Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Four

Seated beside the Fairlight princess for dinner, Fynn caught the sweet scent of vanilla and jasmine each time she reached for her wine. It was mesmerizing, the way she moved, taking small sips of the deep red liquid swirling in her crystal goblet. Sitting beneath the chandeliers of the grand banquet hall, her golden waves shone with the brightest aura.

Fynn had had a small infatuation with the princess when they met at sixteen, and even then, she was lovely, but now—now she was every bit the winsome beauty his mother said she would become. Even when she’d collided into the back of him, he thought she looked beguiling, those wild strands framing the flush of her cheeks, and the winded apology that followed as she brushed past.

It took him far too long to realize he was just quietly gawking at Surina, and she definitely noticed, her sheepish grin a silent question to his stares—or had she actually asked him a question?

You idiot , he screamed at himself internally, praying she hadn’t, while he reached for his own glass, filled with a different kind of liquid than Surina’s.

Having undergone the transition into immortality months ago, Fynn didn’t feel like he’d changed much, but he was a new creature entirely—with newfound speed and strength. Not to mention an acquired taste for blood.

If he focused his ears just right, he could even hear the thrum of Surina’s heart as it worked to keep her life force flowing…

A beautiful song, her heart .

Enough . The china surrounding his spot at the table trembled as he placed the crystal goblet back down, much harder than he intended to. Fynn tried to ignore the whispers directed at him from those seated nearby, but just a whiff of mortal blood and his senses were flooded with the need to feed—to hunt. To kill.

You are weak .

Fynn’s fists knotted beneath the ivory cloth of the covered table. As he struggled to regain control of his breathing, a captivating lilt of a voice spoke from his right.

“So, is Thesia just as you remember from your last visit?” Surina inquired, her hands softly clasped in her lap with a kind smile across her lips, oblivious to the vicious temper that lay within him. So innocent—even her blood was innocent. Untouched. Begging for another to leave their mark...

You’ll regret it if you do.

The taps of his feet against the marble floors did very little to assuage the hunger. It didn’t help that the Nightwood king, who sat at the head of the table with Surina to his left, was scrutinizing his every move, eyeing each lift of a finger or shift in the princess’s direction. In fact, Fynn was inclined to believe the king might think of him as a threat. Maybe in more ways than one.

He adjusted his angle in the chair, putting on the most believable mask he could muster, not having to try very hard with Surina. “We passed through New Sanctuary but didn’t get much of a chance to look around before coming to the palace.”

“Right.” She nodded her head and paused for a moment to thank the servant who placed tonight’s meal before them. “Well, I guess you’ll have plenty of time to see it in the coming months.”

“Maybe we could go together?” Fynn asked, a little too swiftly, and utterly failing to hide his excitement. Smooth . “I mean, Runa—” Fynn gestured to his sister, who sat across the table, beside Lucius, “—has been dying to see the city since our last trip, so if you’d like to show us around…”

Fynn’s eyes flicked back over to Runa, and she was not happy. She sent a burning glare of obsidian directed right at him, but must have seen the pleading in his eyes, and remained silent. His sister was persistent in her dislike of Surina, which Fynn thought was unfounded. The two girls shared quite a lot of qualities, like how clever and witty they were on their feet. If Runa would only give Surina a chance, he was certain they’d be good friends.

“Maybe,” Surina said, dejectedly, lifting her silverware to begin digging into her meal.

Had he said something wrong? Maybe he overstepped. Opening his mouth to apologize, he soon realized most of the table had already started their meals, so he kept quiet.

For the changed fae, eating mortal food was just for show. A societal custom that made them more likable to mortals, since blood was now the only nutrition they required. They didn’t bother with the custom in Calaechia. Neither did the Nightwood king, it seemed, as all that was before him was a crystal goblet, recently replenished by a timid mortal.

“Last time we spoke, you mentioned you trained with a dragon—err, sorry, I don’t recall her name.” Fynn tested the waters when he was certain she had finished the bite, taking note of the way Surina’s eyes would dip down to the points of his teeth. Another part of the change. Like losing one’s baby teeth, only this time it was just the two canines, which came in sharper and longer than mortal ones. Even fae before the curse had them, though they weren’t quite as deadly, nor were they used for draining life.

Regardless of the teeth, she didn’t shy away from him, and instead, leaned a little closer, her smile growing as she spoke of her daily training with the dragon—Moira, was her name—but Fynn could tell there was much she was leaving out. Every so often, Surina would pause to consider her next words, dragging her finger along the scar in her palm.

It was a monstrous thing, what that creature did to her—fae or not, she was just a girl. The infiltration of the royal palace of Thesia had been heard about all the way in Calaechia. Their first visit was during the aftermath of the attack, and Fynn was hardly allotted any time with Surina since she was practically under lock and key.

He was glad to see her like this though. Warm and vibrant, so unlike before. Enchanted by the way she spoke of her affinities for water and air, a gradual heat swelled in the center of his chest. Such a contrast to his affinity for fire. Fire was destructive. Chaos.

Death .

Fynn opened his mouth to inquire further about her studies with the dragon, but Lucius cut in, almost eagerly.

“I, for one, am amazed the beast is allowed within the walls of Thesia, let alone as an instructor for the princess. Perhaps we could send for my children’s teacher? While they have a natural aptitude for fire, their instructor is the best in all of Orlanthe. With his help, they were able to master their magic even before transitioning. You might benefit from a fae’s instruction.”

The roll of Fynn’s eyes felt like second nature at this point. Lucius’s gloating was truly unending. Even Runa didn’t seem to care for the pretend doting, reaching to gulp down the remainder of her wine.

Surina’s earlier glow receded, her eyes morphing into a muted, storming gray, and Fynn had to stifle the gnashing anger that wanted to put Lucius in his place for draining that light.

“Moira is a great instructor and healer. Besides, it’s probably a bit more challenging to train someone with more than one affinity,” Surina voiced coolly with a cruel smile.

Fynn had to bite down the pleased grin that worked its way into the corners of his lips.

“Of course.” Lucius sneered, glittering teeth and all. “Though I wonder what Casimir would think of his daughter befriending such a beast.” He clicked his tongue. “And if your poor mother had had a fae healer instead… May she rest in the Eyre’s shallows.”

The princess shoved her chair back, almost knocking it to the ground in the process, and her palms pressed into the surface of the table as she met Lucius’s poorly veiled mockery head on. “Are you scared of dragons, Lucius? Or just females?”

Lucius struggled to preserve his vanity—it tore his father’s ego apart, Fynn knew, for a twenty-year-old girl to speak to him in such a way, especially when there was nothing he could do about it.

This dinner was going better than Fynn could ever imagine.

“ Surina ,” the Fairlight king growled, his glare appearing as if this wasn’t the first time she’d spoken out. “Apologize.”

She didn’t, and her brother didn’t take too kindly to being brushed off either, his hands curling into fists. The Nightwood king on the other hand, seemed to take pleasure in her defiance, leaning all the way back in his chair to watch the scene unfold.

The king’s humor didn’t last long, though, fading when a drag of winds coursed the table—it was gradual at first, but then a charged static seemed to accompany it, pooling over Fynn’s right shoulder, around Surina.

Cyril rose, waving off those who stood out of respect for him. He angled over the table, muttering something under his breath that only Surina seemed to hear.

In a blink, the winds ceased, but that strange swell of power still lingered, until she stalked from the table.

A hush fell over the banquet hall during Surina’s hasty retreat, whispers ringing out the very moment the door closed behind her.

Nosy bastards .

Lucius began muttering a feigned apology to the Fairlight king, who was hardly listening as Lady Castmont attempted to soothe his fury with gentle murmurs.

Without having realized he’d stood, Fynn was on his feet, just hovering awkwardly over the table. Stuttering out a few pleasantries to the Thesian kings, he slipped from dinner, following the trail of vanilla and jasmine the princess left in her wake.

◆◆◆

Bursting through the doors of the banquet hall, tears of frustration gathered along the rims of her eyes, but Surina held them back. Regardless of whether he could see her or not, she didn’t want to give Lucius the satisfaction.

Galen was mid-laugh with a group of soldiers posted outside when he spotted her, and his disposition hardened over with a vengeful glare.

Surina didn’t bother waiting as she turned towards the west wing, knowing it wouldn’t take long before he was right on her ass. She wished he would read the air, give her the space she obviously wanted. The entire western half of the keep was lined with guards anyways—to protect the mortals housed there.

Catching up to her in less than three breaths, like she knew he would, Galen called from over her shoulder. “Princess,” he sighed, the thud of his boots marching right on her heels.

She ignored him, hastening the taps of her satin slippers, but failing to make any space between the two of them.

“ Surina, ” he said more sternly this time.

“ What? ” she shouted, whirling so abruptly, Galen almost bumped into her, having to lean against the tips of his toes to stop himself from toppling forward.

His jaw tightened against the lashing, but he held back whatever retort was ready to fly from his tongue. Instead, he was annoyingly earnest. “What happened?”

It only made her feel worse—the one time she wanted him to bark back. “Nothing happened, Galen. I just want to go back to my room.”

Really, she wanted to be anywhere but her room. Unfortunately, it was the only part of the palace she was allowed to be alone, so...

Surina made to continue down the hall, but as quick as lightning, Galen was standing in front of her, blocking the way ahead.

“Move,” she warned.

“Tell me who it was, and I’ll kick their ass.” There was no hesitation in the promise, only a simple request for a name.

As pissed as she was right now, the corners of her lips still turned up, and she had to look away in an attempt to straighten her face back to its earlier wrath. The smile wouldn’t obey. “I don’t think Cyril would be too pleased about that.”

Galen shrugged, but a grin found its way to his mouth too. “What’s the worst he can do? Assign me to a spoiled princess who doesn’t listen to a word I say?”

Her eyes practically rolled to the back of her head. “You think you have it bad? Try putting up with a centuries old grump who has nothing better to do but whine and criticize said princess.”

“So, it’s agreed then, we’ll both kick their ass, and be stuck with each other as punishment.” With a raised brow, he awaited her answer, and for a moment, she thought he might be serious.

There were many occasions where Galen had had those he deemed a threat at the tip of his sword—or on the floor. Whether it was a fae who came too close for her guard’s liking, or a human boy he’d caught Surina with. They were fifteen at the time, and it was her first kiss. She thought Galen was going to kill him on the spot—the boy certainly did too. Gods, how mortifying that was .

She was thankful Galen hadn’t been there the night the dragon had attacked in the gardens, because he likely would have stood against the beast, knowing full well he wouldn’t survive. Surina didn’t deserve that kind of blind loyalty. Or any loyalty for that matter. All she’d ever done was sit in a pretty castle for twenty years.

With a weary exhale, Surina tossed out the images of Lucius begging for his life at the end of Galen’s blade, enticing as they were. “I think walking back to my room is all I can muster tonight.”

After a brief pause of consideration, he nodded, ending the interrogation on the spot, while also looking a little disappointed by her choice. Galen angled sideways, no longer blocking the way ahead.

Before she could take a step forward, a smooth, but exasperated voice made its way from the direction of the banquet hall.

“Surina,” Fynn pleaded.

When she turned, she saw his obsidian cloak like a morphing shadow as it whirled against his hurried dash.

Just as quick as Galen had dropped the lethal guard front with Surina, within seconds, it was back up, and he was shouldering her behind him. “I suggest you stay right where you are, boy.”

Did Galen even know who he was speaking to? Like Surina earlier, he probably didn’t recognize Fynn after so many years. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Can we talk for a moment?” the copper-haired prince implored, ignoring Galen’s hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes peeked around the wall of the guard, until their gazes met. “I’d like to apologize. Please ,” Fynn added quickly, before he could get a rejection from Surina. He smiled, warm and kind, as if that would win her over.

It did.

Sighing, Surina hugged her arms as a chill from outside swept in from a nearby doorway. “It’s okay, Galen.”

Galen only grunted a response, hesitant to leave her side. It required a narrow-eyed glare for him to take the hint, but even then, he wouldn’t go far. Definitely not out of hearing range.

She didn’t mind him staying nearby, not when she was standing so close to a newly changed fae—incredible as his control was. It was a wonder Fynn could be anywhere near a mortal. It could take years to learn control, so most fae just returned to their homes outside of Thesia’s capital until the worst of the transition passed.

Fynn stepped closer, leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of them before glancing over at Galen, who gave his approval with a terse nod.

“I couldn’t let you leave without apologizing for Lucius’s behavior.” Fynn’s brows scrunched in the middle as he brushed back a tendril of red that misplaced itself in his hurry. “Maybe a little of my own behavior. If I seemed standoffish tonight…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Fynn, honest. It should be me apologizing for ruining the dinner. On your first night here too. Not much of a Thesian welcome.” She couldn’t wait to sit through one of Cyril’s lectures tomorrow. Based on how livid she’d made him, it would probably last the whole day. It was worth it, though, to see that sneer wiped clean from Lucius’s stupid face.

“I haven’t seen anyone talk to Lucius like that in years.” He snickered, hushing his voice as he tilted in, closer to Surina. “It was long past due—and well-deserved.”

While he was right, she still didn’t think it was an excuse for using her magic—twice today now it had taken over. It was normal for a fae’s power to strengthen as they neared the transition, becoming more erratic with swinging temperaments, but this didn’t just feel like wild magic. This was like she disappeared within her mind and something else took the reins. She was still there , but her senses were dull.

“And about my magic, I didn’t mean to lose control like that.” Surina was careful not to say too much on the topic of her affinities, and she should probably just be grateful none of her others manifested. Like earth. That would be hard to explain.

“I’d hardly call that a loss of control. When I got close to my transition, I accidentally set Lucius’s hair on fire. It took him over a year to grow it all back.” Fynn’s smile only broadened, like he was reminiscing, making her wonder if it actually was an accident.

A giggle replaced that very question, as images of a bald Lucius Blackwell crossed her mind. The bright cheeriness seemed to slip from Fynn’s eyes with her laughter. He probably thought she was cruel for finding humor in another’s pain.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh at someone’s misfortune.”

“No, it’s not that.” Shaking his head, his lashes dipped down, the irises beneath them darkening as they darted across her face. “Your laugh is just as I remember it. And your eyes…”

Her eyes? What about his ? Surina could get lost in those onyx pools, and if the sensation of icy claws raking up her back didn’t warrant a shuddering chill, she likely would have.

The hairs across her body rose simultaneously, and as she hugged herself tighter, peering into the clusters of fae walking by, the disquieting air only worsened.

A flutter of wind trailed the nape of her neck, like the tender voice was trying to tell her something but couldn’t summon the words into her thoughts.

“Are you cold?” Fynn asked, the metal clasp of his cloak ringing as he unlatched it before she could even answer.

Lifting her hands up to reject the sentiment, Surina tried to push it back towards him. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t need it. Honestly, it’s just for show.” With a wink, he whisked the fabric around her shoulders, tugging it until she was completely devoured in the length of material.

The faint brush of his fingers along her collarbone drew a gasp from her lips, and not just because he was warm to the touch, which was unheard of for changed fae. But because that phantom feeling just… vanished.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breathing in the aroma that wafted from the prince’s clothing. It was dark and woodsy, like the night air.

Reaching to take over for his hold on the cinched material, she swore her flesh heated against the prince’s touch—and it wasn’t just the flush rising from her chest. Maybe those with a fire affinity could manipulate their own bodies to give off heat.

“ Prince .” A low warning drifted by, followed by a frosted breeze that enveloped the warmth in the air. “Your presence is missed at the banquet.”

Ezra, she knew, though Fynn blocked her view of the king. How long had he been standing there?

The prince didn’t step back immediately but smiled instead—and this one wasn’t like those before it, but was a merciless veil, making him look every bit like his father.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Fynn voiced coolly, pulling his hands away.

Just like that, the frigid, ghostly nails trickled down her flesh once more.

As Fynn stepped aside, she caught sight of the king, and he did not look pleased, his glare following Fynn until he was out of sight.

“I think the princess needs her rest, Sir Castmont,” Ezra stated flatly, and Surina could tell that wasn’t a suggestion.

Thinking it probably wouldn’t be worth an argument, since she was already headed there anyway, Surina spun in the direction of her room without a second glance at the king.

“No bow for your king?” he cooed, a playful wickedness returning, stopping her right in her tracks.

Her teeth snapped shut with such force, the entire hall probably heard them click—but it was the only way to bar her vicious tongue. Even Galen gave her a warning, a silent raise of his brow, as if to say, Don’t even think about it .

But she did think about it, even more so when she turned to find the impish grin plastered on the king’s face.

Before, Surina might have wondered if she’d rather spend a day with Lucius Blackwell or Ezra—it was pretty clear now what that answer would be.

Gathering her skirts, she dipped into a graceful bow, but not without slipping him a profane gesture that only he would see. One he merely chuckled at.

“Good night, Surina,” the king returned with a hushed gentleness she swore would only ever exist in her memories.

Ezra made his way back to the banquet hall. Her lips parted, like they had something to say to him, but the swarming mess of her mind didn’t, so all that came out was a choked off breath.

What the hell was that ? Did he have that much to drink that he was actually capable of wishing her a good night?

Snorting a bemused laugh, she shook off the lingering flutter in her heart, seeing his kindness for what it really was—a new form of torment he’d concocted just for her.

Two could play at that game.