Page 48 of A City of Flames

“I know,” I say, lowering my gaze at the fresh-cut grass, the smell reminding me of summer right around the corner. “I just—this is all new to me, this life, away from my brothers, away from my previous tasks as a trapper.” When I look up, Lorcan’s eyes train on me with attentiveness. “In ways, I have always been sheltered. I think that’s partly why I always craved something more, why I’m so focused on becoming a venator.”

“Sheltered because of your brothers?”

I shake my head, but in part, he’s not wrong. “My eldest brother, Idris, he... he was always protective of me, and in turn, it’s what kept me so out of everything in life.”

“I can see why,” Lorcan says. “Emberwell isn’t the safest. He was merely doing his job as a brother. One can only wish of a family as such.”

Staring up at him, my brows lower pensively. He’d lost his mother and father as well. He’d even spoken about never having any siblings himself. Still, there’s an odd presence in his eyes, fury blazing upon those green forest colors.

“I know,” I say. “I would never trade my brothers for the world. Everything I do, it’s for them.”

He gives me a look of peculiarity, causing me to ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just you don’t often see siblings being so close with each other.”

I chuckle. “Oh, we’ve had our fair share of arguments—” Brawls and food fights between Iker and me. “—But they’re family, I imagine anyone would do the same.”

He takes in my words, looking ahead as a breeze skims the sharp contours of his face. My gaze journeys the leather armor, the same material as my own but his showcase that strength in his arms, legs, torso...

“How did you get those scars?” I ask with a tilt of my head once my eyes land on his hand.

He looks at me, his forehead narrowing. I prompt, “You asked me how I got mine. Now I want to know your story.”

Nodding carefully, he brings his hand in front of him. The jagged lines, zig-zagged and overlapping, lighten under the moon. “An animal attack,” he says.

“I hope you don’t take offense, but your hand is coated in scars. That animal must have truly mauled it.”

He laughs quietly, turning his palm over. “I was young. I’m just thankful I came out alive.”

“Was that before you took the venator trials or after?”

“After,” he says. “I took part in the venator trial when I first came here at fourteen.”

“Right, I forgot you were an exception.” I raise my brows, kicking the grass. “So, what is the final test like?”

No one tells me much of it, even my father had only gone as far as to mention how difficult it is, and not many come out of it alive.

“It changes each time,” Lorcan inhales, “but it usually involves showing your survival skills...” He trails off as if perhaps recalling his own trials. “Leaders of other kingdoms come to judge alongside the queen and general.”

Except for the Elven king, I want to say but refrain, thinking of Leira once more. And when I open my mouth to change subjects, our attention turns to the bushes as a rabbit flitters out of there.

It twitches, springing over to us—me mainly—as it rests by the edge of my boot like it’s waiting for something.

Lorcan lets a small laugh escape him. “You seem to fascinate everything and anything.”

I stare down at the rabbit circling me and then nod back up at Lorcan. “Sometimes I fascinate the wrong things.” Once I’d said a familiar phrase to Lorcan that night I’d ran out of his chambers. Wherever I go, I can never shake off any creature or vile person.

“Do I count as that wrong thing?”

My gaze falls on his lips as he smiles, and I wonder what it’d be like to be kissed, what is possible to feel sharing something so intimate.

Forcing that out of my mind, I look at his eyes. “Depends. Are you a dragon?” Even with my slight chuckle, I can’t help but imagine the dragon at the arena. How I’d wanted to help her, or regardless of all my efforts to capture the Golden Thief, I wasn’t informing venators. Many would say I’m a sham. Why should I get the title of a venator? Why should I keep this all from Lorcan?

“Ironic, wouldn’t it be if I were a venator as well as a... shifter.” Mirth tints his words in contrast to the shame in my chest.

“Lorcan,” I say a pitch higher as his smile dims. “I have something to say about the Golden Thief. I—” Pausing, my brows scrunch together as I glance at the ground, rumbling beneath my feet.

The rabbit scurries back into the bushes, and ripples swirl across the pond like someone has skipped a rock. Looking at Lorcan, he’s scanning the cloudless night skies when bells go off in the castle towers.

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