LYRA
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Interesting.
My knees were still weak, my chest still burning from the pull that had slammed into me the moment I'd seen him. Orion. His golden eyes hadn't left mine, and even now, standing across the room, I could still feel him. A second thread wrapped around my ribs, tugging in a different direction than Zeviar's.
Two pulls. One bond.
I didn't understand it, and I was terrified.
Zeviar's hand was still on my elbow, steadying me. His grip tightened slightly as he turned toward the voice that had spoken.
The man who sat at the center of the council was older, maybe in his sixties, with dark hair streaked silver at the temples. His face was sharp, like it was carved from stone, and his eyes—the same cold blue as Zeviar's—swept over me with
