walk side by side, his subtle spicy scent with a hint of dark amber settling in the air, enticing and mysterious.

Still briefly caught up in my thoughts, the stables appear lit by the glow of the late afternoon sun. An orange and pink halo illuminating the dark buildings, as though they remain a brooding backdrop to the scenery. Walking ahead of me once more, Lorne waves his hand as the heavy set doors swing open, bringing with it the musty odour of horses and molasses.

An aroma that I’ve missed in earnest, but as my eyes adjust to the dimness, I see Cyra. The beautiful mare that I had been forced to leave behind. Her flaxen mane, almost white, stands out in stark contrast to her chestnut coat, gleaming softly in hues of red. She stands patiently under saddle, held by a young stable boy who is very familiar. “Drury...” His name escapes me as I remember his tears, and his promise, while seeing how much he’s grown.

He looks up, brushing a hand through his messy golden hair. “Mistress... I... Is that really you?” His eyes flick to Lorne in fright as he subtly backs away. “Yes, it’s me.” I say, as I struggle with my cold heart and warm memories of first meeting him.

His eyes shine, as he unconsciously straightens his dark red tunic. “I looked after Cyra, every day, just waiting for you to return. No-one is ever allowed to ride her, and only I care for her.” He pauses for a moment, seemingly unsure. “Cyra, has been difficult since you left. She sometimes bites others, and can be ill-tempered to handle, but I never gave up, and now she lets me tend to her.”

Stopping before him, I bend down slightly, cupping his sweet and handsome face. “Thank you, Drury, for keeping your promise, and for taking such good care of her.” Feeling a swirl of air behind me, I gently let go of him.

“Innocence may melt the hardest frost, but for the blade of pride.” Turning to Lorne, I’m met with a hint of his usual mockery and mirth.

“Is that another pearl of Sire’s, wisdom?”

“A creation of my own, inspired by a single lovely soul, once so kind.” His exaggeration, make his meaning crystal clear, but after enduring so much, he will have to do better than that. As we gaze at one another, locking eyes, my thoughts are also more than clear. The slight twitch of his lips is easy to discern, although he prefers to remain otherwise expressionless.

A light nudge coming from behind, along with the feeling of Cyra nuzzling my shoulder, are enough to remind me that we need to leave. Digging through my bag, I smoothly withdraw a small jar of ginger and honey paste. “Drury, take this home for your mother. I’m sure you remember my guidance?”