Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter One

“Princess,” a husky, and slightly irritated voice called to her, for what had to be the tenth time in the past minute. “ Princess ,” he drawled, tapping his fingers impatiently along the wooden surface of the door. “We’re going to be late. Again .”

Eleven .

Groaning, she rolled over, bringing the blanket with her, sealing herself inside.

Heavy, booted feet trudged across the marble floors, each step a chorus of echoes within the domed chamber.

A smack on the head with a densely feathered pillow had her shoving the linens aside and glaring right into the mismatched eyes of her guard, Galen.

Surina squinted through the sunlight pouring into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The reflected light from the ivory marble of the keep was almost unbearable.

“That is no way to wake a princess, Sir Castmont ,” she said coolly, trying not to give away how much the pillow actually hurt.

“That’s the only way to wake this princess.” He waved his arms around her vicinity in a crazed gesture. “Now get up.”

Staying put, her scowl remained as she took in his kempt appearance, already clean and changed into his gear for the day. She marveled at how he managed to find the energy to wake before dawn every morning.

Must be nice, immortality and all its perks. Like not needing nearly as much sleep as mortals.

His caramel-brown hair was dark, with the freshly washed tendrils falling just to the cut of his cheekbones, the strands dripping into the beard he kept trimmed and neat—allowing one to see the scar that struck through it from the top of his left eye, plunging down into where it hid beneath the high collar of his gear. The scarred eye was a cloudy white, while the other was glassy blue—a Castmont trait.

While the scar was now a faded pink, it stuck out sorely against the warmer notes of his skin. Surina always wondered if that’s why he kept his hair a little longer than most Thesian soldiers. To veil the horror he’d endured. But he only ever spoke of the scar with pride.

Galen had been ambushed by a water dragon while on patrol years ago—long before Surina had been born. It was just outside of the border walls of New Sanctuary, Thesia’s capital, where the dragon had been camouflaged beneath the river’s surface.

“If you need more encouragement…” Galen trailed off, an ominous warning as he prepped another pillow.

He wore his usual dark-brown leather gear, with fitted steel pieces to guard the entirety of his left side. His “weak side,” according to Galen, though Surina didn’t believe he had a weak side. He was a Castmont—a warrior. Though he probably didn’t feel much like one anymore, with his royal duties of following around a princess every day. Sometimes, he even held the honor of being target practice during her affinity training—to which they were apparently so late that it warranted a cushion to the head.

Surina rolled her eyes, shoving him back with a blast of wind. Only enough to get him to back off. “ I’m up ,” she growled, the victorious grin he offered only pissing her off even more. “Get out so I can change.”

With a flourish of his cobalt-blue cape—the color an homage to the Sun Throne—clasped just over the collar bone, he dipped into a dramatic bow, pillow still in hand.

Spinning on his heels, Galen tossed the cushion over his head. It hit Surina in the shoulder. “Maybe brush your hair a little too,” he remarked, without even a glance back.

Gaping, she bore holes into the back of his head, contemplating the distance between them and whether or not the book splayed on the bed from her late-night readings would be easy enough to launch from where she was.

“Lady Windspire and I will be waiting for you, so hurry.” Galen swept through the doorway, not even bothering to check if she’d gotten up. Ending his malevolent parade with a quiet click of the door, he unknowingly saved himself from the thick leather text that was now in hand.

Surina reached for the pillow Galen had thrown and shrieked into the plush fabric. Her screams were muffled, but she was pretty sure her guard would hear it on the other side—fae hearing should be banned by law. It was a gross invasion of privacy.

Forcing herself up, Surina slid her legs from the warm nest of ivory blankets and cushions she’d carefully crafted in the night. Testing the temperature of the floor with her toes, she sucked in a sharp breath.

“A palace of ice ,” she whined, drawing the blankets back completely before hopping out.

Though every room in her suite had a fireplace, each one enchanted to ignite upon a wave of her hand, it was a little insulting to use the enchantment when she once had had the ability to conjure flames through her own magic. Ever since that night in the gardens four years ago, she couldn’t even light a candle, or summon a measly ember.

Moira, who was Surina’s personal affinity trainer, but also doubled as the palace’s head healer, insisted the dragon wasn’t the factor behind the loss of affinity. Surina didn’t think it was a coincidence that her fire magic up and disappeared though. Just like the beast that vanished after leaving its mark—in more ways than one.

Before crossing the room to her bathing chambers, she paused along the wall of glass windows, where her terrace faced out towards the gardens below.

Her suite was in the west wing, where those on the Court of the Sun were housed—mostly humans and mortals, but also some fae that were permitted onto the court, as they were close friends and advisers to the Fairlight king, Surina’s brother, Cyril.

Surina would creep out onto her balcony almost every night to spy on the gardens when her nightmares wouldn’t leave her to sleep in peace. What she hoped to find in those gardens, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she dreaded the return of the fiery beast that had marked her for life.

Perhaps you hope , a voiceless hush called into her mind, a whisper of a breeze against her flesh.

Her hand curled into a fist as she spun away from the glittering window. Stalking across the vast space of her quarters, she passed each piece of furniture that was curated to appear as whimsical and ivory as everything else in the palace.

Beautiful as it was, it had grown droll and lifeless in her twenty years, and she yearned for sights beyond the White Keep.

Pouting at the tub centered in her bathing chambers, she scolded herself for sleeping in, as the water brought to the bath this morning had already chilled. Likely a good thing, though, since a hot bath would only make her want to curl back under the blankets.

A quick turn towards the marble vanity occupying the wall near the entrance, and her mouth almost dropped open upon a glimpse of her reflection.

Galen had been right about her hair. A strewn, twisted mess of a braid, with half the strands slipping free in knotted tangles.

Surina untied the braid and brushed through the lengthy snarls until they shimmered with a newly brushed gloss. While she’d always preferred shorter hair growing up, she now admired how much her golden waves reminded her of her mom.

In fact, the closer Surina came to her transition, the more similarities she noted between the two of them—well, based on the oil paintings hung in the gallery she’d seen a thousand times over. Features like their full, rosy-pink lips and similarly arched eyebrows—though Surina didn’t believe she appeared half as elegant as her lithe mother.

Despite the features she’d received from her mom, there were fewer from her father. Only the same warm beige skin, and her stubbornness, apparently.

Even the Fairlight green eyes had skipped her. Surina was jealous of the mossy green of her brother’s irises, and the kind, earthly warmth they held, while hers were the opposite. Neither her mother’s nor her father’s, a strange blue-gray—though, sometimes, she thought they appeared a silvery white in certain lighting. Leirie said they reminded her of a storm cloud in the midst of summer, bouncing between ivory and powder blue.

Returning her attention to the vanity, she dipped her hands into the bowl of water set atop the counters. A quick, frigid wash, and the nerves of her face were humming with cool delight—until she peered at her right palm, at the mottled flesh left behind. Red and pink welts had been burned into the center, forming a sun. Their sun. The beast had branded her with the symbol of the dragon kingdom.

Moira did everything she could to prevent scarring, but by the time Ezra had brought Surina to the apothecary across the keep grounds, the damage had been done. Permanently.

Though it had long since healed, occasionally she would feel a stream of heat passing through her arm, as if a simple memory of the creature brought her right back to when her blood was set on fire within. Pieces from that night were easily forgotten, overwhelmed by the infernal creature, and the scorching irises that had burned a place into her mind, where they would reside for eternity.

“Almost done?” Galen’s muffled displeasure flitted in from the other side of her bedroom door and past the threshold to the bathing chambers.

Ripping a small towel up from the vanity, Surina patted her face dry, grumbling about how a lady should never be rushed, which he heard, of course, and continued to argue through the door about how a lady is never late, either, among many other qualities she possessed that he deemed unladylike.

She drowned out his continued complaints while running a hand along the fabrics within the armoire used for her training clothes. Varying shades of blues and grays, that’s all the courts of Thesia wore. It wasn’t so much a law as it was a custom, but Thesians loved their traditions. Sometimes to a fault.

Deciding on a silken pewter blouse with a leather bodice, dyed a charcoal color, with swirls of velvet sewn into the leather, she quickly dressed herself. Sliding on fitted black leather breeches and matching leather boots, Surina was ready for anything Moira could throw her way.

◆◆◆

Galen, who looked positively furious from where he leaned against the marble fireplace, shoved away just as Surina strolled into the drawing room. “You call that hurrying?”

Sun filtered in through to the windowed wall beside the terrace entrance of the drawing room, glinting off the metal of Galen’s sword. A blade made of steel, the pommel was crafted into a crescent moon, just like the amulet that hung from her neck, only hers had intricate vines, flowers, and leaves twining around the silver moon.

Inscribed on his blade were finely etched symbols of a long since passed language. The sword had been given to Galen by Surina’s father before he died, when he granted Galen the title of knight. He was the first illegitimate male to receive such a title, and despite the circumstances of his birth, was permitted to keep his mother’s noble name—Castmont. Typically, only fae males could pass on their surname. Even females after marriage would keep their family name. Galen didn’t know his father, though. No one did.

“Why are you so uptight this morning?” she hissed, crossing her arms beneath the thick fabric of the cloak she nabbed before leaving her room. “Did Lady Giselle compliment your ass again?”

A scowl flashed across Galen’s face as he seemed to recall those horrid memories, and she sucked her bottom lip in a weak attempt to hide her smile.

Lady Giselle was a notorious flirt with any male who had titles or connections, Galen being no exception. It didn’t matter that Galen’s title came with no lands, only that he had the ear of a king— one king, because there were two who ruled Thesia, and Giselle already had the ear of the other. Or rather, his bed.

The two kings presided over Thesia in their own respective courts. A Fairlight, who ruled the mortals in the day, and the other was the king who ruled the fae beneath the moon—Ezra Nightwood.

Sent to the Court of the Moon from Stonefarrow, a duchy of Thesia, it was no surprise that Giselle became Ezra’s mistress. Liliana Nightwood, Ezra’s aunt and the Duchess of Stonefarrow, was famed for the ladies she brought up in her court. Clearly a favorite of both Nightwoods, Giselle was selected as duchess interim within the Court of the Moon during Liliana’s absence from the capital.

He and Giselle deserved one another—as frigid as Ezra’s magic was, Giselle had a heart to match.

“I’m not uptight, you’re just being your usual, slow self. And since you seem to have forgotten, the Calaechian royal family is arriving today and while I don’t like stating the obvious, it seems you need to be reminded—His Majesty likes things to go smoothly. That includes you being on time . So, if you don’t mind…” Galen swung an arm out in the direction of the halls of the west wing, his brows raised, awaiting a challenge.

There would be no challenge, though, because she really had forgotten about the Calaechians’ visit.

What a horror of a day this was turning out to be. Normally, having never left the capital in her life, Surina would be ecstatic to have visitors, especially those who traveled far from the human empire up north—but the Calaechians? They were insufferable, and the royal family was the worst of them all.

Prince Lucius Blackwell was the son of the king of Calaechia, their fae neighbors to the southeast. And the two joining him would be his spawn. Surina didn’t mind Fynn so much. Awkward and gangly, sure, but still kind. It was Runa, his sister, that Surina couldn’t stand. Both of the twins had an affinity for fire, but it was the Blackwell princess who wouldn’t put a leash on it.

“You actually forgot, didn’t you?” Galen interrupted her brewing, crossing in front of Surina to make his way over to the balcony doors.

“I didn’t forget . I was only thinking of what gown I was meant to wear tonight to greet our guests,” she replied, inspecting her nails and hoping she portrayed indifference, because she certainly didn’t feel it.

“You forgot,” he repeated, opening the door to the balcony.

Not seconds later, bouncing through it with bubbling delight, was Leirie.

Her light-brown eyes glistened when they met Surina’s, the flecks of gold luminous in the morning sun. With each movement, sunlight shimmered off her delicate, sepia complexion, and with long, mahogany-brown curls, everything about her radiated warmth—comfort. Just like her mother.

Surina was admiring her friend’s creamy silken gown when Leirie practically barreled into her, wasting no time as she hooked two arms around one of Surina’s, guiding her to the terrace.

“Suri, come look. You have to see this,” she squealed, her bell of a voice at least three octaves above usual.

“Good morning to you too.” Surina sighed, thankful she wore boots, as she was finding it difficult to match Leirie’s pace— and her spirits.

Galen stepped out from the side of the door, attempting to block the two of them from passing the threshold, though he softened when addressing Leirie. “Lady Windspire, I’m not sure if we have the time for—”

“It will only take a moment, Sir Castmont.” Leirie cut off Galen’s words, far too sweetly for anyone with a heart to resist, though Galen tried, shifting to shroud even more of the doorway. Leirie just opened the second one beside it.

After that, Galen accepted defeat, but not without an audible sigh.

“Thank you, Galen!” Leirie sang, with a beaming smile.

Surina stuck her tongue out at Galen as she was dragged past, out into the crisp autumn breeze. He was such a sucker for Leirie’s charm. Most were.

Like the sirens from one of Surina’s novels, Leirie was especially skilled at getting what she wanted—though unlike the creatures in her book, there wasn’t an ounce of malice to be found in her friend. Her talents were wasted on pacifying garden mice and scoring extra sweets from the kitchen. Not that Surina was one to complain about extra sweets…

Large as Surina’s terrace was, it was impossible to tell when it was completely filled with potted plants and flora of all kinds. Without a balcony attached to her own room, Leirie needed somewhere to house all her green little pets and had begged Surina to allow her to use her terrace. Surina hadn’t realized she was agreeing to host an entire forest at the time, but she didn’t mind. Not if it helped with Leirie’s homesickness.

Leirie rounded the terrace furniture she’d shoved away from the railing and placed Surina in front of a vibrant lily, its broad pink blooms unfurled. “Just two days ago, the blooms were sealed and at least a week away from blossoming, but now… look !”

Gesturing to the very bloomed flowers, Leirie grinned. “I think my earth magic was just slow to catch up, but now that I’m in the age to transition…” Peering up, her big doe eyes ensnared Surina.

“ Oh .” Surina wriggled beneath her cloak, hoping guilt wasn’t written all over her face. She couldn’t exactly say she’d had trouble sleeping last night, so had stepped out here to get some air and might have used earth magic on one or two plants in her boredom.

Having been born with an affinity for water from her father’s side, Leirie always swore the divines had made a mistake, and that she should have been born with her mother’s magic. Earth.

“Maybe you just do a great job at taking care of them,” Surina offered with a smile—hopefully a guiltless one. “You practically live out here, after all.”

Leirie brought an outstretched finger down to an open petal of the lily, as if through sheer will she could tether to the earth. Divines be damned.

“Ready to go?” Surina inquired a little too hastily, but Leirie didn’t seem to notice.

With a hesitant nod, Leirie rose, and they made their way inside, where Galen was now fidgeting impatiently by the exit into the west wing. He ripped open the door before they could think of other ways to waste time.

If she wasn’t so worried about the many forms of punishment Moira could concoct for tardiness, Surina might have actually tried to see how far she could push Galen—if only to see the shade of red her guard turned when he was properly annoyed. Sometimes it was too easy.

After being herded through the door like a couple of sheep, they made their way to the training grounds.